#...i just think maybe there is a better way to approach this where everybody can be seen and listened to

[uncanny-tranny]

I think there's this idea of privilege that people have where if you are privileged, you become a bad person, and the more privilege you possess, the worse of a person you are, like privlege is a nuclear bomb warehouse that you can add stock into.

This is an incomplete outlook on privilege because it places blame on individuals with privilege rather than the systems which give certain people privilege, while at the same time ignoring others to their detriment.

A cis person isn't bad because they have the privilege of not being trans. The system in place which prioritize cis voices, opinions, bodies, and, ultimately, cis lives over trans ones is bad. These are important distinctions because something like trans liberation will not be a reality if we don't dismantle the system which places trans people as lesser.

[barcaatthemoon]

fade into you || lena oberdorf x reader ||

lena takes your virginity.

minors dni, 18+, smut warning.

not proofread because i have 30 minutes to get to work and still need to eat breakfast.

the move from manchester to bayern was a big one, but you hadn't made it alone. your older sister keira's best friend, georgia, had transferred with you. with georgia there, you practically had another older sister there with you. and it was great, up until you met lena.

the bayern and wolfsburg games were pretty intense, but you loved it. english soccer hadn't necessarily been physical enough for you, aside from your very heated games against arsenal. lena could match your aggression and put you on your ass if she really wanted to.

at first, there had been a couple of close calls. georgia had gotten herself carded arguing with lena twice before someone said something. after that, you had players like magda and pernille, your team mothers, who looked out for you instead. they were a lot more protective, not even letting the german player talk to you after games.

lena hated the way that they watched over you like a hawk whenever she was around. all lena had wanted to do then was talk to you, and she had to wait months before she finally had a good chance to do so. georgia had tried to step in to "protect" you whenever lena approached you after an international game against each other, but she wasn't nearly as intimidating as magda.

"(y/n)!" lena called out as she chased you down in the tunnel. you froze on the spot, unsure of what lena could have wanted with you. that game had been difficult to say the least. tensions had been high, and several players on both sides had gotten a little sketchy with some of their tackles and challenges. "do you mind if we talk for a minute?"

"you want to talk to me?" you tried not to sound so surprised, but you couldn't help it. lena nodded as she extended her hand towards you. georgia looked a bit angry as you took it, not noticing the looks from leah, lucy, and your sister behind her.

"i'd prefer to do it alone," lena told you as she led you away from everybody else. "i've wanted to talk to you for a long time, but there are always other players around. your friends don't seem to like me too much."

"they are protective. we have a tendency to go a bit harder after each other than anybody else," you pointed out. lena couldn't argue with you on that one. she admittedly did play a bit rougher with you than she did with other players. however, lena knew that sometimes that was what it took to stop you from trucking through their defenses.

"i like how you play. i can't wait to be on your team." lena rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. you studied her for a moment, just long enough to be distracted by her features. your eyes bounced all around her face and body, shamelessly checking her out a bit. "before that, though, i'd like to get to know you better. maybe we could go on a date when you get back to germany?"

"why wait that long?" you asked her. lena looked surprised, like she couldn't believe that you wanted to spend time with her so soon. "i won't be drinking with the rest of the team tonight, and playing cards in my sister's room can wait. you guys leave tomorrow night, and i think that leaves just enough time for us to go out together for a night."

"the whole night?" lena asked. you were quick to shake your head, but refused to elaborate any further. lena didn't know that you were a virgin, she couldn't have. not a lot of people actually knew that, and while you had been told that it was nothing to be ashamed of, you couldn't help but feel like you were lagging in your age group.

"i'd like to see where things go first. hooking up isn't really my thing," you said quickly. you hoped that it came off casually, but you knew better than that. you weren't that lucky, not when it came to relationships. you had only ever dated one other person, and it had ended so badly that you kind of thought you'd never date again.

…

naturally, as your relationship progressed, lena eventually learned about your lack of experience. she had been kind about it once you told her. a lot of things that you had done over the past few months made sense to her. lena had known that you were shy, but now she understood why certain things messed with you as much as they did.

"good morning." lena greeted you with a kiss as you walked into the kitchen. it was her first week in her munich apartment, and she had asked for you to stay with her. the two of you had been together for nearly half of your first season at bayern. now, you'd get to play at the same club together, so she would be there to keep you company instead of georgia.

"this isn't good for my german," you told her. lena shrugged it off and wrapped her arms around your waist as she pressed several kisses to the side of your face. "i really do want to learn, lena."

"liebe, you are doing fine with the german. relax, we practice together every single day. rest your brain for a morning, it will be fine," lena said. you sighed as your body sank back against hers. you hadn't been with lena for very long in the scheme of things, but you knew for sure that you were in love with her. keira had once told you that love was a feeling that often took you by surprise, and your feelings for lena had blindsided you early on in your relationship.

the two of you had expressed your love for each other in words before, but you wanted to do more. you wanted to give yourself to lena fully. the thought was beyond terrifying for you, but you also knew that lena was trustworthy. she would take care of you, just like she had been doing for months. more than that, you trusted lena fully and wanted to show her just how far your trust reached.

"what are you thinking so hard about?" lena asked you. her voice was full of concern, breaking the blissfully relaxed energy that had been filling up her room. you had been ready to tell her exactly what you wanted, but when you opened up your mouth and looked at her, your words died out on the tip of your tongue.

"i want-," you paused, unsure of whether or not this was the time. lena would never push you towards anything, but you hadn't considered whether or not she wanted sex from you. everybody around the two of you had made a teasing remark here or there about sex, only to be shut down by an extremely defensive lena.

"it's okay, take your time." lena pressed a kiss to the top of your head as she pulled you to rest against her chest. you gave yourself a couple of moments to relax where she had guided you. once those moments were over, you shifted so that you were sort of leaning over her. "everything okay?"

"yes, i just, need to ask you something. lena, i'd like to have sex with you," you told her. lena's normally expressive face went completely blank as she stared at you. a wave of panic overtook your thoughts, but lena didn't let it get far enough for you to retract your statements.

"this is a big deal, are you sure liebe?" lena asked you. it was true, this was a big deal for you. some of your teammates had tried to play it off as something that didn't matter, but to you it did. lena knew this, and she had been fully prepared to wait until marriage if that was something you had wanted. a part of her hadn't expected you to want to talk about it again so soon, but she was glad that you trusted her.

"yes, of course i am. i love you, and i want to show you that," you said sheepishly.

"there are other ways to show that you love someone. it's not like i can give you this experience back if you decide that i wasn't the right one." for a moment, you thought lena was trying to talk you out of having sex. that idea was promptly snuffed out whenever you finally looked her in the eye. lena looked almost to tears, but there was no sign of anything other than joy on her face.

"i'm sure. i want you, and only you." lena had never heard you speak with such confidence or conviction before. you were shy, always keeping to yourself or your very carefully selected circle of friends. "just, please remember that it's my first time."

"always, we will take it slow," lena promised you.

…

neither you nor lena had really brought up having sex again for the remainder of your stay with her. you had assumed that lena had forgotten, not that she was working on making the last night of your week together so special. for the most part, you had been completely oblivious until she was practically shoving you out of the house to go shopping with sydney and laura.

they were nice, but still very much lena's friends. you had a lot of fun with the girls, who had definitely talked you into spending more money than you meant to. by the time that you headed back to lena's, you had enough things to fill an extra suitcase.

"lena?" you called out into the apartment. it looked empty, but lena had obviously cleaned and rearranged a few things. you could see the table set very romantically, and you wondered for a moment if you missed some sort of anniversary. all of those thoughts were practically thrown out of your head when you saw lena walk out of her bedroom. "you look amazing."

"i know that we did not talk about this before, but i really want to be with you before you leave. only if that's okay with you," lena said. she brushed a strand of your hair back behind you ear as she stepped into your space. there was never an invasion with lena, she was always welcomed eagerly with open arms.

"i'd like that. i've been thinking about it a lot," you confessed. lena smiled as she pulled you in for a kiss. something told you that lena would have kissed you either way, but this kiss felt different. this kiss built to something bigger, something that your body had been anticipating for a couple of weeks now.

lena pulled back from the kiss to lead you to the table. you sat there a little awkwardly by yourself while you waited for her to return. lena had obviously put a lot of effort into the meal, preparing things that you recognized as supposed aphrodisiacs. you noticed the distinct lack of alcohol at the table, which lena explained away as not wanting anything to possibly taint the experience.

"how are you feeling?" lena asked you. she leaned back against the counter as she watched you put the last dish in the dishwasher. you had fought her about leaving the dishes in the sink for tomorrow and cleaning up, but lena relented in the end. she had rinsed a few of the pots and pans before you were even home anyway, that was enough help as you'd accept.

"nervous, but in a good way. i trust you though, just show me what you like i guess," you told her. lena smiled as she pulled you in for a kiss. this one was soft and sweet, a gentle press of her lips against yours. the next couple ventured away from that territory, right up until lena was pinning you against the counter by the kitchen sink and kissing you absolutely breathless.

"i'm going to find out all of the things that you like. maybe it'll take more than a night, but we have the rest of our lives to figure everything out." lena picked you up with ease and carried you into her bedroom. every part of the house had been done up for tonight, so it shouldn't have come as a shock to you to see the candles and flowers all over the room.

"you spoil me. what if i want this every time we have sex?" you asked her.

it was a teasing question, but lena answered you with complete sincerity, "then i will do this every single time. there is nothing i wouldn't do to make you happy."

"i love you," you told her. lena blushed as she pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"i love you too," she mumbled. you threaded your fingers through her hair and lifted her head up so that she was looking at you. she repeated herself, suddenly a little afraid that you hadn't heard her. you pulled her in for another kiss, opening your mouth almost immediately to welcome her tongue.

lena dropped onto her knees on the bed to lay you down gently. her body quickly covered yours once again, and lena slotted herself in between your legs. the two of you had laid like that before, but now it felt different. both of you knew where this was leading, and while lena would assure you that you could turn back whenever you wanted, you knew otherwise.

you were grateful for lena taking her clothes off first, even if you had been head over heels for the outfit. it was rare that you got to see lena out of her kit or the sweats that she liked to wear around the house. and while there was little hotter to you than lena walking around in a tank top and sweatpants, the black slacks and white button up that lena had worn for tonight drove you a little crazy.

however, you were glad to not feel quite so underdressed for the occasion. you hadn't changed from the jean shorts and t-shirt of lena's that you had worn out for shopping. lena had barely let you go whenever she saw you in her shirt that morning, but you had compromised with her by cuddling on the couch until laura and sydney came bursting through lena's apartment doors.

"can i touch you?" lena asked as she motioned towards your bare chest. she was almost completely naked above you, only wearing her underwear. your shorts were still on, lena slowly making her way down your body. your lips were bruised from kissing her, and there were little wet spots from lena kissing along your neck and jaw.

"please do," you told her. lena smiled, dipping her head down to press a kiss to the little dip in between your collarbones. lena's hands massaged your breasts as she littered kisses all over your chest. you could feel that you were wet, but you didn't want to rush lena. as many times as she had told you that this was for you, you had reminded yourself that this was also for her as well. it was your first time, yes, but it was also your first time together.

with each inch that lena moved down your body, you felt your arousal and anticipation grow. you were practically shaking by the time that lena finally reached your shorts. she opened her mouth to ask if you still wanted to continue, only to be met with you impatiently shimmying yourself out of them. lena had the tact to hide her amusement, but you didn't miss the little glimmer in her eye.

it wasn't the amusement that you had mistaken it for. after your show of enthusiasm, lena let her own eagerness be known. the kisses that lena pressed to your hips and thighs were messy, much messier than the ones placed on your chest. lena paused and sucked a hickey onto the inside of your thigh, barely an inch away from where you were practically frothing at the mouth waiting for her to touch you.

"mine," lena muttered sweetly as she ran her finger over the hickey.

"make me yours," you begged her. you weren't sure what had compelled you to say that, but if lena's reaction was anything to go by, it was the right decision. lena grabbed your thighs and held them apart. you heard her swear as she really got a good look at you spread out in front of her.

there was nothing that could have prepared you for the feeling of lena's mouth on your cunt. you had kissed her hundreds of times already, but her lips felt completely different between your legs. you blindly reached around for something to grab until you felt lena take your hands in hers. it was sweet and grounded you, distracting you from your rapidly approaching orgasm.

"i don't want to cum yet," you whined. lena lifted her head to look at you. there was something reassuring in her eyes, something that quelled the panicked thoughts about embarrassing yourself in front of her.

"it's okay, let it happen. it always happens faster than you'd like the first time." lena spoke gently, more so than you had ever heard her before. you closed your eyes and tried to only focus on the way that lena felt as her tongue moved between your folds.

you couldn't stop the moans and all the little noises that normally would have embarrassed you. lena hummed appreciatively at each noise you made, like all she wanted was to hear them again. the focus of lena's tongue switched from just lazily lapping at your cunt to zeroing in on your clit. you felt a finger press against your entrance, rubbing teasingly as if she hadn't planned on actually entering you.

"lena, i think i'm gonna cum," you warned her. lena just sort of squeezed your hand as she continued with a steady pace. lena didn't want to overload your senses, so she tried to keep things going a little slower. she paid attention to every little signal that your body was giving her, helping you reach your peak and work yourself through it.

"you did so good," lena praised as she littered your face with kisses. your cheeks were flushed and your chest was heaving. you had made yourself cum a couple of times before, but it was nothing like having lena touch you. the feeling of lena touching you made you never want to even try to get yourself off ever again. "how are you feeling?"

"i've never felt like that before," you told her. it was a good feeling, but you couldn't quite articulate that yet. lena nodded, seemingly in understanding, and cupped your cheeks to pull you in for a kiss. "i can't believe i didn't ask for that earlier."

"go on to the shower. i'm gonna put the sheets in the wash," lena told you. she tried to move away, but you clung to her like your life depended on it. "liebe, we have to clean up."

"yes, and you can come shower with me. then, when we're out, you can put the sheets in the wash while i pick out something to watch in the living room." lena wasn't going to argue with you, especially not when your plan included a chance to shower with her. you knew that you had won when lena didn't try to argue with you, so you pulled her out of bed and towards the bathroom. your legs were a bit shaky still, so lena held onto your hips to steady you the whole way.

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ BROKEN FRAGMENTS

ᯓ★ Kurt finds you hurting yourself. Graphic description of cuts and scars/gore (?), SH, comfort, can be read as platonically or intimately. Reader is fem!! (I do not condone to anything in this fic. I just wanted to provide comfort to those who need the love they deserve.)

۫ ꣑ৎ Please reach out to someone if you're going through a tough time. Do not suffer in silence. YOU deserve to feel safe just like many others. Warning, this may be triggering for some so PLS DONT FORCE YOURSELF TO READ IF ITS TOO MUCH

ᯓ★

How you found yourself starting this habit was like a haze. You don't remember it all that well, but the emotions, the overwhelming emotion of guilt and pain always made it feel like it was just yesterday.

You had your reasons to carry out such acts.

But you knew that those reasons weren't an excuse for this.

Deep down you knew it was bad... but if it's bad, why does it make you feel so much better?

Should you feel guilty for wanting to be better?

After all, you never really knew how to express yourself... it always felt like this was the only way for it.

You made your way through the corridors of the mansion. The others had went for a mission so it was just you left behind. Why you weren't chosen to go was unclear but you had a grudge on why.

You tried your hardest to ignore it but you can feel how everybody was beginning to worry about you.

Moments where they'd take short glances of you...

Asking you if you wanted to hangout more...

Even secret talks regarding your wellbeing...

You'd be an idiot if you chose to believe your change of behaviour wasn't taking its effects on the others. You just feel like you've lost the spark you used to have in you. But can they blame you when you no longer have the energy to fight?

You retreated to your room, sitting on your bed to stare at the ground for a good few seconds before letting out a sigh. You searched through your drawers, looking for the exact thing you needed to get your mind off of these thoughts.

You really wanna stop... but it's so hard to...

Your hand just itches each time...

Your mind was a race track where the thoughts won't stop until one finally crashes.

You pulled up the sleeve of your hoodie, collection of scars that went back to weeks ago. Maybe even months. You're not sure and you could care less about it.

One...

Two....

Three....

Four.........

You continued on, the sight of the blood made you feel alive again. It was like you've pulled the curtain aside to reveal what was behind it. Your flesh and blood. Your very proof of existence. To prove you were real and breathing.

However that moment of euphoria soon vanished... you stare, almost blankly at the cuts as the blood continued on dripping out.

Why do you never feel good enough?

When will the time come where this moment will just be a faded memory?

Why—

Suddenly there was a knock on the door but before you could respond, it opened by itself.

"(Y/N) I wanted to—"

The sight left him quiet. Kurt, who's smile was on his face dropped immediately the second he saw what was happening. You stare back, guilt heavy in your gaze as your face turned red.

Oh nononononono....

Whatdoyoudo?run??hide???kickhimout???

Before you can even think of how to act, he was the first to act, he took a few steps inside your room before closing the door shut behind him. He approaches you, carefully, almost like you were a wild animal he didn't wanna scare off because it was clear you felt tensed and afraid of how he may react.

Once he was close enough, he looked at you with a concerned expression on his face. It was visible to see that he was more worried about your wellbeing than anything right now.

"Do you wanna talk?" He knelt down in front of you, his eyes roamed over your body to see just how much harm you’ve done to yourself.

You look at him, afraid to speak. Afraid he may not understand and right away, he understood what you were trying to express in your eyes and he tilts his head with a sympathic smile.

"…I’m not angry at you" He said, a soft and understanding expression on his face as he looked at you.

Just then, Kurt slowly reaches out to you and places his hands over yours, gently prying the blade from your hands. Even though the sight of the blood on your hands worries him, he manages to keep a calm and relaxed demeanor for your sake.

"Shhh. It's okay...it's okay..." He mumbles to you in a soft comforting tone as he sets the blade aside and gently take your bloody hands back in his.

Even though some may get on his. It didn't matter, all that mattered to him, was making you feel okay.

Sensing you didn't have the strength to speak... and seeing the tears forming in your eyes. He caresses the sides of your face to wipe the tears away with his thumb. His touch was gentle and in a way it comforted you.

Your avoiding eyes finally locked with his, just to be met with his warm and soft yellow eyes that made your heart melt. Despite how seeing the slight fear in your own eyes made his heart ache, he manages to give you a soft smile.

"It's going to be okay..." He assured as he held you closely against his chest, gently rubbing your back in a soothing manner. He was slightly surprised at how small your body felt in his arms, but that just made him want to hold you more tightly in his arms and tell you that everything would be alright.

"You're not alone... I'm here for you. I promise..." He softly placed his hand on the back of your head and gently stroked your hair.

His words and how he was treating you made you feel seen.

Cared for.

Loved.

"I'm sorry" You tried to stop your tears but you were unable to hold everything in anymore. At the same time, the burn of the cut made your skin itch.

"Shhh... it's okay" He muttered, holding you tighter to have you cry on his chest.

"You don't have to apologize... Shhh... it's going to be alright..." He continued on stroking your hair comfortingly while he rest his head on top of yours.

Kurt hold you closely to his chest, his arms wrapped around you as you cried like your lungs were burning. His cheek was now rested against the top of your head and how he carried on to make gentle hushing noises in an attempt to soothe you made you feel appeased.

"You're safe... you're safe... I promise you’re safe with me" He said.

The room was quiet as you two remained in each other's arms. No amount of words could express how belonged you felt in his embrace. Even though your face was a mess of tears and snot, he didn't care if it was getting all over his shirt because none of that mess is equal to the situation you're in right now.

By the time you have calmed down, he felt it was the okay time to treat your scars now. Being as gentle as he could, he lifted your head so he could look at your self-inflicted wounds, his expression showing his concern but not a trace of judgement.

"Let me help you" He said softly, his voice just as gentle as his touch.

You watched when he got up to get a band aid kit from your closet. Then returning back on the bed, the mattress sinking back down from his weight. Kurt grabbed a piece of clean towel and you couldn't help but find the sight of him dapping it gently on your cuts with such focus touching.

After applying a thin layer of antibiotics, he took a roll of sterile gauze from inside the first-aid kit and gently wrapped the gauze around your hands and arms to help stop the bleeding and prevent further scarring if possible. His touch was firm but tender, his fingers carefully wrapping the gauze around your wounds.

Once he had finished bandaging your hands and arms, he gently cupped your face in his hands and looked at you with care in his eyes.

"Are you feeling better now?" He asked and you hesitated... then nodded.

Seeing you nod made him feel a bit relieved, but he could still sense that you were feeling vulnerable and fearful. He looks at you with a glint of hope.

"You don't have to tell me everything now... let's take it slowly... hm?" He said and you nodded again, a grateful smile on your face.

"Mein hübsches mädchen" He leaned in, resting his forehead on yours as he closes his eyes.

"Lieber Gott, bitte schütze dieses Mädchen vor allem Bösen und Schaden. Helft ihr, sich zu erholen und zu heilen. Schenke ihr Frieden und Trost in dieser schwierigen Zeit" He uttered, a prayer you assumed, his voice was small and hushed that it was comforting listening to him.

When he finally opened his eyes, he smiles at you, his fangs becoming noticeable as well.

"What do you say we raid the kitchen? Hm?" He asked and with that playful look on his face. It was hard to say no.

"Yeah..." You answered and he gave you one last squeeze of a hug.

"I know you're hurt and scared, mein liebling. But I promise I'll always be here for you. Together we can get through anything" He said, his words being enough to make you feel better now.

"Thank you"

Deep down you knew your habits would still haunt you but at least now you felt there was somebody there for you, to help and care for you.

Healing itself has no end but is a lifelong journey.

A journey Kurt is willing to go on with you.

[justananxiousweirdo]

Can I request a fic where reader and joost are together but some mean girls/groupies who want him are being bullies and saying the reader doesn't deserve him?? It hits right in the insecurities and reader thinks maybe they're right but it's all fluffy and cute <3 I'm a big fan of your blog <3

I love this request. You’re amazing. Forehead kisses for you <3

Joost x Reader

You ran up to Joost the second he got off stage, peppering the side of his face in soft kisses. You were always so proud of him every time he performed. He made his way to the VIP area where his fans were waiting for him, you on his arm of course. For the most part the fans were nice just talking to Joost and getting a selfie and a signature. You were more than happy to take pictures for fans until you got to a group of three girls. All dressed in a little too little for the cold weather of the outdoor venue. You thought their outfits were cute, but not cold Netherlands weather friendly. When they asked to take a selfie with Joost you offered to take the picture for them, the three girls gave you a nasty look.

“No. It’s okay.”

“Yeah we don’t need you taking the picture.”

You furrowed your brows and tried to ignore it. But it just felt so unnecessary. Soon Aspon approached Joost and while Joost was distracted the girls turned to you again.

“What are you even doing here?”

“Joost deserves someone much better than you.”

“And hotter too.”

“You’re not good enough for him.”

They silenced the second Joost turned back around but their words weighed on you and Joost could tell something was up.

“Goodnight everybody! Hope you enjoyed the show!” Joost waved goodbye to his fans leading you away with him by the small out your back.

The second you made it to his dressing room he immediately asked you what was wrong. With tears you tried to say it was nothing. You didn’t want to bother him with your insecurities and you knew Joost would be sad to know his fans treated you like that. Or what if.. what if Joost realized they were right? You couldn’t bare the thought of losing him. You began crying harder and Joost pulled you into his chest kissing your forehead.

“Schatje.. tell me what’s on your pretty mind.”

“Those girls… they said I wasn’t enough for you… and that you deserved someone better…” you broke out between sobs.

“Oh, liefde, they’re so wrong. I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you. You’re the best woman I could’ve ever asked for. I love you more than anything in this world.” He wiped away your tears.

“Really?” Your tears began to dry.

“Of course, I’d do anything for you darling.”

You smiled at Joost thanking him for helping you feel better and he pressed another light kiss to your forehead before leaning down to capture your lips in a very passionate kiss. He also took the liberty of taking a picture of your kiss and posting it to his insta story saying how lucky he was to have you.

You two spent the rest of the night tangled in each other’s arms telling each other how much you loved one another. Joost was the best boyfriend ever.

Hope you enjoyed:)

[saturdaynightspecialpresentation]

Poor Things

First of all, Emma Stone’s performance is as good as everybody is saying. Stone takes a very difficult role that easily could have gone very, very wrong and makes it look like the most effortless thing in the world.

I have been looking at the reviews, good and bad, and I think that the minority of people who didn’t vibe with this movie had slightly skewed expectations.

Poor Things starts out at Tetsuo The Iron Man levels of fucked up, but by the end it has dropped to Edward Scissor hands levels of fucked up. This is probably plenty of weirdness for the average movie-goer, but true connoisseurs of mondo cinema should calibrate their expectations.

Second, apparently this is being talked up as a sort of feminist coming of age fable chronicling an everywoman’s sexual awakening and liberation, and it really isn’t that, and I think if you are hoping for that you’ll come away disappointed.

Better, I think, to look at it as an autistic coming of age fable and power fantasy, which I think it does a tremendous job at.

Very minor spoilers under the cut; really, this is more an essay about what I thought the film was about than a review, my review would be that it's somehow simultaneously a feel-good crowd-pleaser AND a movie where an adult woman with the brain of a toddler stabs the eyes out of a corpse with a scalpel and then plays with its penis (I wasn't kidding with the Tetsuo comparison)

Honestly now that I've actually written that out I have maybe underestimated how impressive it is that Yorgos Lanthimos made a movie where that happens on screen but somehow basically everybody loves the movie.

In terms of sex, we do watch Bella discover sex, but she very quickly comes to a conclusion about her relationship with it which never once changes throughout the rest of the movie:

She likes it, she likes it more with an attractive partner, she is utterly lacking in any kind of sexual jealousy, and she doesn't attach too much more to it than that.

This is an odd comparison, but Bella treats sex the way Joey did on Friends. A man acting this way is a sitcom cliche, but a woman acting the same way…

This is a film that is really, really not interested in the real-world consequences of this kind of sex; in fact, given that a pregnancy is the inciting incident of the film, it came off a little weird to me that the possibility of a pregnancy or STD was never really addressed (unless there was a line or two that I missed while I was in the bathroom).

For the most part, though, I was able to get past it by just thinking of it as a heightened world. The sets and settings are extremely artificial, and ultimately I figured, “Hey, if I can buy this kind of thing as harmless and fun in a sitcom, I can buy it in this other kind of heightened reality.

I will say, I don't think Bella is meant to be an every-woman, and that there's textual support for this in the film itself.

All of the women Bella deals with in some way question her approach to sex, making it clear, sometimes through explicit dialog, other times more reading between the lines, that her approach to sex is not for them.

If there’s any particularly feminist message in the film, it’s that when confronted with Bella’s bizarre approach to the world, none of the women get angry at her, and most of the men she meets do.

But Bella’s relationships with other women aren’t really the meat of the film, that’s more about her relationship with men, and particularly the way that they feel, deep in their bones, that they should have control over any woman that they have sex with.

Duncan Wedderburn, when he first discovers Bella and convinces her to go away with him, thinks he is tricking and seducing a beautiful naif who he can use and then discard when he tires of her. Their relationship disintegrates as it becomes clear that Bella hasn’t been tricked at all; she wanted exactly what he was able to give, a chance to sow her wild oats by having some no strings attached sex with an attractive, likable person in an exciting foreign city.

This makes Wedderburn increasingly unhappy and unhinged (He says at one point that he has become what he hates, a “grasping succubus”) much to Bella’s growing consternation. She has no idea why he can’t simply be happy having sex with her and otherwise letting her do what she wants, and he is so committed to a certain vision of gender roles that he can’t even begin to explain it, he can only lash out in frustration.

And that I think is the meatier part of the film; Bella doesn’t so much flout social expectations as she is simply totally unaware that they exist. 

Honestly I think the character isn’t so much coded as autistic as she just is autistic. Bella is a woman who is basically totally unaware of social expectations and constantly taken aback to discover that they exist.

More than that, she has to figure out a way to work around the fact that many of the people who become most enraged by her are also so totally lacking in self-reflection, and view their social situation as so normal, so self-evidently obvious that they cannot explain to her why it is she has made them angry. They suddenly fly into rages that clearly perplex Bella and which they themselves don’t even bother to explain, because they regard their own ideas as self-evident.

Bella is an idealized autistic hero; personally as outlandish as she is I don’t really think the film expects us to take the side of anybody else, and I think there are some fairly subtle and accurate bits of autistic behavior on her part.

She responds to life as a kind of social experiment, attempting to parse out a set of logical rules and, especially in the latter parts of the movie, she often justifies her actions with a perfectly sensible internal logic that the emotional men in her life can’t parse out. Late in the film, when she and Wedderburn are destitute, she prostitutes herself for 30 francs, and with implacable logic, explains the two reasons that Wedderburn ought to be quite happy she has done so: First, her john was much worse at sex than Wedderburn, which ought to satisfy his ego, and second, they now have 30 francs and the potential to earn more.

Wedderburn does not appreciate her logical approach.

Another thing that strikes me as very true is that Bella has a very odd theory of mind for other people. There’s a scene where, traumatized by the unspeakable poverty and suffering she sees in Alexandria, she puts all of Wedderburn’s money in a box and rushes out to give it to the poor. Unfortunately the ship is leaving, but two port attendants tell her that they will be staying on the island, and would be happy to deliver a package. She tells them that she has a big box filled with money and they should give it to the island’s poor, and they agree to do so. Now, the film never tells us one way or another whether they keep their word; but Bella herself retains an iron certainty that they did exactly what she asked them to. Now, we know Bella understands what lying and deceit are, because we’ve seen her trick people before, like when she chloroforms McCandles to run away with Wedderburn. But it never once occurs to her that these sailors might do something similar. Call it paradoxical, but that kind of thinking is common in autistic people.

There’s also the scene where the self-professed cynic Harry Astley shows her the suffering in Alexandria; he admits, when he sees how terribly it has affected her, that he didn’t tell her simply because he thought it was the truth of the world, but that her attitude made him angry, and he wanted to hurt her. A very common part of the autistic coming of age is the slow realization that not everything people tell you is part of a dispassionate, scientific search for the truth.

There’s also a scene in a whorehouse in which Bella argues that it would make more sense to have the women decide who is to sleep with the johns, so that then the john could be more confident that the girl was attracted to him, which he must doubt if he chooses. You can tell I’m autistic because I immediately had the thought, “Well, but the johns would probably be worried that nobody would choose them.”

One of Bella’s fellow working girls instead tells her, “Some of them like the fact that we don’t have a choice”.

[wiltedreamofbaldursgate]

Steady Hands, Frame My Love

characters: Astarion x race/class neutral fem!Tav/reader word count: +3.2k Rating: M trigger warning: mild-ish sexual content. bad eyebrows. This hasn't been beta-read nor am I a native speaker. read on ao3 read more BG3 one shots

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror.

“Come out, spawn. There is no use in hiding.”

You know there is trouble when you spot Lae'zel in front of Astarion’s tent. Her tiny nose is scrunched up in a way that would be cute if it didn’t mean she wants to skin someone alive. The perfectly sharpened blade twitching in her hand is just another hint that she’s out for blood. You almost can’t blame Astarion for hiding from the Githyanki warrior’s wrath—almost, because it’s within every reason to assume he’s brought her wrath upon himself. 

Taking a quick look around camp, you find that everybody is suspiciously busy minding their own business for once, skillfully ignoring the one-sided commotion in front of your lover’s tent. You can’t really blame them either; it’s been a very long day, and everybody wants to get some rest before dinner. You have half the mind to do the very same when Lae'zel’s intense gaze suddenly locks with yours—an honest rookie mistake.

There’s no use pretending you haven’t noticed her now, so you put your journal aside and approach the red tent with long strides and a smile that you can only hope will have a calming effect on her. Unsurprisingly, your hopes are shattered instantly. 

Lae'zel doesn’t wait for you to friendly inquire about what the fuck the matter is this time; before you can even open your mouth, she’s all the way in your face.

“The spawn does as he pleases!”

Lae'zel would need to get a great deal more specific when it comes to Astarion, but you refrain from telling her so, opting for a questioning look instead. 

The young warrior shakes her head, annoyed that her explanation isn’t sufficient enough for your small istik brain to comprehend.

“It is the spawn’s turn to fetch water from the stream. Thus is his duty,” Lae'zel explains slowly, accentuating every word with a well-placed hiss to get her point across. “A duty he fails to perform.” 

You think it is progress that she isn’t waving her sword at you, although she does glare at you as if you were the offending party, which—since your relationship with the pale elf has become common knowledge around camp—you somewhat are.

“Where I am from, we make sure to keep our mates in check, however pleasing they might be. You might want to do the same.” 

Maybe not so much progress, after all.

“Haven't I made myself quite clear on that before, Lae'zel?”

Holding her intense glare, you stare the warrior down. You have made yourself clear on occasion—you aren’t Astarion’s keeper. 

It takes a moment, but Lae'zel is the first to break eye contact, eventually taking a step back. Not lowering your gaze, you wait patiently for her to continue.

“The spawn would better honour his word, or else…” She spits, not at you, but at Astarion’s firmly closed tent flap. 

“I will remind him,” you assure her, not unkindly.

Lae'zel looks you up and down before she inclines her head ever so slightly.

“I trust you will,” she drawls, glaring at the tent one last time before she stalks away.

Left to take care of the issue at hand, you frown at the closed tent flap. As much as Astarion bitches about pulling his weight in camp, it’s unlike him to not do his chores one way or the other. And now that you think about it, he’s set up his tent uncharacteristically fast earlier, too, not even trying to rope anyone in to help him do his work. The realisation that you haven’t seen him since he vanished into said tent quite a while ago settles unpleasantly in your stomach. 

“Astarion?”

You step closer to the heavy fabric closing off the tent’s entrance, listening. There’s no answer, although you do hear some hurried movement from within the tent. It’s a good sign, you suppose.

“You good in there?”

The silence stretches for another moment before Astarion finally lets out an exaggerated sigh. Going by the sound of it, he, too, must be standing rather close to the entrance.

“Truth be told, darling, I have been better.”

“Are you hurt?” You ask, not bothering to hide the obvious worry lacing your voice. 

When could he have even gotten hurt? Haven’t you checked up on everyone after your earlier fight with some overly pesky, giant spiders? Or is he just messing with you—trying to avoid his laborious chore after all?

It takes yet another moment for Astarion to mumble something incomprehensible in reply. With raised eyebrows, you repeat your question, which earns you another sigh from him, this time more exasperated than theatrical. 

“I just so happened to get some acid in my face when we took care of those cursed spiders and—”

“And?” You press, alarmed.

“It’s nothing, darling, really; it’s just—well…”

“Astarion!”

The vampire curses, and you can hear him step even closer to the tent’s opening, closer to you. You’re almost sure that if you pressed your hand against the fabric shielding him from you, you would be able to touch him. 

“They're gone,” he says, his voice so low you have to strain your ears to hear him. 

Your frown deepens. “What is?” 

More mumbling reaches your ear, and Astarion has to repeat himself twice before you can eventually make any sense of his words. You stare at the tent flap in disbelief. You can't have heard right.

“Your eyebrows are gone?”

Astarion inhales sharply. “Must you scream it around for everyone to hear? Come in, come in!”

Not knowing what to expect, you enter the tent. 

Astarion has retreated to the shadows; his hand is firmly pressed against his forehead. You stare up at him, trying to assess the situation. He looks pained alright, although you have an inkling it’s more from wounded vanity than actual injury. As you step closer to him, you give him a reassuring smile.

“So, acid, huh? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He is not convinced. At all. Wordlessly, he’s staring back at you, his jaw set. Your smile fades.

“Let me take a look?” You try again, feeling your already shaky optimism dwindle further.  

He thinks it over for a couple of heartbeats before he slowly drags his hand to his hairline, pushing up the stands of white hair that usually fall so gracefully in his face… 

Astarion must’ve drunk a healing potion because the presumably once-angry burns on his skin have already faded into pale red blotches sprinkled all over his forehead. By morning, nobody would even be able to tell the acid burns were ever there—were it not for Astarion’s eyebrows, or what’s left of them, that is.

You instantly force your face into a mask of neutrality. You have to approach this very delicately.

“It’s… salvageable. Really,” is all you can blurt out, though. 

Astarion’s crimson eyes grow comically round, accentuated by the lack of eyebrows; he doesn’t believe a word you say, which you can’t really hold against him. You’re talking shit. It’s bad, and you wonder how in the nine hells you haven’t noticed this before.

“You can redraw them here and…there,” you go on for lack of anything better to say—Gods, you really should shut up. “Fill them back in, you know…?” 

Astarion wets his lips while you're evading his piercing gaze.

“Why, what a grand idea,” he breathes, shakily. “I never would’ve thought of that myself. If only there wasn’t this one peculiar little thing. What was it again, my dear?”

You cringe. Of course. Of course… How could you forget?

“Ah, right…” You only notice the delicate hand mirror Astarion was holding when it flies across the tent, shattering somewhere on the bare ground farthest from you. “I can’t fucking see my face!” 

As if all strength has left his body, Astarion sinks to the ground, where he lets himself fall back into his pile of blankets, arms draped over his eyes. It’s all rather dramatic, but you guess you can’t have one without the other. 

Grimacing, because you’re sorry for him, you sink to your knees next to him, gently tugging at his sleeve. 

“Do you want me to do it? Redraw them, I mean.”

You can tell by the way Astarion sits up as if struck by lightning that he was only waiting for your offer. Suddenly very close, he considers you with narrowed eyes.

“I suppose you could,” he muses, tracing the shape of your left eyebrow with his index finger. “You usually look presentable enough.” 

You let the comment slide, but not without rolling your eyes at him. It’s just show, though, a way to suppress a smile. Astarion thinks he’s sly about it, but you catch him often enough looking at you as if you were the sun at dawn. 

Of course, you would never dare mention that to him.

“Give me a minute,” you say instead, already rising to your feet, were it not for the cold fingers curling around your wrist.

Astarion gives you a stern look as he's holding you in place, his nose nearly brushing against yours. “Not a word to anyone about this.” 

You give him a solemn look in return as you comb your fingers through his hair, gently guiding some stray locks back into place. “I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your hand is trembling just a little—enough for Astarion to notice. Enough for that damn smirk to find its way to his lips. You hold your breath. 

“Nervous, love?” 

Yes, and it’s stupid because you’ve done this often enough—daily, even. It’s just easier to apply cosmetics on yourself, sitting in front of a mirror and not kneeling in front of him, trying to evade his piercing gaze. 

“Why would I be?” You scowl, readjusting the hold on your charred willow stick that has yet to make contact with Astarion’s skin. “Aren’t my eyebrows, are they?”

You shift closer to him, brushing against his leg with your knee, which doesn’t help your case at all. You can’t help feeling a little shaky when he’s this close—and he knows it. 

“No need to tremble like a virgin, then, my sweet.” 

Giving him a sharp look, you draw back a little, although you don’t make it far. 

“Maybe you just need to come a little closer still,” he purrs as his hand takes hold of the back of your knee, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. “Might be less distracting for you…”

For someone close to having a meltdown less than fifteen minutes ago, he’s surely having lots of fun now. Biting your lower lip, you adjust your weight, straddling Astarion properly. Trying to ignore the hard body pressing against yours, you assess the natural growth of his eyebrows again, eventually setting the tip of the charred willow stick down on his skin, only to remove it again. This won’t work like this. 

“Honestly, can you please just close your eyes?” 

Astarion scoffs. “Should I blow out the candles, too, while I’m at it? Leave the nightdress on?” 

“Shut up, or you’ll end up looking like a clown.” 

That eventually does the trick. He gives you one last look that is somewhere between peeved and wary before he closes his eyes. 

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing, to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror. The thought alone makes you shudder.

Astarion’s hand wanders up from your knee to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze; this time, his touch is more encouragement than teasing. 

After taking a deep breath, you lean back in. 

With steady hands, you begin to redraw the missing parts of his eyebrows. Taking your time, you make sure to follow the natural shape of them; to blend out the colour where the charcoal comes off as too stark a contrast to his white hair. 

While you’re working, Astarion doesn’t move one bit, eager—for once—to not fluster you. It’s not until you lean back to consider the fruits of your labour that he opens his eyes again. 

“And?”

“Well,” you muse, “you look presentable enough.” 

He scowls as you throw his own words back at him; you suppress a laugh before you take his face between your hands.

“If I could see the stars right now, I could not tell them apart from you,” you proclaim, mimicking his dramatics once again. It’s not as funny when you do it, so you’re quick to add, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

You mean it, and Astarion knows it; trusts that you do. He leans forward to brush a kiss against your lips, hugging you to him, which is as much thanks as you expected to receive. 

“Will you do it again tomorrow? And the day after,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, “please?”  

“Of course,” you assure him, deepening the embrace, “until they’ve grown back.”  

Astarion hums in agreement and you remain like this for a moment before you pull back to look into his eyes, which are once again framed by a pair of sharp eyebrows accentuating his perfect features. 

“I should’ve noticed earlier,” you say, at last. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good mirror, it seems.” 

Astarion frowns at you, the intensity of his gaze taking you aback as it is wont to do. 

“Don’t be,” he urges, gently taking your dominant hand in his. He runs his fingers along the back of it, careful not to put too much pressure on your still-raw skin. His touch stings nonetheless, reminding you of your own acid burns that have yet to heal—those spiders really are a menace. “You should be more careful, too, you know? You’re the only working mirror I have.”

You’re lying flat on your back before you can even gasp in surprise. To your embarrassment, your legs have already wrapped around Astarion’s waist; all you can see is that damn smirk on his lips as he’s towering over you, his face barely a finger width away from yours. Your breath hitches as you take him in; nobody has any right to be this beautiful. 

“It would be a shame if I lost it, my precious little mirror,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours. 

It’s a far cry from his earlier kiss—heated, needy. Knowing you don’t stand a chance against his tongue gliding over your lower lip, you open your mouth to him, slowly losing yourself in him. There’s really nothing easier than that.

Your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer as your fingers dig through his locks, eliciting a low moan from him. This is a lot more thanks for your service than you’ve expected, but you find yourself unable to complain. Your mouth is far too occupied for that anyway.

It’s almost obscene how easily Astarion can undo your stays and by the time his hand finds its way underneath your thin shirt, your mind is long clouded by lust. Leaving goosebumps in its wake, his hand glides over your belly up to your sternum before it firmly cups your breast. The lazy pace of his thumb drawing circles around your hardened nipple has you aching your back, trying to ease the wet heat gathering between your legs. 

Wet.

Somewhere very far in the back of your mind, you remember that you had a reason for coming to him earlier—way before you ended up on his lap, let alone underneath him. Let alone this damn wet. What was it again? 

You break loose from Astarion to take a quick breath. Not wasting any time away from you, his lips begin to trace along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone; his wicked grin is painfully obvious against your skin. By the time you realise Astarion is scheming something, he’s already pushing his knee under your ass, repositioning you so that you can feel his hardness pressing against your core. You hiss at the sudden contact. 

Ah, right—hiss! Lae'zel.

You throw your head back with a sigh as Astarion begins to grind his hips against you, making any thought of the Githyanki warrior evaporate quickly. Fuck Lae'zel and her sense of duty and honour. You can just sit out her wrath with Astarion right here, right now, however long it may take. It doesn’t really matter that you’re not sitting much, either.

But then again, maybe this is why your companions take offence at you the moment Astarion is stepping out of line, although you’re sure they would be biassed, too, if they knew how positively divine he feels—especially when he’s teasing the waistband of your trousers with his long fingers as he does now. Your hips move in answer to his touch, and yet…Fuck.

You groan. Not with pleasure but from your own sense of duty. The others trust you as much as Astarion does; that’s why they somehow thought it wise to make you their leader. Almost annoyed with yourself, you prop yourself up on one elbow, pressing your hand against Astarion’s chest, telling him to stop before you’re way past the point of no return. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. His hair is messy and his lips are red and swollen from your kisses and by the Gods you want him to fuck you. It takes you a very long moment to gather yourself.

“Now that we took care of your issue,” you pant, tracing the shape of his left eyebrow with your index finger, “you might wanna go fetch water if you don’t want Lae'zel to wipe them off right away.” 

Tilting his head, Astarion gives you a long look. His fingers keep digging into your thigh which has you grinding your teeth to suppress another sigh. He doesn’t buy your attempt at keeping order and peace, not when he can undoubtedly feel you trembling with need for him. You’re not even protesting when he leans back over you, one arm next to your head to support his weight. 

“So, what?” he breathes against your shoulder before planting a hot kiss against your skin. And another. And another, as he is slowly kissing his way down your body. “You said you would redo them over and over and over again, didn’t you, darling?” 

Holding your breath, you watch your shirt being pushed up the lower he’s moving down on you, gasping only when the crisp evening air caresses your exposed chest. 

Astarion’s trail of kisses comes to a halt right below your belly button. His crimson eyes are looking at you expectantly but you’re too preoccupied with his fingers slowly undoing your trousers to make any sense of his wordless question. You swallow. 

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He repeats, the amusement evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you nod rather enthusiastically. “No problem. Not at all.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Astarion grins, finally freeing you of your trousers to see how pathetically ready you already are for him.

Duty can wait a little longer, you decide as you give yourself over to the pale elf. You only promised Lae'zel to remind Astarion of his chores, not that you would make him do them, you reason. 

You’re not his keeper, after all. 

[crownmemes]

Advice; Everyone Should Be Making the First Move

There's been a trend within the rpc here for years now where nobody is willing to make the first move. The problem with this is that if nobody ever makes the first move, then nobody is ever going to write anything. Considering that, everybody should be making an effort to be the first one to reach out to their writing partners more often.

Examples of making the first move:

Sending an IM to say hi, then suggesting a plot

Sending a meme to start a new thread

Responding to starter calls and open starters

All of this is just as valid for old partners as it is for new. If you haven't written with someone in a while, maybe it's time to reach out to start a new thread?

The most common reason I see for people not making the first move is social anxiety. I'm going to give you all a bit of tough love here: speaking as somebody who once had crippling social anxiety (and still does in irl settings), the best way to overcome it is to push yourself to try the things that make you anxious.

Communicating with people is a really important part of rp because it's not a solo hobby, therefore you are going to have to talk to people at some point. It's unavoidable. Here are a few reminders to help you feel a little less nervous:

If somebody follows back, they're doing it because they're interested in writing with you. They are not going to be upset if you send them an IM with plot ideas

Most people are friendly! In 12 years of rping on this site, I can count on one hand the number of people who I've talked to that were actively rude to me

It's okay if someone says no to you! People have different styles and not all of them will work together. If someone says no, say thank you for the consideration, then move on. There are more people to write with out there

If somebody is nasty to you, you can block them. Don't be afraid to do this; you don't have to explain yourself, and you wouldn't want to write with someone who's rude to you anyway

If you're not sure what to say, I usually go with a version of "Hello! Thank you for following/following back! I've looked through your rules and about pages. Would you be interested in plotting something for X and my character, Y? I have an idea already, if you would like to hear?"

Don't just say "Hi!". Cut to the chase and tell them why you're messaging so they immediately know what the conversation is about

Reasons why it's good to message first:

You look actively interested in writing. This is a huge boost in your favour when it comes to asking to write with someone

It makes it a lot easier to get new interactions

It makes you appear more active

If you're a new blog, you won't have a lot of examples of your writing on your blog yet. People will be more willing to give you a chance if you approach them first

If you don't message first, you are likely to be waiting a long time before somebody messages you

It's easier to make friends if you have an active conversation!

Some other thoughts on messaging first:

You have followed the person because you are interested in writing with them. Think about why you are interested, and suggest this as a plot idea

Make sure you read through the rules still. It's very obvious when you haven't. Also, look through the muses on offer so you can suggest which you'd like to write with

If the rules say they're not mutuals only, or that you're welcome to IM to introduce yourself if you want to plot, don't be afraid to message. They wouldn't have put that in their rules if they didn't mean it

If someone is reblogging memes, it's because they want to write responses to them. Send them in! If they didn't want them sent in, they wouldn't have reblogged the meme

IMing to plot is often a better idea than liking a starter call or sending memes if you have never interacted with the person before. It gives you a chance to work out what kind of thread would work well before you start something, so the resulting thread has a lower chance of fizzling out quickly

However, all that being said, it's not just up to the person messaging first to make all the effort. If the receiver doesn't put any effort in in return, then the person making the first move is going to think they aren't interested. Eventually, they may give up messaging people at all, because what's the point if it never goes anywhere? Some tips for not seeming uninterested:

If someone IMs you, try to reply to them in a timely fashion. Especially try to reply to them if they sent you a plot idea. You don't have to agree to do the idea - it's just very annoying to be ghosted the second you actually start plotting

Suggest your own plot ideas in return, or build on the idea that the other person has given you

If you agree to write a starter, or one is written for you, follow through with it. Write the starter, reply to the thread. If it's going to take a while, let your writing partner know that you've seen it but you're going to be slow for a while

Similarly, if you post memes, reply to the ones people send you. If you never reply, people will pick up on this and eventually stop sending you things

If you go on hiatus, message your writing partners directly when you get back to let them know you'd like to write again. This will demonstrate that you really are active and ready to write again

[daytaker]

Hii if you have time, could you do one where the brothers react to an mc who is naturally distant? Like they just prefer to be by themselves 90% of the time so it will be hard to bond with them at first?

Hope you're having a good day! :D

Oh, you mean me, unfiltered? Damn. Well, you asked for it.

Skip to the end for my actual thoughts on what would happen as a whole. But first for the individual brothers, because I think this is what Anon wanted.

Reacting to a Highly Introverted MC

Lucifer

Lucifer isn't particularly bothered by this. If anything, it's a relief, because if you're off entertaining yourself and not assisting his brothers with hijinks, that saves him a huge amount of time and stress.

Once you get to know each other a little better though, he'll probably appreciate your quiet presence simply for what it is. You're someone he can sit in comfortable silence with while he works. He probably isn't one of the brothers who connects with MC by uncovering their more open side, but it might make him a relief to spend time with, since you need that quiet time to recharge after time with Asmo and Mammon.

Mammon

Mammon doesn't get it at first. He thinks you're haughty, or you think you're better than him, maybe because you hold prejudices against demons. After a few somewhat forced encounters where you have no choice but to interact with Mammon, he starts to get to know your less reserved side, and eventually he realizes you're not an asshole, you're just quiet and spend a lot of time on your own. He's not especially good at respecting your need for alone time, as boundaries have never been his strong suit, but if you're able to be assertive with him, he'll reluctantly give you your space.

If anything, your distance from others in general makes him think that your friendship is even MORE special than he does with Vanilla MC. Because it isn't like you're going around making friends with everybody left right and center, but he's still one of the lucky few.

Leviathan

I get the feeling that you and Levi would actually get on very well if you ever took the time to actually learn anything about each other. That's the sticking point though. Unless you are interested in anime and express it in a way that Levi can easily see (a T-shirt, for example) he won't think to open up to you. After all, what's there to be gained from revealing any specifics of his interests to some normie who's just going to mock him for his interests.

Satan

Satan probably sees you as something of a kindred spirit: aloof and content to watch things from the sidelines much of the time. He won't make any attempt to connect with you over this though, so it's pretty useless. It won't be until you've made some sort of expression of interest in him as a person, or in something he's interested in (read: books or cats) that he deigns it worthwhile to approach you. From that point, though, you probably spend a fair amount of time in each others' presence, not unlike your relationship with Lucifer.

Asmodeus

When you aren't immediately drawn to Asmo and his magnetic personality and devastating good looks, he isn't sure what to think. His reaction isn't too different from Mammons, but it's maybe a little stronger. He's also more persistent in trying to get you to open up with him. He sees your distance as a challenge, and either he'll succeed in getting you to open up with his warmth and charisma, or he'll only manage to push you further away.

Beelzebub

Beelzebub isn't that bothered by your need to be alone. He's very attuned to other people and their wants and needs, so he sort of implicitly understands that you're distant because being distant serves a purpose for you and keeps you happy and healthy. Because he seems to understand you and doesn't pressure you into things you aren't comfortable with, but also doesn't show absolutely no interest in getting to know you, he's probably one of if not the first brother you open up to a bit and begin spending time with.

Belphegor

Belphie isn't too impressed by your distance. He's not the sort to put a whole ton into building a relationship, so without you putting in a large amount of the effort, that bridge isn't going to be built anytime soon. If you ever did manage to get comfortable enough around each other, though, you would probably be pretty good nap buddies.

I'll finish off with a general, plot-related train of thought I found interesting when writing this...

Generally, being distant just slows down the progression of your relationship with each of the brothers. When you aren't that interested in going out and getting to know some of them, like Levi and Satan, it's going to be a lot harder to become close to them. Not to mention that if we're going with OG Season 1 as the starting point, who knows if you ever even meet Belphie, no matter how often he sends cryptic messages and calls for help through the walls.

Not meeting Belphie will slow down the entire plot, naturally, because you have no impetus to start making pacts. It's possible that Levi is able to get you to manipulate Mammon into a pact the same way he did in the original, but beyond that, you don't really have a reason to go around making pacts with anybody.

So when it's been a year and you've only got a single pact and the entire arc with Belphie doesn't happen and your connection to Lilith is never revealed....then what? Belphie is still locked in the attic, and who knows what will happen with that. If Lucifer releases him, I see two possibilities: he tries to revolt against Diavolo, which is stupid, or he goes and wreaks havoc in the human world. Lucifer would probably see that too, and he'd just stay in the attic. Lucifer would have to come up with new reasons to explain Belphie's absence to his brothers, and Beel, given his connection with Belphie, would probably become suspicious and begin to uncover the truth purely this way. Really, now that I think of it, this kind of lays bare the plot hole that Belphie could have told his brothers about what was happening through their dreams all along, but we'll skim over that for now.

Basically, if MC is hyper-introverted, the entire house of cards that is the Obey Me Cinematic Universe collapses in on itself.

[holycatsandrabbits]

How to Write Implied Smut 

**Ironically, this article is somewhat NSFW**

So you want to write about sex without writing about sex. (Or maybe you don’t want to, but you need to, which is usually where I end up.) Some writers and readers love smut, and some don’t, which is totally valid. Or sometimes you’ve got a couple of characters who’d like to get it on, but your story guidelines require a SFW rating. Whatever the reasons for keeping things under cover (pun intended), here are some helpful hints about hinting:

Method 1: Read between the lines

In this approach, there are no sex scenes at all, no (heavy) kissing, no wandering around in nothing but your socks. You want the reader to know Jane and Betsy participate in a certain indoor sport together, but we’re not going to pop a single blouse button on-screen. Here are three ways to do it:

Situation-based clues include having Jane and Betsy share a room at a hotel, arrive at work or leave together, keep their stuff at each other’s houses, wear each other’s clothes, etc. 

Other characters can assume Jane & Betsy are a couple, knowing that if you text one at three a.m. the other is likely to answer, or if you tell Jane something, Betsy will immediately know, or even blatantly stating they aren’t just roommates.

Jane and Betsy themselves can act like they’re lovers in a SFW way. G-rated signs of offscreen physical intimacy include sitting in each other’s laps, touching faces, briefly kissing on the mouth, and holding hands.

This “between the lines” method leaves the physical relationship entirely to the reader’s imagination. There are no hints of specifics in the bedroom, no scenes that will get your reader’s temperature rising. Perfect for some writers and readers. The next two methods have more heat.

Method 2: Kiss and don’t tell

This is what they call “closing the door.” Cue your characters kissing and then fade to black, and if you want to say what happens afterward, stick to general terms. You know, it was a very enjoyable evening, they got to know each other better, Jane learned what it was like to spend a night with Betsy. 

You can also have Jane and Betsy wake up in bed together the next morning, possibly showing them zipping up their dresses or even searching for their dresses wherever they may have been flung off on the way to the bedroom. You can even hang handcuffs from the headboard—and guess what? That’s all still G-rated.

Example from my (rare) SFW works:

They touched as much as they liked then, with fingers and mouths certainly, but also with toes and ears and knees. They laughed and moaned and they learned how to be as close as two people could ever be to each other, not just touching anymore, but for many sparkling moments actually being one body.

–The Other Arrangement (one of my Good Omens fanfics)

Unlike the first method, this “close the door” bit leads the reader into thinking about the specific bedroom scenario you’ve set up, which they can imagine at any heat level they like—or not imagine it at all. (Not everybody wants to look through the keyhole.) The last method is a bit more, well, explicit.

Method three: Think hard—er, carefully—about word choice

How to say they’ve got erections without saying they’ve got erections:

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, in a brave voice, “and here I thought my enthusiasm was rather obvious.”

Crowley didn’t move, but the expression on his face suggested that he could feel exactly what Aziraphale was talking about, and that he knew Aziraphale could feel the same from him.

-The Angel’s Bracelet (oh wow more Good Omens).

Believe it or not, you can actually have SFW sex on-screen if you’re choosy with words. So hard becomes aroused, ass becomes rear, tits become chest. Don’t name any super-naughty body parts at all. 

Terri was even softer and warmer than Heather had imagined, her curves unable to be contained by Heather’s small hands. Not that Heather didn’t try, and that was when they realized they probably should not be doing this in the library.

“You will let me take you on a real date, won’t you?” Terri asked, smoothing Heather’s hair where it had come loose from her bun.

“Well, what’s customary for a fifth date?” Heather asked, refastening two of Terri’s shirt buttons.

–Blind Date with a Book (wtf this is not Good Omens?!) 

In this “word choice” method, the reader knows exactly what’s happening, but it’s still safe enough to be read in public. It’s like naughty art with careful blurring. This method can be satisfying for a reader who doesn’t want to have to imagine the rest of the scene, or at least wants to know how the writer imagined it. And it’s good for writers who want to obey the letter of the law while still showing a love scene (see how I used the SFW term for “sex scene”?).

Writing smut without smut is a good tool (pun intended sorry) for writers because it lets those who don’t want to write smut still convey high heat between their characters, and because it lets smut-comfortable writers reach SFW audiences. I often have two versions of stories I’m submitting, one explicit and one not, so I can try more markets.

Please note you should never send an explicit work to a submission call unless the guidelines specifically say it’s allowed, because some editors/slush readers don’t want to read smut. When in doubt, politely query first.

Anyway if you want to read some more of my non-fanfic smut go here.

Thanks for reading! Looking for (SFW) inspiration? Get some weird writing prompts

This article was first published on my writing blog

DannyeChase.com ~ AO3 ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers 

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[freedomfireflies]

The Prism*

Summary: Harry and Dylan don't have a thing in common except for their hatred.

That...and their insatiable thirst for you.

Word Count: 11k (I have no excuse for this, I was in heat)

*This is a Harry Styles and Dylan O'Brien crossover of sorts! I know that's not everybody's thing, so please feel no pressure to read! This part will contain Mature and Explicit content, so please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

The Prism.

Boston's very own sex club. Boston's best underground sex club. 

Secret, but not unknown, The Prism is nothing short of legendary. The parties, the memories, the clients, the exclusivity. All of it making The Prism what it is. 

This is where you find yourself one Friday evening. With your on again, off again boy-toy Harry by your side.

You figure it’s a good way to welcome in the weekend. A quick fuck to reset the stress from the previous week. A habit that’s becoming rather typical for you. Especially with Harry, who offers you nothing more than some good cock.

He might be a pain in your ass, but he certainly does know his way around your body. A talent that’s proven even now as he rests his hand on your thigh while you take a sip of your Sprite.

The touches always start innocently enough. A quick squeeze to your knee beneath the table as you laugh. He’ll make some comment about how perfect your dress is for easy access. How fun it would be to fuck you right there in the booth. How thrilling it would be to make everybody watch.

And everybody would watch. And they wouldn’t care. Because that’s just…what The Prism does. It’s why you’re all here. No judgements, no consequences…just sex.

And right as this thought occurs to you, Harry’s fingers begin their journey up your inner thigh. They always find themselves there eventually, and you aren’t about to argue. Especially with how determined his touch is tonight. 

You’re tempted to wonder why but can’t find the willpower to do so as the soft stroking against your skin crawls higher. 

Out of reflex, your legs begin to squeeze shut around his hand while your fingers grip onto the edge of your seat. 

You turn toward him, face nuzzling into his shoulder as if to hide. Because you’re so smitten by this man and his touch and this feeling he’s giving you.

But when you glance up at him, maybe in an attempt to encourage him to finally touch you…you see that his eyes are not on you.

They’re on something in the distance.

Focused, and cocky, and somewhat angry.

And just as you’re beginning to ask yourself why…you hear footsteps. Growing louder and louder until they stop right behind you.

“Well, well, well.”

The new voice is enough to startle you, but it isn’t enough to deter Harry’s touch. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. Doesn’t offer you a moment of reprieve. No, he keeps pressing his thumb over the dampening spot of your underwear as you slowly turn to see who’s approached.

And to your surprise, and slight horror…you find Dylan.

Dylan, your friend of nearly eight years, looming above where you sit in the booth. Hands in his pockets, a smirk pulling at his lips, and his shirt unbuttoned about halfway down his chest.

For a moment, he eyes Harry’s wrist as it continues to disappear beneath the hem of your dress. 

And then, he looks up. Finds you. Studies you for a moment as you quickly attempt to push Harry out and play coy.

“Hi,” you breathe, frowning when your attempts at shoving are unsuccessful. Harry won’t let himself be moved away from you, and you want to smack him. 

And now you understand the look on his face. Understand why he kept his focus on the man across the room.

Dylan and Harry can’t fucking stand each other. You’re not sure why, but it’s been like this since the moment you got the outrageously idiotic idea to introduce them.

Dylan thinks you can do better than Harry. 

Which, truthfully…you probably can.

And Harry thinks Dylan needs to mind his own fucking business.

Which, truthfully…he probably does.

But you never found the need to take a side. Because what you do with Harry only matters inside the bedroom.

And your friendship with Dylan matters outside of the bedroom.

There’s no need for the two relationships to ever overlap or interact.

Except for now.

Dylan’s smirk widens at your attempt at a nonchalant greeting, but he knows he’s caught you off guard. “Hi,” he returns.

“What, um…what a coincidence,” you say, clearing your throat as you squeeze Harry’s hand between your fingers. 

“Isn’t it?” Dylan muses, nodding once as he looks down at you.

You swallow.

“Funny…this is the last place I imagined seeing you,” he continues, allowing for one glance at the man beside you, his eyebrow cocking up.

You clear your throat once more. “Oh, well, you know. We didn’t have much to do, and I’ve heard the mozzarella sticks are to die for.”

It’s a horrible cover. You know he’s not buying it, and Harry’s snort of amusement certainly doesn’t help your cause.

But Dylan graciously begins to grin, almost as if to appease you. “Is that so?”

You nod. “Yes. Yup. In fact, now that we’ve tried them, we’re probably just…gonna head home.”

“Oh, really? Already?”

“Yeah. Just…have a nice night in. Relax. Maybe watch a movie. Or two. Or three. Movies are fun. Aren’t movies fun?”

You’re rambling. You need to stop. But you don’t know what else to do. Don’t know how to look Dylan in the eye as Harry’s hand continues to tease you underneath your dress.

“Such fun,” Dylan agrees before he runs his tongue over his teeth. “But…I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”

Now, it’s Harry’s turn to look intrigued. He leans closer, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he regards the confident man on the other side of the table.

“Why, um…why not?” you ask hesitantly, feeling rather caught between these two alpha-males.

There’s a pause as Dylan regards you, his attention falling down to your chest which is heaving beneath the fancy material of your outfit.

It makes him smile.

He leans closer. “Because what kind of friend would I be…if I made you cum around his fingers?”

Your eyes just about pop out of your head as you blink at him, stunned by the implication that he did in fact see what Harry was doing.

“I’d say a pretty fucking shitty one,” Dylan continues, placing his hands on the table as his head dips closer to you. “And am I a shitty friend?”

You don’t know what to do. Have no answer to offer him.

And just when you’re thinking you’d like to walk into the middle of traffic to avoid this interaction altogether…you feel Harry squeeze your thigh.

Either he’s furious with Dylan for showing up and intruding…or he’s reminding you to answer.

Both theories make your stomach flip. 

“No,” you murmur, a bit mesmerized by the curious but lustful look in Dylan’s eye.

“No,” he repeats in agreement, nodding once. “No, I’m not. You know what kind of friend I am?”

Your head shakes.

“I’m the kind of friend…that takes you into that private room…and fucks you the way you deserve,” he whispers, eyeing you closely as he watches the realization settle.

The entire booth goes quiet. Still.

You have no idea where this came from. No idea how many drinks Dylan must have had to inspire him to even suggest such an idea.

And you have no idea why Harry isn’t stopping him. Telling him off. Shutting the idea down.

It’s as if you all understand the same thing. As if you’ve all landed on the same conclusion, the same page. 

You almost feel dizzy from how fast this all happened. How fast Dylan went from being your longtime bestie to the man staring a hole right through you and promising you the kind of orgasm you’ve always deserved.

He leans back and outstretches his hand. “Up,” he commands of you, and you stand so quickly to your feet that you’re convinced it was your cunt making the call instead of your brain.

But it doesn’t matter because you’ve never felt so…sure. So safe. Stuck between these two men that you would happily entrust your pleasure with.

Harry stares at you both from his seat, and you wonder if now is the time for him to object.

But when he simply cocks his head and nods at you to step out of the booth…you feel your eyes grow wide.

You look back at Dylan as you take his hand, fingers slipping around his palm as he leads you out from the corner of the room. “What…what are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I told you,” he says coolly, stealing another glance at the man scooting his way after you. “I’m being a really good fucking friend.”

Your knees feel weak, but you toss him an unamused look. “Dyl…come on. You don’t…you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Actually, I haven’t had a drink all night,” he corrects. “I know…exactly what I’m saying. What I’m asking. And so do you. Both…of you.”

You tug on his hand until you’re sure you have his full attention.

Not that you haven’t had it since the moment he saw you walk in.

“Dylan,” you repeat softly. Urgently. “What are you doing?”

He studies you for a moment, almost as if contemplating his answer.

Then, he uses his other hand to brush a fallen hair behind your ear, his finger following the curve of your neck as he smiles.

“I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago,” he tells you, and you can hear the honesty in his voice. “And I guess I’m seeing if you want it, too.”

“You hate him.”

“I tolerate him,” Dylan corrects smugly. “I’ve just…begun to feel a little bad for you. That’s all.”

Your lashes flutter. “Bad?” 

“Yeah.” His grin grows a bit more cocky. “I’m sure he’s perfectly…adequate. When you need him to be. But I think he could be better. I think you deserve…better.”

“And you’re better, huh?”

“I can be. For you.”

“Dylan.”

“Honey.”

You want to frown at the nickname, but the way he says it makes your breath hitch. “Are you sure about this?”

“I am,” he says confidently. “As long as you are.”

And are you? 

You nod, a rush of adrenaline shooting up the back of your spine as he beams at you and begins to lead you toward the hallway at the back of the club.

And Harry is right behind, his watchful gaze never once deviating from Dylan. You’re sure he’s contemplating what Dylan’s true intentions are. Perhaps contemplating if this is even a good idea.

But something about The Prism makes every idea seem like a good idea.

You feel so pitiful with the way you follow after the handsome man in front of you, tripping over your own feet as he leads you all to the collection of doors.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. How could you not have? He’s charming, and he’s funny, and he’s been one of your closest friends for years.

And he’s a much more permanent figure in your life than Harry is.

But you feel safe with him. Safe with both of them, no matter how strange this entire arrangement has become.

When you come to a stop, you find that you’re in front of door number five, and just before you can ask what happens next…Dylan slips a gold-plated key from his pocket.

And once you’ve entered the room…everything changes.

You don’t know what to look at first. The large space is stunning, with a king-sized bed front and center. Silk sheets, a velvet couch, a mirror on the ceiling.

Not to mention the array of toys displayed in the corner or the bench with black handcuffs on it. 

You feel like you’ve walked straight into a porno.

And while this is a sure upgrade from your previous visits, you don’t feel…unsettled. Or uneasy, or even unsure.

You feel…confident in your decision. In the idea that you really are doing this…with them.

And when you turn to catch a glimpse of Harry’s face…you find that he’s equally as enthralled by the prospect of tonight. Of the three of you.

This will most likely be a one-time thing, and perhaps this understanding is what’s inspiring you to throw caution to the wind.

After all, pleasure is pleasure.

And shared pleasure…well, that’s just a fucking dream.

Dylan steps aside to allow you both a look around. He seems amused by your awe, and even more amused by the way your fingers have begun to twitch by your side.

He can tell you’re desperate. You’re sure they both can. How could you not be? You have no idea who will hold the power tonight. Or what it would even look like to see them work together.

If that’s even possible.

“Problem?” you hear Dylan call, forcing your attention back until you see the way Harry shrugs.

“Just…wondering what exactly you think is gonna happen tonight,” Harry replies, brow raised as he watches Dylan’s arms cross over his chest. “What your plan is.”

“My plan, huh?” Dylan repeats, smiling softly. “My plan. Well, Harold…my plan is to show you…how to do it right.”

Harry begins to frown as your heart hammers against your chest.

“And my plan…” Dylan continues, taking a step closer, “…is to make you watch.”

Harry’s teeth grit as he regards the arrogant man a few feet away. “Is that fucking right?”

“That’s fucking right.”

Now, Dylan looks to you.

“Sit him down,” he instructs, nodding toward the bench in the corner of the room. 

You and Harry both turn to look as well, and once Harry realizes what the plan is, he scoffs.

“Oh, I don’t fucking think so,” he retorts, straightening up. “No. You’re not fucking my girlfriend right in front of me.”

“She’s not your girlfriend,” Dylan reminds him calmly. “Besides, I don’t think it would hurt you to learn how to actually make her cum.”

“Oh, and you think you know how?” Harry snorts, moving closer as well. “What, all those years of pining for her really did the trick, huh?”

“Wasn’t about pining. I just knew she could do better.”

“Better. And you’d be better?”

“I’d certainly be a start.”

“Funny.”

“Not really. She deserves to know how it feels to have my cum inside of her.”

Your cheeks flush.

“And you expect me to watch?”

“I expect you…to sit the fuck down,” Dylan answers, with a bit more edge than before. “Exactly like I asked.”

But Harry doesn’t move. No, he glares at Dylan as you apprehensively approach from behind, hoping to ease the tension before it can rise any further.

And when Harry continues to remain put, Dylan decides to take matters into his own hands.

He places his palms on Harry’s chest…and shoves. Shoves him back, shoves him hard. Shoves until Harry has no choice but to stumble back.

Harry’s jaw snaps shut. “The hell are you—”

“Sit down,” Dylan repeats, just as sternly as before.

“Fuck you,” Harry seethes, stepping back up to his previous spot as Dylan’s head cocks.

“I’m sure you’d like to. But right now…I asked you to sit down.”

“God, you’re such a fucking—”

But before Harry can finish his spiteful retort, Dylan’s fingers are weaving through the roots of Harry’s curls to force his head back.

The room falls silent, save for the quick breaths you and Harry are both taking.

But Dylan is calm. Far too calm as he leans in and meets Harry’s eye. “Sit…the fuck…down,” he whispers. “And maybe…I’ll be good to you, too.”

For a moment, the two men are at an impasse.

They can’t stand each other and would happily spend all evening arguing and showing off if they had to.  

But they understand that tonight is not about them.

It’s about you.

It always is.

So, Harry swallows his pride and relaxes into Dylan’s hold as a sign of good faith. Allowing the older gentleman to decide what happens next.

But Harry won’t like it…but he’ll at least get to be a part of it.

Dylan turns to you now, smiling his appreciation at your willingness before nodding once.

You take this as your cue to approach, gentle touch slipping around Harry’s hand as you gingerly guide him toward the bench. 

And Harry lets himself be moved, even though you can feel the way his muscles have gone stiff beneath your hold.

Something that certainly isn’t helped by the way Dylan calls, “Attaboy.”

It's condescending, and arrogant, and everything Harry hates. Especially from Dylan. Even still, he remains quiet, instead moving his focus to you. The sweet girl just trying to do as she’s told.

And you still feel rather mesmerized by whatever spell Dylan has you under, following each order like a lost little puppy.

A submissive little pet.

Not that you’re opposed to playing this role. Especially with these two men. And you can tell Harry is rather amused by your eagerness, if not a little annoyed by it.

And you know how hard this must be for him. To give up control. 

To give it to Dylan.

It’ll be out of his hands, quite literally. And Harry adores having power over you. Over everyone.

But tonight…tonight he’s far too taken with Dylan’s premise. And the promise of pleasure between the three of you.

Of the promise…of you.

And perhaps a part of him is hoping that this little experiment between you and your longtime friend will only prove that Harry is the superior choice.

And that thought alone has his cock twitching.

Once he’s sat on the bench, he shoots a peeved look Dylan’s way. Almost as if to reiterate the point that he’s absolutely not enjoying himself.

Even if he sort of is.

Dylan merely smiles, once again nodding his approval as he looks to you. “Hands,” he instructs simply.

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what he’d like. So you reach for Harry’s large wrists, and lift them toward the restraints hanging off the back of the seat.

Harry continues to stew from his spot, but he doesn’t stop you. He waits for you to finish, taking note of the way your fingers gently shake with anticipation.

You slip his hand through and tighten the lock into place. Then, you move to the other side, and repeat.

Once you’re finished, he tugs on them, just to test them out, and is rather surprised to find how little room for movement he actually has.

An idea that’s exciting, invigorating, and arousing. But he keeps his expression stoic as he lifts his head and looks over to the man a few feet away.

Dylan is pleased with you, lips rolling into his mouth as he hums his approval. “Good girl,” he calls once you’ve stepped back to join him.

And your face flushes as your thighs begin to squeeze together. They both notice, but don’t comment on it as Dylan begins walking up behind you.

With his long, beautiful fingers, he sweeps your hair off your back and over your shoulder, allowing enough room for him to ghost his lips along your neck. 

Then, he whispers, “Take off your panties.”

Harry leans back against the seat, his legs spreading rather angrily as he watches Dylan toss a smirk toward him.

But you do as you’re asked, slipping your hand beneath the hem of your dress until you can feel your way toward the lace.

And Harry’s eyes grow bigger as he watches you do this right in front of him. He doesn’t miss a thing. Doesn’t miss the way you’re forced to take a deep breath to compose yourself. Doesn’t miss the way you undoubtedly felt yourself dripping. Doesn’t miss the way you accidentally-on-purpose grazed your little clit. 

All three of you know you’ll be unraveling before the evening even has a chance to get started.

Once the underwear is off and in your hands, you turn to Dylan expectantly.

He smiles and glances over your face. “Put them in his mouth.”

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead as Harry rolls his eyes, grunting to himself before looking away.

But Dylan isn’t deterred. “Go on,” he murmurs, nodding his chin toward the perturbed British man on the bench. “Let him taste you. ’Cause this is all he’s gonna fucking get.”

With that, he places his hand on your lower back, and encourages you forward.

There’s a catch in your throat as you step up to Harry, filled with intrigue and promise.

He watches you get closer, going deathly still as you reach out to grab onto the underside of his jaw, and lift his head.

His gaze is venomous as you look him over. Perhaps he’s trying to communicate with you. Or perhaps he’s simply reminding you that he doesn’t enjoy this little show.

Either way, you smile softly to comfort him, thumb stroking over his cheek soothingly. “Come on, Har. Be a good boy and open up.”

He’d probably fight you on this any other day.

But today…he’s too desperate.

His lips slowly pull apart, mouth widening just enough to allow you to slip the soaked fabric inside before his jaw clamps shut.

You watch the way his lashes flutter at the taste of you immersing his tongue. A taste he’s so used to, so familiar with, so enchanted by…that he groans.

However, it comes out as more of an annoyed grunt, but either way, Dylan is pleased as Harry slumps down into his seat.

And once you’ve stepped back, you collide into Dylan’s chest, your heart racing as he snakes one arm around the front of your stomach to keep you stuck to him.

“Think that’ll keep him quiet?” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your ear as you become puddy in his hands.

And you can feel his hard cock pressed against your ass. Can feel the way he grinds against you, the way he breathes you in as if he needs you to survive.

And when you shiver within his hold, he smiles.

“How’s it taste, Harold?” he asks the tense man in the corner.

Harry's only response is a grunt.

“Yeah? That good, huh?” Dylan grins, fingers now traveling down the side of your silhouette as he pulls on the fabric of your dress. The hem lifts higher and higher up your thighs until a cool breeze finds its way beneath, forcing you to lean back into him. “Guess I should have a taste for myself.”

Harry’s focus falls toward your legs, watching with intrigue as the fabric is bunched into Dylan’s fists just above your belly button.

And you’re soaked. You imagine they knew you would be, but once they finally see it for themselves? See the way the light catches the drip down your thighs? See how swollen and needy you’ve become?

Harry makes another animalistic noise deep from the center of his chest, lids growing heavy with lust as your throbbing cunt sits before him. Right in his fucking face.

And Dylan’s only response is smug condescension, glancing down at the masterpiece before him while trailing his fingers toward the apex of your thighs.

And you watch him. Watch every inch of skin pass beneath his hand as he smooths his palm down your stomach. 

Your breaths are quick and desperate, lungs practically aching as he finally reaches his destination.

Without permission, a small whimper rips from between your parted lips as you jerk against his chest. However, his arm keeps you still, keeps you obedient. Forced to feel each dip and pinch his fingers provide.

He slides through slowly, feeling you out, indulging in you. Spreading, and pressing before finally dipping inside.

A loud gasp rings through the room as you squirm a bit harder at the subtle pressure he applies. But before you can truly enjoy it…he pulls out, leaving you to wilt in his embrace.

And you want to be angry, but he never promised you anything more than a taste.

Which is exactly what he takes, fingers moving up to his mouth as he watches Harry from over your shoulder. Just to make sure he has his full attention.

Dylan’s tongue drags along the drops falling down his knuckles before he places those nimble fingers on his tongue.

And hearing him suck the ever-living shit out of them has your eyes squeezing shut. It’s too much—too good. You can hardly fucking stand it, and you clench pitifully around nothing.

And Harry sees this. Sees everything, hears everything. And he fucking loves it. Despite himself, he loves seeing the way your body reacts to something as simple as a sound. The way you fall apart, even by Dylan’s hand. The way you submit.

“You were right,” Dylan hums as his arm drops back down to your body. “She’s fucking delicious.”

Harry exhales heavily through his nose, his mouth watering, teeth clamping down on the panties still soaking his tongue.

You’re almost proud of him for how…complicit he’s being.

How…obedient.

When Dylan releases your dress, you almost want to whine. Tortured by the idea that he’s already through with you. That he’s going to leave you like this.

But you should know better. Should know the look in his eye by now. Should know what it means as he runs a hand through his dark hair and murmurs, “C’mere, baby.”

You turn to fully face him, wonderstruck by his beauty under these lights. In this moment. This one, divine experience you feel lucky enough to have.

He takes hold of your chin, tilting your face up until he can get a good look at you. His thumb brushing down your bottom lip, teasing you with the idea to take it into your mouth.

He dips down, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to kiss you. And your heart just about leaps into your throat at the idea of finally getting to taste him this way.

Then…he pulls back.

“Take off your dress,” he instructs softly, head tilting to the left as if going back in to kiss you again.

But he can’t kiss you and give you the room you need to take off your dress, so you pout as you reach back to undo the zipper.

The sparkly fabric moves down your arms before falling to the floor, and you’re quick to step out of it so you can return to him.

But both boys need a moment to admire you. Need a moment to appreciate you as their eyes follow each curve and dip along your squirming frame. Your naked chest, your aching cunt, and the flush in your face.

Once Dylan’s eyes reach yours, he nods. “Now take off my shirt.”

You nearly lunge for the buttons trailing down the second half of his chest, slipping them free quickly before guiding the soft, black material of his shirt off his body.

And now it's your turn to admire him, taking note of his muscles, and tan skin. The few hairs that litter his chest and disappear into his pants.

Without realizing it, you’ve begun to tug on your bottom lip with your teeth, but Dylan realizes. And he swallows a laugh.

“Pants,” he instructs next, stepping out of his shoes as your greedy fingers reach for his zipper.

The feel of his briefs has your heart thumping in your chest, the idea of what lies beneath practically luring you in.

But you haven't been instructed to go there yet, so with a huff, you pull his jeans down to the floor and discard of them.

Your focus moves from his hips to his face, expression practically begging with him to let you remove the last item of clothing. 

And Dylan looks at you like you’re the most adorable thing in the world, although he still refuses to give you permission.

Instead, he looks toward Harry. Still brooding behind you as you glance over as well.

"I want you to take off his pants for me," he tells you, his voice so low, it nearly vibrates throughout your entire body. "Take them off…so you can watch him leak for you."

Harry's chest just about caves in on itself as he shoots an aggravated look Dylan’s way.

But you hardly notice as you return to him, fingers outstretching for his belt to pull it through each loop.

And Harry watches you, looking down as his pulse races at the beautiful sight of you timidly kneeling at his feet.

And you’re watching your hands with your big eyes, cunt still throbbing as you attempt to squeeze your thighs together.

Both of you are dangling on the precipice of sanity as Harry’s nails begin to dig just a bit harder into his palms. A futile attempt at restraining himself from the thought of taking a fistful of your hair.

You’re so close to him. So fucking close to what you both know is his painfully hard and red cock. Proof of what you’re doing to him. What you’re both doing to him.

After a moment or two of struggle, you manage to shimmy his pants down to his ankles before flicking them off and tossing them aside.

His black dress shirt and boxers are all that’s left, and you have to take a moment to admire him, too.

Because just the thought of riding that glorious tiger tattoo on his thigh makes your head spin. The way it would look, glistening in your arousal, dripping down his leg before you’re forced to clean it up.

You let out a strangled breath as Dylan steps closer and clicks his tongue to call your attention back to him.

“Take ’em off,” he repeats, eyeing the only left between you and Harry’s cock.

Harry tenses once more, steeling himself against the bench as you face him. For the first time all night, he's practically pleading with you. Desperate for your touch.

And when you dip your hand inside, you feel exactly how sticky he is. How pathetically aroused.

You both gasp when the contact is made, his lashes once more fluttering quickly as he relaxes into your touch.

And he’d happily stay there in your hand all damn day if it wasn’t for the proud man behind you. Watching with that cocky expression that hasn’t been displaced all night.

You waste no more time, fingers curling around the band of his underwear before you’re pulling them down, revealing what lies beneath to your hungry gaze.

You try not to stare but you can’t exactly help it. It’s right in your face. 

Dylan is a little less subtle. He gives Harry a once-over, feeling rather satisfied with the way his body tells him what Harry can’t. Proving just how much of a needy bitch this man really is.

Poor Harry is fucking humiliated under their stares. Leaning back against the bench as he pulls on the restraints, the veins in his arms straining against his skin.

But deep down…you know he loves it.

"What did I tell you?" Dylan muses, bending down so he’s closer to where you still sit on your knees. "Look at the way he needs you. The way he fucking leaks for you. Pathetic, isn't it?"

You nod mutely, attention still transfixed like a kid in a candy store.

Dylan hums. “Bet you wanna have a taste. Don’t you, honey? Go on then. Fucking taste him.”

You look up, finding Harry’s eyes as you search for his approval.

He offers a gesture that you assume is meant to be his consent before you straighten up and place your hands on his thighs.

Once you’re close enough, you waste no more time, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock as his head drops back and he groans.

Your nails bury deep within his skin as you situate yourself between his legs. Allowing yourself to get comfortable while you wrap your mouth around his tip. Tongue swirling in percisce patterns as you whimper for added effect.

Harry just about loses it. You can see the way his chest has begun to heave from strained breaths and it sends your ego through the roof.

You love having this type of power over him. Knowing that his pleasure…is yours.

And Dylan allows this to go on for quite some time before he finally decides he’s had enough. You imagine he doesn’t want Harry coming down your throat so soon, and aren’t all that surprised when he reaches down to grab onto you.

His fingers tangle in your roots until you let Harry go before he’s yanking you onto your feet.

You don’t even have time to speak before he’s whirling you around and kissing you.

Instantly, his lips melt into yours, your tongue coated with Harry’s pre-cum, your jaw rigid beneath his palm.

And he takes. Takes everything you have to offer him. No hesitation, no remorse, no consequences.

He takes until you have no choice but to moan with satisfaction at the feel of the man holding onto you so tight. At the pain tingling across your scalp. At the way he grunts into your mouth like he’s never been so turned on.

His other hand finds your throat, pressing just hard enough to squeeze another whimper from you. Your fingers graze down his stomach as you attempt to steady yourself, but your knees feel weak. Your body instantly aroused by something as simple as a kiss.

Then, with the hold on your hair, Dylan slings you toward the bed just behind you like you were nothing but a fucking ragdoll. You crash onto the soft mattress, tits bouncing from the force as you gasp excitedly.

He’s quick to follow, hands and knees leading him closer as he hovers above you, caging you to the silk sheets.

He’s like a wild animal chasing after an innocent baby deer. As if you’re just waiting for him to eat you alive.

Which…you are.

But you’re also impatient, legs already attempting to spread as if to plead with him, needily reaching for his face in a silent request for another kiss.

And you imagine he might have given it to you until a certain darkness passes over his expression and he finds your throat once more.

With a warning squeeze, he murmurs, “No, baby. You do what I say. Understood?”

The rasp in his voice prompts a rather fast response as you nod and whisper, “Yes.”

Truth be told, you’d hoped the catch in your voice would perhaps change his mind but Dylan seems to know the trick.

He tsks again as he studies you. “My greedy little whore. Just aching for anything I’ll give her, hm? No. No, you’re gonna stay right here. Right fucking here until I come back.”

Confused, your eyebrows weave together as he pushes himself upright and steps off the bed.

You push yourself onto your elbows as you watch him walk away from you, expression growing sad the further he gets.

“Where—” you begin only to quickly realize that he’s stopping in front of the selection of toys.

Oh.

He takes his time looking over the display while Harry huffs from his spot. You imagine he’s just as apprehensive of Dylan’s plans as you are, and if he could talk…it probably wouldn’t be very nice.

As the minutes continue to pass, you grow anxious. Impatient. So pitifully desperate that you have to flop back down onto the bed and put your eyes on the mirror above you.

You watch your reflection with a pout, taking note of your breasts as they rise and fall with each breath. The way your hair is spread out across the bed. The way your thighs are squeezing together in an attempt to find some relief.

It would be so easy to just…slip your hand down and find it. Find a fraction of pleasure as you wait for Dylan to quit toying with you.

But before you get the chance to do such a devious thing, you feel a large presence looming to your left, and roll your head over to look.

Dylan has returned, a new object in his hand, and a stern expression on his face. He’s warning you to behave, and you have no choice but to oblige as you glance down.

He weighs the toy he’d retrieved in his hands, making sure to get a good feel as he glances between the two of you. Letting you anticipate him. Anticipate his plans.

And then…he turns it on.

The sound of the vibrations almost make you groan as you squirm a bit harder on the bed. Your longing gaze glued to the wand as you silently command Dylan to hurry up and put it to use already.

But he doesn’t rush to your side the way you had hoped. No, instead…he turns to Harry.

Now even more unsure, Harry attempts to straighten up as he regards the brunette boy walking toward him.

When Dylan crouches down, Harry shoots him a rather outraged look of warning.

He doesn’t want to be played with. He wants to do the playing.

“Something wrong?” Dylan asks quietly, finger hovering over the power button as he gently dances the vibrator closer.

Harry simply exhales another sharp breath through his nose, shooting daggers Dylan's way, to which Dylan merely grins.

Then…the wand is moved toward Harry’s cock, innocently grazing the head as Harry’s own depraved moan slips free.

And it’s angry, and it’s loud, and virile. The whole room can tell just how much he enjoyed the fleeting touch, and without a second hesitation, Dylan does it again.

“Don’t fucking cum,” he warns, eyeing the peeved man before him. “Do you hear me, Harold? Do not cum until I say so.”

Harry tries to scoff, but with the way his dick is twitching, he might not be able to hold off.

Which is exactly what Dylan wants. Wants him to be so close to release, that he'll even beg him for it. Wants to bring him to the edge and leave him there while he fucks you right in front of him. 

You watch from the bed, whining to yourself as your thighs squeeze together, panting lightly. 

And when Harry's eyes meet yours briefly, he has to take another deep breath, commanding himself to stay strong. 

He's close. Too close, but now…Dylan finds it difficult to stop. There's something so…compelling about watching Harry like this. The snarky attitude now nowhere to be found as he becomes puddy in Dylan's large hands.

After all, Dylan did promise to be good to him, too. 

Maybe he lets Harry cum all over his stomach.

And maybe he makes you clean it up.

However, this thought is quickly disregarded as he chooses to stick with his original plan. He pulls the vibrating toy away only moments before Harry can find his release, and the entire room lets out a collective sigh.

Satisfied, Dylan straightens back up, and turns to you.

He finds you still lying on the bed, dripping pathetically onto the sheets below as you look up at him with a whimper.

Your lips roll into your mouth the moment he steps closer, his eyes trailing down to your cunt before he’s returning to his previous position.

And then, he brings the vibrator into play.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, despite the fact that he already knows the answer.

But you nod frantically anyhow, thighs spreading once more to invite him closer. Invite him in, but he isn't fooled.

He takes his time, reaching out to grab onto your ankle and slide you down to him. The toy comes alive in his hand, now a bit more powerful than before, ready for use. And you eye it like it's a cool drink of water on a hot day.

Still, Dylan is patient. Slow. He takes the large head of the toy and brings it up to your sternum, dragging it down your chest slowly as you anxiously look back up at the ceiling.

Your eyes quickly find his body in the reflection above, and you can’t help but watch the way his back muscles move and strain as he continues his sadistic torture. 

Everything about his body is like a work of art. He’s like a drug. Addicting from top to bottom, and you wonder how you’ve never noticed before.

He continues guiding the vibrations along your frame, over your hardened nipple, and down your stomach as you whine again. Unable to resist writhing against the sheets and away from the sweet feeling.

And when you begin to pant his name, you see him smile.

He fucking loves the sound of his name in your mouth. Always has. For eight fucking years. Loves to hear the quiet whisper of your voice as you breathe it out like you’re breathing just for him. 

He can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever been teased like this. Truly appreciated like this. Given the time and space to be worshiped the way he knows you deserve.

And he decides right then and there that he will. From now until the rest of time, he will worship you. Your orgasms will be by his hand, his tongue, his cock. You’ll be ruined for anyone else. He'll fucking see to that.

"Watch," he commands once he reaches your hips, the vibrator now dangerously close to your aching cunt as your eyes move to his. "You fucking watch me make you cum."

You don’t argue. You’ll happily watch him ruin you forever, happily gaze upon his structured face as he pleases you out of your goddamn mind.

And right as you’re deciding that maybe this isn't so bad after all…he presses the vibrations up against your clit, and your nails immediately bury into the sheets as you pull and arch off the bed.

Dylan exhales slowly, his focus trained on the magic in front of him. You’re so fucking wet, absolutely soaking the toy. Soaking the bed beneath you. And it sounds like heaven. Like fucking music the way you say his name and beg for release.

However, he can't help glancing over his shoulder to see how much dear Harold is enjoying the show.

But Harry's got his eyes closed as he steadies his breathing, squirming around the bench as he rests his head against the wall behind him. 

He considers forcing Harry to watch him, too, but he knows he will. Knows he won't be able to resist watching you cum around the toy as you lose your last drop of self-control. 

He'll watch…because he's just as fucking desperate as you are.

So, Dylan returns his attention to you, adding even more pressure as you continue to cry out, writhing around so violently that he’s almost worried you’ll hurt yourself. 

And it’s no surprise you’re close already. But while he'd love to edge you all night long, he knows he can't possibly edge himself any longer. He needs to feel you. Needs to feel you stretching around his cock. Needs to feel the way you soak him, hear his skin against yours, needs to fucking fill you with his cum and leave you swollen. 

So…he will. He'll fucking abuse your tight little hole until it's practically molded to him and his cock. Until everyone (especially Harold) knows who your pleasure really belongs to.

It's an odd concept, truthfully. The idea that you’d want him to claim you the way he is now. Want him to protect you the way he is now.

But tonight…tonight you’re not just you and Dylan. Tonight you’re not just friends.

Tonight…you’re his good fucking girl. 

His good girl who is eagerly waiting to taste him. Who would do anything he fucking asked. You’re a fucking dream for him. But you’re real, and Dylan can’t fucking believe he lived right next door to such a perfect girl all these years.

But now that he knows…he’s never letting you go again.

"C’mon, baby," he mumbles, leaning down to press his lips to your hip bone as you whimper. "I know you can do it. Give it to me, honey. Please. That’s it.”

He's actually begging you to cum and the raspy growl to his voice is what does it.

It hits you like a fucking truck, your head turning to the side as you nearly scream. Toes curling and fingers twisting around the sheets. 

It has to last for at least a full minute, the overwhelming exhaustion that follows leaving you to gasp for air like never before. 

But Dylan isn't allowing you even a moment of rest, instead tossing the vibrator to the side and tugging on your wrist until you’re forced to sit up.

You groan softly in protest at the way you’re not afforded the chance to revel in your orgasms. But before you can get too annoyed, Dylan is moving around to kneel behind you, pressing your back against his chest.

And it happens so suddenly. You hardly have time to understand as his hand reaches around to take hold of your throat and squeeze. The pressure just enough to make you gasp as he then forces your eyes on Harry. 

"Look at him," Dylan whispers to you, almost viciously. "Isn't it so sad? Isn't it so fucking pathetic the way your poor little Harold leaks for you?"

You have to swallow another moan as your focus trails down Harry’s rigid body and toward the angry red tip practically calling out to you.

To both of you.

 It truly is a sight to behold, and Harry grinds his teeth against the panties as you stare at him.

"Can't stand the idea of watching my cock ruin what he thinks is his," Dylan continues to taunt, making sure he has Harry’s full attention. "Can't fucking stand knowing that you cum for me…and me alone."

Your only response is to lean back further into him as if you can't possibly stay upright, and his grip gets tighter. 

"You want that, too, hm?" he hums, letting himself inhale your intoxicating scent. It's a mixture of perfume, and sex, and Harry. He's all over you and it drives Dylan mad in the best and worst way possible.

He brushes his lips along your cheek for just a moment, wanting to give in and kiss you the way he's been thinking about all night…but he resists. 

It's much more fun to leave your begging for more.

However this time, you’re the one to refuse. Refuse to waste another moment missing him. Refuse to go another second without the taste of his lips on yours.

So, you spin around. You spin around, and you move onto your hands and knees, and you force Dylan’s head to spin as he attempts to comprehend the new position.

You take hold of his hips and surge forward, dragging your tongue along his toned stomach, eager to hear the way his breath begins to stagger.

It’s like music, and you do it a time or two more, just to tease him.

You know he’s unsure of your plan, but he makes no move to stop you. After all, he couldn’t possibly fucking dream of stopping you now. Not when this is all he’s ever wanted anyway.

Harry watches with labored breaths, noticing the way Dylan's eyes widen and flutter as you move up his body. It's annoying, and aggravating, and so goddamn hot.

And Dylan could stare at your pretty pink tongue assaulting his skin for the rest of his life if he had the chance. But tonight, that’s not his plan.

You finally reach his neck, moving your sultry kisses to that spot just beneath his ear in hopes that he'll buckle beneath your touch. That he’ll finally give in.

But he sees it coming from a mile away. So, before you have the chance to use that pretty mouth against him, he suddenly grasps onto the back of her neck and tugs your head back, making you gasp. 

Your jaw just about drops as you look up at him, now dripping pathetically down your thighs from the force, and from the way he's glaring at you.

"What did I fucking say?" he hisses, that dominant edge enough to leave you weak. 

However, you can only respond with a shaky breath. And it the anxious noise would almost worry Dylan…if he didn't already what a fucking whore you were.

"Please," you finally find the strength to whisper as Dylan’s head tilts.

"Please…what, hm?" he replies, dipping down to ghost your lips together, exactly the way you wanted. "Does it hurt, baby?"

And even as he says it, you can feel the strange rush between your thighs. The way you feel so empty. The way your body is practically begging Dyaln to fill you. Fill you, fuck you, cum inside of you. Drip down your thighs, your throat, your fucking tits. 

You whimper from the mere thought of it, and the dejected sound makes Dylan’s ego swell. You just need him to touch you. Need it. Your own fingers won’t do. They’re so small. So useless compared to him. Compared to anything he’ll give you. Even a look.

"Hurts," you repeat pathetically. "Please, Dyl."

His eyes dance across your expression as he thinks. "What do you need, lovie? Tell me."

But he already knows what you need. Who you need. But you know he wants to hear you say it. 

And not for his benefit. 

But Harry's.

So, you give him exactly what he’s searching for. "Need your cock, Dylan, please. Need you to ruin me, need it so fucking bad."

"Yeah? What else?" he pushes, nearly groaning. God, he loves hearing you beg. Loves watching the way your eyes go dark with lust. The way that sarcastic attitude of yours vanishes into thin air the moment he touches you. 

"Need to taste you," you just about gasp, the idea alone making you shiver. "Need to feel your hands around my neck. Wanna see you on my skin for weeks."

"Yeah? Why?”

You know why. He knows why. Even Harry knows why, and he's this close to chipping a tooth at Dylan's little performance. 

But you say it anyway.

"Because I'm yours."

There it is. Exactly what Dylan wanted. Your pussy, your mouth, you—all of it is his.

Not Harry's. 

Not Harry's. 

With this thought, he straightens up onto his knees so he can well and truly tower over you before tugging once more on your hair for good measure.

“Show him.”

With that, he lets go so you can comply, and like the good fucking girl you are, your immediately hands fall to his briefs.

Harry's focus follows, already glaring as he watches Dylan smile at you. 

And you’re so fucking excited. Can barely keep your fingers from trembling as you pull the elastic band down his thighs.

He's hard, and red, and ready. He's wanted this since before he saw you tonight in the club. Since he first heard you fuck yourself in the shower just this morning and now, he's gonna give you exactly what you’d been imagining while you did it.

Forcing Harry to watch is just a happy coincidence.

"Turn around," Dylan instructs, nodding his chin toward the other side of the bed.

Your heart races when you realize what he wants, and you can’t help but swallow a small moan as you turn around and steady yourself on your hands and knees.

He quickly grabs onto your hips and gives you exactly half a second to prepare before he’s brushing his tip through your wet folds. 

You reel at the faint contact, already unraveling from such a small touch. 

And truth be told, he’d tease you all goddamn night if he could, but he’s beginning to lose his control. So, he once again reaches forward to grasp a fistful of your hair and yank your head up until you’re facing Harry.

Then, with a growl, he says, "You watch him. You fucking watch him while you clench around my cock. You watch him while I fuck you. Do you understand?"

You try to nod, but his grip is too tight. "Yes," you pant instead, eyes already locking on Harry's. “Yes, I promise.”

Harry lets out a slow breath.

Satisfied, Dylan finally allows himself to give in to everything he's been wanting. With one hand on your head, and the other on your hip, he surges forward, and buries his cock inside your aching cunt. 

And the moment he feels you…everything changes. He likes to think he’d been doing so good, but you’re so fucking…tight. And warm. And wet. And fucking squeezing the shit out of him in a way that makes his head pound.

“Fuck…Dylan,” you whisper, so overcome by the pressure in your stomach that you’re not even aware you said it until he curses.

“M’so fucking good to you,” he breathes, unweaving his fingers from your hair so he can scratch down your spine. “Take such good care of you, don’t I?”

“Yes.” You can’t stand it. Can’t breathe, can’t see straight.

"I let him watch you just the way you like," he continues, and your eyes roll back. "Because you do, don’t you? Like to be watched like the pretty little whore you are. Makes you feel so fucking good, doesn't it?"

“Fuck,” is about all you can muster when he slams his hips into your ass.

"I let him watch," he murmurs, still thrusting into you so hard, and so deep that you’re convinced he might actually ruin you. "I let him watch me use what's mine. Let him watch you soak me. Let him see exactly what it looks like to own you. That's what you want, isn't it, princess?"

Your answer comes in the form of another gut-wrenching moan, the sound echoing through the room right as he grazes her g-spot, sending you down onto your forearms. 

Harry's breathing is getting heavier, the underwear in his mouth now truly soaked from his drool while his cock is still aggressively aggravated beyond belief. It's fucking torture sitting so close yet so far away. Forced to watch you have all the fun.

But there's also something rather…addicting about watching Dylan clench his jaw when he thrusts, or feels you clench, or hears you moan his name. 

And both you and Harry become quite mesmerized by the way Dylan's muscles flex whenever he pulls at your hip or pushes your head down onto the mattress, forcing your cheek taut against the silk. The way his strong thighs hold him up as he thrusts into you. The way beads of sweat are beginning to form around his hairline, forcing locks of messy brown hair to fall across his forehead.

And the noises he's making...low grunts of pleasure followed by rather animalistic moans. 

You decide then that he’s got a great sex voice.

Dylan, however, doesn’t notice any of the staring. Instead, much more concerned with the way he's already so close to filling you up and spilling right out. And even more focused on the way he’s beginning to wish this night would never end.

 If he had it his way, you’d fuck all night. Over and over and over, until you were raw and weepy. Until the tears were staining your cheeks as you scratched patterns down his back. Until Harry, and the whole fucking club knew exactly who your pussy belongs to.

But he fears this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Once you leave this room...the fun comes to an end. He doubts you’ll ever speak of it again, so he figures he needs to make every second count. 

"Look at him," Dylan finally orders, calling your attention back to Harry's face. "Look at the way he wants to taste you on my cock. How he wants anything I'll let him have. But you're mine, aren't you? Fucking tell him. Tell him who you were really made for."

You can’t seem to speak, your tongue going numb as you subconsciously beg him to go harder.

Sensing that you need the encouragement, he leans down once more, brushing your hair off your back before pressing a rather delicate kiss to your shoulder. "Aren't I good to you? Sharing you the way I do? Letting him watch?"

You nod vehemently as you whimper, and he can’t help but smirk as he glances over to the man on the bench, who merely huffs angrily.

Suddenly, Dylan is reaching around to grab onto your jaw for a second time as he forces your head to the side so you can see him. "But this tight little hole? It's fucking mine. Isn't it? Yeah? Say it then. Tell him who you really want."

"You," you breathe instantaneously. And maybe tomorrow morning you’ll feel differently, but right now you really are his and only his. 

"Good girl," he hums, releasing her chin. "But I think Harold's a visual learner. Think you need to fucking show him. Show him that I'm good to you. Show him that he's never gonna be good enough for you."

Without warning, you hear yourself moaning his name, your body stretching out across the mattress so you can take him deeper. It's too fucking good, too much to comprehend, but you do know that you’re close. 

And Dylan knows it, too. And he wishes he could see the look on your face, but the view of your ass is a rather good second option. So, he watches his cock slip in and out out of you. Coated in you as it stretches you from the inside out.

He moves to grope your skin softly as praise before giving it a firm smack, just so he can hear the sound and hear the way you groan with pleasure. 

Even Harry growls to himself as he looks away...although he immediately looks back, refusing to miss a second of it. Much to Dylan's amusement.

"You're close, aren't you?" Dylan taunts, reaching for the vibrator as you nod. "Attagirl, c'mon now."

The vibrator is on your clit within seconds, and even without him having to ask, you grind down against the toy with fervor. Lip between your teeth as you revel in how perfectly he fills you while your cunt is sent into overdrive. It’s so much, so perfect, so overwhelming that you have no other choice but to ball the sheets in your fists to brace yourself.

Your hips move up and down the vibrating object as he pushes you even further into that blissful state. Almost…so close…just a little further…and then you’re fucking gone.

Dylan cna feel you fluttering around his cock, and the second he sees you dripping down your silky skin…he follows.

So many sounds fill the space. His needy groans and your whimpers of pleasure. You can’t help but reach back and tangle your fingers in his damp hair when he brings himself close enough to you. Needing to share this with him every way you know how.

And it’s a beautiful moment for the two of you. Connected completely as he fills you, spills inside of you, drips down your thighs exactly the way he’d wanted to.

And then…there’s Harry.

He’s begun to grow antsy, assuming that now that it’s over…it’s finally his turn.

But the two of you take your time on the bed as you regroup and work to catch your breath. Almost as if you’ve forgotten he’s even still in the room.

But, finally, Dylan’s content gaze trails over and finds him. And in that moment, Harry’s breath catches as he pulls his eyebrows together.

Dylan can’t help but smile as he takes in the writhing man before you. The way Harry’s hands are balled into fists and his black shirt unbuttoned just enough to showcase his sweaty chest and tattoos.

It’s almost…entertaining.

Dylan leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder once more before murmuring, "Stay right here, darling. Don't fucking move."

You nod weakly as you straighten back up onto your hands while Dylan begins to pull out. 

He's still at least halfway hard, which isn't very surprising, and he's sure with a little time, he'll be ready to ruin you again.

He stands from the bed, lazily pushing his hair back as moves toward Harry, who watches with weary eyes. 

"Don't worry," Dylan hums with a smug smile, but Harry's expression merely darkens. 

Undeterred, Dylan’s hand comes to rest on the back of the bench near Harry's shoulder as he leans down, bringing their faces much closer than ever before.

In return, Harry’s head tilts up as if defying Dylan's very presence, and Dylan has to chuckle.

"I'm gonna let you go," he tells him. "And you know what you're gonna do?"

Harry answers by huffing out a strained breath.

Dylan smiles. "You're gonna fuck your fist while we watch."

Their eyes lock together for at least a minute if not more as Harry attempts to decipher Dylan’s true intentions.

But his intentions are honest, and he quickly moves for the restraints on Harry’s wrist so he can click them up, and set him free.

Harry’s wrist drops to his side, lashes flutter with sweet relief as Dylan moves to the other hand to repeat the process.

And once both Harry’s hands are free, he lifts his fingers to his mouth, takes the panties out, and throws them onto the floor.

"Fuck you," is the first thing he decides to say and Dylan snorts.

"I think you mean, thank you," he corrects as he straightens up. "You wanna cum, right? Then go ahead. Cum all over your pretty hand."

With that, Dylan turns around and heads back to the bed where you await, your expression curious as you watch the exchange.

In all honesty, you had expected any interaction between the two of them to be much more hostile, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the way they seem to be getting along. 

Especially because they're two of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen and watching them fight for control has to be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Dylan is back at your side within seconds as you roll over onto your back to look up at him. 

He places his hand near her head, hovering above you once more as he whispers, "How do you feel, honey?"

"Good," you answer honestly, reaching up to run your fingers down his cheek. "You're so good to me."

"I know," he retorts with a teasing smirk, before dipping down to graze his lips over your bottom one. "Can't fucking stand not feeling you around me. Let me?"

At first, you’re confused by the request until you recognize the hopeful look on his face, and put the pieces together.

You nod and part your legs once again to allow him in, and he’s much gentler this time around. Guiding himself inside, easing in with great care before pulling your hips taut to his.

And you’re so fucking warm. Exactly the way he wanted. And it feels so…complete.

Not to mention, there’s something rather…enticing about knowing Harry’s still only a few feet away. Fisting his cock as he watches Dylan keep his cock warm inside you.

But you hardly notice Harry right now, much too distracted by the way Dylan is finally leaning down to kiss you the way he hadn’t been.

When your lips meet, it’s soft, and tender, and sweet. Even when he nips at the pink flesh so you’ll let him in, his tongue dancing with yours as he deepens the kiss in the same way he’s deep inside you.

And Harry watches. Watches as Dylan plays with your tit in his large hand, his fingers rolling your nipple around the pads of his thumb. Watches as you sigh and wrap you legs around his waist to pull him in even further. Watches Dylan look up at him as you kiss down his neck. 

The smug son of a bitch knows exactly what he's doing and much to Harry's chagrin...it's working.

After spitting in his hand, Harry runs his palm up and down his hard cock, squeezing the tip as his head falls back into the wall from the building pleasure. 

And in this moment, you all…exist. So much sex and understanding and…peace. 

You devote your final moments to making Dylan feel good, running your hands and lips along his body as he smiles down at you.

Dylan keeps his eyes on the movement as he does so, sensing that eye contact is one of Harry's turn-ons. And who is Dylan to deny such a pleasure?

Once in a while, you’ll roll your head back to get a glance at Harry. And you’re so happy he kept that satin shirt of his on because the way his sleeves are rolled up to showcase the veins in his arms is sinful. Almost as sinful as the way his chest heaves with anticipation or the way his cock looks in front of it.

He’s so close to ruining the nice outfit with the way his movements are becoming faster and more sporadic. He’s trying to hold off, loving the way he’s being watched by you. But it’s been far too fucking long, and his body can’t take it any longer.

Dylan groans as you lick a stripe along his jaw, his own lashes fluttering as he buries his lip into your neck. 

His hands smooth up your stomach and chest before they find their place back on your throat for a final time. He kisses you hard and deep as you whimper against his mouth, pulling him in by your legs once more.

"So good," Dylan whispers, although he's not sure who he's talking to. "So fucking good for me."

But both you and Harry bask in his praise, with you gazing up at him as you run her fingers through his hair while Harry sucks in a breathless whine, dick twitching in his hand. 

When he finally cums, the three of you begin to relax. To make peace with the strange occurance of the evening. 

To make peace with the understanding that it won’t happen again.

Or…maybe it will.

After all…

What are sex clubs for?

Thought I'd give this story a little x Reader makeover! In case it wasn't already blatantly obvious, I am in love with both of these men 😭

Dedicated to @straightontilmornin for being nice enough to want this with me 😭

~ Other Harry and Dylan Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[ruggiezz]

bby ya que somos del mismo rancho :3)/ entenderas mejor este pedido esque queria saber si podrias hacer headcanons para los lideres de dormitorio, reaccionando a la costumbre de aqui de saludar siempre con un beso o dos en la mejilla o aveces incluso abrazar cuando son más amigos ^^ y yap, graciaaaas y agradecida por haber encontrado tu blog *beso en la frente*

— KISS ON THE CHEEK : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] them reacting to reader giving them a kiss on the cheek as a greeting (a latin american and hispanic tradition/custom) and them being hugged a lot when being friends (also a latin american thing). reader is yuu

[characters] housewardens (except for vil since i don't write for him)

[extra] YO TAMBIÉN HABÍA PENSADO EN LO MISMO ANON, tienes mucha razón, necesitamos más headcanons así. also, me hace muy feliz de que te guste mi blog 😭

★ RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

He invited you and Grim to the next unbirthday party as the guests of honor. So when he arrives everybody has their eyes on both of you and Riddle approaches to where you're seated and greets you, what he wasn't expecting was you getting out of your seat and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

Is flabbergasted pt.1 and he gets as red as a tomato. Inmediately begins screaming "Off with your head" and is only stopped when Ace and Deuce run towards you both and try to explain the situation.

He gets more relaxed now knowing that's just how people back in your world greet eachother, but please, don't do it in front of everyone again, or at least without warning him, Cater took a picture and posted it on magicam and Trey teased him for it. Apparently both of them knew and were eager to see his reaction.

Low-key really embarassed the rest of the unbirthday party, he can't stop thinking about it. Riddle makes a mental reminder to ask more about your culture now, just in case you surprise him out of nowhere again.

Also finds out about the hugging aspect when you two were studying for finals, when you hugged him excitedly when you passed a test thanks to his tutoring. He gets red again, but doesn't do anything to stop you from hugging him. Riddle can get used to it, but he won't probably ask for hugs unless you both are in a relationship, so ask him out already.

★ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Leona, for once, decided to eat at the cafeteria since Ruggie was sick that day and couldn't bring him his lunch. He sat alone on one table and nobody dared to approach him because if looks could kill, everbody that dared look at the housewarden would drop dead. That was until you spotted him and went to greet him. The whole cafeteria got dead silent when they saw you giving him a kiss on the cheek. THE Leona Kingschoalr being KISSED by the magicless human.

"Oi herbivore, you're really bold, aren't you? Daring to kiss me in front of everyone?" Leona looked at you with a grin, if it was another person that dared to do it and not you, he wouldn't have let it go, but it was you, so he is going to let it slide. Are you interested in him then?

Disappointed but not surprised when you explain that is a way of greeting people back in your world, but hey, at least he is in a better mood now, so you better sit and eat lunch with him (in silence).

When he overhears a first year Savanaclaw student, that doesn't like Leona, make fun of him, for going "soft", and you, for being "shameless" for that kiss, he's furious. The next day that student had to run an extra kilometer at morning training.

Regarding being hugged a lot, he doesn't mind, but he won't say that. He calls you "bold" and "fearless" for doing it, but doesn't stop you. Ruggie even saw you both asleep in the botanical garden while hugging. Maybe he has developed a soft spot for you after all.

★ AZUL ASHENGROTTO

I know I made headcanons of Azul being chilean, but Yana Toboso hasn't made it canon (smh octavinelle being latino in canon when) so I'll go with how he would react in canon.

Azul invited you to Mostro Lounge to taste the new menu he carefully planned as a way of raising the daily income. He greeted you at the entrance with Floyd and Jade behind him, when you suddenly gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"..."

"..."

"Shrimpy! I want a kiss on the cheek too! Why is only Azul getting one?"

Flabbergasted pt.2, give him a moment, he needs to sort out his thoughts. What just happened. Did the prefect just kiss him on the cheek out of nowhere? This wasn't part of the plan.

Jade interrupts his thoughts when he starts laughing at him, and Azul goes back to the real world and demands at explanation at you over what you just did.

He is still flustered even after you explain that's just a custom back in your world, but has to compose himself for the sake of the rest of the customers that are staring at him. He won't mention it again the rest of his life, unless you greet him like that the next time. Needless to say, Azul got teased by the tweels after who just wouldn't let it go.

Azul is also very flustered when you hug him out of nowhere when he helps you out with an assigment "on the house". Is this also a custom of your country? It is? Oh, he's a little dissapointed you "don't mean it" in a romantic way, since he's been interested in you for a while. Just don't hug him in front of Jade and Floyd, because: (1) They will make fun of him (2) Floyd will squeeze you.

★ KALIM AL-ASIM

Kalim organized a huge party celebrating that he passed his finals exams and every dorm was invited, which meant you were invited too. While Jamil was running around Scarabia trying to make sure everything was in the right place and making sure there was enough food, Kalim was waiting excitedly near the entrance for you to arrive.

When you arrived and gave him a kiss on the cheek, he stood there shocked for a second while Jamil had a heart attack right then and there. After like 5 seconds of Kalim thinking about what just happened, he gave you a kiss back and greeted you with the biggest smile you've ever seen. You didn't even explain what it meant, he just ran with it, excited that you gave him a kiss.

Kalim doesn't care whether it's a greeting or a romantic gesture, he's just happy you're here. He's whipped for you and will accept anything you give him. Jamil agressively disagrees, he is the heir of a wealthy family, someone could see this and misinterpret the situation, but Kalim doesn't care either way and will now greet you with a kiss on the cheek, if this makes you feel more at home then he will gladly do it!

He eagerly accepts your hugs, his love language is physical touch, so he's sooo happy when you hug him, even if it's out of nowhere. Give him all the hugs you want, no need to warn him. Kalim will make it an habit to surprise you with a hug from behind, be free to do it too!

★ IDIA SHROUD

The only one that isn't getting kissed in public. He invited you to his room to play this new videogame that just dropped. Idia had bought some snacks and brought some blankets so you wouldn't be cold when you suddenly arrived and kissed him. Idia.exe has stopped working.

Flabbergasted pt.3, he couldn't even utter the word "hello" he was going to say. He's literally that "what happened to hello? how are you? my name is?" audio on tiktok. He stands there looking at the wall behind you for around 2 minutes, in total silence. So you're both standing there in silence, even after you explain to him that it's a way of greeting someone where you come from.

Idia's soul probably left his body and had to come back because he just couldn't throw you out of his room to have a minute of self-reflection and to think about the meaning of the universe and why we're all here and-

His whole hair is pink and he just fiddles with his videogame controller the whole afternoon, only replying with short words. If you apologize to him he will get even MORE flustered and start panicking over what to do.

It's the same thing regarding hugs, his hair will turn pink and he will scream internally, give him 5 business days to recover, please. It's not that he hates you or doesn't respect your culture, it's just that Idia isn't used to physical affection by other than his brother and ocassionally, his parents. But he low-key likes it, just give him a few weeks to get used to it.

★ MALLEUS DRACONIA

He visits Ramshackle's garden every night, it's his favorite part of the day since you're the only one that doesn't care much about him being "royalty" and isn't walking around eggshells with him. But he's surely surprised when you greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

"You're certainly bold, child of man. You surprise me every day"

Were you trying to court him? Was this your way of telling him his feelings were mutual? No? It's just a human way to greet each other? He needs to cancel the wedding he was already planning then, a shame. What a disappointment, and you can see he's upset over it because you catch him pouting when he thought you weren't looking.

Sebek almost has a heart attack when he sees you greeting Malleus with a kiss on the cheek when you arrive to Diasomnia. He has never screamed so loud, the glass on the windows almost broke, people in Heartslabyul say they even heard it. Lilia stops him from separating you from Malleus, thankfully.

Malleus enjoys your hugs, they are warm and it makes him feel fuzzy. He even asked Lilia what was this feeling was. Please give him more hugs, he deeply enjoys it. He just assumes it's another human custom, and he's eager to learn more about your culture, please do tell him more. Now you have another topic to talk about in your night walks.

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC: WHAT THE FUCK, FENTON

I think I've seen something like this somewhere before but I'm also not sure so if there is already something like this, I'm sorry.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Character Death and Grief, Implied/Referenced/Suspected Child Abuse, Depression and Self-Harm? (only implied, but non-graphic) IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE.

Danny Fenton was dead.

At least, that's what everybody in Amity Park was told after something happened in Fenton Works. Maddie and Jack Fenton insisted that Danny was dead and that a ghost was responsible. Danny's friends and Sister were weirdly quiet though, but not grieving.

No.

Grief was never an emotion that Dash Baxter saw on any of their faces. Instead rage took it's place. A rage that seemed to be shared by Mayor Masters who sudddenly started cracking down on housing laws, regulations, and other issues. He changed is mind of 'Ghosts are the enemy' to 'Ghost Hunting is no longer permitted' much to the annoyance of his "friends".

Dash didn't understand what was happening, what happened to Fentur-Fenton, or why the all the sudden changes but what confused him most was how he felt about it. When he had gotten the news he felt physically sick. He missed two full days of school just because he felt sick. When he went to school and heard some wanna-be A-Listers spreading rumors about how Fenton was in a bad place and had just taken himself out.

Before any of Fenton's friends could even think about shutting them down Dash shut them down by breaking one of their noses.

A few days later he sat with Foley, Manson, and Valerie at lunch. They were surprised and asked him what he was doing there while his friends acted appalled but Dash didn't reply and just put his head down on the table. It wasn't until near the end of lunch that Dash finally spoke.

"I'm sorry... I'll try to be better... for Fenton."

This surprised all of them. Even Dash but what surprised everybody even more was when he started to cry. In the end it was Foley who came over and put his hand on Dash's shoulder.

Nothing was said, but it was enough to comfort Dash and leave him with more questions.

Why weren't they the one's crying? Their best friend had died and they were comforting him? This was bullshit! He didn't even like Fenton!

Right?

It was later that year when Casper High went to Gotham City for a football game against Gotham University. The game was going well until half-time when Star approached them while they were on time out.

"Um... hey guys not to totally like throw off the groove or anything but... isn't that Danny?"

Every member of the gootball team and the cheerleading squad turned to where Star pointed and Dash's eyes locked onto a familiar black haired, blue eyed kid in an expensive uniform. Dash had a split second thought of 'There's no fuckin way that's Fenton. Maybe a look alike?'

But then the kid shrank down slightly between two other teens one with curtained black hair and one with darker skin and Dash knew.

Dash threw himself towards the fence, climbing over the fence and onto the bleachers as Danny held up his hands and stood up quickly. He was pale and anxious, the two teens with him looking ready to fight as Dash grabbed him by teh front of the shirt in front of his whole school.

"WHAT THE FUCK, FENTON?!"

"D-Dash! I can explain, I-"

Danny started rambling out a frantic and bullshit excuse but Dash was just hearing static, ignoring the two teens next to them telling him to put Danny down. Dash then hugged him with a pissed off growl while Danny went stiff.

"We thought you fuckin' died, Man. What the hell..." He whimpered, tears burning his eyes as Danny relaxed and after a moment hugged Dash back.

"Sorry, Dash."

Dash was about to yell at him more when he heard Mr. Lancer shout out.

"TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, WHAT IS HAPPENING, BAXTER?!" Dash let Danny go and gestured for the teacher to see which was when Dash heard his teacher actually swear for the first time ever. "What the fuck?"

"H-Hi, Mr. Lancer..." Was all Danny could say as an awkward reply.

[tavolgisvist]

The suits

Think, I don't want to clog the idontwanttospoiltheparty's post so put my cooments here. @idontwanttospoiltheparty wrote good tags

I was just thinking about the suits too. And I came to the same conclusion: the suits as a way to express dissatisfaction with something else. Look,

1971 (the trial for the dissolution of The Beatles etc):

He was a theatrical man rather than a businessman, and with us he was a bit like that. He literally fucking cleaned us up. And there were great fights between him and me, over years and years, of me not wanting to dress up. He and Paul had some kind of collusion... to keep me straight. Because I kept spoiling the image, like the time I beat up a guy at Paul's twenty-first (birthday). I nearly killed him, because he insinuated that me and Brian had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind.

(John Lennon, September 5th, 1971, St. Regis Hotel in New York City, interview with Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld)

and 1975 (meeting with Paul in 1974 and after):

Q: How true is the myth that Brian Epstein packaged the Beatles? А: Everything is true and not true about everything. That’s one thing I’ve learned. Both things are both true. Q: That’s a very Yoko answer … But was there a point where you four were very naive? А: Oh, we weren’t naive. We were no more naive than he was. I mean what was he, he was serving in a record shop. And he saw this group of sort of rockers … or greasers playing loud music and a lot of kids paying attention to it. So he thought well, this is a business to be in. He liked the look of us, and thought, I’ll be a manager. It was as simple as that. He said, I think I can manage you, and we had nobody better, and we said, All right, you can do it. Then he went shopping around, getting us work, and then there came to a bit when he said, Look, if you cut your hair… Q: How long was it? А: For then, it was longer than any of the photographs. Normally, in any photograph, it had been trimmed or cut. Even school photographs—have you noticed that— your hair always seemed to be cut the day before they took the school photograph. Or whenever you had a photograph of your holidays, somehow the parents or somebody always managed to cut your hair. But there’s some private pictures where it was pretty long for those days, longer than the early pictures. And it was still greased back, and outside of Liverpool, when we went down South in the leather outfits, the dance-hall promoters didn’t really like us, because they thought we looked like a gang of thugs. So Epstein said, Look, if you wear this suit … and we liked suits, everybody wanted a good suit, a nice black, sharp suit, man … you know, yeah, man, I’ll have a suit. So, if you wear a suit, you get this much money. All right, wear a suit, you get more money, wear a suit, I’ll wear a fucking balloon if they’re going to pay me. He was our salesman. He was our front. If you notice, another quirk of life is that self-made men usually have someone with education to front for them. Epstein had enough education to go in and talk to the hobnobs in their own language, and it’s the same now. If I have a lawsuit, I have to get a lawyer to talk to them. Epstein fronted for the Beatles. He played a great part at whatever he did; he was theatrical, that was for sure, and he believed in us. But he certainly didn’t package us the way they said [he did]. Look, we weren’t picked up off the street, we allowed him to take us. Paul wasn’t so keen [on him], Paul’s more conservative in the way he approaches things, and that’s all well and good—maybe he’ll end up with more yachts.

(John Lennon, FEB 19, 1975, interview with Lisa Robinson)

Different years, different circumstances - and different reactions to the suits.

And we remember Brian wasn't the first person who dressed John in a suit (haha I have a reason to quote Len Garry and add a link to amoralto):

“Yeah yeah, it’s all very well, Paul,” muttered John. “Just because your Dad played in some old time music hall in the thirties doesn’t mean we should go on stage wearing white coats. People will think we’re a bunch of fairies.” “Wait a minute, John, I’m burning the toast.” Paul, clattering about in the kitchen, seemed oblivious to John’s emphatic statement. He then came out of the kitchen with a pile of buttered toast on a large plate for the ravenous horde waiting. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you properly; oh, the white coats, is that what you’re on about? What’s your problem with that? Look John, it’s about time we started smartening up our image because we can’t go on looking like a gang of ruffians just dragged off the streets,” retorted Paul. “We must look professional – we’re on the stage, in the public eye, and appearances are important. If we start looking the part then perhaps you may even be able to get your chords right.” Paul said this last point in a jovial manner, not wishing to rouse John’s temper, as he knew even after short acquaintance with John that he could soon ‘fly off the handle’ if provoked. John seemed unperturbed by the insinuation that Paul was making about his professionalism (or lack of it). There was a silence for a couple of minutes as we all munched on our buttered toast. “Yeah okay – but white coats? I can’t see myself in one of those. Anyway, where would we get them from?” “Never mind that – Nigel will sort that out. Look, it will be you and me up front from now on as main guitarists and vocalists so it’ll look good, the both of us wearing the same gear. It will be white coats, white shirts and black bow ties – the rest of the group can wear white shirts and black bow ties.” John still seemed undecided and looked to me for support. “What do you think, Len?” he asked. “I think the answer lies in the soil,” I said, trying to bring a bit of humour into what seemed to me a contest building up between two strong personalities, each having been used to getting their own way. Continuing in a none-too-serious vein, “But then again I think that you two don’t need us anymore, we’re has-beens.” [...] “Come on, Len, be serious for a minute. What do you think?” repeated John, who was by this time desperate for support. “I honestly think it’s worth a try and it will probably improve our image,” I said half-heartedly. Suddenly John resorted to his lighter mode. “Ooh, eh! We will look smart. Why don’t we hire a limousine and dress up as undertakers instead?” he quipped. “Don’t be thick, John, we’d all have to wear black for that,” Eric Griffiths suddenly interjected. “Okay, we’ll all be in white then – it’s agreed,” said Paul. John then started up with a song that had recently been popularised: “A white sport coat and a pink carnation, I’m getting dressed up for a dance.” With that John did a little dance around the room. The Quarrymen Committee had arrived at another major decision without too much rancour.

(John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles by Len Garry, 1997)

It's interesting, I didn't know:

1963 was the year of the now iconic collarless suit – created for the band by UK tailor, Dougie Millings, whom we learn went on to make over 500 outfits for the group. His collarless creation was conceived in a brainstorming session involving Paul McCartney, who’d originally proposed the idea. Their suits were modeled on an original design by Pierre Cardin, but tweaked to make it a distinctively Beatles’ garment.

(from review of Fashioning the Beatles – The Looks That Shook the World (2023, by Deirdre Kelly)

And the Paul's reason to wear the same suits (from Conversations With McCartney by Paul Du Noyer, 2012):

Later, not long before he died in April 1962, Sutcliffe visited his former group in Liverpool, with Kirchherr on his arm. “He was looking thin and pale, and he must’ve been taking medication, because, like the letter from him reproduced in the book, which is very James Joyce-y and surreal, he was sometimes just floating, and then all of a sudden, he wasn’t,” McCartney recalls. “There’s a picture in the book of Astrid, with her very short, Mia Farrow-type hair, John and Stu outside the Cavern. Not long after that, we were all down there, in the Cavern, and I remember Stu and Astrid walking in, and Stu had this ordinary jacket, but without the collar. We all pissed ourselves laughing. He was not happy, because we didn’t get it, the style. But then, when he died, those famous Beatles collarless jackets, they’re in homage. They weren’t Beatles jackets. They were Stu’s jacket.”

(Mike McCartney, June 2022, interview with Jeff Slate)

[petrichor-idyllic]

HI could i request a minho x reader where they’re best friends and have a thing for eachother but they’re oblivious so everybody in the glade starts pulling shenanigans to get them together

I can sure try I guess.

Gender neutral reader because you didn't specify.

Guys pls start specifying lmao I am stressed.

HOW TO WINGMAN (POORLY)

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Gender Neutral! Builder! Reader x Minho. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas. Book based fic purely because no big 3D map.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, teenage shenanigans, oblivious reader/Minho, no one knows how to interact like normal humans, one awkward shower scene and mild suggestive content but nothing explicit.

You and Minho have been best friends since you popped up in the Glade.

Honestly, you're not really sure how it happened. You came up the month after Minho, so he was tasked with looking after you, and you just kind of stuck.

Minho is obviously the Keeper of the Runners, which means he's out in the Maze most of the the time, and you spend your days working as a Builder. But, you both still find time to enjoy each other's company after your long days.

It's definitely a close relationship, and anyone that knows Minho is often caught off guard to see the difference in him when he's around you. He's almost softer, definitely more smiley and easier to be around. His bitter and often slightly negative attitude is dulled in your presence. Of course, everyone likes Minho.

But everyone likes Minho a lot more when you're with him.

And that goes both ways. You're noth completely different people around each other; more approachable and easier to get along with.

It's obvious.

Of course it is.

Everyone in the Glade knows.

You guys like each other.

You have been harbouring a massive crush on Minho for pretty much as long as you can remember. And Minho isn't much better.

It's obvious, to everyone but you two.

Maybe you're both blinded by not wanting to mess up your friendship, or simply the pressure of living in a death maze is enough to give you both different priorities, but you're both blissfully unaware of your feelings for one another.

And it's starting to take the piss.

You have the other Gladers wanting to rip their hair out and just scream at you to go off somewhere and make out for a bit to let off some steam.

Obviously, they don't do that (probably because Alby would have their heads for distracting his best Runner).

But they want to. Man, do they want to.

So, instead, the remaining boys decide to come up with a plan after a particularly slow week in the Glade. They were going to do whatever it took to get the pair of you to finally realise you share the same feelings.

Which is easier said than done, especially when Minho is MIA most of the day.

But, with Ben slowly implementing hints towards Minho on their runs, and some of your Builder colleagues doing the same for you, the seeds were getting set in place.

Though, maybe your stubbornness/oblivion might be beyond help.

"Yanno, I really like them," Ben says as he runs with Minho, insisting on joining him for the past couple of days now, saying something about two sets of eyes are better than one.

"Who?" Minho grumbles, genuinely considering make a dead sprint to get away from Ben.

"(Y/N), duh," Minho slows down slightly, coming to the same pace as his friend.

"What?"

"I mean, they're really cool, funny, hot- how could I not? You're cool with that, right? I mean, I know they're your friend but I kinda wanna ask them out, that's okay, right?"

Minho hesitates, seemingly thinking for a second. Minho wouldn't ever do anything to possibly ruin your happiness, even if he does have feelings for you and he knows you can make your own choices.

"Yep."

And with that, he sprints away, leaving Ben to stand there in some form of shock.

Meanwhile you're dealing with Gally.

"You know, you really do keep that shank on a tight leash- Minho is actually tolerable when you're around."

"Uh, thanks, I think?" You chuckle to yourself.

"I mean.. you guys are only friends, right?"

You're in the middle of trying to fix a shack that got damaged during a dumb fight between two boys. You freeze.

"Yeah?"

"Hm, interesting."

"Why's that interesting?"

"Just you guys are pretty close, some people think you'd make a good couple."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, right." You say sarcastically, going back to your work and ending the conversation in one go.

Okay, so that isn't working.

The boys need to recuperate.

Okay, so, maybe they need to get the pair of you in situations you wouldn't normally be in, alone.

So, what could a group of dumb teenage boys possibly do with that?

"Yo, (Y/N)," you'd just finished your day of work when Newt approaches you.

"Hey, Newt, you good?"

"Yeah, can you go get Minho for me? I gotta talk to him but I gotta sort some klunk out first."

"Oh, uh, sure, where is he?"

"Oh, he'll probably just be getting out of the shower, he came back earlier so he should be finishing up."

"You want me to go into the shower block to get Minho?" You blink at him. "Couldn't you have spoken to him earlier?"

"I didn't get chance to catch him- Alby wanted to talk to me." Newt seems shifty and unsure of himself.

He originally wanted no part in this, but Frypan said he'd give him extra food for two weeks so here we are.

"But-"

"Just go get him, a'ight?" Newt walks away before you can say anything else. Now, he has to actually figure out what to talk to Minho about when he inevitably comes looking for him.

Frypan owes him more stew.

You grumble to yourself, going to find your friend. Since Minho came back earlier, he should be finishing up and probably about to leave. So, you think just direct him towards Newt. Easy fix.

Though you do feel a bit weird about it.

And when you rock up at the shower block with just the sound of running water filling the room, you inwardly cringe.

"Minho?" You ask, probably a little too quiet since he doesn't hear you over the water. Sucking in a deep breath, you walk further into the shower block.

It's not like you're fazed by this kind of thing. Boys walk around the Glade shirtless all the time and no one really care about skin being shown off. But this is Minho.

He's flawlessly attractive in your eyes, and he's actually a pretty modest guy. You normally leave him to his privacy, but if Newt wants to talk to him, it must be important.

"Minho?" You say, a bit louder, which gets a response.

"Yeah?" He asks as you stand awkwardly outside of the shower booth, a good few feet away from the curtain.

"Newt wants to talk to you."

"What?"

"Newt wants to talk to you," you repeat, your voice even louder. "He told me to get you."

To your surprise, Minho moves the curtain. He holds it in a way that hides anything inappropriate, but still reveals his chiseled, drippong torso.

Minho seemingly hasn't realised what this subtle and nothing act has done, but it leaves you almost silently standing there.

"What about?"

"He, uh, he d-didn't say," Minho groans as you pull your lips into a thin line. He pulls the shower curtain back, giving you a much needed second to recollect yourself. The water stops and there's some shuffling before he emerges again.

He's wearing pants now, at least, as he struggles to put his shirt on over his damp body.

"Can't get two shuckin' seconds of peace here," he grumbles before sighing. "You eaten, yet?" He asks you casually, still completely oblivious to your flustered state.

"Uh, no, I've only just finished myself."

He nods. "Alright, I'll catch you for dinner then, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'course."

Minho leaves to find Newt and you stand there for another few seconds before leaving with nothing having changed.

So, that didn't work either.

Though I don't know how they expected it to. Trust teenage boys to turn wingmanship into awkward situations.

Somehow, this keeps going.

Gladers start "accidentally" start bumping into either of you to get you to stumble into each other. Which does nothing. Or they'll make you scoot closer together when eating so you're squashed next to one another. Which also does nothing.

After what seems like forever of the boys acting really weird, you and Minho start actively avoiding them.

So, they come up with an actual plan- because far too many people are invested now and it's getting out of hand.

It's a simple plan, really.

But it did require a questionable request list being thrown into the box and your deep concern when people starting pulling boxes of candles out.

Night begins to fall over the Glade. People were winding down and they'd gone through to effort of separating you and Minho.

Somehow, you'd ended up in a long conversation with Frypan about his dream to make the perfect cheesecake one day. And Minho was getting lectured by Alby over being mean to Ben. Plausible, really.

Then, out of

"(Y/N)!" Winston startles you. "Minho needs you! He's in the Map Room! It's urgent!"

"What? Is he okay?"

"You gotta go! Quick!"

In a panicked frenzy, you run off to the Map room.

Unbeknownst to you, Ben has just done the exact same thing to Minho.

You burst into the Map Room, completely ignoring the fact you're not actually allowed to be in there. You're certainly no Runner since you're already out of breath.

"Minho! What's-?" Your words get stuck in your throat when you see the state of the Map Room and a very clearly lost Minho.

Candles are everywhere, and in the middle of the table, there is a big fancy meal- all of Frypan's best work.

You both stand there, staring at the scene in front of you.

Almost like something out of a comedy sketch, you turn to each other. "Did you do this?"

You then stand there, blinking at one another.

"It's like..." You trail off.

"A date." Minho finishes the sentence. "Who the everliving SHUCK thought it was a good idea to put fire in the Map Room?"

"They set us up on a date?" You mumble.

He chuckles. "Yeah, looks like it." You hesitate, a small smile starting to play on your lips. "Well," he clears his throat, "shall we?"

"What?" You snort, watching him as he walks over to the chair, pulling it out and giving you a fake bow. "Your seat, darling."

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress a smirk, but you do take your seat.

"No point letting all this good food going to waste, eh?" He walks to the seat across from you, sitting down himself. "I doubt Fry is gonna be making a meal like this again anytime soon."

"Yeah, I guess so. Explains why they've been acting so weird."

"Yeah, I just thought those shanks were finally losing their marbles."

"Nice to know they think we'd make a cute couple," you chuckle.

"'Cause we would make a cute couple," he says, a little too confident. "I mean- I don't know." He chuckles.

You freeze, picking at your plate for a second. But shuck it, you might as well ask. If you can ask anyone anything- it's Minho. "...Would you want to be a couple?"

He looks at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I would, actually. Just... not now. There's too much goin' on here, yanno? I mean, would you wanna be... together?"

You nod. Maybe deep down, you could tell that Minho likes you, maybe he could tell you like him. "Yeah, of course I would, but you're probably right."

"I think when we leave here," he continues, "we'd be a shuckin' good couple." He sighs, smiling to himself." But for now, we stay friends, I deal with this klunk and one day we'll be enjoying our freedom- together."

It's a tranquil image. Freedom feels so close but so far away, and being with you is just further motivation for Minho. But, if anything happened to him out there, he couldn't put that extra baggage on you if you were dating.

"Well, you better get us out quick then, huh?" He chuckles.

"Yeah, yeah- well, let's enjoy our dumb date, shall we?"

"Guess this is our first date, then, huh?" You joke and he laughs.

"Yeah, guess it is."

I really didn't know what to do with this one, lads, ngl. It's more of a funny bit than a serious story and they don't even end up together- sorry.

I hope you kind of enjoyed tho lmao :)

[bellewintersroe]

can we have dick stealing sobel's gf 😌

AAAAGAHAGQHAH I LOVE THIS - writing with Sobel feels icky 🤢 so I’ve made that part as brief as possible- may seem unrealistic but I loveeee unrealistic scenarios 😈 ty for your request so sorry it’s legit taken a ridiculous amount of time to get round to doing this. Just a reminder this is based of the hbo portrayal of Sobel only, no disrespect to the real man!! Dick Winters stealing Sobels GF headcannons 🤭

okay let’s start off with something semi unrealistic but whatever.

Your family forced you into an arranged marriage with Sobel, or maybe you’ve been together since you were teens and it’s just… going nowhere, yeah. I kinda think the being forced to marry him is more realistic…

I can’t imagine there being much if any intimacy between you and Sobel- *shudders*.

And let’s be honest you’re soooo beautiful everybody’s clueless as to why you’re with the guy you’re with?

you’re stationed in England working there and lets say you’re just wayyy more sociable than your partner is. He’s not very nice to you- take that as you will, but at any chance to escape him you can.

pls you’re deffo already planning your breakup as soon as he’s shipped away, but you’re kinda worried about his and your families so you’re semi-sticking it out.

You become pretty isolated and essentially just give up on your love life.

that was until a red-haired, blue eyed soldier walks in. You can tell from the other men’s reactions he’s higher up- but you can also tell from the shy smile he sends in your direction he’s somewhat more reserved and polite.

Dick thinks you’re beautiful. He doesn’t know who you are and who you’re involved with- if he did he wouldn’t have been glancing over with flustered cheeks all evening.

“Dick just go over and speak to her for Christ sake.” Nixon eventually nudged his friend out of his seat.

that’s how you and dick eventually began talking. He’d approached you so politely, he didn’t want to intrude (I feel like Nix would have to get involved just to push it).

It wouldn’t even slip into conversation until later that night who you were with. The shock on both their faces is evident, Dick more so felt disappointed, then he felt guilty, then confused, and then a little humoured? Like how are you with Sobel out of all people?

anyway you see each other often and it’s a nice little friendship, there’s definitely some lingering feelings like you both know they’re there, but neither of you are bold enough or have the disrespect to make a move.

I feel like Dick would see you walking alongside Sobel, you both look so uncomfortably stiff and awkward with one another, he can tell you’re miserable.

all the men find it HILARIOUS that such a beautiful broad is with Sobel? But each to their own.

anyway, it’s one day, nearing dark outside and Dick just stumbles upon you sat on the wall, overlooking the fields in English.

when he notices you’re crying- uhhhh he feels a little awkward but he’s more concerned than anything. He checks the area first to see if you’re with anybody, but he’d be so gentle when he approaches you.

“Are you okay?” He’d accidentally startle you, but the gentle hand on the top of your back soothes you almost instantly.

you’d probs cry to him about how badly you don’t want that marriage and how horrible Sobel has been to you. Dicks just heartbroken about how badly you’re being treated. He doesn’t tell you to leave him, but in some ways he kinda does.

he’s NEVER do this for his own gain, but he knows that he can treat you better.

And ugh he’s so nice and respectful, everything that a man should be- and hearing that your family might DISOWN?!?? You for not marrying Sobel has him straight up admitting everything he feels for you.

Dick’s never been overly emotional but omg he can’t handle the idea of you not being taken care of. He’s very traditional and respectful, so wouldn’t force anything on you, but he’d 100% make it clear where he stands with you (there’s no room for overthinking with him).

so when he’s stood right there offering the world to you how could you say no? You leave Sobel without any reluctance and Dick is there waiting both emotionally and physically for when you’re ready. Of course if that’s not what you want he wouldn’t rush you. He kinda leaves you to do your own thing.

Its Nix who see’s the ring not on your finger, you’d get a little boozy with him and admit your feelings about Winters, you’re gushing about him and loud-mouth-lew obviously reports this back to a red faced Winters.

“oh, she said that?”

it’s safe to say you grow closer and closer, even if the progress is slow. He’d keep you updated through letters in the war, and you basically have a full fledged relationship just through writing to one another.

such romantic letters as the time goes on, who would’ve thought?

you best believe by the end of the war you two are living together in a quiet corner of the world, on a little farm and you’re happier than ever.

Sobel had warned you that without him you’d have nothing, no family, no man, no friends, no house, no money.

With winters you’d have it all and more. Sobel can’t do anything but act professional when he see’s Winters but omg he’s so salty.

[lockpickingliar]

Ouma Kokichi (Gemini) on DICE

Everybody and their dog knows that if there's one thing a Kokichi cares about more than anything, it's DICE. It's almost universally accepted that it's like a family to him. It's where he belongs.

My DICE is no different, but I'll have you know I've never seen those hooligans pictured in my motive video in my life. Not in the game, at least. My motive video was very different. For starters, we had sixteen member, not ten. I'm sure it doesn't take much to realize what that implies for me.

We were all DICE. I can finally say that now.

I was the only one who remembered, as some cruel way to twist the knife. They changed things about all of us to make us unpalatable to one another. Made my tendency to lie a compulsion that made sure no one would believe me if I managed to tell them.

And I tried to tell them.

I told Kay that I knew her point blank once, before she died. But then the conversation meandered on and I tripped over my own compulsion and backpedaled. Yeah of course I knew her, we met just the other day when we all woke up here.

A lie.

I tried a different approach. I tried to re-recruit her. That didn't go much better. She didn't trust me, for obvious reasons, and easily turned down my offer because I couldn't stomach any more truth than that it was a secret organization. How suspicious.

It's not her fault, though. She didn't remember, and they changed us. They made it so no one would accept me as a leader. Isn't that ironic? Their former supreme leader, now shunned and demonized despite his best efforts to keep everything from falling apart.

Kay and Ran were super close, like siblings, y'know.

Rumi and Ryo were practically married.

Kiyo and Ten loved to discuss gender philosophy together. An painted them during a chat, once.

Go and Miu liked to bond over a joint.

Kai and I...

Well, every good leader needs a second in command.

We were all one big group. A family. Maybe a polycule if you wanna call it that, although everyone had one or two people they were particularly close with.

As you can imagine, we didn't sign up for Danganronpa. I'm not sure such a franchise even exists. It was probably just a cover to confuse us, or hell, maybe that's not how it ended at all. I wouldn't know. I'm dead now.

I do have a pretty good idea of who might've orchestrated it, though, just based on the mocking facsimile they made as our so-called "backstory plot".

A group aiming for the stars to make the world a better place...? Well, we did have Project Stargazer in the works. I wonder who might've had a vested interest in ensuring its failure?

We were a group with direction. We had a goal, and projects to reach that goal that we were working tirelessly toward. A post-tragedy world is a pretty scary place. In the midst of so much chaos that the Tragedy caused, only one organization had the power and resources to take on the task of reconstruction, which is all well and good.

Not so much years after the fact, when everything is still controlled by them.

If you want something rebuilt, you better hope they're in agreement, or you'll never get the assistance. They have their own agenda, and they take full advantage of their reputation as the sole saviors of the world.

Even better that they have the Ultimate Hope on their side to sway the public's opinion of them.

Have you figured out who I'm talking about yet?

I've gathered that in fandom, the common consensus is that the Future Foundation is a force of good. I'm sure that's the common consensus among the public back home, too.

I'm in the minority, and that's why I founded DICE in the first place. This might just be me, but I think it's kind of shady for a single organization to have a global monopoly on the reconstruction of the world. The people should have a choice between multiple, so that everyone's bases are covered and we don't fall into the trap of reforming the world into a single ideal that overlooks those in need.

DICE was gunning to be that alternative.

We were small, but that made it easier to fly under the radar. Ran, Kiyo, and Go would go on expeditions to other countries, searching for survivors, helping to rebuild in underdeveloped places that Future Foundation overlooked, and cataloging the regrowth of ecosystems--bug life in particular.

Kay, Himi, and An were our public outreach team, using the arts to sway the public in a subtle way. Maki would often accompany them for protection.

Rumi, Ryo, Ten, and Tsu were our intel team, with Rumi working as a maid for so many important people, Ryo and Ten in the sports sphere making connections at sporting events, and Tsu who could infiltrate directly with her cosplaying skills all snooping around to gather intel about whatever Future Foundation may be up to. They would report back to Shu, who was good at keeping tabs on things like that with his detective skills.

Miu and Kiibo--who was built by Miu herself, not whoever the fuck Ibadashi is--were the biggest contributors to keeping our HQ functional, redeveloping surrounding areas in no-man's land, as well as developing the tech for Project Stargazer, which I spearheaded, but Kai as the Ultimate Astronaut had the most directive power.

See, we were gonna start another space race. A post-tragedy rendition of who could get back to space first. To raise global morale and put us on the map as a direct competitor to Future Foundation that people could lean on for reconstruction. That was our goal, to break Future Foundation's monopoly on was stays and what goes, what's hope and what's despair.

And they didn't like that. They didn't like it one bit.

I don't know how they found out about us. I can imagine it had something to do with another project of ours--Project Defect--but one way or another they did, and that was when they came for us.

I imagine it pretty closely parallels what they called the "Ultimate Hunt" in their fun little fantasy story.

We were captured, changed, and plunked into a killing game where no one remembered how close they were.

Shu's confidence was erased, making him a meek shell of himself.

Himi was turned into an infuriating layabout who actually believed and insisted that her magic was real--once a mere running joke we all shared.

Maki reduced to a recluse and a killing machine, all her work to overcome her trauma from having her care for others trained out of her eradicated.

Kay's optimism was turned toxic and her memories twisted. "Piano Freak", a fun little jab we gave her (we ALL had a mean but fun-spirited nickname like this), turned into a foundational point of bullying and torment.

All the work Ran did to learn to manage his personal symptoms of chronic boredom, risk-taking, struggling to connect with others, and anger were stripped from him, leaving him desperate for intrigue and unable to look to anyone to support.

Rumi's devotion to the great good was poisoned, and she didn't even realize that it was the love of her life that she sacrificed for a faulty memory of being prime minister.

Ryo died thinking he had no one, even though he was surrounded by people he used to know and care for, and who all cared for him.

An was made into a caricature of her own culture, something she used to hold so dear to her as the last surviving member of her people.

Ten's trauma was used against her to make her into an intolerable bigot and strip her of the nuance she used to believe was so important.

Kiyo's sister's memory was outright bastardized to turn him into a serial killer, all his devotion to maintaining her shrine in his room reduced to a mere fetish.

Go's upbringing mocked and spat in the face of his intelligence, robbing him of the communication skills and eloquence he learned from Kiyo on their travels together.

Miu's care and dedication to her work was usurped to inflate her self-importance to unhealthy levels without anyone feeling like she'd earned it.

Kiibo reduced to a dense bucket of bolts with his learning capabilities drastically reduced--not to mention that he likely had to undergo constant brainwashing from the signals he received from the dumb antenna they added to his head.

Tsu... who they ironically turned against us from the start as a spy of their own, completely tricked into assisting with their entire scheme to tear us apart.

And Kai... My dear, sweet, intelligent Kai, second in command and love of my life, Ultimate Astronaut and project director for our most ambitious plan... turned into a brazen, narrow-minded bully and made to hate me and everything I stood for until it was too late.....

I don't blame them. I don't blame any of them, because they changed them. They couldn't help it if that was the reality they remembered. Nothing I said would have made a difference, either coming out as a lie or taken as a lie because they changed me, too. Made me into a liar who couldn't stop lying even when it mattered.

And so it was the end for us. We tore ourselves apart. Hook, line, and sinker, and even if there was nothing I could do to stop them, that doesn't make it feel any less like a failure to me. A failure to bring DICE--my family--back together before I had to watch them kill each other.

There was a point where I gave up. Figured a mass death would be best, to put us all out of our misery. I'll never forgive myself for using Go and Miu the way I did to accomplish that, just to fail yet again.

And then I died failing.

I don't know if there are any survivors, like in the game. I don't know if I want to know. If there are, I'm not sure I want to see them. I don't want them to know, don't want them to realize the horrors of what they just went through. That most of their family is gone.

But at the same time...

I miss them. I miss everyone, and I desperately want my family back.

DICE is finished, but I don't want it to be.