#I mean it’s working fine for me so it’s not bad

[hoshifighting]

ok... so i've seen your amazing college fling works for seungcheol, jeonghan, and joshua.... but what about one for hoshi 👉👈

ONCE AGAIN I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

WARNINGS: freshmen!hoshi, late night practices, burn-out, shyness, sunbae!reader, fluff, a lil bit of angst.

WC: 2.8k of this... judge me 🗣needed to divide this into parts...

part 1 / part 2

college fling!hoshi that you clocked that he was a freshman by the very moment he stepped into the dance practice room. it started with the smell, honestly. freshman reek—like nervous sweat and too much axe body spray, paired with the faintest whiff of fear. baggy-ass hoodie that practically swallowed his arms, hands shoved deep in his pockets like they’d get fined if they came out, sneakers so new they squeaked against the gym floor. he looked young. not in a bad way, just in that “i’m not used to being left unsupervised” way.

he stood in the doorway like he didn’t know what to do with himself. everyone else was stretching, pulling their limbs into shapes human joints probably weren’t meant for, and there he was, swaying on the balls of his feet like a kid waiting to ask if they could borrow a crayon.

“you lost?” you called out, not even looking up from where you were sitting, tying your shoelaces.

“huh? n-no, i’m, uh—this is intro to hip-hop?”

the way he said it like a question had you biting back a grin. “yeah, you’re in the right place. c’mon in before the instructor roasts your ass for lurking.”

he shuffled in, taking a spot in the back corner like he was hoping no one would notice him. “i'm invisible if i stand still enough”, he thinks. but of course, everyone noticed him. new kid energy was impossible to ignore, and to top it off, he had that awkwardly cute thing going on. messy bangs falling into his eyes, face pink like he was one awkward comment away from combusting. his eyes, wide and curious, darting around like he was mentally cataloging every single thing in the room.

“you got a name, freshman?” you asked, leaning back on your hands as you watched him.

he blinked, like he didn’t realize you were still talking to him. “oh, uh, hoshi. i mean, soonyoung. but people call me hoshi.”

“cool. you dance before, hoshi?”

“alright, new guy!” the prof clapped his hands, dragging everyone’s attention. “show us a little freestyle! don't be shy...”

college fling!hoshi who freezes mid-blink, still thinking about your question. clutching his backpack straps so hard you thought they might snap. he turned to you, wide-eyed and panicked, like you could save him from the impending doom.

“relax,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “you do this and sunbae’s buying you dinner. whatever you want. ramen, fried chicken, you name it.”

he blinked, like the concept of being spoiled by you was enough to short-circuit his brain, but there was something there. a spark. like maybe he didn’t wanna flop in front of you.

“okay,” he mumbled, and you gave him a grin that could probably power a small city.

“attaboy,” you said, patting his shoulder as you turned back to the class.

by the end of the first class, he’d loosened up a bit—mostly because the instructor made everyone run through improv drills, and there was no room for shyness when you were flailing around to some experimental old-school rap track. you caught him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

college fling!hoshi who finally zipped up his backpack after what felt like an eternity, stood up, and immediately knocked over a water bottle with his foot. he muttered a quick, shy “sorry,” barely glancing at the offended plastic, and shuffled toward you. his shoulders were stiff, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack like they were the only things tethering him to this earth. you gave him a once-over, your phone in one hand, and a smirk playing at your lips. “you survived,” you said casually, and his grin was so tiny you almost missed it.

college fling!hoshi who started walking alongside you, a little too close like he didn’t know how to pace himself yet. every few steps, his elbow brushed yours, and he’d shift just enough to make it obvious he noticed. you didn’t say anything—just side-eyed him with a teasing smile that had his ears turning red.

college fling!hoshi who paused outside the building with you, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve as he asked, “so, uh… what do you like to eat?” his voice was barely louder than the passing breeze. you raised an eyebrow at him, tucking your phone into your pocket. “you’re really gonna let me pick, huh?” he nodded, determined, even as he shuffled his feet. “you said you’d spoil me,” he countered, and for the first time, there was a flicker of sass in his tone. you liked it.

college fling!hoshi who almost tripped on his untied shoelace when you said you’d pick a place, his backpack slipping off one shoulder as he bent down to fix it. he was mumbling something about bad luck when you crouched beside him, yanking the lace from his hands and tying it with a quick knot. “you’re gonna kill yourself before dinner at this rate,” you said, and the way he stared at you—wide-eyed, lips parted—made it feel like you’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom.

college fling!hoshi who sat across from you at the tiny chicken shop, looking at the menu like it was a math test. “it’s just chicken, dude,” you teased, propping your chin in your hand. he fumbled with the laminated page, finally blurting, “but what if I pick something too spicy?” you laughed, shaking your head. “okay, rookie, let me help you out.” you ended up ordering for both of you, and when the dish came, his eyes lit up.

college fling!hoshi who distractly puts too much sauce on his chicken wing and doesn’t notice because he was too busy grinning at your stories. “wait, wait—so you fell during a performance?” he asked, the sauce at the corner of his mouth. you groaned, throwing a napkin at him. “it wasn’t just a fall, okay? it was a crash,” you admitted, and his laugh was so loud the couple at the next table glanced over. “stop making fun of me or I’ll make you pay,” you threatened, and his face instantly sobered. “wait, what?”

college fling!hoshi who insisted on paying despite your earlier threats. he pulled out his wallet like it was some grand declaration of independence, only to hesitate when he realized he didn’t have enough cash. “um…” he started, cheeks burning. you rolled your eyes and handed your card to the cashier before he could protest. “rookie rule number one,” you said smugly, “always check your wallet before acting like a big shot.” he muttered something about repaying you, and you just laughed, nudging him toward the door.

college fling!hoshi who got lost again on the way back to his dorm, despite the fact that he’d been living there for a week. “are you serious right now?” you asked, watching him squint at the campus map on his phone. he scratched the back of his head, mumbling, “it all kinda looks the same at night.” sighing, you grabbed his phone, pulled up the map yourself, and started walking. “come on, hoshi-ya you’re hopeless.”

college fling!hoshi who walked beside you, hands in his pockets, quietly humming a tune you didn’t recognize. “what’s that?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. his eyes widened like he’d been caught. “oh, uh, just something I made up,” he admittedquietly. you stopped in your tracks, turning to him with a grin. “wait, you write music?” he shrugged, suddenly bashful. “a little… it’s not a big deal.” you nudged him with your shoulder. “nah, that’s cool as hell. show me sometime?”

college fling!hoshi who hesitated outside his dorm door, hand hovering over the handle. “thanks for… you know, today,” he said, glancing at you shyly. “and dinner.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you earned it, rookie. but next time, you’re paying.” his smile stretched wide, and for a moment, he just stood there, like he didn’t want to go in. finally, he nodded, fumbling with the key. “goodnight, sunbae,” he said softly, and you had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair as you turned to leave.

college fling!hoshi who always trails behind you, holding onto the strap of your backpack like a lost puppy. “you’re gonna rip it, you know,” you tell him, but he just grins and tightens his grip. “you’re my sunbae. gotta make sure I don’t lose you.” it’s so dumb and cheesy that you flick his forehead, but your chest feels warmer anyway.

college fling!hoshi who managed to charm his way into your friend group like he’d been there all along. one of your music department friends spotted him loitering outside your lecture hall and asked, “is that the guy you’ve been dragging around campus?” you rolled your eyes, but hoshi smiled like he’d just won an award. “that’s me!” he said proudly, and somehow by the end of the conversation, they were swapping playlist recommendations.

college fling!hoshi who shows up at your dorm one night with a bruised knee and a sheepish smile. “i tripped during practice,” he admits, wincing as you drag him inside. “tripped or collapsed?” you demand, pointing at the ice pack in his hands. he shrugs, trying to play it off, but you’re already crouched in front of him, scolding him as you press the ice to his knee. “you should stop, sunbae its worried about you.” you mutter, and when he mumbles, “i’ll be fine,” you glare at him until he mutters an apology instead.

college fling!hoshi who gets into his first real argument with you after you find him practicing in an empty studio way past midnight. “what the hell are you doing?” you snap, flipping on the lights to find him mid-spin, sweat dripping down his face. “just a bit more,” he protests, breathless. “i need to get this routine perfect.” but you’re not having it. “perfect doesn’t matter if you’re too dead to perform, hoshi!” he flinches, wide-eyed, but you don’t stop. “you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. stop before you break something.” he looks at you, frustrated, and finally, he slumps onto the floor, whispering, “sorry, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who randomly shows up with snacks between your classes. “figured you’d be hungry,” he says, handing you a convenience store bag. you peek inside—your favorite drink and a pack of cookies. “didn’t know you were trying to bribe me,” you tease, taking a bite. “is it working?” he asks, grinning, and when you give him a thumbs-up, he beams like a kid on christmas morning.

college fling!hoshi who ends up crashing at your dorm after a long night of studying. he’s sprawled on your bed, one arm thrown over his face, while you sit cross-legged on the floor, typing away at your laptop. “you’re gonna fail if you don’t actually read the material,” you say, glancing up. he groans, rolling onto his side. “then i’ll just ask you to tutor me again,” he says, smirking, and you chuck a pillow at his head.

college fling!hoshi who catches you off-guard one day by slipping his jacket over your shoulders during a chilly walk across campus. “you looked cold,” he says simply, his voice softer than usual. you pull the fabric tighter around you, the faint scent of him lingering on it, and when you glance at him, he’s pretending to be super interested in a tree. “thanks,” you say quietly, and he shrugs, his ears turning pink as he mutters, “anytime, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who came back one day to the practice room after a late practice, two cans of soda in hand, humming to himself. “sunbae, I got—” his voice cut off when he saw you slouched on the floor, one hand clutching your forehead. “y/n?” he rushed over, dropping the sodas with a dull clunk. crouching in front of you, his voice softened. “what’s wrong? are you okay?” you waved him off weakly. “just tired. it’s nothing.” but he didn’t buy it for a second.

college fling!hoshi who gently pried your hand away from your forehead, his fingers brushing against yours. “you’re burning up,” he said, his brow furrowing. “why didn’t you say anything?” you tried to sit up straighter, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “it’s fine, really. just pushed too hard today.” his expression tightened. “this isn’t fine, y/n. you shouldn’t have kept going if you felt like this.”

college fling!hoshi who helped you lean back against the mirror. “stay still, okay?” he murmured, crouching next to you. you gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “you’re acting like I’m dying, hoshi.” he didn’t laugh, his lips pressing into a thin line. “don’t joke about that,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of improvement.

college fling!hoshi who let you rest your head against his shoulder when you slumped forward again. “here, like this,” he said softly, adjusting so you were cradled in his arms. his hands were steady, one supporting your back and the other brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just relax. you’re safe.” he started gently blowing on your face, the cool air soothing your heated skin. “better?” he whispered, his voice close enough to send a strange flutter through your chest.

college fling!hoshi who stayed with you until you could sit up on your own again, his arm still lingering behind your back just in case. “you scared me,” he admitted, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “i thought… what if something happened and I wasn’t here?” you blinked up at him, guilt bubbling in your stomach. “sorry,” you muttered. his hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “just don’t do it again, okay? i mean it, you always scold me for practicing too late...”

college fling!hoshi who refused to let you walk home by yourself, no matter how many times you insisted you were fine. “nope, not happening,” he said firmly, slipping your bag over his shoulder along with his own. “if you collapse halfway there, what am I supposed to do? carry you like a princess?” you snorted, but the teasing tone in his voice couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“you know, I could really get used to you carrying me around,” you said, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh, really?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah,” you said, deadpan, “I mean, who wouldn’t want a cute guy carrying them everywhere?”

college fling!hoshi who, despite the teasing tone in your voice, caught that little glint in your eye. “alright, then,” he said, voice suddenly serious, as he paused in front of you. “come here.” without waiting for a response, he slid his arms under your knees and around your back. you yelped in surprise, but before you could protest, he had you lifted off the ground like you were weightless. “you wanted it, right?” he said with a grin, carrying you like it was nothing. “not a word out of you until we get to your dorm.”

“you’re a natural at this,” you teased, your chin resting on his shoulder as you looked up at him. “yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from passing out on me,” he muttered, but his cheeks were flushed, and his hands felt like they were holding you just a bit too tightly. “this isn’t bad,” you added with a smirk, “maybe I’ll start making demands. like, no more walking for me from now on.”

he blushed at your joke but didn’t miss a beat. “you sure about that?” he asked, glancing down at you with a sly smile. you nodded, playing along. “definitely. I’m a princess now. I’ll need snacks, water, a blanket... and don’t forget the back rubs.” hoshi shook his head, clearly trying to hide his amusement. “I’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too far, but okay,” he said, adjusting his grip on you. “I can do all that...”

“deal. but only if you don’t drop me halfway there,” you teased. hoshi’s grip tightened, his voice lowering a little. “I’ll never drop you, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who made it to your dorm room, still carrying you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I should’ve known you’d enjoy this,” he said, shaking his head as he set you down on your bed. “enjoy what?” you asked innocently, grinning up at him. “this whole ‘being carried around’ thing,” he said, still laughing a little. you shrugged dramatically.

college fling!hoshi who would come up to you after class, always fussing over you—was your shoulder okay? did you stretch enough? how was your lunch? you’d always brush it off, sulking a little at the way he took care of you like it was his full-time job.

[subcultureblues]

Don't You Want Me (Baby?) Pt 4

———

Steve and Eddie are either hooking up or dating - and are about as bad at keeping a secret as they are dealing with their feelings. (Dustin POV)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

———

“I don’t know Dustybuns…. I know you mean well but - “

“But? I mean well, but what?”

“But sometimes, well sometimes you get these ideas in your head. And really once you think you’re right, there’s just no convincing you otherwise. I just wonder if maybe - you don’t have a full picture of what’s going on with those two.”

“Seriously? They’re my friends, Suzie. I think I understand them just fine. I mean it’s not thermal dynamics. And even that, I’ve got an understanding of the basic fundamentals!”

———

When Dustin got home that night he blew through his homework within the hour. He’s a sophomore - advanced placements even! Still, the work they’re giving out this year is child’s play.

He grazed on snacks until he was slightly less bored. Read the X-Men issue that came out this week - guess Jean Grey alive again. Wonder how long that’ll last…

He tried calling the Wheeler house to see what Mike was up to but he was out, over at Will’s apparently. He tried Lucas after that but he couldn’t really talk since he’d had to put Max on hold just to pick up.

Dustin had to kill a few more hours but eventually he was able to get on the radio with Suzie. Hearing her voice - it’s like seeing the clouds part and the sun light up the sky. Never really gets old.

“That! That tramp!” She said, when Dustin told her about the Flower Situation.

“Right!?” Dustin huffed.

He told Suzie he planned to give Steve a serious talking to, even though Robin had kinda, sorta expressly asked against it. To Dustin’s shock, however, Suzie took Robin’s side.

“I don’t know Dustybuns…. I know you mean well but - “

“But? I mean well, but what?”

“But sometimes, well sometimes you get these ideas in your head. And really once you think you’re right, there’s just no convincing you otherwise. I just wonder if maybe - you don’t have a full picture of what’s going on with those two.”

“Seriously? They’re my friends, Suzie. I think I understand them just fine. I mean it’s not thermal dynamics. And even that, I’ve got an understanding of the basic fundamentals!”

“Oh, Dusty…. Oop. I hear footsteps downstairs.” She whispered. “I think they’re doing a bed check. I gotta go.”

“Bye Suzie. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He could hear her smiling through the crackling radio transmission. Even from this many miles away he couldn’t help but smile back. Suzie paused. “And Dusty, just - be careful. Promise?”

Her line cut out. Dustin switched off the ham radio and frowned. Usually Suzie was so smart. Literally the smartest person he knows. How is it possible she couldn’t see that his friends were in dire need of help?

No way was he gonna abandon them to make a mess of things by themselves.

Though. Maybe there was something he was missing. Some unknown element.

Earlier today… Eddie seemed to know more than he was letting on. Dustin frowned harder.

He creeped downstairs to the landline. Wayne’s at work and Eddie’s a nightwalker so he didn’t feel bad about calling at almost 9pm. He didn’t even feel bad about calling four separate times.

He shook his head when he was sent to voicemail again. He put the phone back in the receiver.

Dustin huffed.

Only then he remembered - the walkie talkie. It had ended up in Eddie’s trailer after the whole Vecna fiasco… Dustin never did get it back. In fact, he’d totally forgotten about it. And if Dustin forgot about it, Eddie definitely had too.

“Eddie. It’s Dustin. Come in, Eddie. Over.”

It took a few tries but eventually he heard a crackly - “sus Christ, how does this thing work, again?”

“Eddie!”

“Dustin?” Eddie said, deadly serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you home right now, over?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Dustin waited.

“Yes, I’m home. Over.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you picking up the damn phone?” Dustin said. “Over.”

“I uh - must be off the line or something.”

“Whatever, look I just got a few questions about - “

“Dustin! Is the world ending right now this exact second or what?”

“No but - “

“Jesus…”. Eddie sighed in relief. Then he muttered, “The last thing I need right now is The Monster-pocalypse Part 2 : Electric Boogaloo.”

“We are well past that by now. Gotta be on the fourth or fifth straight to TV sequel at least.”

“Well whatever it is, it can wait. I gotta a lot of - I got enough shit going on right now.”

“You know, you’ve been pulling that card a lot recently.”

“Tell me about it.” To Eddie’s credit, he did sound stressed out. “Anyway - if this is about D&D, sessions canceled tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” Immediately switching course, Dustin’s thoughts of Steve vanished like smoke.

“Yeah, sorry. Jeff was gonna tell you guys tomorrow at school. There’s this bar in town, their Friday gig canceled on them. Unlucky for them, our merry band of metalheads were the only ones they could find to fill the time slot on short notice.”

“What? Eddie that’s awesome!”

“Yeah, fucking big place too. Me and the boys are there a lot when we’re in the area - The Squeaky Wheel down in Indie. Probably gonna be the biggest crowd we’ve ever played for.”

“Well, I’m definitely coming then.”

“You’re definitely not. We need to be there early. Leaving for town 2pm, sharp.”

“Jeff won’t still be in school?”

“Not if he cuts last period he won’t.”

“Well, what if I - “

“Are you kidding?” Steve’ll fucking kill me.”

“But I still haven’t seen you guys perform for real yet!”

“Maybe next time, little man. Look I gotta go, I’ve been trying to actually get some fucking sleep and having the phone going off all night really isn’t helping.”

“I thought you said it was off the line?”

“Huh? Right, yeah.”

“Nevermind that. You nervous?”

“So fucking nervous I feel like I’m gonna puke or something. Just like, go full exorcist. All over the stage.”

“Ok yeah, don’t do that.” Dustin suggested.

“Hah. Yeah.” Eddie chuckled.

“Come on, you guys are amazing! You’re gonna be great!”

“No, you’re right. It’s gonna be good.” Eddie said, clearly trying to psyche himself up.

“Well, I guess good luck. Over and out.”

“Break a leg you mean. Over and out.”

Dustin sat there fiddling with his walkie for a long couple minutes. There was something kicking around in his brain. A plan, formulating. Even Dustin himself was shocked by its elegant efficiency.

Get to see Corroded Coffin perform? Check. Bring a mob of Eddie’s friends out to support him? Check. Finally get a chance to meet this super secret girlfriend (because who would miss their boyfriend’s bands biggest show yet?) Check! And he can get Robin and Steve on a fun night out together and hopefully smooth over the ‘flower incident’? Check check check!

He tuned his walkie to the open line the party was synced into.

“Everybody, come in. It’s Dustin. We got a code blue which means all hands on deck. We’re going on a field trip…”

Dustin had spent the rest of Thursday night and Friday morning making sure everything was in perfect order.

He didn’t call until Friday, after he got confirmation from Max, the last person he was waiting on.

Only then did he call Steve.

“Corroded Coffin has a show tonight.” He said as soon as Steve picked up.

It was lunch hour and him, Mike, and Will were outside the school building standing around the pay phone. Lucas and Max were on a lunch table near by arm wrestling - those weirdo’s version of PDA.

“Hello to you too.” Steve said, vaguely amused.

“Hello. Corroded Coffin has a show tonight and we’re going.” Mike gave him a thumbs up and Will, an encouraging smile.

“Oh yeah?”

“And before you ask, yes we’ve gotten permission from our parents, yes we have a curfew but - we don’t have to be home till midnight, the bar is 16 and up, I called, itsallthewayinindianapolis but wait ok, before you say no - “

“What time are we leaving?” Steve said.

“I - really? That easy?” He glanced at Will and Mike who blinked at him with hesitant excitement.

“No. This… this is actually perfect.”

“Come on man. I had a whole - thing, prepared. I practiced for this. Flashcards! I made flashcards.”

“What time are we leaving?”

Dustin sighed.

“Six o’clock. If we leave Hawkins by then, we can get there twenty minutes before their show starts. Plenty of time to find parking and get into the venue. Were you wondering how everyone’s gonna fit in your car?”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve humored him.

Dustin flipped to the corresponding flash card. “They don’t have to.” He read verbatim. “I’ve already taken the time to ensure Jonathan could accompany us as well - also Joyce wouldn’t let Will come if he didn’t. Jonathan and Nancy are driving Will and Mike. You just have to grab me, Lucas, and Max. Leaving one seat open for you to bring a plus one.”

“Robin.” Steve said, impressed. “Very thorough.”

“I’ll see you at my house at 5:30 on the dot. We need to be on the road by 6. And Steve? Please try not to dress like a dork.”

Steve laughed.

“Funny how I could say the exact same thing.”

“Also don’t tell Eddie.” Dustin ordered. “It’s a surprise.”

“Dustin, you’re a genius...” Dustin could hear him grinning through the phone.

“I know, I meticulously organized everything down to the last detail.”

“Yeah, uh huh.” Steve said, distractedly. “Shit, ok, I gotta go - and shower pretty much right now if I want enough time to airdry my hair…“

“Well. That was easy.” He said, hanging up the phone rather anticlimatically.

“But he said yes?”

“Oh, we’re going!” Dustin confirmed.

———

Just a few hours later Steve’s Beemer sat on the street out front of Dustin’s house.

Dustin emerged from the house at 5:36 in a huff. He got a few steps before he remembered his mom was out and backtracked to lock up behind him.

HONK.

Dustin jumped, almost dropping his keys.

“I’m coming!” Dustin shouted over his shoulder. When he turned Steve was grinning at him, snickering to himself. He peered over his douche-glasses and gave Dustin a goofy little wave.

Dustin rolled his eyes and tugged at the car’s door handle. It didn’t budge. Steve hit the button for the passenger side window and Dustin was forced to wait for it to slowly roll down.

“Taxi to Indianapolis for a Mr. Henderson. Got the right address?”

“Open the door, Steve.”

“Sorry, I’m gonna need you to confirm the passphrase. Company policy.” He shrugged.

“Is it, we’re already running late so open the goddamn door?”

Steve rolled his eyes but unlocked the door so Dustin could finally get in already.

“And whose fault is that?” Steve asked as he started them down the road. Dustin huffed. He was still mad at Steve.

“Yours. You said you’d have Robin already - so now we’re behind schedule.”

“It was please by the way.” Steve glanced his way grinning as he turned on the radio. “Wanted to pick something you’d never in a million years guess.”

“Har har.” Dustin said, humorlessly as he buckled in. He eyed Steve. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I am.” Steve said, checking his hair in his review mirror and flashing himself a grin.

Dustin did a double take when he noticed - Steve was wearing Eddie’s vest. It definitely looked like it had been dragged through the Upside Down. But he had to admit the battle worn look suited it. To Dustin’s surprise, it kind of suited Steve too. He had a white T-shirt underneath, blue jeans, and red converse sneakers. His hair was tall and meticulously coiffed.

Dustin spent quite a while on his own hair tonight, though it wasn’t nearly as expertly styled. Never gonna beat the master at their own game right?

Dustin was glad Steve made an effort to blend at least. The rest of the party had too. Dustin was wearing a black tshirt with ‘Corroded Coffin’ painted in angular white lettering across the front. Dustin had made sure they all brought shirts to school today for Will to paint. He’s glad he put Will in charge of that because they actually came out pretty awesome.

“What’s up man?” Steve asked, taking off his sunglasses when he noticed Dustin’s sour face.

“How’s Robin?” Dustin asked pointedly.

“Uh, she’s fine, thanks.” Dustin glared at him, unimpressed.

“Uh huh.” He said shortly. There was a moment of silence before Steve spoke again.

“So uh, how’s Eddie?”

“Why do you care?” Dustin said.

“I don’t.” Steve shrugged. “Just makin’ conversation.” He said. There was another pause. Steve was drumming along to the radio on the steering wheel. “You guys have been hanging out a lot this week.”

How would Steve even know that?

“What? Did Robin tell you after we came by the store?” Steve looked over at him, as if confused by his antagonist tone.

“Uh, nope. I- “

“She knows about the flowers, Steve.” Dustin said. Steve squinted side long at him, opening his mouth and closing it again.

“Ok?” He said. Waiting for Dustin to continue. Dustin waited until they rolled to a stop at a stop sign.

“What the hell Steve!” Dustin said, smacking him in the arm.

“Hey! You what the hell.” Steve said, holding a palm up to shield himself from further abuse.

“I can’t believe you! I asked her how she liked the flowers you got her and she had no idea what I was talking about!”

“What? Ok, Jesus Christ. Dude, how many times do I have to tell you, we aren’t dating. It’s - it’s not like that, alright. We’re just - Robin’s my best friend.”

“Yeah well have you told her that? She seemed really hurt Steve.” Dustin scolded him.

“Man, I don’t know what you thinks going on but it’s not. I promise.”

“Just, talk to her ok?”

“What, suddenly your the love guru?” Steve huffed.

“Yes!” Dustin cried. “You have a really good thing, Steve. Don’t fuck this up. Have you guys even had an actual conversation about this shit? Like talked about what you guys are in plain words even once.”

Steve sighed, beleaguered. Steve stopped at a red light, fully turning to face Dustin. As if he thought looking him in the eye would better get his point across. Or more likely, finally get Dustin to shut up.

“I’m not having this conversation. You’re a kid, alright. You just don’t get it. You don’t always need to - spell everything out. We’re on the same page, trust me.”

“I don’t know Steve. That sounds like a really easy way for someone to get hurt.”

“I - “ Steve started but then he stopped himself. He paused for a moment, staring into space. The light turned green.

“Steve.” Dustin said, and Steve’s head jerked back up. “The light.”

“Yeah. Right.” He turned onto Lucas’ street.

“So you’ll talk to her?”

“God, is there a reason you have to be so nosey. Me and Robin have nothing to talk about. We are definitely on the same page.”

“Definitely?”

“Definitley.” He assured Dustin. Dustin continued to glare at him.

“Look, I’ll - “ Steve sighed, passing a hand through is hair before quickly checking it’s structural integrity in the mirror. “I’ll think about what you said ok?”

“You better.” Dustin huffed, trying to keep up his stone cold front at least a few seconds longer. “I don’t want to see you fuck this up. You seem, I dunno - happy? Or - whatever.”

Steve hummed, looking out at the road with a contemplative smile.

They stopped at Lucas’ house to grab him and Max, and then headed to Family Video.

“Dude, are you wearing Eddie’s vest?” Lucas said as he and Max climbed into the back seat. Lucas was wearing a matching Corroded Coffin shirt. Max was not. She’s too cool to participate in things.

“You know, just once you could say something like, hey Steve, thanks for the ride. Maybe? Just to keep things interesting.”

“Yeah did you really never give that back?” Max said, ignoring him.

“No, Eddie, he uh, told me to hold onto it.” Steve said, smiling and adjusting the collar in the mirror.

Max scoffed a little laugh, but kept her eyes out the window.

Next they went to pick Robin up from her late shift.

It took a few honks before Robin emerged from the building, calling “Thanks, Todd!” over her shoulder.

She crossed the parking lot, struggling to get into her denim jacket.

“Sorry it took so long Steve, I had to change in the bathroom and let me tell you, that little - “ she managed to crawl into her jacket, then halted when she looked up and saw Dustin in the front.

“You didn’t pick me up first.” She said, standing outside the passenger side door.

Steve shrugged half heartedly apologetic.

“Out of my seat, Gremlin’s 2.” She opened the door and jerked her head in a motion that made it clear she expected Dustin to clear out.

“Yeesh. Not even the original?” He said, reluctantly acquiescing and going to jam in with the others in the back.

Robin got into the car stared at Steve intently.

“You didn’t pick me up first.” She repeated. “I told you to come get me first.”

“I - yeah. The kids were closer. Didn’t want to waste time backtracking in case there’s traffic.”

“Pft. He was just running late.” Dustin said.

“I bet it was because he spent like, 2 hours doing his hair.” Max snorted.

“Alright, that’s enough - from the peanut gallery. Sorry, Robbie.” Robin frownedz. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.”

“Why, what’s up?” Steve said, pulling out of the parking lot so they could finally get on the rode. It was already 6:07! The whole night was turning out to be a disaster.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just was hoping to chat.”

“I literally just called you.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Just - Nevermind.” She grimaced.

Dustin caught her eye in the rearview mirror and winked.

Her face paled in a mask of frustration and horror. A look that said, what did you do now, if Dustin’s ever seen one.

“Jesus Christ.” She murmured quietly.

“Hmm?” Steve titled his head towards Robin.

“Nothing!”

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[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 29

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: poor parenting discussed, Talia may or may not be ooc (if she is, fear not! I have received 2 separate permits, and have been told I may do as I please!), mild cussing, fluff, angst, a smidge of fear

wc: 2.4k

Chapter Selection

“... Babe, I know you've described Damian's mom as a ‘real piece of work', and Bruce told me a bit about how she raised him before he came here, so I do know she's not what I would consider a good mom. But that doesn’t explain why her visiting means we can't go to the manor?”

Jason sighed, setting his phone aside. He cupped my cheeks, purring my name; “darling, light of my life. I mean this in the best possible way. … You cannot be trusted to keep your cool with her.”

I blinked several times, frowning; “what on earth does that mean?!”

“You are … passionate. You love fiercely, and I love that about you. Seriously, I don't want you to think this is a bad thing; the way you love us makes me feel so safe, and I know Damian agrees. But … you've already yelled at one of his teachers, his principal, and Bruce. You will not be able to hold your tongue with Talia. And holding our tongues is necessary with her. … If she believes living at Wayne Manor is making Damian weak, she will take him away 'for his own good’.”

“How on earth would I make her think he's weak?”

“Talia is the type of person who believes attachment makes us weak. The things we care about can be used against us, the people we love are the people who will hurt us the worst. She believes it's better to be feared than loved. She's why he's so good at masking his feelings. Why he doesn't always understand his own feelings; his early education did not include processing and recognizing emotions. But she's … incredibly astute. She's analytical, and brilliant, and terrifying, and … she's his mother; she taught him everything he knew before he came here, and now she can read him without trying, even when he tries to hide his feelings from her. So if she sees how you two are around each other, even if neither of you so much as acknowledge each other, she'll know how you feel about him, and how he feels about you, and we'll probably never see him again.”

I growled softly, clenching my jaw. “… Bitch…”

He chuckled softly, holding me close. “I know. Which is why we have to keep our distance. … She doesn't visit often, and when she does she never stays long. She'll probably be here for a week at most, stalking the kid to make sure he's not slipping, and once she's gone I’m certain he'll show up on our doorstep.”

I sighed softly. “... Ok. … If you see him between now and then you have to find a way to tell him that I’m missing him and I love him very much, ok?”

He groaned softly. “Aw, come on, babe. The Red Hood can't lean in to give Robin a hug during patrol!”

“I'm not asking you to hug him - don't hug him! Just make sure he knows that I'm thinking about him. Please?” I pouted, snuggling against his chest; “for me?”

“Ughhhhh …. Fine. For you.” He sighed, running his fingers down my spine.

I grinned, snuggling against him happily. “Thank you~”

“Yeah, yeah …” he chuckled, kissing my temple. We sat on the floor, curled against each other, for a long while before Jason finally moved us to the bed to get some sleep.

Jay quickly started moving his things into my place. I gave him my spare key and made space in the closet. When I got home from the next girls night some of his clothes were hung up next to mine. The next day there was one of those cheap plastic dressers next to my nice wood one, and sitting on top of it was Jason's cologne, a book, and his deodorant. His shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel joined mine on the side of the tub. We bought more towels and a new set of sheets.

All these little changes made me giddy; his things slotting into position next to mine just felt so right, and I would get used to the weapons that were suddenly stashed all over the apartment. We had a thorough gun-safety presentation that night, and he showed me where everything was. On the next gym-and-range day, we finished training with an exercise where he would, entirely at random, shout “intruder” and time how long it took me to have a weapon trained on him. My best time was two seconds; he had expected me to go for the gun in the drawer, not the knife block in front of me on the counter.

Soon I started packing Jason a lunch for patrol. Mostly because I wanted to take care of him in some way, but a part of me also hoped he'd run into Damian out there and share the cookies I made. He rolled his eyes at me the first time I pressed the insulated bag into his hands, but accepted it anyway. I sent him off with a kiss and a wave, and settled in to wait for him to come home. Hours later I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up it was 4:30am and he was unlocking the door. The exhaustion rolled off him as I pulled him into a tight hug, and we collapsed into bed. When I woke up for real around 11 the lunch bag was sitting on the kitchen counter, empty and clean. I grinned, filling it again that night, and Jason didn't offer so much as a token resistance before taking it.

A week and a half passed before he ran into Robin on patrol. Jason assured me that he had passed along my message, Damian was perfectly healthy and definitely missed me too, and he had even been forced to share the brownies I'd packed. I beamed, kissing his cheek in thanks, and we curled up in bed.

The next day, we started looking at houses online. We obviously only looked at what was available in Red Hood's territory; on top of him wanting to stay close to his patrol area, it was on the opposite side of Gotham from the well manicured lawns of Bruce's gated neighborhood and thus the perfect place to set up my clinic. Whether our home or the cave was closer, the bats would never be more than 30 minutes away from medical care. Jason took note of a few addresses he wanted to go check out, promising to swing by during patrol to see if they were securable.

“No reason to arrange a showing if I'm not gonna be able to make it safe for you.” He kissed my forehead, wrapping an arm around my waist. I chuckled softly, leaning against him. I was pretty sure he was the one who would need the most security measures to feel safe in our new home, but I wasn't going to argue. The way he lit up when providing for me was too precious a sight; if I complimented his cooking he turned pink and mumbled it was nothing. I thanked him for switching over the laundry and he sighed happily, nodding. When he saw progress in my training he beamed. And when he came home safe in the early hours of the morning, all anxiety and stress melted off of him the second he was in my arms.

In a lot of ways, life was starting to feel incredibly normal. We were like the picturesque 1950’s family I'd been taught to simultaneously idealize and vilify; until the spring semester at GU started I was free to spend my time how I pleased, and with Damian's mother still in town, that mostly meant finding new ways to feel like I was giving Jason as much as he gave me. I made sure he always had enough treats in his lunches, in case Damian was out too. When Jason returned from patrol I inspected him for any small wounds my first aid knowledge would fix. I doted on him every chance I got, and he doted right back. It was wonderful, truly.

But when he left for work, and I was alone with my thoughts, the stillness in the apartment quickly became overwhelming. At first Damian's sudden absence from my life had been annoying but acceptable. But after the first couple days it started to feel like a rabid dog was using my heart as a chew toy. Why was his mother still here? What was she doing? What was she saying to him? He had been making such incredible progress; he smiled more, he initiated hugs, he accepted them more readily. He was painstakingly tearing down the walls around his feelings brick by brick. It was a difficult process, and he was being so brave, I couldn’t be prouder! But what was she doing to those walls while I was kept away?

It had been two weeks, and I was starting to wonder if she planned to stay for the holidays. I didn't want her to stay for the holidays! I had plans, and I couldn't do my plans if I couldn't go to the manor! Being barred from Wayne Manor meant no Damian, but it also meant no Steph, no Dick, no Tim, none of them! We had decided it would be best if it looked like I was just Jason's girlfriend; as far as Talia knew he was indifferent to the family, if that. So I had to appear indifferent at best as well.

I was still able to go to girls' night, because that was being held at Barbara's home. There was no reason to believe Talia would know or care about that. But I missed training with everyone. I missed finding new ways to tease Tim. I missed Dick's good natured laugh. God help me, I even missed Bruce! He pissed me off, but he was still kind to me for the most part, and he was a good trainer. I wanted things to get better with him, for Jason and Damian's sake. I wanted him to be the dad they deserved, the dad Dick believed he wanted to be. I was pretty sure he had it locked away inside him, he just needed … something. What exactly that was, I wasn't sure; maybe to see how happy Damian was with simple childhood experiences? Or to see the peace on Jason's face when we cooked together. Or maybe he needed to experience some of that for himself. But whatever he needed, I was sure he wasn't getting it, and until Talia al Ghul left I wouldn't find out.

I tried to busy myself with crafting and baking. With the winter holidays on the horizon I really should have started on presents around Halloween, especially considering how many people I was making gifts for this year. But better late than never, so I used the time alone to get started. Jason would be gone for hours, I had plenty of time. Or, I would have if not for the knock at the door.

I jumped, looking up incredulously. I wasn't expecting guests, especially this late at night. Anyone I wanted here had my phone number, and no one had called or texted. I grabbed my phone, just to be sure, but I was right - no unread texts, no missed calls. A moment later there was another knock, this one more insistent.

I grabbed one of Jason's guns and my phone, ready to call him with the push of a button, and looked through the peephole. A beautiful woman was standing at the door, an unamused look on her face. Her clothes were too elegant for this neighborhood, she definitely didn't just wander to the wrong door. I sighed, a sinking sensation in my gut as I cracked the door open just enough to reveal my face.

“... Hello?” I frowned.

She raised an eyebrow; “... is hospitality well and truly dead in this country, or are you going to invite me in?”

“At eleven o'clock at night, in this neighborhood, with an uninvited stranger on the doorstep? It’s dead. Now, would you like to introduce yourself, or should I shut the door?”

She tsked; “I am Talia al Ghul. Why have you been spending time with my son?”

I silently cursed, but forced my expression to remain bored and distrusting; “... Your son?”

“Damian …” she sighed, “I believe he's using his father's last name now, Wayne.”

“Oh, Jason's brother? He's not here.”

“Obviously not.” She snapped; “are you going to let me in?”

“Why? He's not here.”

“I know he's not here! I want to know why you've been spending so much time with him.”

“I dunno about ‘much’. I've met him.”

“You are his emergency contact at that paltry excuse for a school he is enrolled at.”

“Oh, is that what you're so upset about?” I shrugged; “'m just doing a favor for Jay by doing a favor for his dad.”

“... Elaborate.”

“Mr. Wayne is a busy man, I am not a terribly busy woman. Emergency contact at the school was a simple enough thing to take off his plate. Kinda thing that seems bigger than it actually is. He now associates me with his life being ever so slightly easier. He already associates me with Jason, ergo he now associates Jason with his life being slightly easier.”

She frowned deeply. “You are emotionally manipulating Bruce into … what, being kinder to his second son?”

“... I suppose so, yeah. Didn't really think about it that way. 'Manipulation' makes it sound so much more convoluted and … effort-full. All I did was sign a piece of paper.”

Her expression morphed into a small smirk; a very Damian-like expression. “... And you are Jason's … girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

“... Hm.” She nodded once. “... Very well then.”

“... Okaaay. … So are you like, sticking around or somethin'? Do you want to be the emergency contact now?”

“No, there is no reason for that…” she pursed her lips; “establishment to have my phone number.”

I shrugged again. “Alright… Anything else?”

“... No, I suppose not.”

“Kay. I'm goin' back to bed then. Goodbye.” I shut the door, locking it, and looked through the peephole again. She glowered at my door, seemingly considering something, and finally left.

I watched her walk away until she was entirely out of sight, then slowly retreated to the couch to text Jay.

Me: Everything is fine, do not panic; but I just met Talia. 11:20pm

Jason: I'm coming home. Don't open the door to anyone. 11:35pm

Me: 👍❤️ 11:36pm

Next ->

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[spiicii]

the og bloodline / bloodline property (part two)

jey uso / jimmy uso / roman reigns / solo sikoa / sami zayn x fem!reader  word count → 6.8k summary → sami zayn has proven himself an ally to the tribal chief. as a reward, he is invited to experience what no other outsider has experienced before: a taste of the bloodline’s property.  notes → definitely got carried away with this one, but i hope you think the wait was worth it! i tried not to play favorites, though i’m sure i failed miserably.  tags → multiple partners, possessive behavior, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, choking, begging, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, creampie, hickies, some crying, overstimulation, lore accurate tribal chief (roman is not always nice to his cousins)

You pressed a small kiss beneath Roman’s jaw, feeling a small chuckle rumble in his chest at your touch. 

“What a sweet girl,” he cooed, pressing a kiss of his own against your temple. “Now be good for me and sit in Daddy’s lap while he gets some work done. Okay?” 

You nodded, letting out a contented sigh as he pulled you closer, cradled in his arms. You always felt so small when he held you like this, his massive arms encircling you, keeping you tucked against his muscular chest. You closed your eyes and let him hold you, his deep voice keeping you calm as he spoke with his family. You didn’t know what they were saying and you didn’t care, more than happy to stay curled up in the Tribal Chief’s arms. His perfect pet. 

“Excuse me, my Tribal Chief. Sami Zayn is outside.” Paul Heyman’s words had you opening your eyes, watching with interest as the Wiseman approached, his head bowed in deference. “He wishes to speak with you.” 

Roman waved one of his hands dismissively. “Fine, fine. Send him in.” 

Paul bowed his head again, already moving away to follow his master’s orders. You felt Jey move up behind you, no doubt already irritated by Sami’s arrival. You knew they didn't get along. 

“Why you gotta entertain that fool, uce?” Jey snapped, his voice tight. “You know he ain’t blood.” 

“It’s not your call to make, Jey.” The Tribal Chief’s words were firm and the Right Hand Man was quickly silenced. Although you couldn’t see him, you could already imagine the disapproving look on his face. 

When Paul Heyman re-entered with Sami Zayn trailing close behind, you couldn’t help but watch him in curiosity. He was taller than you thought he’d be, a happy smile already on his face before he’d even been acknowledged. He seemed excited, practically bouncing on his heels as he entered, rubbing his hands together as though he had big news to share. 

“Hey, Roman! I-”

He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes landed on you. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting you, his smile faltering as his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Oh! Hello.” He seemed nervous all of a sudden, fidgeting with his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sami.” 

He stepped forward with his arm outstretched, as if to offer you a handshake, and you were quick to shrink away. The Tribal Chief didn’t have many rules, but you knew it would displease him to have any man outside of the Bloodline touch you. Solo and Jey seemed to agree, already moving forward protectively. 

“Aye aye aye, back the fuck up, uce,” Jey snarled, shoving Sami roughly in the chest to push him back. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

Sami was quick to raise his hands, as if he were surrendering. “Whoa, whoa, wait! My bad, dawg. My bad. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to…” 

“Yo, uce, chill.” Jimmy was quick to intervene, already placing himself between Sami and his brother. “It’s alright, man. Relax.” 

Jey’s face was a mask of anger as he stared back at Sami, his hands clenched at his sides as if he were resisting the urge to punch him. Jimmy put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Just relax, uce. It’s all good here.” 

“Yes, Jey. Relax.” The Tribal Chief’s voice was calm, but you could hear the warning behind his tone. “Sit down.” 

You saw Jey tighten his jaw, no doubt resisting the urge to mouth off, but you knew he wouldn’t dare. Not with Sami here. So instead he obeyed, slowly moving back to Roman’s side to take a seat, his eyes flashing with anger. 

Jimmy offered Sami a smile. “Don’t worry about him, man. You know how he is.” 

Sami let out a nervous laugh, shifting his weight from one to the other. It was clear he was trying not to stare at you, but he was failing miserably, his eyes continuing to wander to take in your small form curled up in the Tribal Chief’s lap. You didn’t mind meeting his gaze, taking him in with equal curiosity. 

“You’ll have to forgive my cousins, Sami.” Roman said, relaxing further into his chair as he pulled you closer. “They’re a little…protective.” 

Sami chuckled again, though it was clear he was uncomfortable. “Yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” 

Solo made a displeased noise but a wave from Roman’s hand quickly silenced him. 

“I don’t normally let anyone outside of the Bloodline even look at what belongs to me, but I’ll make an exception for you, Sami. After all you’ve done for this family, I think you deserve a reward.” 

Sami looked at Roman in confusion. “Reward?” 

Roman hummed in agreement, reaching up to cup your cheek with his large hand. His touch was warm and your eyelids fluttered, leaning into his touch. 

“Isn’t she pretty, Sami?” The Tribal Chief kissed your hair and you melted deeper into his arms, your cheeks heating up at his sweet words. “You can see why my cousins are so possessive of her, huh?” 

Sami looked like he wanted to say something, but he seemed unsure, his eyes flickering between you and Roman. 

“Come on, uce.“ Jimmy encouraged, clapping Sami on the back. "She’s pretty, ain’t she?” 

Sami met your eyes again and you offered him a bashful smile, nuzzling against the Tribal Chief’s neck in contentment. 

“Yeah,” Sami breathed, his eyes glued to you. “She is.” 

Roman chuckled, reaching around you to grab at your thigh, his grip possessive. “Come to our penthouse tonight then. Consider it a thank you for what you did for me last week with Drew McIntyre.” 

Sami seemed taken aback by his words, but not nearly as taken aback as Jey. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

Jey’s anger didn’t surprise you, however his willingness to confront the Tribal Chief did, especially in front of an outsider like Sami. You felt Roman tense beneath you, his grip on your thigh tightening. You buried your face into Roman’s neck, letting out a small whimper. The last thing you wanted was for them to argue. Unfortunately, Jey was incapable of keeping his mouth shut. 

“He ain’t got no business touching what belongs to us. Uce, you can’t-”

“I can’t?” The Tribal Chief’s tone was dangerous and Jey instantly fell silent. You saw Jimmy cast an alarmed glance in his twin’s direction, but he didn’t dare interfere. He knew better. 

You felt Roman take a shuddering breath beneath you, his fingers clenching and unclenching on your thigh in an attempt to compose himself. You were grateful Jey didn’t speak again. 

“As I was saying,” Roman continued, muscles still tense beneath you. “You are invited to our penthouse tonight. Being allied with the Bloodline has its perks. Ones that I hope you’ll indulge in.” 

After a few tense moments, Roman slowly relaxed, letting out a long breath and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you tonight, Sami. The Wiseman will see you out.” 

Sami quickly stood, his eyes still flickering with worry between Roman and Jey, but he didn’t say anything. After one final handshake from Jimmy, Paul escorted him out, quickly shutting the door behind them. 

The room was silent now, the air tense. Nobody moved, but Roman’s breath was steady, his chest rising and falling calmly beneath you as he held you close. Jimmy looked worried, his leg bouncing in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, while Solo remained stoic as ever, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared straight ahead. It was a long time before the Tribal Chief finally spoke. 

“Argue with me in front of an outsider again and I’ll grind your face into the mat like I did at Hell in a Cell. Do you understand?” 

The silence was deafening, but it wasn’t long before you heard Jey’s response, his voice quiet, “Yes, my Tribal Chief.” 

*****

“Do you wanna touch her, Sami?” The Tribal Chief’s voice was a low rumble, his grip on your neck tight as he pounded into you from behind. 

You whined in his hold, your back arched perfectly as he kept you speared on his cock. His large hand was firmly around your neck, though you were grateful for it, his touch keeping you grounded as you balanced on your knees atop the king mattress. 

You met Sami’s heated gaze and saw the barest trace of a blush tinting his cheeks, his lips parted as he let out small pants of air. 

“Yes.” You heard him breathe, his eyes never leaving yours. You saw that he had his hands clenched at his sides, almost as if he were resisting the urge to reach out and touch you without the Tribal Chief’s permission. 

Roman shifted the angle of his thrusts and heat shot up your spine, another whine spilling your lips as he aimed for that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. He chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss into your hair as he continued to assault your g-spot, his thrusts unfaltering. 

“I don’t blame you.” Roman’s tone was conversational, his voice steady despite the fact that he was balls deep and rock hard inside of you. “She looks so perfect like this, stuffed full of my cock and begging for more. She knows how to serve her Tribal Chief, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

You tried to find the words to respond but he dragged across your g-spot again and you almost screamed, the feeling so good that you felt like you could hardly breathe. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed in your ear, his other hand grabbing one of your ass cheeks and kneading the soft flesh there. “You gonna come, pretty girl? Gonna come on your Daddy’s dick?” 

“Yes, please,” you gasped, the tension inside you threatening to snap. “Please, can I come, Daddy? Please?” 

“You beg so pretty for me, baby,” he moaned, his breath hot in your ear. His grip on your neck was so tight that you began to see black spots across your vision. “You can come.” 

The tension finally snapped and you shuddered in his hold, pleasure rolling through you as you clamped down on his dick. 

“Fuck!” He hissed, his hips beginning to stutter against yours. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl.” 

With a few more violent thrusts he did, warmth spreading inside you at the feeling. You relaxed in his hold, his grip on your neck loosening as he finished. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands gentle as he laid you back down on the mattress. “You alright, sweet girl?” 

You nodded, your brain still foggy from the pleasure he’d just given you. You heard him chuckle, his hand warm against your cheek. 

“You’re so good for your Tribal Chief, sweetheart.” he whispered, brushing a few stray hairs from your forehead. “You gonna be good for my Bloodline too? Gonna let them take care of you?” 

You pressed a kiss of your own to his cheek, a sign of life as your body recovered. “Yes, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” He praised, motioning for Sami at the end of the bed. You watched as Sami approached, his eyes raking across your naked form, his knuckles blanched from how hard he had them clenched at his sides. 

“Come give her a kiss, Sami,” Roman said, already moving away to make room for him. “I think she deserves it.” 

You heard a noise of protest to your right and you looked over to meet Jey’s reproachful gaze, his mouth set to a frown. Sami hadn’t laid a hand on you once since he arrived, the line in the sand clear. His reward from the Tribal Chief was the privilege of seeing you like this, fucked out and used by his Bloodline, a privilege that no other outsider had been granted - not even Paul Heyman. To be granted the honor of even touching you was clearly not something that Jey was expecting, swiftly rising from his chair to approach the bed, his expression furious. 

The Tribal Chief quickly clocked the movement, a firm finger already pointed in his direction. “Don’t even think about it.” Roman snapped, his tone brokering no room for argument. “Sit your ass down and be grateful I’m even allowing you in here after the shit you pulled earlier.” 

Jey curled his lip, an angry retort on his lips before Jimmy moved forward and grabbed his arm, hissing into his ear. “What the hell you doin’? Let it go, uce. It ain’t worth it.” 

There was a beat of silence, the air tense as Jey clenched and unclenched his fists, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. Jimmy continued to whisper furiously in his twin’s ear, tugging on his arm to urge him to sit back down. It took a few minutes, but Jey eventually obeyed, still staring daggers at Roman even as he took his seat, his jaw so tight it looked like it might snap in half. 

“That’s what I thought.” The Tribal Chief’s tone was smug. “I apologize, Sami. Some Right Hand Man, huh? I might be in the market for a new one if this one can’t do as he’s told.” 

A splotch of red dotted Jey’s cheeks, but he mercifully said nothing in return, his eyes simmering with anger as he glared at Roman. The Tribal Chief met his gaze evenly, his lips twisting into a smirk. 

“Well go on, Sami. Kiss her. I won’t ask again.” Roman’s impatience was beginning to bleed through his words, the smallest crack in his composed facade. Sami sensed it too, already moving quickly to your side, only stopping when he met your gaze. 

He seemed uncertain, his eyes flickering behind you to where Jey was sitting. You had no doubt that Jey was staring him down, but you didn’t turn around to look. Instead, you reached out your hand to Sami, tentatively brushing your fingers against his. He blinked, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to climb onto the bed, his eyes still wide as he stared down at you. 

You offered him a reassuring smile, sitting up to meet him. “It’s alright,” you murmured, taking his hand in yours and tugging gently to pull him closer. He followed you easily, his eyes never leaving yours. They were a pale blue, a stark contrast from the dark eyes of the rest of the Bloodline, his pupils blown wide with lust. You reached up and played with the hairs in his beard, watching with interest as his mouth parted, small puffs of breath falling from soft lips. 

You leaned forward and he met you halfway, your lips colliding with more force than you were expecting. You let out a surprised chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, spreading your legs to make space for him. He followed you further onto the bed and you felt his erection press against your hip, his hands on either side of you as he explored deeper into your mouth. He tasted different than the others, perhaps a little sweeter, his lips almost softer than Jey’s. 

He shifted a knee up and pressed it against your core, causing you to gasp against his mouth. He applied more pressure, the fabric of his jeans quickly soaked from your wetness, some of the Tribal Chief’s seed still dribbling out from where he’d claimed you. You felt your hips cant forward to seek more friction, reaching up to tangle your fingers into his unruly hair. 

You were so lost in the feeling that you didn’t feel the bed dip, another body joining the two of you. Full lips were pressing against your neck, a large hand reaching around you to palm at one of your breasts. It didn’t take long for you to realize that it was Jimmy, his lips ghosting across the shell of your ear as he pressed himself against you. 

Sami released you, leaning back to watch Jimmy wrap his arms around you and pull you close, his teeth now grazing the delicate skin of your neck. Sami seemed hesitant now, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you, as if he expected to be dismissed. You offered him another smile, reaching out to tug gently on his beard. 

“Why’d you stop?” you hummed, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Sami visibly gulped, his eyes flickering to Jimmy, as if he were anticipating a fight. 

“Jimmy won’t bother you, Sami.” You heard the Tribal Chief say and you looked over to see that he had settled in his own chair, watching the scene unfold with interest. “He knows how to share.” 

Jimmy chuckled against your skin, his kisses full of teeth. “Sometimes.” 

You couldn’t help but smile, your eyes sparkling with humor as you met Sami’s gaze. “He’s just kidding,” you assured him, pulling him closer. “Kiss me again.” 

Sami quickly obliged, his persistent mouth on yours as Jimmy pressed more searing kisses to your neck and shoulders. It was normally Solo who would leave love bites and bruises across your delicate skin, but Jimmy was in a rare form tonight, his clever tongue licking and nipping wherever he could. His mouth was now latched to the underside of your jaw, a bruise blossoming beneath his lips. 

Sami’s kisses were becoming more desperate, his breath coming out in gasps, swallowing your moans as though he were a drowning man. He only made a sound of annoyance when Jimmy placed a calloused finger under your jaw and tore you away from Sami’s ministrations to claim your mouth for his own, your kiss wet and filthy. 

Sami’s erection pressed deeper into your hip and you moaned in response, wanting more than anything to be filled. Satisfied. 

“You’re welcome to stay, Sami,” The Tribal Chief interrupted, his voice low as he watched the three of you. “But you won’t fuck her. Not tonight. I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet.” 

Roman’s tone was light, but you could sense the seriousness behind his words. He’d already been more than generous, allowing Sami to taste what belonged only to the Bloodline. But he wouldn’t allow any more than a taste, not from any outsider, no matter how loyal they were to the Head of the Table. 

Sami’s brow furrowed at the Tribal Chief’s words and you could tell that he was frustrated, his hips stuttering against yours as he resisted the urge to grind against you. 

You looked over Sami’s shoulder and saw that the Tribal Chief’s eyes were narrowing, his patience already tested earlier by Jey’s outburst. “Sami. Come join me.” 

It was a warning. One that Sami was smart enough to hear. His hips stilled against yours, slowly climbing off of you and taking a seat in the chair closest to the bed. He adjusted himself before sitting down, clearly uncomfortable still in his jeans, but he didn’t complain, his eyes still heated as they met yours. 

Jimmy suckled another bruise behind your ear, his cock pressed thickly against your ass. You closed your eyes and relaxed in his arms, letting out a small whine as he twisted cruelly on one of your nipples. His breath was warm against your neck. “Want us both, sweetheart?” 

Always. 

“Yes, please.” You moaned, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting more than anything to be filled up and used. Wanting only to serve.

“Good girl,” Jimmy purred, curling his fingers in your hair to pull you into a kiss. You felt his hands on your hips, already twisting your body around to face him. 

“Don’t.” Roman’s firm voice startled you, your eyes flying open in alarm to look at him. You quickly realized that he wasn’t speaking to you, his angry gaze focused on Jey instead. It took you a moment to understand that Jey had been making his way over to the bed, about to join you and his brother before the Tribal Chief had stopped him. 

The twins almost always fucked you together - it was just their way. They had a near telepathic ability to communicate, their movements always in sync, almost as if they were one person who had been blessed with two bodies. Roman had never interfered, allowing his Bloodline to use you as they saw fit, but tonight was different. His eyes were narrowed at Jey, making it clear that he would not be permitted to touch you tonight. 

The two men faced off as if they were about to fight, Roman’s face completely stoic as Jey’s lip curled again, his golden teeth flashing in the dim lighting of the room. Sami watched the scene unfold with a nervous expression, wringing his hands together as his gaze flickered between the Tribal Chief and the Right Hand Man. Jey took another step forward and you made a distressed noise, pressing your face into Jimmy’s neck, a silent plea to stop this. You hated it when they argued. 

Jimmy shushed you, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead to keep you calm. As always, he knew exactly what you needed. “It’s alright, pretty girl. They don’t mean it. Come on, guys. You’re killin’ the vibe. Stressin’ our girl out for no damn reason.” 

Roman’s eyes met yours and you saw them soften. He never wanted to upset you. Not if he could help it. He leaned back in his chair, motioning towards Solo, who had been a silent spectator for most of the night. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Solo and Jimmy will take care of you tonight. We won’t fight anymore. Will we, Jey?” 

Despite his efforts to keep the peace, you could hear the threat behind Roman’s words, his tone making it clear that he would not tolerate any further disobedience. Jey scowled, his lip still curled, but he thankfully didn’t argue. 

The bed dipped again as Solo joined, his eyes meeting yours with such intensity that you felt your knees weaken. As much as you enjoyed the attention from the twins, you always felt comforted by Solo’s presence. He didn’t participate every night, sometimes content to sit back and watch, his normally stoic facade giving nothing away. You were glad he was here now, your hand reaching out to him almost instinctively to urge him to come closer. 

He took your hand in his, his touch surprisingly gentle as he pressed a sweet kiss into your palm. You smiled at him, pulling him closer. He could be sweet when he wanted to be, despite his rough exterior. You knew he cared for you, his signs of affection small, but not unnoticed. You were pleased when he offered you a gentle kiss to your temple, another sign of his devotion to you. 

Still, you weren’t surprised when he quickly grabbed your arm, pulling you roughly from Jimmy’s grasp to manhandle you into the position he wanted. Solo might have his sweet moments, but he wasn’t one to fuck around. He knew what he wanted, and he took it. You tried to suppress a chuckle as you heard Jimmy grumble, clearly unhappy to not be calling the shots. Solo ignored him, already shoving his older brother roughly back down against the mattress. 

“Aye, yo, what the fuck, uce?” Jimmy protested, but he quickly silenced once he realized what was happening, watching with interest as Solo lifted you up to straddle Jimmy’s hips. You went easily, letting out a shaky breath as Jimmy’s erection nudged at your already slicked entrance. Jimmy looked up at you with a smirk, his hands already on your hips to keep you steady in his lap. 

“Bossy motherfucker,” Jimmy muttered, but there was no real heat behind his words, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he looked up at you. “Lift your hips, babygirl. Gonna fill that pretty pussy up.”  

You placed your hands on Jimmy’s tattooed chest, leaning up further and widening your legs to allow his tip to tease at your entrance. You shuddered as you took the first few inches, your toes curling at finally being filled. 

As you took more of Jimmy’s cock, you felt Solo move up behind you, his fingers threading into your hair as he pressed a searing bite under your jaw. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling, bordering the line between pain and pleasure. You let out a gasp as he left a particularly vicious bite mark on your shoulder, yet another bruise to prove that you were claimed. Owned. 

“Solo’s gonna open you up, pretty girl,” Jimmy murmured as he leaned back, your eyes taking in the miles of golden muscle across his exposed chest. “Now be a good girl and sit on this dick.” 

You sank deeper onto his length, letting out a sharp gasp as your pussy stretched to accommodate him. Jimmy reached out and grabbed your chin, the grip punishing. “And what do you say?” 

Your eyelids fluttered and your pussy convulsed at his dominating words. Somehow, you managed to find the words. “Thank you, sir.” you whispered, watching Jimmy’s searing gaze twist into a smirk, his fingers tracing the shape of your lips. “Good girl.” 

When Solo’s fingers reached your ass, they were gentle, covered in lube as they slowly fingered you open. You felt your body instinctively tense at the intrusion, the walls of your pussy fluttering around Jimmy’s cock, causing him to let out a groan. 

You felt Solo’s other hand on your shoulder, his touch immediately causing you to still. “Just relax, pretty girl.” You heard Solo murmur, his voice grounding you. “I got you.” 

You let out a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as his fingers explored deeper inside you. The feeling was always strange, but not unwelcome, pleasure already beginning to spread across your body like wildfire. 

Jimmy bottomed out and all the oxygen left your lungs. Your mouth fell open as you felt his tip knock against your cervix. God, he felt so big at this angle. You shivered as you felt his cock twitch inside you, Solo adding another finger as he worked to scissor you open. When Solo pushed a little deeper, you felt an embarrassing sound emit from your throat, so whiny and needy that Jimmy laughed. 

“Almost there, little girl,” Jimmy rumbled, his grip on your hips still tight. “You can take it.” 

With Jimmy’s cock now stuffed deep inside, pleasure beginning to curl at the base of your spine, there was only thing you wanted to do: move. 

You lifted your hips experimentally, whining as Solo’s grip on your shoulder tightened to keep you still. “Not yet.” Solo scolded, adding yet another finger. “Don’t be greedy.” 

You couldn’t help by squirm in Jimmy’s lap, but you forced yourself to obey, the burn of Solo’s fingers a good reminder that if he didn’t take his time working you open he could hurt you. 

Eventually, Solo withdrew his fingers and you whimpered at the loss, your body already trembling with need. You weren’t sure how much longer you could wait, wanting more than anything to bounce on Jimmy’s cock until you saw stars. 

Movement out of the corner of your eye had you turning your head, watching as Jey paced beside the bed. His face was twisted in a mixture of anger and lust, his gaze occasionally flickering over to where Roman sat, almost as if he were pleading with the Tribal Chief to rescind his orders and allow him to join you. 

You wanted to reach out to him. Wanted to pull him close and kiss away those ugly feelings until he smiled again. Would Roman be mad if you did that? Although you belonged to the Tribal Chief, he was normally powerless to deny you anything. Seeing Jey stalk the length of the room like a caged animal had something aching in your chest, but then Solo’s lubed-up cock nudged against your empty hole and all thoughts flew from your head. 

You hadn’t realized that you were shaking so much, though whether it was from excitement or nervousness you weren’t sure. Jimmy seemed to take pity on you. “Come here, babygirl,” he murmured, sitting up to wrap his arms around you, taking the weight from your already aching knees. You leaned into him, your forehead falling into the crook of his neck. 

You let out a high-pitched keen as Solo continued to push deeper into you, the feeling growing more and more intense with every inch. Solo let out a low groan, his hand gripping your shoulder tightly. “Such a good girl,” he breathed, his hips stuttering as he resisted the urge to plunge deeper without giving you time to adjust. Jimmy shifted inside you and you felt his length graze against your g-spot, the feeling sending electric shocks up your spine as you clenched around him. 

“Fuck!” Jimmy hissed, his hands moving down and gripping your ass to spread you open for his brother. “Jesus, I’m not gonna be able to last if she keeps doing all that.” 

You barely heard him, the feeling of Solo’s cock splitting you open making your eyes roll back into your head, your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Another inch and you felt your knees buckle, but you didn’t fall - not with Jimmy’s hands on your ass and Solo’s hand on your shoulder. You felt your pussy spasm helplessly around Jimmy’s cock, the feeling making you want to crawl out of your skin with want. 

“Fu…fuck,” you babbled, your body tensing as Solo pushed deeper. “Too big.” You gasped, your hands scrabbling for purchase against Jimmy’s strong body. 

“You can take it, honey,” Jimmy crooned in your ear, his large hands keeping you speared on Solo’s cock. “Now be a good slut and relax for me.”

Your pussy contracted at his words, your mouth placing feverish kisses against Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy groaned, his cock twitching inside you as you began to lift your hips, still impatient despite the intensity of the feeling of two dicks inside you. 

“So tight,” Solo gasped, his grip on your shoulder becoming punishing. You whimpered at the feeling, leaning up to give a messy kiss to Jimmy’s mouth. With one final thrust, Solo was fully seated inside you, his body flush against yours. You froze, your muscles tense and toes curling. You let out a shuttering gasp against Jimmy’s lips and the look he gave you was positively sinful.

“She looks so fucked out, uce,” Jimmy breathed, one of his hands coming up to wipe the sweaty hair from your face. 

Solo leaned forward, his fingers under your jaw to turn your face towards him. Your mouth was open as you let out small, desperate pants, your eyes dazed when you met his. He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss against your heated skin. 

When both of them moved at the same time, you felt your eyes cross. They fucked you together, not nearly as in sync as the twins normally did, but you found that you didn’t care. With each knock against your cervix your pussy constricted around Jimmy’s cock, making his hips stutter in response. 

“Fuck, your pussy is perfect,” Jimmy growled, his canines nipping against your neck. “So fucking tight.” He adjusted his thrusts and suddenly he was hitting your g-spot with devastating precision. You cried out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes at just how good it felt. Solo let out a groan, his warm hand pressing between your shoulder blades, hips snapping faster as you continued to clench down on him. 

Jimmy’s hand was on your jaw, his breath coming out in shallow gasps. You met his dark eyes, eyelids fluttering, mesmerized by his gaze. The pleasure was becoming overwhelming, your body impossibly full, both holes stretched and abused by two members of the Tribal Chief’s Bloodline. It was all becoming too much. 

“Please, Daddy, please,” you begged, the pleasure threatening to push you over the edge. Solo’s hand wrapped your throat, his fingers pressing down hard enough to bruise. You arched your back, tight as a bow. “Please!” You cried, unwilling to finish without your Tribal Chief’s permission. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Roman’s voice was closer than you realized, and you opened your eyes to see that he was standing beside the bed, his fingers reaching out to brush across your sweaty brow. “Beg me for it and I promise I’ll give it to you.” 

Jimmy’s thrusts began to falter and you knew he was close, your own orgasm just a hair's breadth away. “Please, Daddy,” you begged, your eyes crossing as Jimmy continued to pound into that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. “Please, let me come. Please, please, please.” 

The Tribal Chief’s words were as sweet as honey. “Come for me, baby.” 

Pleasure ravaged your body, muscles jerking and your mouth parted in a silent scream. Your pussy spasmed and convulsed, milking Jimmy’s cock as he continued to slam into you, punching the air from your lungs. He was close, sweat dripping down his brow. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he swore, his mouth on your shoulder as he finally spilled inside you, the feeling warm and euphoric. 

Solo wasn’t far behind, his grip tightening around your throat. “What a good slut,” he snarled, smacking your ass so hard you groaned. His thrusts were becoming harder and more erratic, his grip on your throat so tight that you found yourself fighting for air. 

With one final thrust Solo spilled inside you too. You made a pitiful sound as he released your throat, your head falling into Jimmy’s shoulder. You forced yourself to focus on the feeling of Jimmy’s warm body beneath you, the only thing anchoring you to the earth as the aftershocks of your orgasm left you twitching. Your insides felt gooey, muscles still shaking as Jimmy held onto you, keeping you from collapsing. 

“Good girl,” Someone whispered in your ear, their voice sounding far away. “So sweet. So perfect.” 

You let out a whine as Solo pulled out, your hole clenching down on emptiness. You felt exposed and vulnerable, and he ran a soothing hand down your back, as if he were calming a frightened animal. “You’re okay, baby. We got you.” 

When Jimmy pulled out you felt your mind short-circuit, his load trickling down your inner thigh and onto his exposed stomach. You let out a breathy gasp at the feeling, your body still trembling in his arms. “Shhh,” Jimmy soothed, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead. “Just relax, honey. I gotchu.” 

They were gentle as they laid you down on the bed, their hands no longer grabbing to bruise, their mouths no longer seeking to bite. You let out a small sigh, your body aching and your holes still twitching and spasming from abuse. 

You tried to form a coherent thought, but you felt brain-dead, too drunk on cock to think. All you could do was lay there, babbling the only word you could think of: Jey. 

You repeated his name over and over again like a mantra, letting out a small sigh as you felt a warm hand against your cheek. The Tribal Chief pressed a kiss to your forehead, his touch gentle. 

“What do you need, pretty girl?” 

You made a distressed noise, your fingers reaching out towards nothing. “Jey.” You whispered, your eyelids fluttering. “Jey.” 

The Tribal Chief’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with anger. You reached out to grasp at Roman’s arm, your eyes pleading. 

“Please, Daddy,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from abuse. “Please.” 

Roman frowned, his expression displeased as he reached out to stroke your hair. You shivered beneath his touch, knowing that while he had never denied you anything you desired, you were asking for too much. It wasn’t your place to interfere with the Tribal Chief’s methods of keeping his Bloodline obedient, especially if he felt disrespected by his own Right Hand Man. 

Still, you couldn’t help but clutch at his arm, your eyes wet with tears. You needed Jey, the same way you needed all of them. 

The Tribal Chief’s gaze softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He let out an exasperated chuckle. “Greedy girl,” He was shaking his head, but he didn't look angry. He looked almost amused. “But you know I can’t ever say no to you, hm?” 

You couldn’t help but smile, nuzzling into his hand as he stroked your hair. 

The Tribal Chief pressed one final kiss to your cheek before standing up, his eyes flashing over to where Jey stood. His smile immediately dropped, his jaw now ticked in annoyance as he returned to his seat. He met Jey's questioning gaze with a frown, but he didn’t say anything. Thankfully, Jey understood that he was being given permission, no matter how begrudging it was, and he quickly stripped his shirt and climbed onto the bed before Roman changed his mind. 

You let out a contented sigh as Jey moved between your legs, his soft lips against yours instantly. His smell was in your nose, sandalwood and bergamot, already making you dizzy as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer, comforted by his presence. 

“Why’d you do that, babygirl?” You heard Jey whisper in your ear, too low for anyone else to hear. You held onto him tightly, completely at ease now that he was with you. You weren’t sure you had an answer for him, so you leaned up to kiss him again, hoping that your actions could convey everything he made you feel. 

I want you. I need you. I love you. 

Jey seemed to understand. He always did. He smiled down at you, a burst of sunshine, before leaning down to return to your kiss, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. You reached up to tangle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, wanting desperately to taste every inch of him. 

His cock slipped into you easily, your cunt still soaking wet from your previous orgasms, his brother and cousin’s come still leaking out from where they’d claimed you earlier. He gasped at the feeling, his forehead pressed against yours as he felt your velvety walls spasm and contract around him. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned, his hips already moving against yours. “My perfect girl.” 

The feeling of him inside you had you relaxing in his arms, each thrust of his hips sending you deeper and deeper into euphoria. Having him inside you was like coming up for air, all the tension bleeding from your muscles as he fucked into you. You melted into the mattress, your eyes fluttering as pleasure curled inside you. 

You’re more relaxed than you’d been all night, Jey’s perfect cock turning your brain into mush as you felt nothing but bliss. You felt him smile into the next kiss he gave you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. 

“You feel good, baby?” His tone was almost teasing, as if he knew just how lost you were in the pleasure he was giving you, his treatment turning you into nothing more than a brain-dead cocksleeve. When his clever fingers found your clit, you thought you would vibrate out of your skin in ecstasy, your mouth falling open at the feeling. 

You felt him chuckle, his talented fingers so good against you that you felt tears spring into your eyes. 

“It’s alright, pretty girl,” he cooed, his words gentle despite the brutal snap of his hips, quickly picking up speed as he chased his own pleasure. “I gotchu. Gonna take care of you, mamas.” 

You felt helpless as your orgasm rapidly approached, your muscles trembling from how good he was fucking you. His long fingers began to pick up the pace against your clit, matching the fast rhythm of his hips. You weren’t sure how much longer you could last, heat tingling at the base of your spine. 

“Daddy,” You gasped, still coherent enough to remember to ask for permission. “Please, can I come?” 

There was no answer and you felt the tears begin to fall, your self-control already eroding away with each clever twist of Jey’s fingers. 

“Please, Daddy!” You cried, your orgasm so close that you weren’t sure if you could stop it now, even if you wanted to. “Please!” 

You sobbed in relief when you finally heard the Tribal Chief speak. “You can come, pretty girl.” 

The tension snapped. You were engulfed in never-ending pleasure, your pussy tightening and gushing around Jey’s cock as you came, your eyes rolling back into your head as bliss overtook you. You heard Jey swear at the feeling, your release triggering his own as he spilled inside you, painting your insides with his hot, sticky seed. 

Your muscles were shaking, overstimulation now causing Jey’s pleasure to border on pain. But none of it mattered. Despite the tears streaming down your face, you rolled your hips to milk his cock through both of your orgasms, desperate to please. Desperate to serve. 

[mischievousmoony]

𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛

⟢ james potter x reader (who is skilled at gift wrapping) ⟢ you and james wrap christmas gifts for your kids last minute ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: no warnings? lmk if i missed anything

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The crisp rustle of wrapping paper tears through the air as you unravel a sheet long enough for a rather larger box. 

You and your husband, decked in matching holiday pajamas, are sitting on the dark hardwood floor of your bedroom. Surrounding you are various presents that you’re working tirelessly to wrap late this Christmas Eve. 

“Why do we do this every year? Scratch that— why do I let you convince me to do this every year?” you suddenly ask when you get a glimpse of the clock on your nightstand. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asks on an exhale of airy laughter. 

“Oh, nothing,” you hum as you measure out how much paper you’ll need. “Just trying to figure out how I let myself marry a chronic procrastinator. And how I let him be such a bad influence on me.”

James falters, dropping the flaps of snowflake-decorated paper he was about to tape down. 

“A chronic procrastinator? A bad influence!?”

You press your lips together to hold back a smile. “Keep wrapping. It’s almost three in the morning,” you say as your scissors satisfyingly glide through the wrapping paper. 

“No,” James protests, pushing the gift away from him and crossing his arms petulantly. “Not until we address your little comment.”

“See, you’re procrastinating right now by trying to start a debate about whether or not you have a problem,” you tease, your lips involuntarily turning up at the corners.

“It sounds like you want to finish the wrapping by yourself,” he jokes, but you both know he’d never leave you hanging. 

“Oh, come on,” you laugh. “If we had it my way the presents would have been wrapped ages ago. They would’ve been wrapped the moment we brought them home.”

“Why would we wrap one present at a time when we could wait and wrap them all at once?” 

“Only a chronic procrastinator would ask why we should get ahead on our tasks.”

James knows you’ve got him there, so all he can do is huff. “Stop saying procrastinate it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.”

“Alright, slacker,” you say through a grin.

James rolls his eyes dramatically as he repositions himself from sitting up to lying on his side. “I’m not a slacker,” he says, propping his head up on his elbow, “I just want to be efficient.”

Your eyebrows shoot up as James denies his tendency for putting off his tasks as he gets comfortable in front of a half-wrapped present. 

“Yeah, real efficient,” you say as you carefully fold the paper at the corners, creating perfect trapezoids on the sides of the box, which you tape down with a small square of sellotape. 

He takes notice of the look you gave him, and provides an excuse. “I’m just taking a break.” 

“This is the definition of slacking, by the way. C’mon we’re going to be dead tired tomorrow.”

“We’ll be fine, it’s only 3 a.m.,” James says as if it’s barely midnight. Regardless, he pushes himself back into a seated position and finishes taping down the paper over the box that holds a new toy truck for you son.

“Last Christmas the kids were jumping in our beds by seven,” you say, very matter-of-factly. 

“If they’re awake that early I’ll corral them to the kitchen and make a big breakfast with them to give you an extra hour,” he promises as he reaches for a new roll of wrapping paper— a dark green one with cartoon reindeers printed all over.

“You need sleep too.”

James shrugs. “Well, it was my fault we procrastinated wrapping these anyway.”

“Oh? So you admit it now?”

“What can I say? Is it so bad that after we put the kids down and I was all alone with my beautiful wife I’d rather cuddle or catch up on our shows or… other things.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Other things?” you snort. 

“Yeah. Wanna do them right now?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

“James!” you scold him as a blush heats your face. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll focus.” He reaches for the slowly dwindling pile of presents and picks one that looks easy to wrap. You both prefer to leave the more complicated ones to you, as you always seem to have some unique way to wrap the strangest shapes. 

“Not that one!” you stop him. “That one’s from Santa, you have to use the shiny red paper and the golden bows.” 

“What? I picked this one,” he says, turning over the box of a new doll for your daughter. “I don’t want to give Santa all the credit!” James pouts. 

“And you’ll get it. In about ten years, give or take, when we tell them it was all a lie in the name of Christmas spirit.” 

James laughs and takes a look at the clock that reads 3:16 a.m. Santa can have this one, James decides. Even if he did continue to protest, you would probably convince him in the end. 

For the next twenty minutes, you two get lost in the rhythm of wrapping. With James handling the simple boxes, and you expertly finishing the oddly shaped ones, folding the paper in ways that obscure the gift’s silhouette while adding an elegant touch. 

You know your kids won’t give the wrapping a second thought, and it will all end up torn into bits on the floor, but you just love the way they all look under the tree. So perfectly arranged and beautifully wrapped, it makes Christmas feel all the more special.

As you straighten out a bow made from hand curled ribbons on the top of a dollhouse, pre-assembled for play tomorrow morning, James hisses and drops the paper he’s working with. You look up at him as he brings his finger up to his lips.

“Ow, ow!” 

“Y’alright?” you ask. 

“I’ve been injured! Wounded! No one told me how hazardous gift wrapping would be!” he wails dramatically, cradling his right hand with his left. 

You laugh at the sight of him, gathering that he has probably gotten a paper cut. Shuffling over to him on your knees, you outstretch your hand. “Let me see.”

He puts his hand in yours and you turn it over to inspect his pointer finger. It takes you half a minute to find the small slice in the top layer of skin. It’s nearly impossible to see, and you’re sure the pain has subsided now. Still, you bring his hand to your lips and press a soft kiss over the small cut. 

“Better?” you mumble against his skin. 

“Almost. I think I have another injury right here.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes to find him tapping his lips, puckered and awaiting a kiss. 

You shake your head at his antics but oblige him anyway and connect your lips in a gentle kiss. James’ right hand snakes out of your grip so he can wrap it around your waist to hold you into the kiss for a little longer. 

“Come on,” you say as you begin to pull away, “we only have a few more presents between us and those fresh homemade cookies laying out for Santa.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[chaotic-scraps]

"You fell right into my trap," the villain said. They didn't sound gloating, or even happy. In fact, they sounded worried.

"Y-you're going to lock me up, right?" the hero said hopefully.

The villain pinched the bridge of their nose. "Listen." They sighed heavily. "How do I put this. You're... More... Incompetent than usual."

The hero froze. "W-what do you mean?" They laughed nervously. "I-I trashed your lab. I got your henchmen to fight amongst each other. I even--"

"Yes, yes, you're still a thorn in my side, don't get me wrong." The villain frowned. "It's that you've fallen into this same exact trap three times in the last month. You know this wall shoots netting if you press a certain tile, and it's like... It's like you've intentionally been pressing it!"

"You expect me to memorize ALLLLL the little traps in your base?!" The hero scoffed. "Do you realize how WEIRD you sound?!"

The villain stared, deadpan, as they allowed a detailed map of their base to unfurl. Marked in red was every trap and trigger in the building. "Care to explain this?"

"That's not mine," the hero squeaked.

"Okay. That's it." The villain threw up their hands. "I'm letting you go. My henchmen will escort you out." They stalked over to an intercom on the wall.

"Wait, okay, fine!" The hero relented. They worried their lip. "I... The Agency... The Agency..." Their voice cracked a little. "F-fired... me..."

The villain stopped, hand hovering over the intercom button. "They what?!"

"They just..." Tears sprung in the hero's eyes. "Told all the other heroes I was compromised. They think I'm helping you."

"Why do they think that?" The villain snorted. "You're the bane of my existence. I can't have a moment's peace without you wrecking something."

"Yeah." The hero smiled, sadly. "Yeah, I am. But... They won't even talk to me."

The villain blinked. "Sooo... You're trying to... Prove yourself by being bad at your job?"

The hero flushed in utter shame. "Uh. No. I... " They laughed, high-pitched and strained. "It's warm in here. The cot in your cell is really comfortable. The food's not bad, either."

The villain's face pinched. "I give you stale bread and gruel."

"Yeah." The hero chuckled fondly. "It's filling, though." They curled into themselves. "They froze my bank account, evicted me, cut off my phone access. Can't even call my friends."

They shrugged. "Though, most of them work for the agency and have direct orders to not interact with me. So, there's that."

"You have nowhere else to go." The revelation was like a punch in the villain's gut. "You're homeless."

The hero bristled at that. "I'm just between homes," they stated defensively. "I'm working something out. It's temporary. I just need to get a new job--"

"You're hired." The villain set to work freeing them from the net. "Room and board in exchange for your work."

"...What?" The hero shrank back in disbelief. "No, I don't want your-- wait, really?"

The villain peered down at them. "This is not out of pity. You know better than anyone the weaknesses in my defenses, and you've seen my henchmen."

The hero cracked a genuine smile at that. "How do you know I won't betray you?"

The villain dabbed a tear from the hero's cheek. "... I have a hunch," they said fondly. "Besides, just having you out of my hair will save me so much on insurance."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do I write mean insults that's in character for a character to say? I'm personally poor at coming up with insults that don't sound generic or would actually cut deep, being mean in general. I want to write a snarky character with a dry sense of humour when it calls for it but don't know how to go about it.

He's also recovering from a superiority and inferiority complex.

As the writer, you know your character best, and what insults would make sense for them to say (also considering the bigger context of the scene). So, I'll just provide you with a compilation of prompts and notes from different sources, and you can choose which ones are most appropriate to incorporate in your story.

Writing Notes: Insults & Dry Humor

A List of "Sophisticated" Insults

Craven - having or showing a complete lack of courage; very cowardly

Fatuous - silly or stupid; complacently or inanely foolish. From Latin infatuate, which once meant "to make foolish," but which now usually means "to inspire with foolish love or admiration."

Insipid - not interesting or exciting; dull or boring

Obstreperous - difficult to control and often noisy

Obtuse - stupid or unintelligent; not able to think clearly or to understand what is obvious or simple

Pusillanimous - weak and afraid of danger. It's been used by such notables as Ralph Waldo Emerson ("It is a pusillanimous desertion of our work to gaze after our neighbours"), and the disgraced Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who called journalists "pusillanimous pussyfooters."

Sanctimonious - pretending to be morally better than other people. It once meant "possessing sanctity; holy, sacred." The genuinely holy aspect faded, and William Shakespeare is credited with first using sanctimonious to mean "hypocritically pious or devout."

Twee - sweet or cute in a way that is silly or sentimental. Just as buddy is believed to be a baby talk alteration of "brother", twee is a baby talk alteration of "sweet". Although twee is still considered a chiefly British term, it's increasingly popular in American English.

Unctuous - revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality. Unction can mean "anointment" or it can name something used to anoint, such as a soothing or lubricating oil. That idea of oiliness led to unctuous, which can describe the slickness of false sincerity.

Vacuous - having or showing a lack of intelligence or serious thought; lacking meaning, importance, or substance

The insult would also depend on which other character it is directed at. Here is a list of "funny" insults for adults from Reader's Digest:

My days of not taking you seriously have come to a middle.

You are the human equivalent of a participation trophy.

If you were a spice, you’d be flour.

You may have a sparsely attended funeral.

I smell something burning. Are you trying to think again?

You’re like a lighthouse in a desert: bright but not very useful.

Don’t worry—the first 30 years of childhood are always the hardest.

May your life be as pleasant as you are.

You’re as useless as the “ueue” in “queue.”

Your face is just fine. It’s your personality that’s the issue.

...and for your character's significant other:

I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you.

You continue to meet my expectations.

I’ll never forget the first time we met. But I’ll keep trying.

If genius skips a generation, our kids will be brilliant.

We were happily married for a month. Too bad it’s our 10-year anniversary.

I admire the way you try so hard.

You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion.

Have you tried doing it the way I told you to the first time?

The best part of watching a show with you is when you fall asleep because then I can watch my show.

Don’t call me crazy—you’re the one who married me!

You can always alter these to better suit your character. You can read the full list here, which also includes some insults for kids, best friends, and family.

Tips for Better Humor Writing

Humor writing isn’t all about landing a good joke (except for when it is). In creative writing, the effect is usually a bit more nuanced. Here’s a few writing techniques to get you started:

Subvert expectations. Try to undermine the audience’s expectations or reform them with structural elements.

Save the best for last. Humor is often a release of tension, so the sentence builds that tension, and the pay-off—the punchline—happens most naturally at the end. This is also sometimes referred to as the “rule of three,” where two thoughts act as a build-up to the final humorous closer.

Use contrast. Are your characters in a terrifying situation? Add something light, like a man obsessing about his briefcase instead of the T-Rex looming behind him.

Use good wordplay. Sometimes words themselves are funny, and just as often, their placement in a sentence can make a difference. Some words are just funnier than others, so make a list of those that amuse you the most.

Take advantage of cliché. While clichés are something most writers try to avoid, it’s important to recognize them,so you can use them to your advantage. Humor relies in part on twisting a cliché—transforming or undermining it. You do this by setting up an expectation based on the cliché and then providing a surprise outcome. In humor writing, this process is called reforming.

Use humor as a counterbalance. If you just pile on one terrible thing after another, it starts to become ridiculous, and people won’t buy it. Using humor is a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. Remember, if a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.

Level of Intensity

There are people who shrug off an insult (“That’s just the way she is”) and people who commit murder over an insult (“I’m avenging my honor!”). Plus, of course, everything in between. Which is your character?

To be believable, consider the following:

Personality. How hard does your character take events in general? Does s/he get really excited over good fortune and really depressed over setbacks? Then we’ll find it believable that s/he gets really angry and reacts accordingly.

The second cause of an intense reaction is the nature of the specific fight that you’re creating on the page. Lily Owens lets most of her father’s insults go by (“the art of survival”). But when he starts in about her mother, the topic is too important to Lily to gloss over. Lily’s reaction is intense. She runs away. Another type of character might merely have seethed silently. Still another might have fought T. Ray more intensively, setting fire to the house with him inside.

Finally, the strength of fights is culturally determined. Where public or even private scenes are disapproved of (upper-class London, old-money Boston, “well-behaved” families), arguments may be muted, even when the subject matters a great deal. In other cultures, volatility is not frowned on, and people may feel free to scream at each other in public. In extreme cases, murder may even be considered a duty, as in avenging a sister’s sexual assault.

Where is your story taking place? Are your arguers in tune with local or family culture? Maybe not. You can create interesting effects by portraying the rebels against the local mores: the meek child born into a battling family, the furious feminist in polite 19th-century English society.

On Dry Humor

Dry humor - is all about the subtle irony of the facts being stated plainly; it is the contrast between sentiment and reality that makes the situation funny.

The technique is known for its simple, often matter-of-fact declarations that will make the audience laugh or be perplexed (humor is subjective, after all).

With dry humor, delivery and intention create a sort of comedic cognitive dissonance or contrast. Sometimes it is as simple as using a bit of sarcasm, but it can also be more than that.

Dry humor lives and dies on the back of doing less.

Less facial expressions, less props, less setup—less is often more when it comes to landing the joke. You aren’t using a big, dramatic setup or a grandiose vocabulary to make your point.

Essentially, these jokes are derived from saying the opposite of what is meant or delivering them in a way that purposefully counteracts the supposed meaning of what is being said.

Dry Humor in Writing

The function of dry humor has often been to highlight the absurd.

It is effectively executed in moments where satirization of the circumstances at play require little more than noting the facts aloud.

When writing this sort of humor, quick, cutting accuracy is key to making the jokes land.

Simplicity is king, and an honest statement of the facts will always lead the way to finding the funny.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Humour ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

[ultravioletbrit]

“thankful” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 361 words

“You’re very lucky, Mr. Black.” Madam Pomfrey tells him, adjusting the sling on Regulus’ arm. “This could have been much, much worse, were it not for Mr. Potter.”

Regulus glances to the hospital bed next to him and sees James’ smug smile.

“Right.” Regulus grumbles to Madam Pomfrey.  

“Alright, you boys get some rest.” She says, closing the curtain around their beds.

Regulus starts to settle down on his bed, but James doesn’t move. Regulus glances over again and now he has an expectant look on his face, like he’s waiting for Regulus to say something.  

“I suppose you expect me to be thankful now.” Regulus mumbles.

“I mean, a simple thanks wouldn’t hurt.” James shrugs.

“I’m not thanking you, Potter. You were a fucking idiot.” Regulus scoffs. “I was the only one that should’ve been hurt, but you had to be a hero and try to save me and now we’re both hurt.”

“Oh, yes. I broke my ankle, and you have a broken arm, how terrible.” James says sarcastically. “You almost had a broken fucking skull, Reg. Better two minor injuries than one life-threatening one—"

“It wouldn’t have been life threatening.” Regulus interrupts.

“Reg, you were unconscious, plummeting head first to the ground and Hooch wasn’t close enough.” James tells him. “You would’ve crashed, and it would’ve… it would’ve been bad, Reg.” James finishes softly, holding eye contact with Regulus.

After a moment, James sighs and shifts to finally starts settling down on his bed, moving one leg more carefully than the other.     

“How’s your ankle feel?” Regulus asks quietly after a minute of awkward silence.

“Kind of numb and tingly at the same time.” James shrugs. “I can’t put weight on it, so I’m stuck here for at least a day to give the skele-gro time to work. How’s your arm feel?” He asks.

“Feels alright. It’s in a sling for a day or two, so not bad. Could’ve been worse, I guess.” Regulus shrugs  

“Hmmm…” James hums. “Yes. It could’ve been much, much worse.” He mimics what Madam Pomfrey said earlier.   

Regulus sighs dramatically and huffs. “Fine. Thanks… I guess.” He mumbles under his breath.     

“I’ll take it.” James smiles brightly.

[zegrasdrysdale]

hi!!! i’m a big sucker for secret relationships lol could you please do a matthew knives one where she is mitch marners younger sister and they have been secretly dating and mitch finds out in a bad way and it’s kind of angsty but then everything works out? thank you for your time!!

[ my little secret ] m. knies

paring : Matthew Knies x fem!reader

summary : Matthew and his girlfriend accidentally expose their entire eight month relationship after he gets hurt during a game, and Mitch isn't very happy about it

warning(s) : angst galore (but w a happy ending), mentions of injury, injured!kniesy, occasional use of y/n

author’s note : wanted to write something angsty and decided to knock out a request at the same time. enjoy and sorry this request took so long <33

༺═──────────────═༻

The game is going okay. Right now, the Leafs are up 2-1 against rival Boston. Her brother has assists on both Toronto goals while Matthew scored the go-ahead goal about halfway through the third. The Leafs defense is playing great defense and blocking shots from the Bruins. The forwards are keeping Boston from getting any momentum when they hop over the boards for each shift.

This is probably the best the Leafs have looked all season against a surging Boston team that struggled at the beginning of the season.

It's not long after Matthew scores the go-ahead goal that Boston begins to show some frustration. Their physical players begin to get a little more physical, laying more hits on the Leafs players. The Leafs are taking those hits like champs and some are returning the same physicality.

Until Brad Marchand lays a hard hit on Matt and he lands awkwardly on his outstretched arm. Her boyfriend curls up on the ice around the arm he landed on and a whistle is blown. A member of the training staff is immediately on the ice to look at Matthew.

She stands up with the crowd around her, hands covering her mouth as she waits for Matt to stand up. The crowd at Scotiabank Arena is so quiet, she should hear a pin drop from the other side of the stands.

It feels like an eternity later when Matt gets up on his own. The crowd claps for him, but she's too focused on the fact that he's holding his left arm close to his body. Mitch skates right behind him with his stick, which is hands to the equipment manager while Matthew goes down the tunnel.

With about five minutes left in the period and the Leafs up in the game, she makes her way down to the hallway that contains the in-arena gym, locker room, equipment room, and the athletic training room where Matt probably is.

She shows her credentials before she's let into the hallway. The horn on the ice sounds and the crowd cheers, signaling either a goal or a Leafs win. She's not sure how much time has gone by by the time she is standing outside the training room door.

After knocking lightly, she pushes open the door a little bit to get a look at her boyfriend. She sees Matthew on one of the tables half undressed. He only has on his shorts, socks, and skates. His gear is on the floor with his jersey and compression shirt.

The doctor notices her before Matt does. "Sorry, but you can't be he-"

"It's fine," Matt winces as the doctor presses on his wrist. "She's here for me anyway. Come on in, (Y/N)."

She steps into the medical room and walks up to Matt on the table. His doctor keeps pressing on and examining his wrist. He has Matt wiggle his fingers, tests his wrist flexion, and he finds the most painful points.

All while Matt winces in pain. A second horn goes off and the crowd above them cheers. The song that usually plays after a Leafs win starts to play, which means the boys will be making their way back to the locker room any second.

"Well, good news is that your wrist isn't broken," the doctor explains to Matt. "But I do think you have a mild sprain. I'd like to get scans done in the morning to confirm."

"And how long will I be out?" Matt asks.

"With rest and recovery, two weeks minimum," his doctor replies. "If you come back too early, it could be longer so I suggest staying off the ice until I clear you to return to practice. We'll come back and reassess a week from tomorrow once I confirm the sprain then come up with a plan to return to play. Until then, rest. I'll give you a brace you can use for the next few days."

Matt nods and the doctor walks off to find a brace that he'll use for a while. She intertwines her fingers with his as soon as the doctor has his back turned to them. He looks up at her with big, sad eyes. She frowns at the sight of a sad Matthew Knies.

This is a risky moment for both of them given where they're at, but she couldn't help but touch him and show him that she's here for him since she can't say anything right now. Not with the team doctor ten feet away from them.

The doctor turns around and she pulls their fingers apart. Matt holds out his injured wrist so the doctor can show him how to put the brace on. "How does it feel?" he asks Matt. "Not too snug?"

"Nope," he replies. "Comfortable."

"Good," the doctor says. "I want to see you back here in the morning for some x-rays and other tests to rule out breaks or internal damage. Okay?"

Matt nods and the doctor claps him on the back. He leaves the room, probably to go tell the coaching staff about his injury. Matt sighs and reaches to grab his compression shirt when he hops off the table.

She glances at the door to make sure no one walks in before she pulls Matthew into a hug by his torso once his shirt is on.

"I'm so sorry you got hurt, Matty," she softly says into his chest. "That hit looked bad. It could've been so much worse. I'm so glad it wasn't."

"I'm still benched for at least a week," Matt sighs. He runs his fingers through her wavy locks before he cradles her head against his body. "I'll be staying here while the boys go out on that west coast roadie. I was looking forward to some California sun after a few inches of snow over the weekend."

There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but she doesn't find it very funny. She peels her face off his chest and looks up at him. "It's not funny, Matthew," she tells him. "You got hurt. You avoided what may have been a season ending injury, but you still got hurt. None of this is very funny to me, and you're cracking jokes about missing out on the California sun."

He realizes what his words were and quickly becomes apologetic. "I'm sorry, baby," he says. "No injury is funny, even one as minor as mine."

"I thought you were really hurt, Matty," she admits. "When you were down on the ice. I thought that something was broken or torn while you were lying there. What if this was worse than a wrist sprain and you were making jokes about missing games?"

Matthew's healthy hand slides to cup her face. He rubs his thumb along her cheekbone and frowns. "I'm okay," he whispers to her. "I'm okay. Nothing is torn or broken or dislocated. It's just a sprain. It's not season ending and I'll be back on the ice in a week. It just sucks that I'm out at all."

She presses her face back into his chest and he engulfs her in a hug. He buries his head into her hair and presses a kiss to her temple. "You're okay," she echoes. "Thank God you're okay."

He softly hums into her hair. She looks up at him at the same time he tilts her head up. Matthew leans down since his skates give him a little extra inches to his six-foot-three frame. Their lips meet in a soft kiss when she gets on her tiptoes. Her hands grasp at his shorts to give her some stablity.

They stand like that longer than they probably should, but she can't help but kiss him. All her anxiety about the last fifteen minutes melt away the longer the kiss goes.

The door opens and she hears her brother's voice. "How you doing in here, Kniesy?" Mitch questions. They both jump away from each other and look at Mitch, who stops in his tracks when he sees his little sister in the training room with his teammate. "(Y/N), why are you-- with Matthew? Kissing Matthew?"

She quickly looks between her brother and her boyfriend. "I, um ..." she trails off. Then Mitch angrily starts toward the two of them with a look in his eyes that she's seen before when the two of them caught an ex cheating on her. "Mitchy, stop." She tries to push against him with little success.

"My little sister?" Mitch asks as he shoves Matthew. "Are you kidding me?" Matt stumbles backward a little bit since he's still in his skates. She grabs at Mitch's t-shirt to try and stop him, but he overpowers her for a second time.

"Mitch," she tries again. "Enough. I'm an adult. I'm allowed to be with whoever I want to be with."

Mitch looks back at her. "This is my teammate, (Y/N)," he tells her. "My goddamn linemate most games, and you're in here kissing him? He's one of my closest friends and you're, what, hooking up with him behind my back?"

"It's not like that-" Matthew tries to say.

"And you," Mitch interrupts. "My little fucking sister. I trusted you and you go and do something like this? Are you actually kidding me? God, I can't believe you. Either of you. Do you know how embarrassing this is for me? That my sister and one of my teammates snuck around my best for who knows how long. Snuck around at my house, my second home."

She looks at Matt, who looks genuinely terrified of what's happening right now. "Mitch, can you listen to me for a second before you start talking about something you know nothing about?" she asks. "There is a lot more to this story than you think."

Her brother rubs his face and shakes his head. "I don't think there's anything you can tell me that I don't already know-"

"I am in love with him, Mitch!" she shouts. "We're not just hooking up or anything like that. We're actually together. I love him and he loves me. If you would listen instead of assuming things then you'd know that."

It looks like someone slapped her brother across the face when she admits to him that she loves Matt. His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack. He looks between the two of them. She takes a few steps backward so she's standing beside her boyfriend while her eyes stay on Mitch.

Mitch blinks at them for a second before he says, "I need a little bit. I just need a second before we continue this conversation because I'm beyond angry and feeling very betrayed right now. Do what the two of you want because you're going to do it anyway but please do not talk to me while I'm on this roadie. Okay?"

They both nod and Mitch turns to walk out of the room. She lets out the breath that she was holding before she looks up at Matthew, who has color in his face again.

"We should've told him when we got together," Matt tells her without looking at her. "He's right. He's one of my closest friends and he's my linemate on the ice. I shouldn't have messed with that chemistry. It might affect our on ice performance, which is going to mess with the whole team's performance. Oh my God."

"Matthew," she sighs as she steps in front of him. "Hey. I made that choice too. He's my brother and I thought he'd get angrier if we told him at first. These eight months have shown us that we love each other and that I want this forever. If we told him at first, it wouldn't have given us that chance. I don't regret not telling him because we had that time to ourselves to figure us out. I'll talk to him when he gets back from the roadie and it'll be okay. I promise."

He nods. "I need to go get changed then we can go," he tells her. "Wish me luck that he doesn't throw any of his gear at me in the locker room."

"You have my full permission to throw something back at him."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The week and a half that the roadie takes feels like forever. All she can do is watch her brother enter a slump while on the west coast. She respects his wishes and doesn't text or call him while he's on the road, but it's one of the hardest things she's ever had to do.

Matthew gets clears to go non-contact on the ice eight days after the initial injury. Brad Marchand was given a two game suspension and a large fine for intent to injure. At least, that's what the NHL Department of Player Safety announced the day after his hit on Matt. She sits at the Leafs practice building while she watches Matt work on some stickhandling and skating drills by himself.

It's two weeks after the game versus Boston when Mitch reaches out to his little sister.

from: big bro mitchy <3 - 3:09 pm can i come over ? to talk. i think im ready to talk

to: big bro mitchy <3 - 3:11 pm yeah. matt's here too, if that's okay

He doesn't respond, but she lets Matt know that Mitch is coming over to her apartment. They both sit on the couch when a knock announces Mitch's arrival.

She opens the door and Mitch walks into the apartment without a greeting. She's on his heels when he walks into the living room. Matt stands up to face Mitch.

"You better treat her right, Knies," Mitch tells him. She blinks in total confusion. "I mean it, Matt. If I find out that you hurt her in any way, I'll put your ass back on IR faster than you can blink. Got it?" He nods in response. "Now, can I have a few minutes alone with my sister? I have some things I need to say to her and I don't need you in the room while I do."

Matt quickly disappears down the hallway to her bedroom. The door distantly clicks shut and Mitch turns to her. She stands straight up as she faces her brother.

They look at each other for a second before she concedes first. "I am so sorry that neither of us told you about our relationship," she says. "But I'm going to tell you that I don't regret not telling you. Matt and I needed some time to figure out how we work together before we told anyone. Then we were together longer and longer and we thought you would be so mad that we didn't tell you-"

"Oh, I'm mad alright," Mitch interrupts her. "I mean, there are millions of people in the Toronto area that you could've started a relationship with. There are hundreds of players in the league itself and you chose to enter a relationship with my linemate of all people."

"You're angry because I'm dating someone on your team? she asks. "Of all the reasons to be angry, you're mad because I fell in love with Matt? Mitch, that's you're fault. You're the one that introduced us because Matt was a rookie in a big city and I'm about as old as he is. You thought that we could lean on each other since I also had just moved to Toronto to pursue a career."

"I didn't think you'd date him," Mitch retorts. "Let alone fall in love with him."

She rolls her eyes. "I can't help who I fall in love with and you should know that," she spits at him.

Mitch sighs and rubs his face. "I'm just trying to look out for you," he tells her. "You're my little sister."

"And he's one of your closest friends so you should know what kind of guy he is," she replies. "I'm 23, Mitch. I don't need you looking out for me. Believe me when I say that I very hesitantly started a relationship with Matt because I know how hockey players can be. He quickly showed me that he's not like other hockey players. He genuinely loves me, more than any of my previous boyfriends ever have."

Her brother frowns at her. "I just wish I could have watched you fall in love," he explains. "And know you were falling in love. I only find out you're in love and in a very serious relationship months later. I don't want to know how many months later but months later. It sucks not being able to watch my little sister grow up and find love until after."

Okay, she never thought of it like that. She never thought that it took away an opportunity for Mitch to watch her grow up a little bit, or find love. He was there for all her other relationships. Why not this one?

"I'm sorry, Mitchy," she softly tells him. "I really am. I don't want you to be mad because this is the best relationship I've ever been in. I'm sorry I took away watching me fall in love, but I didn't want to fall in love under the close eye of my older brother. Especially not when my boyfriend is his teammate. I needed to find me and how I worked with Matt. That's it. That's why neither of us told you."

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and envelopes her in a hug. She sighs and wraps his arms around his torso. "I could never be mad at you for very long," he admits. "I needed some time to think about what I was going to say to you when I calmed down. I didn't want to say something I might regret. I get why neither of you told me now."

"We wanted to so many times but it was never the right time," she says. "We were going to say something before the end of last season, then you were so focused on playoffs that we couldn't. Then the Boston series happened, and that wasn't the best time either. Then it was the offseason and we decided to wait even longer. Then this season started and it never seemed like the best time because the two of you had some great on ice chemistry. So we waited and waited until it was too late and it never felt like the right time."

Her brother backs away the hug and looks her in the eyes. "I don't want you to ever not tell me something because you think hockey is in the way," he sternly tells her. "I mean it. You're way more important than hockey will ever be. If you have something to tell me, then tell me next time, okay?"

She nods in response. "Got it," she softly says.

"By the way, I kind of knew something was up with you because you were around a lot more often than you were before," Mitch admits. "But you were always wearing my jersey so I thought it was because you really liked watching hockey. I had no idea it was because you were dating Matt. It makes sense looking back on it now."

A laugh passes her lips before she can stop it. "Hate to break it to you but it was because of Matt," she tells him. "I didn't wear his jersey because that would've meant telling you, which neither of us were ready for."

Mitch smiles at her. "I know," he says. "You look happy. I've never seen you this happy or in love before. It looks good on you, little sister."

"Thank you, big brother," she replies. "Can Matt come out now or are you going to give him the big brother talk?"

"Oh, I'll give that to him in the locker room," he laughs. "I'll tell you that you're allowed to wear his jersey now since I know. You've probably wanted to wear it before so you can now."

"Awesome," she says. "I've worn your jersey for too long. It's Matt's turn."

Footsteps echo down the hallway before they emerge into the living room. "I wasn't eavesdropping or anything but I heard that I could come out," Matt's voice says behind her. She turns her head and looks at her boyfriend. "Are we okay?"

Mitch walks up to her boyfriend and Matt sharply inhales. Her older brother holds out his hand. "We're good," he tells his linemate. "We're going to have our own talk though because that is my little sister you are involved with."

"Understood," Matt replies.

With a huge smile on her face, she runs up to Matt and wraps herself around his torso. "My favorite boys are friends again," she says as she looks up at Matt. "And you're no longer my little secret."

"I better be the first person you tell when you put a ring on her finger, Knies," Mitch warns. "Or bad things will happen."

"I'll come to you and ask for your permission to marry her if it'll make you feel better," Matt replies. "When we eventually get to that point."

"Good," her brother says. "I'll get out of your hair. I just wanted to come talk to you guys for a second. I'm going out with Steph for an early dinner but I didn't want you guys to think I hated you."

The boys give their version of a hug goodbye. Mitch presses a kiss to her temple before leaving. She looks at Matt.

"Feel better?" she asks. "Knowing it's not going to mess with your on ice chemistry now?"

"A little."

"What will help you feel even better?"

"I think you already know." Matt takes a step backward down the hall that leads to her bedroom.

She grins. "I like the way you think, Kniesy."

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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[junovae]

can you write about the sexy fish man (you know the one)

why yes of course i know which sexy fish man you're talking about!

soft hits, hard truths

sebastian solace x reader ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ slight nsfw

artwork: artwork is NOT mine. art is by @grub-hut on tumblr. go check out their work. sebastian mf solace, everyone

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

summary: after a misunderstanding, sebastian refuses to let you go to bed angry with him. determined to make amends, he begrudgingly starts a pillow flight.

cw: sebastian solace x reader, fluff-ish, suggestive themes of intimacy (MDNI), sebastian is bad at comforting, he tries anyways, you've known him for a few weeks now, a sort of romantic relationship is already established between you two, his shop has a shower and spare mattress in the back, thank goodness he had soap and pajamas, amends are made if you know what i mean

wc: 916

a.n: in honor of beating pressure and sacrificing my posture in order to do it, cheers.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

water droplets fall onto the cement floor as you wring the rest of your wet hair dry. fortunately, sebastian solace had allowed you to stay in his shop for the rest of the night after a day of running from the monsters of the hadal blacksite. unfortunately, you had just found out that he was the primary reason you were being chased by said monsters in the first place.

you walk out of the barely functioning restroom into a cozy little cubby-space just behind his shop. sebastian watched you dry the rest of your hair as you walked towards a broken mirror and started combing through it with your fingers. fuck, he thought to himself. he so badly wanted to be the one to brush the rest of your hair just so you didn't have to lift a finger. but of course he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

"will you talk to me?" he mumbled under his breath, making his way towards you. you eye him from the mirror but continue doing what you're doing. you feel his presence behind you and sure enough, you watch him lean down and rest his forehead against your shoulders.

you smelled like vanilla. you smelled like the vanilla he used to smell during the winter holidays and it was driving him insane. "i'm sorry, okay?" he whispers. now this caught your attention. "did the sebastian solace just say the words 'i'm sorry' to me?" you turn around and walk towards the makeshift bed. he follows you. "i don’t believe it.” a sigh escapes your lips, plopping down onto the mattress and covering yourself with the blanket. you turn away from him.

“i didn’t mean for things to turn out this way- well, okay i did, but i didn’t expect meeting you midway through my plans.” sebastian scratches the back of his neck, staring at your figure. “fishbait, if you hadn’t crawled through the vents and into my shop, i wouldn’t care who gets eaten by those monsters. but you did, and now it sucks seeing you get hurt because now i…”

he trailed off, his voice catching. shit, this was hard. years of solitude and roaming the dreadful cold hallways of his captors’ prison had hardened his heart. he didn’t expect it to happen, but your presence and excessive bantering had brought back an excitement in him (though he would always mask it off with annoyance). all sebastian knew was that even though life sucked, seeing you made it suck less. he couldn’t take it anymore. he needed to hear your voice again. the void of silence between the two of you was starting to create an atmosphere of distance. he couldn't care less if the world hated him, he hated it back. but there was no way in hell he would allow you to look at him with such loathing. panic settling in him, sebastian impulsively does something that catches you off-guard. he grabs the nearest soft pillow and throws it in your direction. it hits your face.

you quickly turn around and sit up to shoot him a sharp glare, pillow now in hand. “are you serious?” you seethe.

“i’m dead serious,” he said, grabbing another pillow. “you’re mad at me? fine. but you’re not shutting me out.” before you could react, he throws a second pillow. this time, it lands in your lap.

he notices a flicker of something crossing your face - anger, disbelief, and… maybe a hint of amusement.

“big mistake,” you shoot him a sly smile.

you launch the pillow in his direction and suddenly, there was war. more pillows flew, tension unraveling with each hit. the both of you were laughing now, dodging attacks and running around the small room. it wasn’t fair that he was larger than you in size but you could make do. and plus, he was extra careful in making sure not to hit you too hard. and here in this moment, seeing another side of him, you realize that you could never stay mad at sebastian solace for too long.

tired from the fight, you trip onto the mattress and fall backwards. he follows suit and lands on top of you, your faces inches apart, panting and out of breath. he supports himself with one arm as he gazes at you with an unreadable expression. “do you forgive me?” he whispers, breathless. the room was a mess, but your silence had been broken.

you plant a soft kiss on his forehead. it was truly unfortunate that the both of you were placed in this prison against your wills, but you knew that he would never intentionally hurt you. “i forgive you.”

oh fuck, he melted. impulsively, he slides one of his hands behind your back and pulls you closer to him, taking your mouth in his, kissing you fervently. your arms tighten around his neck, kissing him deeper, soft moans and grunts replacing the silence. in a heated frenzy, you guide one of his hands downwards. he grumbles as he lifts your shirt up, trailing wet kisses down your stomach.

you smile, feeling the warmth of his mouth. “to make up for you nearly killing me, does this mean i get a discount at your shop tomorrow?”

he laughed, a warm, deep and genuine sound that softened the space between you. “i’d give you a discount every day for free, fishbait… but this,” he whispers sliding down your pajamas, “this is just a huge bonus.”

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

[burningcheese-merchant]

PLEASE FEED US MORE JUST AS DOWN BAD GOLDEN CHEESE. PLEASE MORE YANDERE CHEESE

Did you send two asks in a row screaming for more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese lol. Calm down brotato, Merchant is here. Merchant sees you (and everyone else in my inbox I swear to God Almighty I will address you all eventually). Let me see what I've got in my noodle for you

Under the cut because this is fucked and gets a little extra graphic at one particular point lol

Golden Cheese actually has tried to gather the identities of those Burning Spice has murdered. What she wasn't able to glean on her own, from her own personal knowledge of other lands and peoples (i.e. noticing certain traits she knows to be endemic to certain cultures, like a hair accessory or something), she found in books and scrolls in her kingdom's library that gave her a better idea. Whatever she couldn't find in those, she found via sending cheesebirds to travel far and wide in search of any kingdoms, cities, villages, families and friend groups with confirmed missing persons. They would report back to her and, with all the knowledge she's gathered, she's able to find a name, which she then wrote onto a label and placed under the person it belonged to. She's managed to eventually give all the heads their identities/personhood back, at least to some degree. And now, knowing who these people are/were, she can get them back to their loved ones easier. Right? ...Right? (She tries not to progress beyond being proud of herself for going that extra mile, because it just leads back to "ok so why are the heads still here, why haven't you returned them". In trying to do the right thing, she ultimately just does the WRONG thing again and reinforces her preexisting guilt and shame, because... she knows exactly why she hasn't returned them...)

Golden has started... experimenting with Spice, for lack of a better term. After she was proven correct about him paying attention when she mentions someone she doesn't like and later killing that specific person for her, she starts testing him in other ways. She makes subtle suggestions about how he ought to kill people, to see how he responds in the moment and if he actually ends up doing it later. She tries to coax him into going into detail about how the killing went, just to see if and how he does so (turns out he really does like to brag about his crimes, especially to her). She tries to hint at him giving her other things besides body parts, like certain trinkets (it... sort of works. If she asks for a watch, he... brings her a severed arm with a watch attached to it still, for example). She's observing how far he'll go and in which direction he's willing to travel in at her suggestion. (...And she revels in how much power it turns out she has over him. She really does have him at her beck and call. It's lovely.)

When her friends ask her how she's been managing her Beast (they are aware that hers is still actively targeting her, but that's it), she acts as nonchalant as possible. Burning Spice is nothing. He's just a fly buzzing around her head. She handles him just fine. When they ask her how they can help, she tells them she doesn't need it, because she doesn't want them anywhere near him she really is fine. It's fine. She's fine. When they suggest going after him themselves... thank goodness she's a good actress and a quick thinker, because her very first REAL reaction was seething fury that she had to keep under control until she was alone again - but then, when she finally is, she just has another crisis of conscience, because now she has to confront the fact that she can no longer tolerate the notion of him being harmed by anyone besides herself. She used to want him dead or imprisoned by any means necessary, but now... now, she lies about his whereabouts to everyone who asks (and she always knows where he is, she snuck a tracking device onto him), because she doesn't want anyone coming near him for any reason anymore, least of all to harm him. Because only SHE can harm him now. He still comes to fight her, not just to give her things. And she obliges him, albeit begrudgingly (never mind the sick satisfaction she feels when she hurts him or takes him down. She wonders if this feeling is what he's referring to in those letters about him reveling in their battles and how he enjoys her suffering). She... she won't let that end. She won't let anyone get in the way. In his way. In THEIR way. She can handle him by herself. Everyone else can stay home. They won't take him away from her. She cannot guarantee their safety if they try.

She once idly wondered about his past. About the people he likely once had in his life. About... if he'd ever been fond of any other women. She could hardly fathom the hatred that utterly overwhelmed her senses when the thought entered her mind. So angry was she that she broke the glass of water in her hand in said anger and injured herself. So haunted by this notion did she end up, that she tried to ask him about it the next time they met (as subtly as possible; she understands the implications of asking such a thing). He just shrugged and said he didn't recall; the only woman that mattered to him was her. She hated how relieved she felt when he told her that...

...but after that day, and for a good while, he only targeted women. He kept killing adult women and bringing their heads to her, and no one else's. She quickly surmised that he might have noticed her jealousy (or at least imagined she was jealous) and immediately set out to prove his devotion to her further than before by destroying those she feels threatened by - even if the threat does not exist, for she is all he ever wanted. He never told her directly, but she figured that's what it was. And she allowed herself to believe it. Because it made her happy.

(When the women-only killing spree eventually ended, she was struck with morbid curiosity and asked him about the men he killed. Was there anything behind the ones he chose? He revealed to her that, though his targets were mostly random, he would go out of his way to kill any man that he thought she might find attractive. He was capable of feeling threatened, just like she was. It was quite the surprise... a surprise she welcomed, a surprise she found deeply amusing. Because really, what was left for her to find attractive in anyone anymore, when no one went as far as he did to earn her favor?)

She actually does find him handsome. She always has, from the beginning. It was something she considered to be a great shame; such good looks squandered on such a horrible man. But now... with her greed slowly spiraling out of control thanks to him constantly overfeeding it the way he does with his violent extremism... she's starting to dare to find that extremism handsome, too. She's slowly but surely ceasing to find any shame in the circumstance. She's starting to think he's handsome... and that's it, that's the end of the thought. He's handsome, with all of that blood coating his face and body. He's handsome, puffing his chest out and beaming with such sick pride at the handiwork he performed for her. He's handsome, in his maddened, unwavering dedication to her. He's handsome... no asterisk, no addendum, no ifs ands or buts. He's handsome. Burning Spice is handsome. It weighs on her like a stone. And it only gets heavier each time he sees him and his handsome face again.

Sometimes... just sometimes... she'll reread those letters that are particularly... steamy. There's something rather fascinating about them, in a different way than the others. They're so... uniquely visceral. She believes him when he tells her he's starving; his hunger practically lunges at her from the page, claws at her, sinks its teeth into her, sets her body alight. Pure, unashamed, blistering hot lust and sexuality, with some of that same addiction to violence mixed in (he's a sadomasochist, go figure). People have flirted with Golden before... but not like this. No one on earth has ever dared to speak to her so brazenly, not even after several pints of liquid courage. He talks about wanting to break her bed as well as she herself. He tells her how often he touches himself to the thought of her. He details exactly where he wants to put his hands. Where he wants to put his mouth. What he intends to say straight into her ears as they go, and what he wants her to say back to him. How he doesn't want to stop until they both collapse with exhaustion. Just neverending feverish rants about he wishes to destroy her in more ways than one, and how he expects her to scream and beg either way. She won't admit it, not even to herself, the thought tried to make itself known inside of her head once and she shoved it down and tried to bury it under concrete instantly, but... she's almost... intrigued. She's flattered, of course. She relishes this aspect of his insatiable appetite for her alongside all the others. (She likes being told she's pretty. He does that and then some.) But... some small part of her is... curious. Curious about... if he really would follow through on what he says he wants to do, if he really had the chance. How it would feel. How HE would feel. What the difference would really be between him overpowering her to win a fight and him overpowering her to... to...

...there are nights where she lays awake, drilling holes into the ceiling with her bloodshot eyes, wondering where it all went wrong. There are nights where all that succeeds in putting her to sleep are the warm, bitter tears that stream down her face when the guilt and shame grow too powerful. There are nights where she just gets up and leaves, throws herself out of her own window and flies off somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter - it just had to be somewhere she couldn't feel dozens of empty, lifeless eyes watching her through the walls. Judging her. Condemning her. Damning her to Hell, where she and the monster who ended their lives belonged.

...and then, there are nights where she feels... strange. Where she notices how... big her bed really is, and how small she feels laying in it. She wonders how it would feel if he was there. If she could nest in his thick, strong arms instead of thin bedsheets. How much more comfortable his chest would feel, compared to her pillow. If his hair was as soft as it looked. How he'd react if she started tracing his tattoos with her fingertips. If sharing a tender moment like that would awaken something in him. If it would somehow help him realize how wrong all of this is.

...Or maybe it would just make it worse.

Maybe she doesn't care anymore.

[pixeltwix]

-Unrelated McGucket Ramblings

Because my mental illness is metal illnessing my brain has been having a wonderful time combining interests. Specifically gravity falls and the Odyssey of all things?

The parallels between Fiddleford, Emma May, and Tate -& Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus is driving me bonkers. EVERYTIME I hear songs like ‘There Are Other Ways’, ‘I’m Just A Man’, and ‘Love in Paradise’ I can so vividly see Fiddleford so ardently longing for home, for his wife, for his son, but something or some event keeps pulling him back every single time he has a mind to just go home. I can’t help but let my head make the connections and rewire silly lyrics to fit closer together than I already feel they are.

‘Back at home my wife awaits for me, she’s my everything, my Emma May. And she’s all my power, all my power, but it’s been (x) long years. Oh (x) long years since I have seen my wife, and now the god of (chaos) is out to end my life-“

Additionally while I do not see Emma May as Calypso to any degree, her few lines in ‘Love in Paradise’ stuck out so hard to me if it was outside of the context of Calypso & Odysseus’s no good very bad situation. Just the-

“It will be fine dear, come back inside dear, love of my life come back to paradise. I know your life’s been hard, I’ll stay inside your heart. I love you my dear, I love our time here, life would be so much worse if you had died. Please stay away from harm, stay in my open arms.”

Is SO POST FIRST PORTAL TESTING FIDDLEFORD CODED- when Emma May finally comes up for herself to check on him in Gravity Falls and sees his condition. I refuse to believe for a moment that she didn’t at least try to understand what was going on before fearing for her and her sons life. Finding her husband most likely stumbling around like he doesn’t even know himself or where he is, trying to soothe and bring him back to her. And at first it seems like it’s working, like he’s slowly piecing together what she’s putting down, but then he’s sparking, spiraling again. She tries a final time to coax him from whatever whirl of madness he’s gotten himself into, but it never gets better. In fact it keeps getting worse. But just the vISUAL ALONE of her with that part of the song trying to bring him away from harm all the while he’s still deeply haunted with the ‘all I hear are screams’. AHHH-

Additionally the narrative of Penelope stalling her suitors for YEARS because she’s hoping, praying, that her husband is still alive, still out there somewhere. That maybe just maybe he’ll come home. I am screAMING and pointing at the Emma May core of it all. I’ve been meaning to develop elderly FiddEm dynamic be it platonic for the sake of recovery, but my biggest thing with her design is despite after all these years she sTILL carries aspects of her husband with her. Be it wearing his old specs he left at home or still keeping her floral motif with her brooch. She still loves him deep down- she always will, and she’s always gonna mourn the life that could’ve been if Bill hadn’t been involved, but still. Keeping him as apart of her even if she ‘hated’ him for so long kept her going.

Also idk plus just the-

‘Hell no, I could kill you where you stand. I’m no pet, I’m a married man.’

Is silly to me because I know it would be very ooc for Fiddleford to have THAT much bite even if he is capable of ‘lashing out’. Regardless it’s still amusing brain movie content to envision-

If I didn’t already have so many other ideas on hand I’d draw this all myself, but raaaaa so many other concepts I wanna draw first :(

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for my ruined relationship with my soulmate?

[Author's note: some details are purposefully ignored or exaggerated for unreliable-narrator purposes]

I (F) have been trapped in a hunger-games sort of situation for the past six weeks. The way it works is that we all got three lives, green, yellow, and red, and when we were reduced to red we were taken over by... a sort of bloodlust. We also shared our life force with another, a soulmate who felt every pain we did. If one died, so did the other.

When the game began, an acquaintance M (M) and I went looking for resources to share with our soulmates. We went somewhere sort of dangerous in search of rare materials, but we were careful and returned safely.

Afterwards, we went looking for our soulmates. We found them- mine was S (M) and M's soulmate was C (F). I had the strangest feeling that we were friends in some kind of past existence, so I thought I could trust them... but I was wrong.

S and C said we'd abandoned and endangered them. They didn't listen to reason when I tried to explain that we were being careful and we just wanted to stock up early. They said they chose each other as their soulmates, and left, and then M blamed me for everything and he left too, and I was so alone...

I tamed a wolf, Tilly. If they wanted to choose their soulmates, then fine, I chose Tilly. I built myself a lovely tall tower to keep an eye on everyone who might ever want to hurt me. Tilly had a little fall while I was working but she was okay, she came back as yellow! Good wolf, she would never leave me :)

I visited a pair of acquaintances, B (M) and R (M), to play a little prank on them, just for a minute. R accidentally angered a monster while chasing me, and he got killed, so I tried to protect the things he dropped from S and C, who wanted to steal it all. But R didn't appreciate my efforts, he said it was my fault he died and called me all sorts of names and banished me from his house!

I was really upset at S and C, so I decided to get back at S by purposefully letting myself get frostbite and making him have to heal us. I guess rumors of what I had been up to spread, because soon enough, everyone thought I was crazy. It wasn't even that bad, it was only a little tickle really!

Some of the other contestants organized a little party, and we played a game where one of us swung the others around with a fishing rod. Another pair, J (M) and E (M) accidentally got hurt too much and died, so as a joke I decided to take the fancy armor they dropped. I was going to give it back, but they killed me before I even could, and then S yelled at me again!

Everything descended into chaos after that. People started burning each others' houses down, someone brought a giant monster up to the surface. S, C, and I were forced to team up to increase our chances of survival, even though they kept criticizing me and calling me the "crazy ex" the whole time.

I bred Tilly with a wolf that S found, and soon enough I had a whole army of wolves to accompany me. But S was stupid and got caught burning down another pair's house so they killed him and then I was red.

I left S and C since they clearly didn't want me there, and tried to get the other reds to let me join them, but they kept calling me crazy and trying to kill my wolves. So I took my revenge on the reds, I killed them with my axe, whack whack whack, and my pack and I laughed and ate and cheered.

After that, it was just M, C, S, and me. M and C tried to kill me, but getting rid of them was easy enough. But... then I realized that Tilly was gone. M said she was corrupting me, but I wasn't corrupted! All of them were, for being so mean to me!

I didn't even get to finally have a proper fight with S like I always wanted to... he blew himself up and then it was just me for only a moment before I died too and...

...I don't deserve this. Winning.

Maybe I really am a monster.

I'm so lonely.

[makiitabaki]

Finally answering this:

Thank you, @saintjustitude for asking me to rant—I adore doing just that :]

(First of all, thank you to everyone for waiting. I know I took a lot of time to write this, but I had only around an hour free every day, and I usually spent it searching for sources. My knowledge is limited; the play isn't available. I rely on memoirs, interviews, and reviews. 

My inbox is always open, and if anyone has any Wojtek questions, I'd be absolutely delighted to answer them. And I mean it. It can be anything. 

 Every quote was translated by me. All my sources are listed.

Unfortunately a part of it wasn't saved, and I don't have access to some info anymore but this post will probably serve as the beginning of a longer thread.)

And now: “Sprawa Dantona” (1975).

1. How did it all come to be? Why was ‘The Danton Case’ and not any other play?

When I say ‘Danton’ directed by Wajda, most probably think of the 1983 version, a political metaphor: Comsal representing the Polish government, Dantonist representing Solidarity. Was it like that originally? Was Wajda just calling for a fight with the government, transforming Przybyszewska's work to fit his own narrative?

In short: No! (At least if we're referring to the 1975 version, the film is completely another story; I'll gladly make another post about it.).

Zygmunt Hübner (I have mentioned him already in this post) chose Wajda to direct the play even though the latter was a relatively young director; something was telling Hübner that giving the play to him would be absolutely necessary. Pszoniak later referred to that event as Wajda being cast in it as much as he himself was.

The play was simply a way to introduce the artistic team Hübner created. There was none of some “noble patriotism’ or 'anti communism'. (None of what Wajda described as the purpose of the later film.)

Why was that play in particular chosen? That is unknown.

“The idea [of exhibiting that play] came from the fact that Hübner was looking for a play (…) that would present his artistic team as a whole, which he assembled with great imagination and intuition.”

At first, Pszoniak laughed into Hübner's face when offered the role. He thought it fine, intruiging, but the character of Robespierre was so foreign to him that he couldn't give anything from his own person or his own experiences to his Maximilien.

He asked for the role of Danton; that role seemed to fit him way better with "his [Danton's] sensuality, his dynamic physiognomy, and his balls."

Wajda and Hübner were quite insistent and more or less forced Pszoniak into the role.

“Hübner and Wajda were so stubborn that they did not take my objection into account. Nothing there [in the role] suited me; there was no starting point for the role. I had no right to play it. But they convinced me for so long that the whole situation with ‘The Danton Case’ became a dead end.”

The transformation from simply a good play to something entirely political in Wajda's eyes was very slow but steady. On that a little later.

2. Pszoniak wasn't ready to play Robespierre? How did he prepare for the role then?

It's very important to note that it was not bad will that made Pszoniak initially refuse the role, but the theater typecast he was put into and which he almost got used to. All of his power and stage presence were connected to his own physicality, to this sort of mobility and expression that he had to (presumably at Wajda's request) abandon while playing Robespierre.

Wojtekspierre getting his hair cut from a man with surprisingly modern glasses

Whether he was in a tragedy or comedy, it was the unique liveliness that made him so different. Suddenly he was offered the role of Robespierre, a man he only knew from unfavorable history books, portrayed a certain way by Przybyszewska, and he's made to stand before the expanse of that character's personality in a try to make him someone physical.

While it might seem quite shocking, when preparing for the role, Pszoniak didn't even read any Robespierre biography. Why? According to him:

“I didn’t think at all about a historical figure, and besides, you can’t play any historical figure. I put aside the books on the French Revolution. I read them much later, when, years later, in Paris. (…) I didn't want to portray a historical figure, so I didn't judge or evaluate him. I simply tried to get closer to him, to understand him as a person. Przybyszewska herself made it easier for me. The text of the play clearly indicated that she was fascinated by him. (...) Przybyszewska constructed this character in an unusual, enigmatic way. I clung to this fascination, it was a reason for treating Robespierre with empathy. This is a necessary condition for creating a character, without empathy you will never be able to get closer to the man you are to become on stage. Wandering through the labyrinth of his emotions, motives for action, opinions he expresses, I became so strongly attached to him, he took over me so much, that as a result I became Robespierre-Pszoniak.”

Pszoniak admitted he didn't want to play a politician [but, of course, as we all know, he was later forced to in ‘Danton’ (1983)].

The preparations took time and patience (especially from his wife - Barbara). Pszoniak tends to describe it as a painful process. Robespierre's physical expression was compared to being bound tightly by his own flesh, almost imprisoned by it, but freed by his mind. Pszoniak realized that all of the power in portraying Robespierre could only be gained from a deeper reflection. How to show a mind on stage?

That Pszoniak didn't know, and so he made the decision to show Robespierre's determination and faith instead of simply a calculated brain. To show a path, an objective. That's why the last scene was so hard to play (conversation between Robespierre and Saint-Just after Danton's death); he even asked Wajda for a white cloth as a makeshift shroud. To Pszoniak, that scene meant the symbolic death of his character. Robespierre (described by Pszoniak as a “very intelligent man") feels that inevitable peril awaits in the near future. The actor often described a feeling of mourning something or someone after the performance.

The challenge of creating the role, in the words of Wojciech Pszoniak:

“I started to control all my reflexes morning till night; from waking up to falling asleep, I was destroying myself. In everyday life, even the smallest activity, I slowed down; I was reducing and cleaning up [every one of] my habits. Torment, the absolute torment of controlling yourself, of managing yourself. Zero spontaneity, the phone rings, my first reaction—run to answer it—I stop myself calmly, in control of every slowed-down gesture. I imitated Zygmunt Hübner's focused gait; I noticed how he placed his feet. And I started walking like that myself. That's how I set a different, more controlled way of moving. After that, I turned to gestures, head movements, the way of getting up, and gesticulation. I felt that I was different. Acquaintances and friends both asked where this change came from. I suppressed the dynamic, extraverted myself.”

And

“I was pushing the boundaries of supervision [over myself], checking how I would behave after drinking a larger amount of vodka. One day I went out with Basia [wife] and friends (...) After a few bottles, at four in the morning, they were amused, cheered up, asking if I was sick because I was behaving like a machine. After three weeks of suffering, I reached ground zero. This happened during the rehearsals. A conversation about Robespierre and Danton. I joined the discussion, exclaiming, 'I disagree!’ - and suddenly I saw that my hand was no longer my hand, that it was not the hand of that Pszoniak that I am, but that it was already a hand—the beginning of someone else.”

3. What of Danton?

Here the problem with the play began. The man cast as Danton, Bronisław Pawlik, was just... terrible.

He was a good actor in general, definitely, but in short (explanation for the anglophones), it was like casting Danny DeVito as Danton.

He was short of stature, weak of voice, much older than Pszoniak, and simply unfit for the role.

He didn't have a stage presence; his voice was silenced by the other people on stage, and Pszoniak kept acting as if there was some great, dangerous opponent when there wasn't—the audience seemed to notice it.

It all added to a kind of feeling of resentment after preparing so long for the role of Robespierre.

Danton (Bronisław Pawlik), Camille (Olgierd Łukaszewicz) and Westermann (Franciszek Pieczka) celebrating

Pawlik was more concerned with the position of the props or the costume instead of conversing and shaping their roles. To Pszoniak it was the role of a lifetime, to Pawlik it wasn't.

“The audience was sitting on the stage because the entire theater had been transformed into the Revolutionary Tribunal. Here, a powerful voice and a [kind of] broad gesture were needed... Pawlik's charm disappeared in the feverish crowd. What consequences did this have for the play? Enormous, Danton was deprived of the strength [for both the audience and actors] to believe that he posed a deadly serious threat to the revolution. And this lack bothered me terribly...”

4. How did it become political then?

As I have previously mentioned, it was a slow, steady process. Even Wajda himself didn't think much of the play; it was the audience that began the change. 

As the first example, Pszoniak recalls a scene when Eleonore comes in with tea but not sugar—in the audience at first only a few laughing, but gradually along with the many performances it turned into the whole audience cackling. The play was exhibited just when a time of increasing problems with sugar supplies began in Poland (food stamps for sugar were introduced).

Pszoniak admitted that the cast would often laugh along with the audience. It seemed almost absurd—a tragic play blending with the real world. 

When it comes to Pszoniak himself in that time, the more he played the role, the more it felt like “punching the air.” Instead of having a genuine conflict, he had no support, no reference point in Pawlik as Danton or the audience. For the role to have meaning, to be something, it all had to be a matter of life and death. His co-actor was slipping into comedic grotesque while playing the second main role. 

"The success of the play was huge, but the audience was eager to read the play [only] in the context of political allusions. (…) The audience felt that something was happening [on and off stage], (…) the tension grew."

The audience's reaction seemed to be a direct answer to the Danton shown on stage. Instead of a political opponent, there stood a sad, tired victim of the committee who seems completely and utterly innocent, all his words said with a kind of saddened charm (doesn't that remind you of a certain film Wajda made later?).

5. What of the other actors?

Here is where I have the least information. If anyone has any more sources of information, actor memoirs, etc., feel free to reblog this post with additional info or simply contact me about it so I could make Part 2. :]

The cast.

I have to tell you something shocking... Wajda is capable of giving actual, normal characterization to secondary characters (gasp, thunderstrike, wolf howling).

Or perhaps that was just the actor/Zygmunt Hübner (I guess we'll never know).

The most information I could gather was about Saint-Just (played by the excellent Władysław Kowalski).

Based off the limited amount of reviews I could gather, he was a positive character in general. Described as “a man gifted with exceptional warmth and [someone] unconditionally devoted to his cause” or “full of raw passion."

AND HE GIVES MAXIME FLOWERS IN THIS VERSION AS WELL, EXCEPT IN THIS ONE ROBESPIERRE (KIND OF) SMILES!

I couldn't find much on Eleonore, Louise, or Lucille, though I've searched and searched for a few days. All I could find is that the actresses were excellent—that is, unfortunately, no source of any relevant information. Frankly speaking, since Wajda, in kind words, doesn't excel at writing women, I don't have much faith in their characterization on the director's part.

Camille played Łukaszewicz is usually called a “complicated youth"—that is, of course, an opinion—or “spontaneous in reflexes"—that's a bit better of a description. As you can see, I am limited by the fact the play isn't available, and I must depend on biased or subjective sources.

Worried Camille Desmoulins (Olgierd Łukaszewicz) - I do think this Camille looks quite nice.

6. And did the critics like it? Was it well directed?

In short, it was a very, very liked play by both the critics and the audience. It ran for 5 years; it ended around 1980, when many of the actors simply left Poland.

About critics and reviews written by them: What surprised me immensely is the fact that most available reviews (written before the release of the film ‘Danton’) of the play weren't anti-Robespierre. The play is often described as something of a moral discussion, something for the viewer to assess, a work that doesn't suggest one solution to understand the conflict, or revolution (in other words, a great play).

A thing I've noticed is that along with time, the descriptions of the main characters seem to change. Danton—in earliest reviews described as “absolutely repulsive," then later as a tragic man, someone who adores life. Robespierre—in earliest reviews described as an absolute “marble statue," an idealist, someone pure, then in later reviews as just a fanatic.

 

7. What about Wajda? Did he change the text much? What about the scenography?

I was surprised to learn that Wajda absolutely could make a good, Przybyszewska-accurate play.

 

From all I could find, there is not much I can accuse Wajda of when it comes to ‘The Danton Case’ stage adaptations. It was made very well. What most likely contributed to the later change in people's mentality when met with the play is the fact that the audience was sort of a part of the performance. How? Like this:

“It [the play] takes place on a stage placed in front of the audience; on the actual stage and in the rest of the audience sit in rows of chairs rising upwards. Everything encompassed by the scenography is one theater. This played out brilliantly in the second parts, in the beautifully composed group scenes, where the audience not only looks at the stage but is drawn into it as an extra audience at the hearings of the revolutionary tribunal.”

And

“Wajda made "The Danton Case" as if against himself—against his previous self: he gave up on visual effects, music, and symbolism. He built a spectacle—a spectacle indeed!—raw and beautiful. (…) During the (…) presentation of "The Danton Case," seats for viewers were also installed on the stage, which was fortunately spacious, the audience surrounds the actors, the actors are among the audience, on the balcony, in the passages.”

If Danton or Robespierre were so close to the audience, I think it really did influence the people's opinion of it later on. Pawlik was terrified, jumping like a fish out of water from one audience member to the other, and there was Pszoniak, white and still under his shroud just a few meters away. That did certainly change the performance's reception.

8. Where can I watch this?!

As I have mentioned here: the play isn't available online, but most certainly is somewhere in the archives (confirmed by Pszoniak), when it was supposed to have a TV debut the martial law was introduced, and a few years later everyone seemed to have forgotten about it.

So, erm… Who's raiding the archives with me? (By the way, fragments of the play exist online, but only 10-20 minute excerpts, so if I find the time, I'll try to track them down.).

Sources:

Books:

Aktor. Wojciech Pszoniak w rozmowie z Michałem Komarem, Wydawnictwo Literackie 2009;

Maciej Karpiński, Pszoniak, Wydawnictwa Artystyczne i Filmowe Warszawa 1976;

Małgorzata Terlecka-Reksnis, Pszoniak. Fragmenty, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie 2024

Photos used and play reviews (pardon the rhyme):

http://encyklopediateatru.pl

[arminhug]

lame first dates || armin arlert x reader

read it on ao3 here!

synopsis: on a warm spring day outside, your close friend armin tells you his ideal first date. if only it could be you on that date…

notes: gn! reader, friends to lovers, one-shot, mad fluff, loosely implied college! au if you really squint, armin and reader being bookworms, just some cute friends to lovers with a healthy dose of awkwardness, also you're vegetarian in this bc i couldn't think of another way to make cooking for someone more awkward, but this is only alluded to once

song rec: bleached by video days

。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

“That’s lame!”

He blinks at me, doe eyes wide and brows furrowed in almost comical confusion. Blinks again. Pushes his hands back into the plush grass. “How is it lame?” he inquires.

“Why did you agree to get coffee as a first date if caffeine makes you anxious? God, as if first dates aren’t already stressful enough!”

“Look, okay!” Armin is grinning, and I breathe out in relief, knowing I have not actually upset him. His animate face is bridled by the April sunshine, and I am struggling to take my eyes off him. Oh God, am I staring? I hope I’m not staring. “They were really pretty. I mean, out of my league pretty. I was in no position to start negotiating.”

“Why not? There’s nothing wrong with both having input in a first date. If anything it’s telling.”

“How?”

“If they get angry at you for negotiating the date, that’s a red flag.” I say definitively.

“Well, that’s you,” Armin emphasises, lying back into the grass. His left hand rests lazily against his button nose to shield out the clear sky. “You’re more assertive than me. I was just thrilled they actually wanted to go on a date me.”

“So where did that go?” I ask tentatively.

“It didn’t work out. We went on a few dates, but they told me it just wasn’t clicking. That’s fair enough, I guess, but I still felt… bad. Like I obviously wasn’t good enough for them. Why would I be?” he turns to me, pursing his lips. “Sorry, I know I’m being a little melodramatic.”

“No, I get it. I mean, you definitely are good enough. But you’re always gonna feel shitty after being rejected.”

“Yeah.”

“So, when was this? I don’t remember you seeing somebody.”

“Start of the year. But it was a few dates, not a wedding plan. I just don’t feel the need to broadcast if I’m going on a couple of dates to the entire group. Unless they ask, of course.”

“Well,” I start, meeting his eyes with a smile. “I was expecting at least a little change in behaviour, surely? Maybe a spring in the step, a little bit more energy, high on life and love and all that jazz?” I enunciate with a flair of my hands.

“Not really. Maybe that was telling that there was nothing there. After all, the dates were all standard… kind of awkward at times, but like I said, I was grateful somebody that pretty desired me.”

I’m trying not to cringe at how much he is saying this person is attractive. Seriously Armin, I get it. They were a god of aesthetic desire, no need to rub it in. Change the subject, I tell myself, teeth on my bottom lip. “Define standard dates.” I state.

“Oh, you know… dinner, a movie, coffee shops. I like the time I spend to be more imaginative and personal.”

“So what’s an imaginative date, then? What’s the ideal first date for you?”

Armin groans emphatically, shaking his head. “If you think coffee shop is lame, you are going to hate my ideal first date.”

“Bet I won’t,” I shoot back, leaning forward.

“Well,” he starts, then immediately rolls over, hiding his face with a groan, which is so cute it makes me want to burst. “You are seriously going to think I’m so lame!”

“I could never think you are lame, Arlert! I only thought the idea of you going to spike your anxiety levels on a generally very anxiety inducing conquest was lame, that’s all. Tell me!” I emphasise the last two words with a tentative shake of his shoulder, a feather light touch, hoping the contact will get him to open up.

“Fine! My ideal date is a day like this. Sometimes I imagine it at the beach, but we live nowhere near one, and they’d be busy anyway. I want a quiet spot in nature, somewhere me and my date can be alone–”

“Ooh, you’re gonna get freaky!” I jibe.

“Not like that!” his head shoots up, and as I suspected, his cheeks are already slightly flushed. Although I tease him about it, I find how easily he goes red to be one of his sweetest quirks. “I just want somewhere we– my date and I– would have some quiet.”

“Interesting, so we’d– you’d find somewhere like this,” I motion to the undisturbed corner of grass we have secured on the green, where fronds of tallgrass and milkweed encircle our undisturbed patch of greenery against young trees. The picnic bench, heavy with peeling green paint and student graffiti dating back years, is unused by us as we opt for the floor to vantage the serene lake. “Why do you need quiet?” I continue, genuinely wanting to know more.

“Well, yeah, here would be an ideal location. It’d just be nice to have the solitude, I guess. Plus, I’d bring a picnic–”

“Oh my God!”

Armin buries his face once more. “See? I knew you’d think it’s lame!”

“No, no! That’s so cute! I would never forget it if somebody made me a picnic,” I sigh dreamily, lying down next to him with just enough space between us for it to not seem flirtatious. As much as I want to flirt, to let him know how lovely I find him, I can never quite gauge if it would be reciprocated. He’s currently one of my closest friends; if he’s not willing to take it any further, I would rather let the feelings die, albeit painfully, on their own, and resume our friendship, rather than make him uncomfortable. The trouble is, Armin is painfully shy. If there is anything between us, he does a great job of hiding it, and judging by the recounts of people always asking him out, I wonder if he would ever make a move on me even if he did feel the same way.

“So nobody’s ever made you a picnic? I find that hard to believe.” he mumbles, peeking one eye towards me behind messy tufts of honey blonde hair and daisies.

“No, they have not!” I state dramatically, crossing my arms. “I got cooked dinner once, but they made it with meat. I literally told them I didn’t… hang on, what do you mean it’s hard to believe? Am I royalty who deserves picnics made for them on every date I go on?” A beat passes from my inquiry, and my heart skips. While only meaning it as a joke, I am more curious than ever to know what he is thinking right now.

“I just find it surprising that someone like you… I mean, it’s just weird. I thought you would have been taken on a lot of lovely dates.”

“Not really, actually. There’s been some nice ones, but none that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Anyway, enough about my dates, I want to hear more about this ideal picnic first date!”

“Okay, so I’d prepare a picnic. Nothing too extravagant, just some berries, sandwiches. Maybe I’d make some cookies, or maybe ask if there’s anything they’d like to bring along. Before we arrived, I’d ask them to bring their favourite book, and I’d bring mine. Then, after we got comfortable, we’d swap books and read. I think it’d just be a lovely way to get to know the other person. You can tell a lot about a person by their favourite book.”

Oh my God. He’s so cute. I can’t stop myself smiling, instantly fantasising about how much I want to be the person who he takes on this picnic date.

“Your silence speaks volumes.” he shoots, his voice muffled.

“Armin!” I shout, louder than intended. “If somebody did that for my first date, I’d ask for their hand in marriage. That’s such a romantic idea! My silence is speaking the volumes of ‘holy shit, I wish I could have a first date like that’.”

“You think so?”

“Yes! You could get anyone you wanted if you planned that as a date. You should ask the next person you find cute what their favourite thing to bring on a picnic is, you'll be married by the end of the day." I assert hyperbolically.

“I seriously can’t asking people out. If I could… well.” he falters, furrows his brow and sighs. “Hey, what’s your favourite book?”

My body shoots full of adrenaline. Is he coming on to me? Or am I reading way too much into this? That's got to be a come on, right?

“Well, I have a few favourites, but the best I’ve read recently is Circe by Madeleine Miller.”

“Oh!” he exclaims with the sweetest grin, his eyes wide. “I loved Song of Achilles, but I never got round to Circe.”

Shoot your shot, shoot your shot, shoot your shot. I cannot stop my mind running, daring to ask if he’d like to read it, insinuating the date.

“What’s your favourite?” I enquire. I decide to test the waters. “What book would you bring to this picnic date… if I brought Circe?” Was that a bit too much testing of the waters? Oh, God. He shrouds his head with his bare arms, and I am weighing up whether this is because I’ve pushed it too far or if he’s blushing.

“Uh… well I have a lot of favourites, like you. But I’d most likely bring Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood. It’s something I read when I was young, much too young to fully understand the depth of the nuances, but it always stayed with me. As I got older, I reread it over and over and I was more immersed each time. It’s one of her best works, I’d even say it’s on the level with The Handmaid’s Tale.” During his rambles, he pokes his head up, clearly lost in the world of the book he describes to me. That’s when I am shot through with another course of adrenaline, desperately fighting any visible tells of excitement. He is blushing!

“Huh,” I muse. “Not read that one, only The Handmaid’s Tale and The Testaments.”

“So… we’ve both not read each other’s favourite books, huh?” he says quietly, pushing himself up onto his forearms and turning his head. He begins to bend his fingers against each other. I am absentmindedly biting my thumbnail, wondering if either of us might ask.

Fuck it.

“Um… no hard feelings if not–”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, but–”

We both start in unison. Pause. Make direct eye contact.

“You go.” Again, in unison, before laughing nervously.

“Seriously, you can go first!” I gesture, wondering if he will really ask me.

He shakes his head shyly. “You go.”

“Well… if you’re going to ask what I think you are, then I want to hear you say it!” I tell him.

“So, what do you think I’m going to ask?”

“If you wanted to do that date together!” I blurt, then reel. Oh, that sly bastard. He’s gotten me to say it first.

“Yeah… I’d like that, (y/n).”

“Okay, cool.” I respond, internally smacking myself. Okay, cool? Who says okay, cool? “I mean,” I rectify, fidgeting. “That’d be really nice. When? Is here okay? Wait, I’m totally rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, I just…”

“No it’s okay! I… I was nervous too. Are you free tomorrow? Or is that too soon–”

“No, not too soon! What about a time?

“Noon okay? I mean, it doesn’t have to be, but–” We are both stumbling over words, rebuttals, speaking quickly and correcting ourselves on our own words. But we are also both grinning uncontrollably. I sigh, taking a moment.

“Noon would be great. Would you like me to bring anything? Drinks, or snacks?”

“Well, I can take care of sandwiches and fruits. If you could bring any drinks you like or some other small snacks, that’d be lovely.”

“No problem! But I have one question… are you really going to make me cookies?”

Armin exhales through his nose, shaking his head. Then he does something uncharacteristically bold; takes my hand and squeezes it briefly.

“For you, I think I can do that.”

[ktlurksforsomereason]

A few new thoughts + theories about obxanon and Rudy's departure

I keep seeing the same angry, recycled theories on obxtwitter without a lot of critical thought, which like fine, people are mad, I get it. But I've been really trying to take my emotions out of the situation and just consider how this could realistically have happened, and I have a few theories that I want to put out there.

I think #obxanon is Lilah Pate, OR someone very very close to Lilah or the Pates. Why do I think this? For one, #obxanon mentions Lilah far too much. Like I'm sorry, she's just not that important lol. She's a nepotism baby riding on daddy's coattails, and she was not a major player in any of the bts drama until #obxanon mentioned her specifically in their first (now deleted) post. #Obxanon also seems to know a lot about the personal relationships between cast members, far more than a crew member or a producer might know (specifically in the way they describe Rudy and Madison's history/feelings towards each other). This tells me #obxanon is someone who personally spent time with the cast, especially in the s1 era. Finally, in a previous post, I've talked about how #obxanon is very bias against Rudy and for the Pates. I believe SOME of the facts they present (a lot of it is bullshit and opinions), but I think whoever is behind that account has personal anger towards Rudy and Elaine, especially Elaine. #Obxanon mentioned personal conflict between Elaine, the Pates, and LILAH. Why is that even important? Because Lilah thinks she's important, and Lilah is #obxanon.

2. In saying this, I think #obxanon's first post in August leaking JJ's death was an intentional move by the Pates (and maybe Netflix) to sus out how audiences would feel about JJ dying. I just can't believe that Netflix/HR wouldn't be cracking down on every single person who could know this information if they weren't already allowing it to be leaked. Like the first post? Huge leak of insider info. But ok, JJ death theory was gently leaked during Morocco filming so maybe not a drastic break of HR policy. But the second post after s4 part 2 dropped? And continuing to post answers to fan questions up until very recently? There's just no way. Someone would be getting sued. A crew member would be out of the job. The Pates would be putting a stop to it. Unless it was intentional. Unless it was Lilah. Who wanted to

a. gently prepare audiences for JJ's death,

b. get a feel for how angry people would be, so they could edit/prepare to launch their bullshit PR "he was always gonna die" statement,

c. know whether they should renew the show for 1 or 2 more seasons, depending on how much viewership would be lost,

d. maybe even try to convince/guilt-trip Rudy into changing his mind based off of fan response? And if that last ditch effort didn't work,

e. proactively shift the blame onto Rudy to redirect fan outrage, meaning the writers/showrunners could take slightly less heat.

The show getting renewed for a 5th and final season BEFORE part 2 dropped and all hell broke loose? This tells me that they had a solid idea of how bad it might be and opted out of the original 6 season plan. They probably didn't know it would be THIS bad lol, but clearly the writers have their heads up their own asses and don't know how shit they actually are, so they underestimated big time.

And before people start saying this is a conspiracy and couldn't be PR, I really wouldn't underestimate how involved marketing teams can be, especially for a high budget #1 show on Netflix. The Pates mention all the time how they read and monitor fan feedback. Like, if the obx twitter account can interact with fans the way they do? They can definitely be sneaky about leaking info on tumblr through an anonymous yet extremely, SUSPICIOUSLY informed source.

And finally,

3. I think the reasons for Rudy leaving (and I absolutely believe that he left) are far more complicated than simply "Elaine was jealous." I think the way he handled it was messy and shitty and immature, but I've tried to theorize WHY and I've come up with a few intersecting reasons. I want to preface this with I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW. But I like trying to understand people's decisions, it makes them more human to me and allows me to move forward with empathy rather than anger. So here's what I think:

a. He and Madison were previously FWB. I can't pretend to know the timeline or why it ended. But it happened sometime in 2019/2020 and Elaine was unaware of this (or at least how strong the feelings involved were) until later on in her and Rudy's relationship. Elaine not knowing about their fwb arrangement is alluded to in multiple Deuxmoi blinds over the years. Just feels too consistent to not have some truth to it. I can see how finding this out could blindside Elaine, make Rudy feel ashamed and uncomfortable, and contribute to growing jealousy and tension throughout years that finally hit a breaking point. I'm not saying jealousy is acceptable, especially because portraying a believable Jiara romance was Rudy and Madison's JOB. Obviously the healthiest decision is either break up or make peace with it. But I think this could at least explain why Jiara upset Elaine so much. She felt lied to. Also if Rudy actually cheated on Teo, that would increase Elaine's insecurity even more (once a cheater always a cheater). AND put pressure on Rudy to prove that he won't cheat on Elaine, making him all compliant and weird n shit towards Madison. The whole thing is just messy.

b. Rudy did not want to do Jiara in the first place. He didn't even sign up for it when he joined the show. Their "chemistry" in s1 was a literal representation of Rudy and Madison's chemistry in real life, likely due to their fwb arrangement. It wasn't JJ and Kiara liking each other. It wasn't planned. (I hate how Kiara asking John B "Did you tell JJ" is literally always used as proof against this, but I always saw that as Kiara not wanting to admit she actually did like John B and wanted to keep shit on the down low until they figured it out. That's totally how it's written. But the obx writers suck and don't elaborate on that ever again, so it gets misinterpreted). Regardless, fans saw their obvious chemistry and SCREAMED for JJ and Kiara to get together. They also screamed for Rudy and Madison to get together, which was probably fun until it was awkward. But Rudy literally NEVER actually liked it as a plotline. In interviews for S1 and S2, he talks about how JJ is not ready for a relationship, maaaaybe endgame could be them hinting at getting together but he just didn't think it made sense with the storyline. And Cleo was getting written in as JJ's actual love interest. And Kiara had already kissed John B AND Pope. It was not the writer's original plan, and Rudy has said that he thinks the show should not be swayed by fan desires. Except the writers are spineless and lack creativity, so instead they chose to listen to the fans and pivot their entire storyline to make Jiara happen. Which Rudy was contractually obligated to then do. Unwillingly. For 4 seasons.

c. Outside of Jiara, Rudy hated the writing on obx. And who can blame him? Everyone hated the writing on obx. The plotline has been getting more and more unrealistic and ridiculous since S1. If there was no bts drama and JJ lived and the show was renewed for 3 more seasons, season 4 would STILL be hot smelly garbage. Rudy has been getting increasingly more and more vocal in interviews about how he hates bad writing, he respects good writing, he wants to participate in art that moves people, means something, makes a difference. He basically calls out the obx writers in that Larry Moss interview for being trash. It is absolutely implied. The fan service of Jiara and the deterioration of the plot and the absolute destruction of his character JJ who he loved dearly and put so much effort into? God, that would piss me off too. Total opposition to his values. We all heard Rudy talk about JJ's storyline in S1 interviews as a nod to trauma survivors and how respectfully he tried to portray that. Only to have the writers not give 2 shits about any of that. I can totally see why he stopped giving a shit too. By s3 interviews, he literally repeats "my job is to do what the writers tell me" over and over. Dude was done long before asking to leave s4.

4. The final tipping point? The hate that Elaine gets. I'm not defending the girl. I think the whole conflict/tension/jealousy thing is wild. Hard to know what's actually true, but I think it's fair to say she doesn't make the healthiest choices (her launching her bikini line while Rudy is getting dragged by the media and fans?....wow.) However, the absolute visceral HATE Elaine has been getting for literal years, unwavering, unfiltered, unending? No one deserves that. Especially not for the petty shit she supposedly did (the girl posted some ignorant shit as a 17 year old on facebook in 2013. Like come on, she's not Kelly Osbourne saying Latinos only clean toilets on literal live TV). You can't make me believe that hate like that for 4 years straight on every possible social media platform wouldn't impact your mental health. You can't tell me it wouldn't make Rudy hate the fans, and hate the show, and hate social media. He would feel guilty, like it was his fault. He would want to protect her. They would both be so powerless to stop it from happening. Like, it literally killed her photography career before it could begin because her social media platforms were just bombarded with hate. And not just hate, but embarrassing, cancel culture accusations. If that was my partner getting treated like that because of my job? I think I'd leave too.

All of this combined = creates a total shitshow that Rudy probably couldn't wait to get away from. He's talented. He's passionate about acting. He likely wants to do other projects while he's still young and fit and eager. OBX contracts stopped the actors from doing any other work that conflicted with obx scheduling (filming and press). That reeeeally limits their other opportunities.

So I really can't blame the guy for leaving. I just think the way he did it was shitty. If he had just told them he wanted to leave before S4 was written and already filming, I think things could have been a lot more amicable. But I guess money complicates everything. Dude probably made a good mil a year with obx, that's hard to leave.

Soooo yea. Just my theories and thoughts. I could be totally off, a lot of it is hypothetical. But I haven't seen a lot of these theories fleshed out as people talk about everything, so thought I would add my 2 cents.