"Police! Open up!" I yell, banging again. I steel myself as this time I hear the locks click-clunk and see the door pull back slowly to reveal a half-naked blond bear of a man, who fucking towers over me. He's standing, blocking the doorway, with a frying pan in one hand and an aerosol can in the other. His face is flushed, his chest heaving with exertion, eyes wide with adrenaline, and his bare torso is glistening with sweat. He adjusts the grip on the pan and I see the muscles of that arm ripple underneath the monochrome sleeve that adorns it. Shit. Why the fuck did I not call for back up? (Aka the failed one shot. From the ship that sails itself.) Some content is mature. Caution advised, but specific trigger warnings will be given where appropriate. Note: AWOOGA is used to label the dirrrrrrty chapters.

A collection of mature oneshots inspired by pics or tweets or my own random brain, mostly Scomiche. And a reminder that just because a story or scene is mature, doesn't mean it's devoid of characterization, development, or value. Pretty new cover by Ehcimocs

This is by request from my dear friends Bat Girl and Blondie. I hope they approve. This is 1000% fiction.

This is a sequel to Glasgow Sun, so obviously read that first.

This is the sequel to wash me over until my well runs dry, which in turn is the sequel to this don't even feel like falling. It's not required that you have read either of those first, though you'll certainly get more out of this story if you do. If you choose not to, just go into this one with the knowledge that Scott and Mitch are already in a relationship, and at one point as teenagers, Mitch had a crush on him. Title from Beyoncé's 1+1. Again, all usernames are fake and not meant to portray any real people in particular. Well, except maybe one. fictionalcandie's notes: I don't have a lot of excuses. I don't have any, in fact, I'm going to sit here with my lack of excuses and blame duvalu for this, it's her brainchild anyway. I'm just sorry it took so long to finish. Hopefully it's worth the wait! duvalu's notes: You guys. This took over a year to write. What. I hope everyone recognises themselves (*raises hand*) in this, hah. Enjoy. Bring your own holy water. Happy Monday.

One-shots and poems. Because the #thirst for Scomiche is real. --- The updates in this book mostly have mature themes. Proceed with caution. Some chapters will be private so follow me to get the updates. Lastly, enjoy. :)

This is a sequel to this don't even feel like falling. Scott and Mitch are on the same page-for real, this time-but that doesn't mean there's not more to their story. Title is from Rocket by Beyoncé. Fake usernames courtesy of @_opheliac and @Sreed09! Thank you guys!! (Any similarity to actual usernames is unintentional and purely coincidental.) fictionalcandie's notes: no stop don't look at me. this isn't my fault. um. enjoy our valentine to y'all? :P duvalu's notes: HIDE YO KIDS HIDE... yourself. Boy howdy. Happy V Day, here's some filth. Special shout out to the DM girls <3

{fu·nam·bu·list: a tightrope walker/rope-dancer} Scott Hoying had been sitting in row 4, seat number 23, when he had been sure that his heart stopped beating. With his fingernails burrowed into his dark jeans and his lip between his teeth, he could do nothing but stare upwards - 50 feet above him- as the figure pranced along the high wire. The performer's body swayed to the melody around him, a stunning smile lighting up his entire face as he moved; his arms were thrown out to the sides, toes pointed, as he jumped along the tightrope. The massive tent expelled a blinding white light in the performer's direction, casting an ethereal glow upon his black-clad figure. On cue, the performer then quickly leaped forward, smile still intact, executing three of the most perfect front flips Scott had ever seen in his life. He thought the boy looked miraculous up there, and that was definitely an understatement. Though he was around same age as Scott himself, his way of performing showed experience and talent far beyond his years; the performer quite literally personified the music. It's sure that Scott was definitely the last person to be able to judge circus performers, as it wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but he knew passion when he saw it. Scott was certain that if he even attempted something of that calibre, he would probably start crying, if he didn't break his nose first.

Mitch was a fan way before he got the job. Can he balance friendship with fandom? Can he remain professional without revealing his inner fangirl? Is that even possible?

This was originally posted on AO3 on New Year's Eve 2015. fictionalcandie's notes: All blame for the conception of this fic goes to duvalu. All I did was write, uh, a few words to go with it. Everybody shout out to her for doing real actual writing for the first time in years, though!! So proud of her. ♥ duvalu's notes: "A few words" = 98% of this including all the good bits, because fictionalcandie is the best and does stuff like this for me despite not even really being in this fandom. <3 Super fun to write and I love what we ended up with. (Oh yeah and while this is fiction and not at all reality? If you're here because you googled yourself or someone you know, please do us all a favour and back away slowly.)