#I will also probably be editing bits and pieces of it over the course of the next day for coherence so apologies if you find an error lol

[emblazons]

Still thinking about how understanding what happened in the S3-S4 relational narratives requires you suspend the belief that the last two (soon to be 3) seasons of Stranger Things are designed to stand alone.

With S1 and S2, the seasons existed as standalone entities—S2 was a sequel yes, but it wasn't a direct narrative extension of the action that occurred in the season before. You could watch Season 2 with only a bit of context from the first season (one boy got kidnapped and taken by the monster into another dimension, the girl from the lab with the superpowers showed up and they worked together to save said boy, but then she disappeared and was presumed dead) and watch the second season with little issue.

Its not the same with Seasons 3-5. If anything...it helps when analyzing to imagine Seasons 3-5 as one "season" in the same way S1 and S2 exist as single entities; the Duffers have already confirmed its true for Seasons 4-5, but it gets a lot easier to follow arcs and action, particularly for the youngest characters, if you stop trying to find coherence in single-season stories and look at each season as three parts of a whole.

This is true across the board, but it's particularly true in the case of understanding Byler, both as individuals and a pairing (though the full buildup of their romantic arc will take us across all 5 seasons). Understanding why S3 feels like you just got dropped into nonsense with them specifically (after two seasons of Michael "I'm the only one who cares about Will" Wheeler and Will "I am central to the story even when I'm off screen" Byers) is because The Duffers took the risk of introducing a brand new set of conflicts to the youngest characters: namely, ongoing romantic relationships, personal identity crises and sexuality...only without resolving the conflict and action in the 8-9 episodes they usually do, which is why you feel frustrated by it.

Basically: Season Three was the season where we set up the relational problems that need to be fixed—we just have three entire seasons to work through them, which means its gonna look bad at the start and good as we work through the problem (over the course of a few seasons) to get to the solution.

forewarning: ferociously long post ahead (with headers for clarity)

Will’s Arc: A (Queer) Coming of Age

With Will, the problem re-introduced in S3 is that he feels different from his peers, and not just because he's gay; its because 1) he is in love with Mike in a way that is more genuine than we are being presented in the third season (that "sandbox" "puppy love" "break up and makeup" summer fling energy that S3 has) and 2) he is unwilling to step into the lie of "maturity" as its being presented in the story, aka giving up things like hanging out with his friends over focusing on relationships or giving up games (DnD in particular).

(sidebar: I wrote another analysis touching on the above here).

A lot of people I've met who watch the show casually say things like "it just seems like he's not able to grow up like his friends" and even "he's falling behind," but I think that's on the right track while missing the point: the reason Will is written as "refusing to grow up" is because he is the character that represents the rebellion of The Duffer's heart and interests, and both of the things that seem like they would be a bad because they make his character different in the narrative are actually surprisingly positive for his "three season" arc...if you understand what the ongoing themes of Stranger Things are.

With Will, the “problem” in the story exists because he is the one who represents being weird/the outcast/queer and not giving into the social pressure to “let go” of that—he loves another boy, is more emotional than his peers and loves nerdy things like his tabletop board game and refuses to deny that to himself, no matter how brutalizing that is for him and his feelings. In that way, he is the character who “represents” the sentiment of The Duffers themselves—he is a nerd, a child at heart, and he has no problem taking DnD and anything else into “adulthood,” (looking at you “yeah, yeah I really did” during the rain fight) the same way The Duffers have.

That said: as we move into season 4, Will is presented with an evolution of this conflict—he wants to continue to be honest with and about himself, his feelings, and his interests…but it comes in direct conflict with his understanding of his peers & Mike, whom he loves.

We see this conflict show up repeatedly in Will’s actions in S4, especially in regards to the painting, which is the physical representation of both his love of Mike and his embracing of his nerdiness. Will shows up to the airport with his painting in spite of not speaking to Mike because his heart is to be honest and true-to-self regardless of anyone else—you even see this as he takes the painting on the road when they plan on going back to Hawkins, after he makes up with Mike. The problem is though (and this plays into the whole “we want you to feel like you lost” sentiment The Duffers spoke about, as S4 is the “down” before the “up”resolution of the whole narrative) that Will he realizes that his desire to be honest is getting in the way of (his perception of) the happiness of the people he loves, so he decides to betray his character and break the first cardinal rule of The Party…to tell his first lie.

There are plenty of phenomenal analyses on other aspects of Will’s connection to Vecna/the UD and the love triangle dynamic at play across this app so I’ll leave that alone here (I do have many thoughts on why the above makes Henry Creel the perfect villain foil to Will specifically), but: for the sake of understanding Will’s relational narrative arc, it’s critical to understand that our “low” for him is the betrayal of his ongoing S3 character—and that him undermining his self-honesty, nerdiness and love for Mike are the things that The Duffers have set themselves up to resolve in S5.

The resolution for Will is to re-embrace his differences —to realize that lying to yourself and other people about who you are and what you love (both in terms of “nerdy” interests and his queerness) is not who he wants to be, no matter how hard it is to stand up for in the wake of adversity—along with embracing the power of real love, which is also an ongoing theme the Duffers have set up in their relationships beginning in Season 3.

Now…on to Michael.

Mike’s Arc: Finding Yourself & Embracing What Makes You Different

—anyone with a single toe in this fandom knows that Mike Wheeler is one of the most divisive characters in this story when it comes to deciding 1) what his motivations are and 2) what his desires will be, but (and bare with me on this)…I think that’s kind of the point of his story. Mike’s “three season” arc is about him moving through a confusion of identity into someone who can embrace himself while addressing the things he is most insecure about—namely; being seen, being useful, and (very, very likely) the fact that the person who makes him feel most secure, seen, useful and loved is another boy.

There are several context clues that give credence to the fact that the reason Mike feels so wishy-washy / lacking in depth is because his struggle is not knowing how to find his place in the world, though you have to go further back than S3 to find them. Let me explain.

From the literal pitch of the show, there has always been an undercurrent of self-doubt and insecurity in Mike; his desire to escape the weight of feeling insecure has been a driving factor in his actions since before he was even on the screen, and it is impossible to understand what motivates him without first understanding that.

With Mike, his actions across all seasons have been weighed down by his desire to escape his insecurities through action—and as he’s gotten older, what he’s used to escape those insecurities (to be someone like the paladin he plays in DnD) has evolved and shifted, ranging through everything from turning the world (no pun intended) upside down to find Will; being willing to sacrifice his life to save Dustin from bullies; using any weapon he could find to fight a baby demogorgon; and wanting to be a heroic knight who protects the perceived vulnerable girl once he starts dating Eleven.

The point is: Mike’s deepest core need is to assuage his insecurities by doing whatever he can to be a good person—and when he feels like can’t do anything or protect the people he loves…he spirals. That’s been true since the start of his character…and everyone from The Duffers to Finn Wolfhard himself has mentioned it.

Now. With that baseline established, let’s talk Season 3.

Ironically enough, a lot of people feel like Mike’s character has “fallen off” because he, by the sake of all appearances, has achieved all the things he is supposed to want—namely a girlfriend, which (at least in his mind) is the physical embodiment of successfully “addressing” his core fears.

Because Mike has all the external markings of a well-adjusted kid—he comes from a wealthy family, has a solid group of friends (who are also mostly now striving for social normalcy) and even a girlfriend—he seems to have addressed what many people even in real life believe is the end of most arcs & the fulfillment of the fantasy. For Mike, the appearance of his S3 life seems to have assuaged the fears at the root of several of his insecurities, including the desire to be needed, the desire to protect, the desire to be useful, and the desire for acceptance…all because now he’s saved El and has her at his side, and having a girlfriend means he has everything a good, well-adjusted guy is supposed to want.

Or…does it?

With how The Duffers set up the story (with S3 as the introduction of a new conflict for every major character), the answer they’re giving you based on how Mike interacts with other characters is no—having a girlfriend and acting “mature” doesn’t solve anything, especially if the core problem of you having an insecure identity while being dishonest with yourself isn’t addressed…and it’s the arc of Mike learning that “lesson” that we find ourselves dropped into moving into Season 3.

Beginning in S3, the war on Mike’s insecure self-concept comes at him on two fronts: on the one side, El, who started her journey needing Mike because of her background but now has no real need for any of the things he so desperately wants to provide as a means to validate himself, and on the other Will, whose deep familiarity and history with Mike combined with his confidence in his own identity presents Mike with a challenge of self-reflection that he doesn’t exactly feel ready for yet.

(sidebar: my post on how Mike's arc is intrinsically tied to a subversion of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope is a helpful expansion on things I talk about here).

We see this in how Mike gets frustrated with Max for giving El the space and language to not need him (undermining his role in her life as someone who she needs to protect/guide her); we see it in how he says cruel things when Will behaves in a way that challenges the actions Mike has taken to be “mature” (how he insults Will for not also wanting a girlfriend / still wanting to play the games that set them apart as nerds/different); and we see it in how Mike still goes out of his way to fix those relationships in the best way he can—because he knows on some level that what he’s doing in several moments isn’t in alignment with who he wants to be, even though they are both presenting him with radical internal challenges.

Ironically enough, Dustin does a great job of summarizing the two sides of Mike's internal conundrum in what he says to Steve about Robin—Mike, somewhat like Steve, is struggling between what is socially acceptable in a partner (or "cool") and what he actually wants and enjoys in one—and as El and Will evolve, so does Mike's internal conflict about how he perceives their places in his world.

Between El’s supernatural abilities and rapidly growing autonomy making him obsolete to her in all the areas that matter to Mike (see: the ability to protect, be useful, and be seen) and Will’s reminding him that at his core he is just as much of a nerd as Will is, Mike finds himself feeling more confused and insecure than ever…and that is the internal conflict we see him end S3 battling.

The evolution of Mike’s narrative arc past the introduction of this internal conflict doesn’t happen until is the Byers/Hopper move to Lenora though…when he is literally left alone to process what that intense summer brought to light for him���which is the note we're left on as we move into the next phase of Mike's evolution in S4.

In S4, the development of Mike figuring out what he wants and needs from his relationships + the kind of person he wants to be becomes a lot more external—we see him going through a series of code switches as he tries to manage the ever changing landscape of his self-perception, where has started journey toward self-acceptance but is still insecure about following through with it.

We see this in the way he has now joined The Hellfire Club and shows sincere signs of accepting his interests and "outcast" status, but still looks forlorn when Lucas says “I’m tired of being bullied / I thought you wanted things to be different too” (Lucas’ struggles with some aspects of performing normalcy the way Mike does S4).

We see it in the way he shows up to Lenora dressed in what he thinks he’s should be wearing rather than as himself / the way he continues performing his relationship with El throughout that first day (and how he says it was Will who "sabotaged" things by being that same kind of radical honest about his feelings we talked about before)...only for the events of the day to spur him into meaningful honesty with both El and Will (to varying degrees of success) mere hours later.

We even see it in the way Mike seemed to have been “turning over a new leaf” once he and El fought, to the point he was okay with them ending the “normalcy” performance of their romance…right up until Argyle’s paranoia while burying Unknown Hero Agent Man struck the fear of god back into him (aka making him worry he was letting El down by not protecting her—aka tapping into one of his core fears).

Basically: Mike is leaning into accepting the things that make him different in little ways, but is still struggling to step into that identity fully—aka he is still using perceived social acceptability as a shield, even though he no longer holds as tightly to being perceived as normal. (Even Finn himself often jokes about Mike “just trying to be normal,” which I think is a good, simple explanation of what’s happening—that said, if we take that reading and combine it with those “narrative goals” I mentioned The Duffers have earlier…Mike trying to be normal is an issue to be resolved, not an identity to be embraced. But…let’s move on).

By the time we get to the infamous van scene, we’ve watched Mike struggle through the two sides of his inner conflict for the entire season now, and felt him very gently succeed at switching into a more honest version of himself (who doesn’t need a girlfriend as a shield / can embrace his “otherness” in the same way Will does) right up until his inherent desires to be needed and useful come rearing up the second El is in danger.

It’s why we see him look pleased (but also marred with conflict) when Will looks confident, happy and radiant talking about “playing dnd and Nintendo for the rest of their lives…” and why him being honest in that scene is actually a huge moment for him, because rather than being vague about what has been plaguing him for two seasons now (trying to be “normal” just because he feels insecure) Mike is finally verbalizing the internal conundrum of his now two seasons of looking critically at his insecurities.

Now—I could spend all day digging into just that bit of narrative alone—the way Mike finally externalizing his insecurities to be processed with Will rather than acting on them and hurting people unintentionally is a giant leap for him, and how when Will says “you’re sacred of losing her” Mike’s nod is an acknowledgement that Will is right…but his face is saying there’s more to that fear than he’s acknowledging—

—but for the sake of this analysis of the narrative arcs, the van scene is most important because it’s when the S4 “it feels like you lost” moment begins for Mike…and that’s because it matches up directly with the “you feel like you lost” moment for Will: him lying about the painting.

When Will lies about the painting—saying that his feelings and the art that (as I said before) represents 1) his love of Mike, 2) his embracing of his nerdiness and 3) that radial self-honestly Mike so admires Will for—it throws a wrench into Mike’s internal revelations because Will is essentially saying that the relationship that Mike was slowly realizing he used to assuage his insecurities (his relationship with Eleven) is actually what lines up best with "who he wants to be," which throws Mike’s slow growth toward Will + honesty about what (and who) he wants to be into a tail spin.

From Will’s lie onward, Mike is thrown into moment after moment of conflicting emotions and dire circumstances as well—and given that Mike's deep terror of losing people comes up strongest when the people he loves are in danger, it’s only downhill for Mike’s growth toward self actualization from here. In that sense, (much Jonathan's S4 omissions of his truths/fears to Nancy leading to Nancy's regression into complacency / social conformity with Steve), its Will's lie that leads us directly into the “you feel like you lost” moment for Mike: him moving back into "conforming" territory and confessing his love to El in the SBP.

The monologue (at least in terms of the narrative arc The Duffers are writing) is Mike’s “losing” moment because it’s when he has enough self-revelation to realize that being with a girl as a shield for his insecurities is no longer what he wants...but the drive he has to be useful, protect and love any way he can (on top of Will’s urging + lie) leave him feeling like his only option is stepping into the person he was at the start of S3.

In this moment, we see Mike say exactly what someone who is "acting normal” about loving his girlfriend and wanting to save her would….even though romantic love with El (and the socially-acceptable romantic relationship he has with her) are not what he really wants, and what we will watch crumble moving into S5.

Essentially: Mike having a moment of dissonance of that magnitude after an entire season of looking toward Will was what set us up to see all those "external markings of normalcy" Mike has held onto and had started grating against for two seasons now fall apart, given what we know about those core messages/themes/child-at-heart values the Duffers hold and keep at the heart of their show.

As of the end of S4, we can already see how this "regression" into his old self is not going to hold—the fact that everything Mike did to save El is rooted 1) in a lie and 2) not in alignment with Mike evolving understanding of his core desires makes sure of that.

We even see the beginnings of this "low" being resolved in Mike's arc in how Mike & El are not speaking (even with the 'resolution' of their surface-level S4 conflict with Mike's love confession) and how Mike is glued to Will's side even before Vecna is mentioned–which is how we've been set up to see the resolution of Mike's arc in S5.

With all this in mind, it becomes a bit clearer that the resolution of Mike's arc is him moving through the confusion of identity we've watched him go through from S3 forward and into someone who can embrace who he is what he truly loves without fear of going against what is expected—aka finding the courage not to conform.

Mike as a character is a lesson in how doing what you think you're supposed to (aka what is "normal") is often at odds with who you are and what makes you the happiest—and the only way to self-actualize is to move past your insecurities and into someone who can be confident embracing what (and who) they really want...even when it means stepping out of line from what you’ve grown up believing would do the self-actualizing for you.

Final Thoughts

Both Mike and Will's relational arcs revolve around an embracing of what makes them different—in terms of their (highly likely) mutual queerness, yes, but also in terms of them making self-actualized peace with being nerdy "children at heart" in much the same way The Duffer Brothers themselves are.

If Will represents a person who struggles because they refuse to deny themselves their identity, Mike represents a person who struggles because they don’t understand their identity, and are walking around just trying to do whatever they can to get along (because they haven’t been presented with the inciting conflict that will move them into self-revelation & growth).

Both of these internal conflicts are narrative arcs that have been built into the coming of age stories of both halves of Byler—and though we are currently sitting at the "low" of both of their arcs as of the end of Season 4, the setup and though-line for them finding themselves (and real, honest love with each other) has been clearly set up for exploration in Season 5.

—if you managed to get through all of this, I commend you. And yes, there are a million other things to be explored between these two, but...I enjoy sorting through the thematic / "moral of the story" through-lines in all my media, so of course I was gonna do it for for Byler!

[defmaybe]

Sticky

ITZY’s Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.9k words

Prequel to Party Police

See also: Not Shy, Bahama

A/N: I write this in two sittings for probably the only mommy Yuna fic lol - BFH-type shit. No editing, no beta-reading, just pure lust again.

–

The clickings of the keyboards displace silence. Again, you’re stuck in the mundane cycle of doing another proposal for the project you’re going to lead. Sighs and sighs don’t keep you from drowsiness building up inside. Others don’t seem to do better even, some even folded on their desks already. The chilly breeze from the conditioner really is relentless right now, so damn perfect for a nap.

“Miss Shin wants you,” the secretary says, keeping you from falling into slumber.

You quickly get up from your desk, pacing towards the glass-paned office. You see your other co-workers dreading their assignments, clicking on their keyboards with blank eyes. On the opposite side, you can see, through the horizontal blinds, the vibrant office with your boss, Shin Yuna, doing the decorations inside. She’s tall (well, taller than you, at least), often confident, and so energetic, contrary to the department she just got handed over a few weeks ago.

You knock on the transparent door, seeing her putting on her Lady Bird poster on the wall. She’s wearing a one-piece raven black dress, one that hugs her slim, otherworldly curvy body so well. You can see her wide hips being so prominent, stripping away your fatigue.

“Come in!” she says, looking over her shoulders as she’s finishing the touch-ups.

You open the door, greeted with the scent of her air purifier—spring. The white fur carpet on the floor welcomes you with the sensations on your soles. Her office is spacious, and the colorful decorations fit her attitude and personality so much.

“Please, sit down,” she says with a smile, hand pointing to the seat in front of her desk. Even the cluttering trinkets on her table never look crowded, they are so meticulously placed to give her a perfect amount of space left for her work.

You accept her invitation, walking towards the seat. Yuna also retreats from her sprinklings back to hers, sitting down in her chair gracefully—a charming boss.

The air hangs heavy for a while, as Yuna takes some time to clear her desk. You glance around the room like the other times. The crucial difference being the Lady Bird poster, of course, and a few more band posters that you can’t quite recall from your listening history.

“So…” Yuna breaks the silence, tapping a finger on her chin, contemplating. “I see that you’ve been looking a little tired. Is that true?”

You blabber out, “N-No! I’m not tired a-at all.” You even put your hands up to deny the allegation.

“Those eyes don’t lie, baby.” The utterance of the last word alone freezes you. Is she flirting?

Let’s pause for a bit. Shin Yuna just got promoted to being your department’s manager—now three weeks in tenure. Her bubbly and kind personality receives multiple acclaim from your co-workers. And combined with her insanely high performances in projects, you cannot see how she wouldn’t get the position. 

Now, that friendly personality can be a bit, to say the least, slightly invasive. Yuna has always been so eager to fire up a talk with people, even if it means robbing someone’s silence. She’s also always happy to help those around her, no matter the methods. You’ve heard some complaints about her vivacious nature, but with the results saying otherwise, you just cannot dislike her for that.

“A-Are you suggesting I should go home or s-something?” you ask, unable to register how she’s getting up to close the blinds, as if she’s asking for some privacy from the outside right now. The room seems to shrink.

“Oh, does it look like that? Not at all, baby,” there it is again, baby.

“As your boss, I have to make sure that you stay productive for the day’s work!” Her smile lights the room up, as she walks towards her chair and sits down again. “I can’t have my employees dreading their jobs and expect a satisfactory performance.”

“Y-You’re very kind, M-Miss Shin,” you stammer out, and she seems to be happy with your words.

“Now tell me.” Yuna leans in closer to you, giving you the fine details of her face—doe eyes, minty breath, rose-colored lips. “Are you familiar with… mommy kink?”

You freeze, not expecting such a question from your manager. The gears in your head are working their best to seek the best answer you can give her, let alone making sense of the peculiar situation.

“A-Aga-”

“I’m certain of what I’ve said, mister,” she cuts you off, stern. Her expression reduces into an emotionless state. “Mommy kink, yes or no.”

“Uh…” That’s the only answer you can give her. The prospect of fully submitting to Miss Shin Yuna seems too enticing. Yet, perhaps it’s your inhibition that’s stopping your desire from falling into places.

“Come, sit on my lap,” Yuna instructs.

You glance around the room—left, right, back—as if to delay the inevitable of her pleasuring you.

“Now,” Yuna now commands, her voice steps down a few notes. 

“And there’s no camera hidden here, I promise,” she says with a smile, comforting you a little.

You slowly get up from your seat. What if I don’t do well enough for her? You walk around her table to land at your destination, your back against her face. She adjusts her position on her chair a little to accommodate your ass.

Her thighs feel… strong—definitely a result of workouts she has had after work. The images of those sweaty, skimpy sessions are making your mouth quiver—the fluid dripping down her body, just for you to taste.

Her hands start from grabbing the both sides of your slutty hips, earning a small whimper from you.

“So yearning for mommy’s touch, aren’t you?” Yuna giggles, moving her frisky fingers to unbutton your blue shirt.

“Y-Yes, mommy.” Your breath comes out in a false rhythm.

With your abdomen being gradually exposed, she uses a hand to feel it a bit, sending shocks and shocks through your faltering body.

“F-Fuck.”

“Hmm, so needy for mommy~” Yuna then continues her groping, until the last button is freed. Your upper body is bare under the cold air of the conditioner right now, as she brings the fondling hand up to your throat.

“Do you want my lips on you, baby boy?” Yuna asks, breaths warming the back of your neck. You can only nod at her.

Consented, she plants her lips on your body, and you are sure that the rosy prints are going to stick with you until the end of the day. Still, is it a fact that you should care right now? Getting groped by your goddess of a manager, with her being your mommy, on top of it.

You shiver at her kisses.

She frees your throat  before drawing her hand down to play with your raging bulge. She can definitely feel your cock aching to be freed right now.

“Need a hand, baby?” again, she asks, hand fondling the tent in your pants.

You become a stuttering mess at this point. “Y-Yes, m-mommy, please.”

“Please… what, baby boy?” She’s playing coy with you for sure.

“P-Please use your hand on my c-cock, please,” you utter out.

She whispers into your ear, “Good boy.” 

She unzips your pants, hand then slithering into the hole. The sensations are even stronger right now, with your underwear being the only barrier between you and her.

She keeps kissing your moaning neck, printing roses wherever she can reach. Her hand is stuck in fondling your cock through the slim cloth.

“Mommy, p-please,” you whimper, desire burning too brightly.

“Say please again, baby boy, and I’ll touch your cock.” Yuna giggles, enjoying how you’re submitting to your boss so damn easily.

“Please, m-mommy.”

Yuna wastes no time to push all of your lower garments down in a single motion, exposing your throbbing, twitching cock in glory. She hums in satisfaction at the sight.

“Hmm~, baby boy, so hard for me already?” she asks, finger drawing a line on the back of your cock from the bottom to the top. It twitches in response.

“Ngh, y-yes, m-m-mommy.” Yuna seems to be happy with your answer as she strokes your cock leisurely.

Her slender fingers only do what they have to do: sliding up and down to make you shatter under her touch. She starts at a slow pace, only teasing you about what’s coming. Her other hand roams under your shirt, moving down onto your juicy ass.

“Ngh, mommy,” you utter, pleasure building up in your loins. The sensations become stronger as seconds passed.

Yuna giggles at your whimpering, “Yes, baby boy?”

“I-I-, ngh,” you cannot form any words under her spell. Fuck.

Yuna cannot hold her chuckle inside, clearly satisfied with her baby boy melting under her touch. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Faster, please,” you finally respond, slightly out of breath from the overwhelming sparks all over your body.

Yuna listens to your plea, quickening the strokes, bringing you closer to the edge. Fuck, your slutty moans are probably heard by the people outside now.

The squelches of Yuna’s strokes are filling the room, along with your needy whimpers and her satisfactory hums. “I just wanna spend the whole day jerking this cock~” Yuna expresses, your heart flutters at her words.

“And I mean it, really,” she continues, still keeping the moderate pace of her hand from behind. 

“The size, the curvature, the thickness, god, I’m sure it can stretch mommy’s cunt out so well,” she whispers, and your length just cannot get harder at this second.

“M-Mommy, would you berate me i-if I- fuck.” you struggle to lead your words out, stuttering everywhere you can. She’s still jerking your cock, nursing you with another hand roaming over your body to over stimulate.

“Fast cummer, baby?” She chuckles at your apprehension. “You’re doing well, baby. I think this is the perfect pace for us.”

“T-Thanks, mommy,” you say, feeling the tightening of your knot already. “M-Mommy, where c-can I cum?”

“Ooh, that’s an interesting question, baby boy,” Yuna laughs. “I don’t think the higher-ups would mind a few stains from us~,”

“W-Wha-”

“Shh, let mommy handle this,” she affirms. “Just stay on my lap and let me milk your cock, okay?”

Your mind goes feral, aching for release. Her hand relentlessly stroking your length and another traversing your compact frame just overloads your mind. “Y-Yes mommy.”

“Good boy, now, cum for me, please.”

And it hits, you become undone at her touch, like a lightning. Your sticky cum is shot everywhere—on her desk, on the floor, hell, even on yourself. You moan in the pleasure of her touch and the mind-shattering orgasm. “Mommy!” you shout. Yeah, everyone is going to hear that.

“Wow,” Yuna pants, before planting a kiss on your neck. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact that your seed is on her precious report right now. “You came so much for mommy.”

You try to catch your breath, before speaking out, “Thanks, mommy.”

–

[nanenna]

Jeez Louise This is a Mess

Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post

Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.

---

John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayor’s wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. He’d never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with æther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.

John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, “So, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?”

Batsy frowned, “Danny’s are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parents’ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.”

“And that’s not the least bit suspicious?” John asked.

“It’s incredibly suspicious,” Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. “I suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, they’re explaining the situation to Masters.”

Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.

The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without John’s abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil weren’t practically non-existent.

“Somehow this place feels cozy,” Boston commented as he followed John.

“You would think so.”

The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldn’t be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. It’s just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if he’s understanding this right…

“Huh, that may change the situation a bit.”

“What are you going on about?” Boston asked.

“It sounds like Pariah isn’t the Ghost King anymore. But Batsy’s bugs are losing the war against æther, so when we get there you’re gonna need to go spy on them.”

“Will that work?”

“Try to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst they’ll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.”

Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.

Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

“Oh, you can see me? And ghost sense?”

“You don't know who I am?”

“Uh… Daniel Fenton?”

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

“Then what do they call you?”

“How about you tell me your name first?”

“I’m Deadman.”

The kid burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?” The sister asked.

“Huh?” The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

The Fentons all shook their heads.

The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

“I’m Deadman and I’m uh… lost?”

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” the kid added. He turned back to Boston, “Are you even a ghost?”

Batman, who’d spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.

It did… well not much.

Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kid’s undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when he’d first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.

Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kid’s head, toxic green æther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, “Okay, crown retrieved.”

John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?

“We may have a problem,” The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeper’s. “Why are there two?”

And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.

“What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything,” John protested, “that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” The kid’s mom said while glaring at the him.

Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.

Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kid’s finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up!” John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.

The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.

John pointed at the kid, “Just call the crown, it’ll listen.”

The kid gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh sure, I’ll just,” he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, “here Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.”

For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kid’s head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.

Everyone was staring at the display.

“What uh… what are they doing?” The kid asked nervously.

“They… like each other?” The sister asked skeptically.

“Great, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.” The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. “What. Did. You. DO?!”

“I didn’t do shit,” John replied, much to the parents’ combined horror. “Looks like somehow they’re both legit, my best guess is one of them isn’t from this timeline.”

“Oh,” the sister said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?”

“The what?” the kid’s parents asked.

“Oh,” the kid responded, “I’m starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.”

And wasn’t that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. “Alright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Dark’s finger in case he gets out again.”

“Vlad did it,” the kid said while pointing at the creeper.

“Excuse me!” Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.

“Vlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.” The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.

“I’m sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,” the kid’s dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.

“I’d believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.”

“Just call the ring,” John said gruffly.

“Here Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.” The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kid’s other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasn’t. “Cujo! Hi! Who’s a good puppy?!”

Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.

[autisticsonic]

Your Fault.

guilt arc guilt arc GUILT ARC GUILT ARC

I know I may dream but I think Sonic should go through a depression/guilt arc, bc you know, he thinks he straight up killed everyone he loves + his whole world while at it. He’s a really neurodivergent kid, he can’t handle something of this magnitude.

Also the second panel happens after their  fight, I just wanted to get this finished quick. Anyway yeah they fought and the realization hit Sonic during it and he just froze, and Shadow decked him and probably kicked him to a new shatterspace

AU version where due to that guilt he begins to despise himself, and isolates from everyone, because he feels he’s a liability, and that anyone he comes close to will meet their doom because of him. EDIT: After reading some theories, I came up w an alt AU version! So if all the shatterspaces are in fact the prime world getting split into pieces, same going for the gang’s personalities and such, the change is that Sonic pushes through and reunites the shards, fixing his home world! But once done so, he disappears from sight, doing the whole isolation bit. The heaviest part of the guilt arc basically gets pushed back to until the prime world’s already fixed.

Of course he deals with a lot of quilt and depression in the meantime, but he learns to bottle up and hide his emotions. Prime!Sonic is very emotional, open and talkative, but in this AU, over the course of the series, he becomes more dubdued- again, hides emotions, talks less (tho not too much less, cuz boy’s gotta mask) and starts keeping to himself more. He’s doing the whole “talking about surface troubling stuff to appear open and honest, while in fact keeping all heavier trauma concealed underneath”. Keeps on a smile, but it begins to hurt.

[hyukakisses]

- emo pervy loser beomgyu as your bestfriend to boyfriend!

parings: beomgyu x fem reader

plot: loser beomgyu, bestfriends to lovers troupe, sweet crybaby reader but still a loser unfortunately, beomgyu and reader like eachother but beomgyu likes reader more than reader likes beomgyu (as it should be for any relationship between a man and a woman), insecure reader who has low self esteem if you squint (very old & re edited post i had up on my old account)

warnings: beomgyu corrupts reader a bit, use of pet names, smut !! (reader n beomgyu receiving and giving), faint ddlg themes, comforting n reassuring beomgyu who loves reader, dom gyu & sub reader

beomgyu was ecstatic; he had recently gotten himself a purple skateboard and just couldn’t wait to show you. he desperately needed one ever since he broke his bicycle in two pieces which you still didn’t know why or how that happened but you really didn’t wanna ask much less know

beomgyu was headed to your house, ready to show you his newly prized possession but he needed to do something first. grabbing a box cutter; the obvious manic emo boy craved your initials onto the back of his skateboard leaving a ‘y/n<3’ on the lower left side it wasn’t that noticeable to where you would notice it but he knew exactly where to find that mark if he went to look

with a satisfied cheeky grin beomgyu marched to your house riding his skateboard before putting on his black over the ear headphones of course. blasting bulls in the bronx by pierce the veil, his favorite artists in his ears. making sure not to fall on his back again, imagining how much you’d cry when he’d come over with cuts on his fingers and face again

“beomgyu!” you let out a faint squeal, your face gleaming in excitement seeing your bestfriend, your only friend climb through your window for the nth time.

“hey baby” beomgyu mutters grinning back at you showing off his dimple. this action made you flush, you were thankful you weren’t pale otherwise beomgyu would never let you blushing at his words down.

another thing that you were hiding was your oh so little crush on your bestfriend beomgyu, completely oblivious to him reciprocating the same feelings. you being a total ditz though, you didn’t really catch onto beomgyu’s liking towards to you. you always just thought he was really sweet.

plus you also had really low self esteem so it was hard to accept that anyone could possibly like you especially someone as special and attractive as beomgyu.

you still couldn’t believe that beomgyu was considered a loser, he seemed way too cool and attractive to be one but after being his bestfriend for years you’d slowly realized why he was one

you’ve noticed beomgyu never really spoke to anyone unless it was to angrily mansplain about the lore behind a hyperfixation he had, or when it came to defending you since you often struggled with anxiety.

beomgyu also always carried an angry look on his face only letting his gaze soften for you of course; beomgyu really lacked common social skills and had anger issues. often smashing things around him but also managing to calm down and comfort you once he noticed he was scaring you

but still you refused to believe beomgyu actually liked you.. i mean it just didn’t make any sense to you he probably just liked being your bestfriend, maybe he thought of you as a little sister to protect.

even after that one sleepover where he went down on you for the first time you still didn’t think he could possibly ever like you

“b-beomgyu?” you’d squeak in fear as you sensed your baby pink pajama short shorts being taken off of you as you tried to watch blue spring ride with the aforementioned male but automatically failed due to sleep taking over your body

“shhh it’s just me baby relax just let me taste my sweet girl you trust me right?” you hear beomgyu coo at you, this action calming you down and you nod your head. his bandaged covered fingertips from his skate boarding trick fails move from holding your face for your comfort to teasing the soft skin of your inner thighs but you couldn’t lie you enjoyed every minute of whatever was going on

your breath hitches, letting out high pitched whimpers clinging onto your teddy bear beomgyu gifted you for your birthday last year. as you helplessly watched the older male through glassy desperate lap at your pussy as if your were his last meal. the only thing that could be heard were your cries of over stimulation due to your climax and faint slurping sounds coming from beomgyu’s mouth

“b-beomgyu..” you’d only whine sensing the same burning sensation growing at the pit of your stomach while beomgyu continued to lap his tongue in and out of your gummy walls more aggressively when the emo boy felt you close up on his tongue

you felt beomgyu snicker against your clit as he looks up at you a faint smirk on his lips; “what is it babydoll? you wanna cum already? gonna cum on my tongue again?”

you two never really spoke much of about that night, seeing how every time beomgyu tried bringing it up you’d start to cry out of embarrassment not really liking beomgyu’s teasing since you were very sensitive and just a big crybaby if we’re being quite frank

however as time went on by since that sleepover let’s just say you and beomgyu were getting closer and a bit more comfortable with eachother

“like this?” you’d tilt your head staring up at your bestfriend through your pretty lashes gently latching your plump lips around the cock in your mouth, attempting to suck beomgyu off not really knowing how to since you never really exactly given head to anyone before

“yes- fuck c’mere” beomgyu lets out a husky grunt, wanting to take control not feeling patient enough to guide you through sucking him off he gently started to move your head back and forth on his length

“gonna be a good little girl and let me fuck your mouth right?” beomgyu hissed at your soft gurgles as you nod rapidly drinking in the sight of the boy towering over you occasionally letting out soft whimpers and praises

“beomgyu?” you’d call out to your bestfriend watching as beomgyu paints his nails jet black; “yes princess? what is it?” he’s not looking at you instead he’s blowing air on his nails but you knew he was paying attention to you

you felt tears forming in your eyes, your hands trembling as you felt your heart race against your chest. “d-do.. do you like me? and i don’t mean like just as bestfriends i mean like do you like me enough to be my boyfriend?” you were on the verge of a panic attack at the mere thought of beomgyu’s rejection

beomgyu can hear the panic in your voice, shooting his head up in worry already knowing what to do to calm you down. “c’mere” the oreo haired boy cradles you onto his lap laying your head on his chest as he rubbed circles on your lower back shushing your cries. whispering in your ears ‘shh it’s okay don’t cry im right here’

“i don’t like you i love you you hear me? i love everything about you, your crybaby tendencies and your pretty face. it would be a dream come true to be your boyfriend if you let me” beomgyu reassured you making you sniffle with a smile followed by a ‘i love you too beomgyu! and i really want you to be my boyfriend!’

[elliesflower]

victory lap [ellie williams]

pairing; f!reader x ellie

cw; rich!ellie, plus-sized female!reader, degradation (kinda), mean!ellie, vouyerism, semi-public masturbation(kinda?), ellie and reader are both perverted ngl

an; syd's comeback??? and it's smut?????? i've had this in my drafts since like may and finally got around to editing it so here you go. and i swear i'm working on chapter 8. and also please don't ask why i didn't pick a sexier sport. like basketball or something. i don't know either. ok bye.

for my sweet babies @coeurify @bambiesfics @addisonnie @seattlesellie

It was yet another blazing hot day at the country club, the sun’s sweltering rays kissing the backs of your legs as you bent down to retrieve a fallen golf ball from the bright green turf, careful not to bend straight over so that your panties would be on full display for anyone who dared to walk behind you. You readjusted the visor on your head upon standing, before you wiped a speck of excess dirt off the white plastic with a perfectly manicured finger before passing it off to Tommy Miller. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, making sure to grab an unnecessary amount of your hand in his own as he took the ball. He winked at you before readjusting his own visor, and setting up the ball on the tee. After the first time you caddied for Tommy, he started requesting you by name. Of course, you knew it probably had a little something to do with the way you caught him staring at your full breasts that sat perfectly in your pink racerback, neckline so low everyone could watch the way small beads of sweat would dribble down your skin and disappear between your chest. 

The truth is, you didn’t mind that Tommy was a little flirty with you, or even handsy sometimes, for that matter—for two reasons. The main one being, Tommy had money. Like, different car for each day of the week money. And his brother, Joel, somehow had even more, you’d reckoned from the times you’ve gotten to chat with him. They were always talking about what new business venture they’d invested in this week, or what extravagant trips they were taking next week. To the average person, it might sound snobby and pretentious—because well, it was—but around the club, it was normal. But you didn’t mind, because the more money your club members made, the more money they could put in your pocket. And you had bills to pay. 

The second reason being, of course, you knew it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Not when you weren’t really into Tommy’s…type, if you will. 

“Of course, Tommy,” you smiled warmly at him, before stepping back to stand in the shade of the golf cart as you watched him line up his shot. Just as he was all set up, swinging his arms behind him to take the shot, his phone began ringing loudly from his back pocket.  

“Goddamn, piece ‘uh shit!” He exclaimed as the ringer clearly messed up his concentration. You had to hide your smile as he shot you an apologetic look before tucking the club under his arm and pulling out his phone to answer. The club was a little high and tight, with people talking like they’d just stepped off the set of an eighties classic film, but Tommy was a little…different. Coming from Texas, the money he’s made never quite washed away his potty mouth, nor his laid-back attitude.

“What is it Joel? Oh, you’re here?” Tommy glanced at you before dropping his gaze to the ground, rolling the golf ball around with his foot mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. No, I’ll have her come pick you two up. Yep. Alright, see ya in a bit.” 

You straightened up against the cart as he approached you, ready to do whatever it was he’d ask. 

“Joel’s here?” You asked, sliding into the cart preemptively. 

“Yeah, that sonuva bitch decided to stop by after all. Him and Ellie are waitin’ at the clubhouse, would you mind swingin’ to pick them up?” 

“Ellie?” You cocked your head slightly, but slid through to the driver’s seat nonetheless. 

“Ah, forgot you haven’t met ‘er yet,” Tommy said, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down to where your thick thighs spilled out onto the seat, your panties just barely covered by the white pleated golf skirt that rode up when you sat. You immediately averted your gaze, turning the key to the cart and feeling it rumble to life. “Ellie’s Joel’s daughter. I think she’s about your age…she’s great n’ all, honors student in college, yadda yadda…y’all might actually hit it off.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said playfully. If only he knew what he was actually implying to your sapphic brain. He just smirked at you, tapping the hood of the cart twice before walking back to the tee. “See ya in a bit,” he called over his shoulder as you drove away. You weren’t too far from the clubhouse, as Tommy had barely gotten started on his round, so it was a quick little drive over. The warm breeze tickled the baby hairs peeking from beneath your visor, and helped to cool the bare skin of your arms. 

Joel was waiting for you in the cart-turnaround at the back of the clubhouse when you arrived, and gave you a little wave as you turned around the corner. You waved back, putting on your best smile and doe eyes as you pulled up in front of him standing alone with two golf club bags at his sides. He smiled politely when you came to a stop, jumping out quickly to retrieve his bags when he started trying to put them on the cart himself. 

“Joel, you know you don’t have to worry about all that. Not when I’m around, at least.” You smirked at him as you picked up the two bags of heavy clubs with ease, loading them onto the back of the cart.

“C’mon now, I can’t even attempt to be a gentleman?” He joked, tipping his visor at you playfully. You giggled, exaggeratedly. 

“Oh, but of course, Mr. Miller. My apologies.” You pretended to curtsey for him, just barely lifting the hem of your short skirt as to not completely expose yourself—but surely you didn’t miss the completely conspicuous way his eyes traveled down the expanse of your curves, from the way your breasts practically spilled from your tank top, to the small patch of exposed skin at your midriff, all the way down to the way your white skirt flowed as you crossed your legs. I mean, who wouldn’t look, honestly? He huffed out a laugh and you took that as your cue to slide back into the driver’s seat, and Joel leaned a strong arm against the roof of the cart. 

“Tommy mentioned your daughter? Is she—” 

“Ready, Dad?” You could only assume Ellie, his daughter, suddenly appeared behind Joel, effectively shutting you up and quite literally taking your breath away. You at least had the decency to choke quietly, using Joel’s surprise as an excuse to turn your head away, bringing your fist to your mouth for a moment as you cleared your throat and tried to regain your composure. You felt the cart dip to your right, so you turned back, expecting to see Joel sliding in next to you—but no, it just had to be his daughter. His beautiful, angelically-built daughter with a perfect smile and perfect jade eyes and somehow even more perfect hands, which she was using to grip the stability bar at the front of the cart as she slid in next to you. 

You felt stunned, could do nothing but pathetically stare at her with your mouth slightly agape as you heard Joel’s phone ringing distantly, somewhere in the back of your mind, even though you knew he was sat right behind you. A half smile made the corner of Ellie’s lip twitch ever so slightly, but she looked away quickly, leaving you practically lusting at the sight of her side profile. 

“You gonna take us to Tommy? Or just sit there and stare like you ain’t got nothin’ in your brain?” Her voice was like pure sex; rich and modulated, no real Southern accent like her father, but his vernacular had definitely rubbed off. It was really hard to not show that her words were heading straight to your lower half, your thighs pressing together just inconspicuously enough that you’d probably be able to play it off if she really noticed. You had to at least look embarrassed, averting your gaze so that you could turn the small engine over. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Tommy speaks very highly of you.” You chose to ignore her little comment, focusing instead on trying to treat Ellie just like every member you’d had the pleasure of serving. 

And oh boy, would it be a pleasure to serve Ellie. 

“M’sure he does,” Ellie all but laughed, leaning back so that her legs spread apart across the seat, her left knee getting dangerously close to your legs. You swallowed thickly, trying to watch the movement of her tattooed arm from your peripheral as she slung it over the back of the seat. You could tell it was a natural response, that she probably man-spreaded like this everywhere—but some sick and perverted part of your mind wanted to believe that she was doing it for you, that she wanted you to see her act so…

“Eyes on the fucking road, sweetheart,” she said, and it was quiet. But the weight of it made you nearly squeak—how long had you been looking over at her?—narrowly avoiding a decently-sized rock that would have gotten easily stuck in the small tires of the golf cart. “This your first day on the job or somethin’?” 

And Ellie was so fucking casual with it. Like she hadn’t even meant to degrade you. You stammered a bit, and you swear you could feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. Tommy appeared suddenly as you reached the small summit of the course hill, and all you could do was huff quietly as you approached, again choosing to ignore the way she taunted you like it was second nature. Luckily, she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore you, but she didn’t say another word as you pulled up near Tommy, just as he was taking a long swing with his driver.

“You see that shit, Joel?” He asked as he squinted out at the ball flying through the air with impressive speed. “Might actually beat ya this time, whatcha think?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you just got a head start, that’s all.” You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice as you quickly jumped out of the cart and ran to grab his clubs for him, and Ellie’s, too. He was finishing up his phone call as he took the bag from you, giving you a small nod before you turned to face Ellie. Now that you were standing practically face to face, you had to stop yourself from looking her up and down. Or you at least had to find a way to be discreet about it…and that was one thing you were, was quick on your feet. 

“These are some nice clubs,” you praised, using it as an excuse to look down at her, playing it off like you were examining them. Her feet were clad in an expensive pair of golfing shoes, her toned calves running into thighs covered in a simple, black, five inch inseam short. You gulped inconspicuously, as your eyes quickly moved past her crotch. Surely, you were hallucinating that…bulge. 

“Aw, so you can be helpful when you wanna be,” Ellie snickered, taking the bag away from you with such quickness that your arm was left hovering in the air. You shook your head slightly as if to shake the thoughts away, and dared to look her in the eyes once more. 

“I sure do try my best,” you said, and it wasn’t meant to be bratty, it really wasn’t—but Ellie’s smirk quickly soured, and she huffed and slung the bag over her shoulder. 

“Get me some water, will you?” She jutted her chin toward the cooler attached to the back of the cart, and you could only nod, instantly following her blunt command like you were a puppet on her string. What was she doing to you?

Ellie wasn’t always an asshole, you see. No, no, society made her this way. Have you ever noticed how rich kids aren’t friends with the poor ones, or vice versa? It’s because they can never find any middle ground, no similarities, no common interests. The kids going to public school were happy with a day trip to the city as a vacation; meanwhile, Ellie was missing weeks of her prissy private school education to fly halfway around the world on a business trip with her dad. 

And now, she was a rich girl going to a pretentious university. But she didn’t like the fact that people saw her this way: an asshole with her nose always pointing up; getting clocked as a rich girl as soon as anyone with eyes looked at the way she was dressed; never knowing if someone liked her for her, instead of just for her money. People were going to look at her and see ‘rich, pretentious asshole’ painted on her forehead no matter what—so why not embrace it? Why not put on this stupid little act that everyone else in her social class seemed to? 

And that’s where the soul-sucking began, Ellie realized. That’s how the bratty, entitled kids from her high school ended up just like their evil, entitled parents. She didn’t want to be this way. It just…happened. 

Nevertheless, Ellie pulled the Nike-swooshed visor off of her head for a moment to run her fingers through her reddish-brown tresses, trying to shake away the heat of the sun. You couldn’t help but to let your eyes linger on the way her tattooed arm flexed as she did so, nearly tripping over your own feet as you brought her a completely unnecessary plastic bottle full of water. 

“You know, they make reusable water bottles, nowadays,” you blurted out, your sarcasm taking over momentarily, the heat nearly making you forget where you were. You were at work. Of course rich people don’t care about using plastic water bottles. Ellie raised a curious brow, perfectly groomed with a small scar parting the arch. She didn’t even have to say anything—she just stood there, giving you that…look, and your eyes widened in surprise. She snatched the water bottle from your hand with such force that you flinched, the plastic crinkling almost louder than the sound of Tommy and Joel’s banter.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” you found yourself saying, eyes immediately falling to the ground. As she took a swig of water, Ellie couldn’t help but to notice this, and file it away in her brain for another time—the way she didn’t even have to say anything to you, and you were already so…

submissive. 

“Don’t call me Miss,” she said simply as she screwed the cap back on. You nodded, folding your hands together in front of you before looking back up to catch her gaze. 

“Yes, Ellie,” and her name came out like a drawl naturally…swear. The syllables rolled off your tongue and straight to your lower half, took you to a place so heavenly—your panties were growing wetter by the second, the press of your plush thighs getting tighter as you watched her expression. Her eyes darkened momentarily (or did she just squint at the sun?), and her posture shifted (maybe she got a cramp?). It was like she was trying to read your mind, and you were pretty sure she practically could as you watched her pretty pink tongue dart out to catch the wetness that remained on her lips—you found yourself salivating at the sight, having to quite literally force your jaw to stay closed. 

She was an asshole, sure—but that doesn’t mean you still don’t want to fuck her. 

“My clubs?” Ellie broke you out of your little fantasy by invading your presence, so close you were suddenly overwhelmed. She had set her clubs down in front of her when she took a drink of water, and it was now suddenly your job to hand them to her. “Do we need to clean out your ears or somethin’? Jesus.” She was shaking her head, feigning disappointment, and you stammered. No, no, you’ve never had an unsatisfied member and you weren’t going to start now. Especially not with Ellie. You felt the urge to please her, go above and beyond and make sure she never had to lift a finger—but she was scoffing and reaching to grab her clubs before you could get out another word. 

“No, no, no Mi-” You caught yourself before you made yet another embarrassing mistake. For the second time. “Ellie. My apologies, I’ll follow you.” It was a bit proper, maybe a bit much…but you had to make it up to her, you had to. Whatever it takes. 

“I want my driver first. You do know which one that is, right?” And she was nasty, voice laced with venom as she called over her shoulder. When did she start walking away? And should your pussy be throbbing over that? You didn’t even respond as you lugged her bag over your shoulder, trailing behind her to catch up to Tommy and Joel. They were still bantering away when you approached, cursing and laughing and hitting each other, like brothers do. 

“Look who finally made it,” Ellie’s eyes rolled when you caught up, so quickly you almost missed it. You were like, fifteen steps behind her, there’s no way that was called for. You stayed silent as you unloaded the clubs off your shoulder, doing your best not to show any hint of negative emotion on your face, propping the bag up before pulling Ellie’s driver out. It was long, and heavy, like all the other expensive ones you’ve seen. All of her clubs looked shiny, you noted, like she had either never used them, or just got them polished. Either of which could be possible, as you’d yet to see her play. She grabbed it from you hastily, and you felt that familiar throb beneath your skirt. Get a fucking grip.

“Gotcha’ all set up here, kiddo,” Joel said enthusiastically, and Ellie didn’t even fake a smile. So, you just watched her take the shot. Boy, did you watch her take the shot. 

Watched the way she got so serious—okay, somehow more serious than before—the way she shuffled her feet behind the tee as she lined up her shot, the way her arms flexed and veins popped as she straightened out her arms, prepping to take the swing. The way she took a split second to glance back while she rotated her body to shoot you the most sickeningly devious wink before sending the ball flying across the course.

Tommy whistled and Joel offered a few strong claps. 

You couldn’t be quite sure that you wouldn’t melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the course. What is it about Ellie, your favorite member’s niece, that was getting you so worked up? For fucks sake, golf isn’t even a sexy sport! It couldn’t have at least been basketball, or something a bit more…normal that did it for you?

Instead, you got Ellie, in all her glory. Strong calves turned away from you as she watched her ball cut through the air, higher and faster and better than you’d ever seen Tommy or Joel hit. Not that they’d ever admit that. 

Your thoughts were getting dirtier by the minute as you watched Ellie play. You felt like a baby deer following her around the course, knees wobbling every time she barked another command at you. 

“Um, my water, please?”

“I said five iron, not six.”

“My ball is dirty. What ‘er you even good for?

You were slipping by the minute, letting your eyes linger over her frame a little longer each time you glanced her way. No way she wasn’t catching on. 

“Take a fucking picture, Princess, it’ll last longer.”

Oops.

And when you pulled back up to the clubhouse, it took everything in you to not just run off. Your heart was beating out of your chest, panties completely ruined with your slick, oh my god you were fucking perverted. You carefully helped Tommy, Joel, and Ellie load up their gear into their respective cars, keeping your mouth shut so as to not squeak out an embarrassing sound. In fact, you couldn’t be quite sure you wouldn’t just moan out loud if Ellie so much as even glanced in your direction unprompted. 

“Great game today, guys.” You smiled sweetly at Joel and Tommy who were now both leaned up against the side of the building, taking refuge from the sun. 

“Well thank ya, sweetheart! Glad you got a chance to meet Ellie today, too,” Joel smiled at you, reaching out to squeeze at your shoulder. “Ellie, why don’t you say thank you to our lovely caddy girl today?” He didn’t use your name, because why would he? You were a convenience to them. Now that you thought about it, Ellie probably didn’t even know your name. Let alone care. 

Her green eyes bore into you for a moment before she grunted out something that sounded suspiciously like a thank you, before tipping her head back to swallow the last of her water. The sight of her throat contracting had you practically running away to do something so devious, you might have to get down on your knees and pray before you went to sleep. 

And Ellie was only human, after all. She was curious, about a lot of things. But more specifically? At this moment? She was wondering where you were scurrying off to. Of course, you weren’t as good about hiding what physical reactions you’d been having to her for the past hour as you thought—the way you’d squirm whenever she caught you staring at her, or how your mouth opened ever so slightly, ever so submissively when she berated you. 

So wherever you were going must be good. 

And oh, was it good. 

Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes, as she trailed behind you. Each time you’d look back, she’d be sure to hide just perfectly out of your view around corners, behind tables….she couldn’t let you know how curious she was, no. Because you see, she was actually good about hiding these sorts of things. She was an asshole, but it wasn’t for no reason. She just couldn’t let you know how the sight of you practically drove her insane—the soft curve of your hips beneath that skirt, the rolls on your belly that led to the plush skin of your breasts that bounced so perfectly with every step you took. That would just ruin the fun of it. My god, were you a sight for Ellie’s sore eyes. 

So now, Ellie watched as you were slipping into a supply closet. Okay…? Perhaps, you had just forgotten something, then. Needed to grab something for another member, or left your bag in there before you started your shift. Nothing interesting. 

But no, Ellie was close enough now that you were safely behind the door, that she could hear the lock ‘click’ softly from inside the supply closet. 

Oh. Oh— she thought. 

And she couldn’t believe her ears, when she heard the faintest sigh. One that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than relief. 

And yeah, you were relieved. 

You couldn’t take it anymore—the last hour you spent with Ellie was absolute torture. Letting her talk down on you, and treat you like you were nothing to her…it shouldn’t have turned you on. You should be upset, embarrassed, angry, furious even. But you were wet. 

Holy fucking shit, you were wet. Your fingers trailed down your tummy as you leaned against the wall in the dark closet, barely illuminated by a tiny window at the top of one wall. Your breath was shaky, eyes closed as you lifted your short skirt, shoving your panties to the side before you felt the top of your fingers graze past your clit, sliding further and further in between your slick folds, so easily, so so easily. 

“Oh!” you caught yourself gasping as you played with yourself, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as a sickly, obscene wet sound began to fill the space of the small closet. This was so wrong…touching yourself at work, thinking about Ellie, so fucking desperate that you had to run away and relieve even just an ounce of the tension you felt inside. 

It only got worse when all you could think about was Ellie’s long fingers, the way they gripped the golf clubs so tenderly, and how you wished so badly that you could replace yours with hers as they slipped inside of you. Your head fell back against the metal rack behind you, and you had no right mind to react to what should have been pain. Instead, you pictured Ellie standing in front of you, and how her eyes would darken with lust as she pressed her body against yours, her hot breath fanning across your face as she fucked her fingers up into you…

And Ellie was going crazy, couldn’t help herself from getting closer and closer to that supply closet door. There was no one in this wing of the club, surely no one would walk by and see her with her ear pressed against a supply closet door…right? It mostly didn’t matter, as something deranged and perverted was consuming her brain. She found herself quite literally pressed against the door, she couldn’t help herself, she had to hear the way you moaned softly and gasped while you worked yourself closer and closer to your release. 

“Oh…oh Ellie!” You breathed wantonly, and Ellie could have cum on the spot. The wet sounds of your ministrations were getting faster and louder as your fingers pressed in and out of you with such force the rack behind you was beginning to rattle. Had you been in your right mind, you should have been mortified. You should have stopped right then and there, pulled yourself together and went home to the privacy of your own home and taken a long, cold shower. But all you could see was that stupid fucking smirk on Ellie’s face as she’d whisper: 

Just fucking cum for me, baby. 

And so you did, slapping your free hand over your mouth to muffle what surely would have been far too loud of a noise as you reached your peak, your body trembling almost violently as the high washed over you. 

Ellie was positively reeling, her ear still pressed to the door almost comically as she listened to you come undone. If anyone were to walk by at this moment it would look utterly suspicious, her all alone in the long hallway, surely looking suspect in her current position. Not to mention she should probably pull away before you had a chance to swing the door open, as she would have absolutely no excuse as to what she was doing here. 

Instead, Ellie continued to listen to your labored breaths as you came down, her pink lips parted softly as she felt her own wetness growing more and more unbearable beneath her shorts. Hell, had the purple silicone she had strapped to her hips been real, there would be absolutely no hiding what your sounds had done to her. She should move away, racing thoughts of oh my fucking god, and I wonder how easy it would be to make her sound like that again, but also to go back to Dad and go the fuck home, goddammit, this is absolutely sick, even for you and— 

“Ellie?!” 

She nearly fell forward from the weight of her body on the door when it swung inwards to reveal your absolutely mortified face, and even more terrified voice. Her eyes were like saucers, surely mirroring yours as you gaped at her, one hand still on the door to leave the possibility of slamming it right back in her face in humiliation. No, no no no no no way this was happening to you. 

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she staggered backwards in her surprise, leaving you both just staring each other down in what was surely the most awkward encounter either of you had ever had in your entire life. Her eyes quickly shifted downwards and she took another step back. 

“I- I was just- yeah, okay. Bye.” 

And she was gone. 

-- 

pt 2??????

[jinkookspencil]

a way to wake | ksj

you're fast asleep and seokjin has to wake you up... an old method he used on his friend eventually comes to mind

description/tags/note: seokijn drabble / fluff + suggestive / established relationship / i had this idea in my head for a while, ever since i found out how jin used to wake up jungkook when they were younger... and i ended up writing the whole thing while stuck in traffic on a random afternoon / i am actively working on til you make it 2 whenever i have the time! i'm glad i took my time with it, i improved it in all this time and am still thinking of ways to improve it little by little / also, i often get ideas or scenarios in my head that could be mini pieces, not even a drabble - some are barely even 500 words. would you guys be interested in stuff like that? lmk!! / anyways, enjoy!! / edit: i edited this fic to make it even more suggestive. they both hint at yn wanting jin to wake her up by touching her.

wc: ~1.3k words

Seokjin didn’t have it in him. You were sleeping so peacefully beside him, as you had through all seven of your alarms, likely finally getting in a good rest after many sleepless nights… and he had to disturb it?

He knew he didn’t really have a choice - you were already running late. It wasn’t going to be a problem for Seokjin really, after you both showered, it’d only take him a couple more minutes at most to change into his suit. You, on the other hand, always needed some extra time to get ready, and that ‘extra’ time was getting shorter and shorter the more he let you sleep.

You’d want him to wake you up, he knew that for certain, as well as the fact that you would probably scold him as well as yourself for your sleeping in. That reminder is what finally got him to nudge and rub your shoulder.

“Jagiya?”

He repeats the action numerous times, raising the volume of his voice every time, but still, you slept.

“Honey,” he calls with a laugh, tickling your side, belly, and thigh. Your elbow twitches once, but never again despite him repeating the action over and over again. “We need to leave soon. You need to wake up now, darling.”

Nothing.

He gets up to pull open a bit of the curtains, letting sunlight stream in and disrupt the darkness of your bedroom.

Still, nothing.

Frustrated now, Seokjin pulls out his phone and quickly takes a photo of you sleeping - just for himself - before opening up the music app. He plays clips of several songs, and all you do is wince, sleeping through them as you did your alarms.

“Are you faking it?” he asks aloud to your sleeping body. “Jagi… if you’re faking sleep, I swear I won’t eat you out tonight. I’m serious.”

Nothing.

That definitely would’ve done it if you were faking sleep. Really, you had no reason to fake it - you'd panic at the mere thought of running late - but Seokjin couldn’t eliminate the possibility entirely. You could be a bit of a brat at times.

He half considers physically pulling you out of bed, throwing a plushie at you, or emptying a water bottle on you, until he remembers a failsafe. A way that couldn’t hurt you like manhandling could, nor anger you with wet pajamas and sheets.

Jungkook’s way.

Seokjin giggles to himself at the thought. He had never tried it on any of his exes in the past, just Jungkook, really. It wasn't uncommon for boys to do such a thing at that age, especially when they were playfully roughhousing, which, with Jungkook, happened every day and at any time of day. Seokjin always had the edge by starting off Jungkook's days just like that - it always did the trick... And considering the other similarities you shared with Seokjin's younger friend, it wasn’t something to dismiss entirely.

Slowly, he turns you until you’re lying entirely on your back against the mattress, facing the ceiling with shut eyes. He moves from his position next to you until he’s over you, straddling your body with a knee planted on either side of your hips. He never took on this position with Jungkook of course, and almost started regretting it already - you felt too good.

“Jagi,” he whispers, pulling away the blanket from your body and letting his hand graze the skin at your collarbone and your stomach by the hem of your pajama top. He kisses your neck once, calling your name. It was the final chance he'd give you before he’d pull the trigger.

And you didn’t budge.

He sighs in defeat, not holding back his smile any longer when he sees your hardened nipples peak through the thin fabric of your top. Ready. Just for him.

With his index finger and thumb on both hands, Seokjin pinches and fiddles with your raised buds for mere seconds before you shoot up, finally awake.

“Wh?! W..what the fuck?! Jin!” you yell, wriggling underneath your fiancé’s body as he laughs, tumbling over you.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he says between his giggles, stopping only when you lazily reach towards his chest. “YA! I only did that to wake you up. You slept through your alarms, bub. We’re running late.”

“WHAT?!” you yell, pushing him off of you and hurriedly searching for your phone. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?

“I TRIED!” he protests, getting off the bed. “You slept like a rock. Who knew squeezing your nipples would finally do it? It’s what I used to do to Jungkook when we shared a dorm. Though, of course, I used to twist his nipples to the point where he was certain I detached them from his body somehow. I tried handling you with care, princess.”

“Couldn’t you have used your fingers somewhere else, Seokjin? A bit lower perhaps? You know, something Jungkook doesn’t have? Something you could only possibly do with your girlfriend?”

Seokjin stares at you. Despite the fact that you’d looked delectable asleep and under him already, the thought never occurred to him. Of course the thought wouldn’t occur to him. This wasn’t a conversation you had had together and he hadn’t gotten your consent or any hint that it’d be something you would want. Unless of course, he had been the reason you refused to wake up… Seokjin’s mind wanders with a desperate need within him to have the conversation then and there, knowingly unprepared if you’d admitted to it all. Wanting to be woken up that way. A dream, perhaps. They might have just forget the event altogether…

He begins following you around the room with pleas for a moment to talk, but you don’t turn back for a second until it is to do the exact opposite of handling him with care - dragging and pushing him into the bathroom.

Seokjin watches as you undress, doing the same and half hoping for a quickie, considering your eagerness. He almost felt his length begin to harden, but soon you’re pushing him once more, into the tepid shower with a loofah in hand. He tries to put his thought away for now, caring for your body in another way he felt so privileged to do. To maximize efficiency, you wash yourselves and one another before going about your routines at double the pace. Seokjin’s entirely dressed in minutes, save for his suit jacket, while you were still getting ready, wearing a lingerie set underneath a robe. Extra time for you, and extra time for him to admire you.

“Help me with my dress,” you command him, stepping into a dress he promptly zips up, but not before he drinks up the sight of you in brown silk and lace underneath. Stood behind you, he watches as you adorn yourself with jewelry but can’t stop his hand from snaking over your waist, softly cupping your breasts over the fabric of your dress. You don’t react save for a sharp inhale, continuing to adorn your look. You’re so stunning it almost brings him to his knees. He’d happily allow his body to get there, too, kneeling to tease you at the very least and at most, sneaking his head underneath your dress and pulling down your underwear - just for a taste. But instead, he nudges his head in the crook of your neck - softly kissing along the chain of your necklace. “Tell me, honey… were you dreaming of me? Is that why you didn’t want to wake up?”

You roll your eyes, playfully swatting Seokjin’s hand on your waist, his fake arrogance replaced with a wide smile in seconds. “We need to leave.”

“I made a promise,” Seokjin says, wearing his jacket. “While you were asleep. I made a promise.”

“Oh?” you question, spraying perfume on the two of you. The final touch.

“I said that if you were faking sleeping through your alarms, I wouldn’t eat you out tonight.”

The promise makes you stop in your tracks towards the front door, Seokjin getting there first with an intrigued expression on his face when he looks back. “Since you weren’t faking it, that means I have to do it. And since you slept through the many different ways I tried waking you up… I guess it seems I gotta get you to do something else.... gotta get you somewhere.... many different ways tonight…. Oh, and of course, you won't be faking it this time around as well.”

He’s unsure if the redness in your cheeks is heat flooding your system or makeup he simply hadn’t noticed a minute prior. As you make your way towards your fiancee, you see smugness only slightly present on his face, overshadowed by sincerity - that of a genuine promise. Your hands fiddle with Seokjin’s tie before resting on his chest.

“I didn’t realize dreams could manifest into reality that quickly.”

“I knew it,” Seokjin smiles, kissing your hand as his ears go red. The idea of you actually having a wet dream about him this long into your relationship… the fact that you’d dream of him and his body pleasuring yours, after only hours apart in sleep… it sent him into a frenzy.

“I mean, I know I’ll hear it tonight, but I kind of wish you’d been moaning my name in your sleep…”

“Well, you didn’t see my pajama shorts, did you?,” you whisper, flicking Seokjin’s nipple over his shirt. He winces but is quick to disregard the pain - his face flushed, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands, trying to reach for your waist, thigh, or ass - you push him away.

“It was a very vivid dream, honey. Don’t you worry… I’ll tell you all the many different ways I want it. The ways you did it… And tomorrow, wake me up like it never ended.”

There it was.

“Can we stay in? We’re late already,” Seokjin whines. “We can get a head start. Morning to morning…” He feeling his knees buckling at the thought, slowly trying to pull you closer to him in persuasion. You don’t budge and open the door instead.

“You know we can’t…. Now’s your time to dream of me.”

The hunger within him only grew, already fantasising of the of the night to come. Now, he was in competition with himself and he’d make sure your reality is far better than anything you could dream of.

[loserlvrss]

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 y. jeongin ( 양정인 )

synopsis | you really needed a new computer, but at least your boyfriend was there to ease the burden.

pairing : jeongin x fem!reader genre : drabble, fluff, est. relationship warnings : language, bit of angst word count : 0.7k authors note : this wasn't bc i couldn't get my fucking computer to stop downloading everything as pages and cried about it... no...

You shut your computer with the loudest groan you’ve ever let out. Your hands found their way into the roots of your hair as your head collided with your palms. You tugged lightly, trying in some weird attempt to get the pain inside to ease up. 

“What the actual fuck,” you mumbled into thin air, “if this damn computer doesn’t work again, I’m actually going to fail this assignment.” 

You had the worst—and oldest—version of a laptop you think anyone could ever have. It lagged out, stopped working and wouldn’t let you convert anything into a pdf, much less an editable copy. Of course, besides it sounding like it was going to explode while you played the sims, or acting as a make-shift heating pad when you dared open more than two tabs at a time, it had its charms… Most of them, however, were the stickers it was adorned with over the years. 

You really needed a new one. 

Your eyes welled, but you shut them quickly before any tears started to fall. It was frustrating having to try anything and everything to not inconvenience your professors; always trying to have the piece of hot-shit up to date so you could keep up with the deadlines. But, you weren’t sure how much more of the jumping through hoops you could do before it completely inconvenienced you. 

Why couldn’t they just bring back the paper days? you thought. You could definitely find a pen or pencil somewhere in your house—maybe even a typewriter would work better. 

Everything piling up in your life was getting a little overwhelming. It was mentally and physically taking a toll on you. Your shoulders had become more rounded, and your blue-light glasses were barely working anymore. You kept getting stress related headaches, and you seemed more anxious than normal. 

You felt the warm touch meet the skin of your shoulders, dragging from one side to the other. “Are you okay?” The corresponding voice asked. Your so-very sweet boyfriend, of course. 

You looked at him through the parted hair in your fingers, “No, it’s already past due by four days.” You groaned again, completely letting your head fall onto the closed metal. “this piece of shit, in, like what am I supposed to do now? I’m so stressed and I’m already on the verge of having a non-passing grade. This stu—”

He cut your tangent short, “Hey, baby, let’s take a deep breath.” His other hand took the opposite shoulder, thumbs digging into the knots that had formed over the last half a semester. “It’s all gonna be fine, we’ll figure something out. It’s not the end of the world, I promise.” 

You turned your head to the side, visibly pouting. He moved to the base of your neck, massaging the tension away just a bit more. 

“But Jeongin,” He broke away momentarily to take the bridge of your glasses between his forefinger and thumb, dragging them off and putting them aside. “If this damn computer…” 

He kept at it, letting you rant about your outdated computer. At least it was closed, he thought, you needed a break anyways—late assignments or not. He knew you were tired, not having slept well the last couple days. He was the man sleeping next to you afterall. He also knew that you rarely wanted to stress him out, so you bottled it inside. The depths of the night made it obvious however, tossing and turning and sitting up to stare at the wall. 

Jeongin hmphed, hearing the lightest breaths leave your parted lips. He examined closer, you had fallen asleep under the simplest of touches from him. You must have needed to relax (and lay off the caffeine) bad, he thought. 

He knew you’d also probably wake up in a panic in a couple of minutes, spewing something about your schoolwork. However, he’d just take you to bed and run his hand up and down your back all night if he had to. Whatever to get you to stop overthinking—and putting everyone else first. 

You were a very dedicated person to your studies, but even the smartest person in the world needed a break once and a while. 

And maybe a new computer… 

please reblog and like <3 comments are appreciated ! thank you 4 reading © loserlvrss 2024 all rights reserved. 

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back to masterlist !

[skygemspeaks]

NEW ONE PIECE TRAILER LET'S GOOOOO

we got the roger execution scene!!! he looks fantastic, and he did SO well with the speech!

there's an older marine in a suit standing on the execution platform and i'm like 95% sure it's garp???? and if so, i love that they made that decision, hell yeah, it makes SO MUCH SENSE

luffy's little "Mutiny" joke when he asked the news coo to join his crew and it flew away....i found that way funnier than i should have 😂

the scene where luffy paints the first version of their jolly roger!! i loved it SO MUCH especially with the little detail of him having paint splatters on his face 🥺iñaki has impeccable luffy vibes and i can tell i'm gonna adore him in this role

we got to see buggy's devil fruit in action! i'm surprised they didn't lean more into the body horror aspect of it, but i still adore buggy. i wasn't sold on his hair last time, but it looks a lot better in this trailer tbh.

there's a scene where it looks like garp's ship is firing canonballs at the straw hats? which, unless it's a misdirect due to clever editing, that's a bit surprising that we get an altercation so early in the series. though i doubt they'd reveal the relationship between luffy and garp this early on in the series...hopefully

the scene where sanji is fighting kuroobi is really interesting because it looks like it's taking place in the baratie! my best guess is that they're overlapping baratie and arlong park a little? maybe nami spent too long away from arlong park so he sent kuroobi and/or chew to go fetch her back, instead of her voluntarily betraying the straw hats?

on that note, we get our first look at the fishmen, and they look surprisingly decent!! i don't have any complaints about their designs, and i'm a huge fan of arlong especially. no signs of hachi though...🥲

we finally got a sanji voice line, as well as some banter between him and zoro which was hilarious!! looks like they let taz keep his british accent, which i know some people were curious about last time.

the scene of nami sitting next to bellemere's grave 😭😭😭

"you're my captain. from now...until the end" HELLO? I'm gonna be PHYSICALLY ILL. I love him so fucking much, I'm never gonna get over this fucking line. I'm guessing it's probably after the mihawk fight

we got a good look at both mihawk and shanks! they are both, of course, absolutely stunning. Yoru looks really good too

the CGI on luffy's arms when he's fighting against arlong looks a LOT better than what we saw in the previous trailer against alvida!! it's a bit reassuring. i guess that one scene was just weird because of how much they were focusing on it. they probably did it that way because it was the first time we saw luffy really use his power in the series so they wanted to make a big deal of it

the scene where shanks puts the hat on baby luffy...😭😭

maybe i'm a bit late but in the logo, where it has luffy standing in the nose of the jolly roger, i only just realized it's manga luffy and not iñaki 😂

we got a good look at Coby!!!! Morgan looks absolutely flawless, they were definitely the right choice for the role. Also, in the last trailer we got a split second glimpse of Coby when Luffy was punching Alvida and his hair looked pale blonde due to the lighting, which I was a bit sad about. Glad we got to see in this trailer that they did actually keep his hair pink! phenomenal!

[writingwithfolklore]

Taking Notes from Editors

I did a post on giving and receiving feedback, but now that I’ve been an editor for a little longer, I’d like to do a follow up on taking feedback specifically from professional editors.

                While ultimately writers are the rulers of their work and can make the final decisions on it, there's a lot of growth in your manuscript to be found by trusting your editor and taking their notes. As an editor, it’s my job to make your work as good as it can possibly be. It’s also my job to maintain your style and voice and make sure everything you do best shines the brightest.

                We’ve studied and practiced this goal. So the biggest thing I want to impart on you is:

1. Trust your editor

Go into the process with the mindset that you'll accept at least 85% of the edits your editor suggests. When another editor works on my writing, I accept about 95% of it, sometimes %100 (for shorter pieces).

Writers sometimes get hung up on the smallest changes an editor tries to make. Be careful not to be too precious, allow your work to be explored from a different perspective and lens.

You can always keep a separate doc that has your original piece, it doesn’t go away or get ruined when an editor works on it. While it's your work in the end, it's helpful to go into it with an open mind. Often feedback you may have never considered is the key to really elevating your piece. Make some room for your editor's opinion and expertise, trust your editor.

2. Choose your battles

If you are going to reject a suggestion, I recommend it be something really worth going to bat for. Choose your battles, and choose only the biggest ones. You ultimately know your work best, so fight only for the stuff you believe is integral to keeping the same.

This will be an easier battle to win if you’ve already accepted the vast majority of other suggestions. Does it really matter if your main character’s name is Jolene or Veronica? Maybe not, so take that suggestion so you can afford to keep her queerness, or the subplot about her mother, etc.

But going back to the trust your editor idea, don’t think about it as a battle. We are not on opposite sides, we’re both fighting for the same thing—to make your work the best it can be. Respectfully acknowledge a suggestion you don’t like, give it a day or two to think on it, and then decide if that’s something you’d really like to advocate for.

As an editor, when a writer has a solid justification for rejecting a suggestion it helps me understand their work better, and builds trust between us.

3. It’s okay you’re not perfect

Sometimes as a writer receiving feedback, my impulse is to be embarrassed I’ve done something ‘wrong’. Then, of course, I go to defend myself or justify it or attack. We don’t like feeling threatened, and it can cause some high tempers and nasty disagreements in the editing world.

It’s really important that you recognize that impulse to defend yourself, and choose not to react to it.

By that I mean, if you feel yourself getting defensive over a piece of feedback—take a deep breath, don’t answer it right away. You don’t need to explain yourself. Think on it for a bit, just try it out. See what happens when you make that change. If you still hate it, think about why. If you’re just rejecting it on impulse, you’re probably in that “defend” state.

                You’re not being attacked, and you’re not a bad writer. It’s okay if you’ve made a decision that didn’t land, or a mistake that’s kind of embarrassing.

                As an editor, I can assure you that I don’t judge my writers. Ever. When I make suggestions, it’s from a pure ‘just trying to help’ standpoint, and I really appreciate when my writers are open to my suggestions and ideas and accept or reject my suggestions with friendliness and grace.

                I’m not a super experienced editor in any way, but if anyone has any questions about the editing process, the job, or anything else about it, I will do my best to answer!

Next post we're going to talk about when to reject a suggestion or feedback because the editor/reader isn't always right. Follow to catch that when it's out!

[bamfaholic]

Angel of the Streets

Desc: Kurt finds a dying bird and eases its end.

Tags: animal death, no graphic depiction, Kurt is in fact religious, author is an ex-christian now Jew, comfort fic, one shot, not edited/proofread

A/N: I'm sick in bed and it's like 4am so I wrote this. I also lost a pet bird today, which heavily inspired this comfort fic. Not proof read, and probably not my best work. Will be cross posted to my AO3.

Banners made by @/cafekitsune

The X-Men had taken a short holiday to town. Scott insisted it was just a supply run (groceries) but Rouge already had the rest of the crew on board to window shop and sight see.

The streets bustled enough that no one paid much mind to the fuzzy blue elf straggling behind the group of peculiar young adults. He was taking his time, enjoying the beauty. The architecture of Downstate New York was far different from that of Germany. He hoped to visit Albany one day, for he knew the city preserved much of its Dutch heritage, especially in its buildings.

Of course, the first building to catch his eye was the old church down at the corner. Far older than the shops and office buildings near it, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Made of stone, a bell tower near the front with a real metal bell inside, a handcrafted statue of Mother Mary decorated the front lawn. Kurt slowed down as the group passed the entrance. Its doors were left closed. It was a Wednesday, no service to be had, and it wasn't common for churches to be open to the public anymore. The government raided them first for housing mutants, some pastors catching jail time for being "Mutie sympathizers."

Kurt's eyes scanned the carved wooden sign, right beside the sidewalk. It read: Church of Immanuel. All are welcome. A bittersweet smile bit at Kurt's lips, the "all are welcome" line clearly being conditional. He was confident if he were to step inside he'd experience Deja Vu of his younger years.

He pulled his coat tighter around himself. He reasoned it was the crisp New York Autumn cold nipping at his ears, but truly churches were where he felt the gaze of God the most. Physical reminders of His presence, just like his rosary. He felt like he was a sheet of glass, easily seen through. He whispered one of the countless prayers he had memorized before beginning to catch up to the group. However, a flock of pigeons captured his attention next.

Now his smile turned playful. Pigeons delighted Kurt, finding himself one and the same with them. He reached in his pocket for the bread roll he bought at the bakery a few blocks back, breaking it into small little pieces as he carefully approached the flock.

Kurt found himself more fond of animals than people, they had no concept of good or bad, demons or angels. They were just creations of God, partaking in their role of this interstellar play.

"Hello, meine freunde." He said amusingly, crouching closer to the ground. He began to scatter pieces of his bread, doing his best to be fair with the distribution, but something caught his eye.

One lone pigeon stayed behind, at the front of the steps to the church. It laid on its side, its chest rising and falling quickly. The poor thing was dying, that was clear. It's feathers puffed, eyes closed. Kurt stuffed the roll back into his pocket before carefully approaching the bird. With gentle care, he scooped the pigeon into his hands.

"Oh, you poor thing." He murmured. "You're not alone anymore, and soon your suffering will be over."

Not very knowledgeable about birds, he just gently held the creature. He didn't allow the other birds to come near, creating distance with his tail, and did his best not to move or jerk his arms.

"What is it Americans call you?" He clicked his tongue. "Oh, yes, rats with wings." He shook his head. "I never understood why they see you as nothing but a pest." He sighed. "You and doves are very similar, practically the same." He rambled on.

He told himself he was doing it to keep the bird calm, but he knew he was lying to himself. The bird likely wasn't very conscious at this point, with only a few minutes left. It was a harsh reminder of the reality of life: all living things have an end.

He prayed his end would be just as gentle.

The bird seemed to struggle to breathe at points, drawing a "Shh, rest little one," from Kurt. The other pigeons had paid no mind this entire time, pecking away at the treat he had sprinkled on the cement for them.

"You and I are one and the same, did you know that?" His smile was bitter sweet. "Left behind by your own people." His mind wandered back to Germany, to home. How people there cast him out, the countless insults hurled at him. How he too scrounged for bread crumbs on the streets. He fed the birds there too, even if he didn't have enough to fill his stomach, he always shared with his fellow cast outs. They deserved a meal as much as he did.

The end was near for the bird, its breathing slowing. "You can rest now, freund." Kurt whispered. "You're not alone, I promise you. Not only am I here, but so is He."

The bird's breathing stopped, becoming fully limp in his hands. A part of Kurt ached, if he hadn't been here the creature would have died alone, on the steps of the church. On second thought, he chalked it up to God purposefully doing this.

"I wish I understood You." He muttered to himself, "but perhaps that was the sin of Adam and Eve."

He slowly rose, little friend in tow, and soon smoke and the stench of brimstone was left in his place. He teleported not too far off, into the thin woods behind all the buildings of the city. He scanned the area for a decent spot of soft soil. Beneath a withering tree, he found it. With one hand, he slowly clawed out a hole, about a foot deep and only a football in size. Gently, ever so, he lowered the pigeon into the soft dirt.

Kurt pulled his rosary from his pocket, clutching it tightly as he bowed his head, praying. He was still for a moment, the silence of the wilderness, a harsh juxtaposition to the city, filled his ears. He then carefully scooped the disturbed soil over the small grave.

"You will be missed, little one, but you can rest now. You don't need to struggle any longer." He murmured.

Another puff of smoke, and he was behind his friends once again.

Scott took notice, especially with that all-too-familiar smell. "Kurt!" He said, a warm smile crinkled his nose. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know," Kurt began, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. His smile was forced a little, his mind still lingering on what just occurred. "Up to no good." He managed to chuckle.

No one thought anything of it, and continued on with their day of shopping. When they returned to the institute, Kurt mentioned his feathery friend in his nightly prayer before rolling into bed.

[bks-writing-adventures]

The Fish (Aemond Targaryen X OC, Sapphires and Carnelian Part Two.)

Read part one here!

https://www.tumblr.com/bks-writing-adventures/754389761267056640/sapphires-and-carneliansource=share

I also have this on Wattpad where I update almost every day, and you can find edits of the story on my tiktok: bk.calliope.

As the raven left with the letter, he found himself watching it until it was merely a black dot in the sky. He cursed beneath his breath. Could the raven not fly faster? It was like the creature didn’t even want to deliver the letter. As the bird dissolved into the clouds, his focus went back to the miniature in his hand. The more he looked at it, the more he could see beauty in her face. She did not have the sharp, neat look of ladies at the court, but something more charming, a bit more wild. And different was nice. He was different, so it would only make sense that his future wife be so, too.

Unless, of course, he was too late and the girl was already married. It had been several years afterall. And she was only five and ten in this photo, awkward with the touches of puberty and the expectations of society. He took a deep breath, and eventually, placed the picture down on his bedside table, scolding himself as he saw the marks his touch had left. The corners were crinkled from the weight of his sweating thumbs, and his cheeks got rosy as he blew on the parchment in hopes of evening it out. He couldn’t believe his own behavior, it was humiliating. 

He knew it would probably be days before they received any letter, if they received one at all, and so he found himself going to the training yard. He looked over all the options for swords, and every single one of them seemed dull. The sun was doing the aged metal no favors, and they were far from luxurious. Where had royalty gone wrong? He had seen depictions of old gowns and garments, ones that were divine and godly. Sleeves used to puff, and head pieces were worn like treasure. It was like they were moving backwards. All of that wealth going to the garbage. When he got a wife, and surely he would, she would never look plain. He would cover her in the best of gowns, have her hair braided with flowers and gems. She would be a true Princess. 

“My Prince, looking for a challenge, are you?” Ser Criston chuckled. Aemond looked back at him, a ghost of a smirk on his face. 

“If I was looking for a challenge, I would not be looking for you.” He responds. He had beaten Ser Criston time and time again, and sometimes he wondered what life would be if they were not just practicing. Perhaps, if he could, he would take Criston’s head clean off. He didn’t care much for the man, no matter how much he pretended. He was a man with no honor. One with loyalty to no one. He was no great knight, and he did not deserve his title, nor his cloak. He had broken his oaths time and time again, and it would not be long before someone suffered from his negligence. Constantly leaving his post to sleep with the Queen in the midst of the knight, rinsing his mouth of the taste of women. On his knees in the Sept, as though that washed away the lasting effects of his actions. That man could crush the whole realm to pieces, the way he crushed women like sand beneath his feet. 

“Oh, is that so?” Ser Criston smiled, grabbing a sword. “Then we should ensure that you do not get rusty, like all those cocky knights before you,” He spoke, and the two men took their positions. “I am not like the men who came before me,” and for better or worse, the words were true. At least he was exactly who he claimed to be. He was not a bastard, and he was no hypocrite. And he would never be like his father, who married a child. And he would not be like his uncle, who whined and cried and created drama left and right. He would not be like his brother, who made every person miserable every time he opened his mouth.

He was not sure who he would be, only that he would not be them. Perhaps he could be a good husband, a good father. And he could pray to the gods to make him King. If only Aegon was not alive. He fought harder against Criston’s weapons as the thoughts swam around his brain. How easy it would be to find Aegon in his delusions, wrapped in women at the brothel. It would not be so difficult to slip milk of poppy into his wine. Just enough so that he would not wake up. How easy life could be, then. 

But then of course, there was Rhaenyra, who his father loved more than anyone. But even that love was not pure. There was something dark inside his words. Something ingenuine, because the only thing a King can ever love, of course, was his crown. The thing must be cursed, for every time it touched the head of man, he became insufferable. Sitting on the iron throne filled the blood with ignorance. Maybe that is why the realm was spinning further and further into poverty and misery. With a final blow to Criston’s sword, the metal split in two, and the Knight smiled. “With those skills, you should be ready for a Tourney.” He said proudly, and Aemond tried to ignore how much it touched his heart. Hearing someone be proud of him, it was the finest luxury he had ever known. That validation that made his soul come alive.

 “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” He said, taking a deep breath as he went to return his sword to the barrel. His wrist ached ever so slightly, and boredly, he cracked his knuckles. 

“Perhaps you should. That is the easiest way for a fine man to catch the attentions of a fair lady,” Criston responded as he slid his sword back to his holder. With a smirk, Aemond looked back at him. 

“Is that what happened to you?” He asked, making the knight go quiet. 

“I am only saying that it is worth a try. If you wait any longer to marry, you were no longer be in your prime.” As if he knew anything about marriage. Aemond rolled his eyes, shaking his head with an empty laugh as he approached the gardens.

 “If this is my prime, it will be a miserable life to live. I am not even twenty.” He responded. And besides, it was not like a mans seed could ever die. “And besides, I am already taking steps, for your information. And perhaps it would do you best to care about your own relationships. I am sure my mother would appreciate it.” He spoke, walking alone to the gardens. His book rested heavy in his cloak, and he walked until he found his favorite tree, a large willow older than himself. A robins nest sat in the depths of the branches, and as he sat to read, a ladybug ran across his book. His instinct was to smack it away from the parchment, but he held his breath. Helaena was always going on and on about the value of life, in things big and small. And guilt ate away at his belly, until he eventually took the bug on his fingertip and gave it a gentle blow of his breath, sending the small insect flying calmly to another tree. His head leaned against the bark as he propped himself up, his book in his lap. A History of Dragons. He had read it twice before, but what was the harm in reading it again? Besides, it was good to keep his knowledge fresh. And it was not as though a new book was going to come any time soon. 

That was his only problem with the library. It was all too limited. The histories of Westeros, the Science of Dragons, the Philosophy of The Seven. All fine literature, but all old. All things said before, time and time again for centuries on end. The newest book was still thirty years old, at least, and there was not a single novel about romance or magic. No fiction, no escaping the present. It was exhausting. And so, he decided, that tonight would be the perfect time to take himself to the city, to the small bookstores and presses until he found something that would interest him. The evening meal was nothing special. Rosemary potatoes and pulled pork. It was good, but it was all the same as any other day. “Did you embroider a lot today, Helaena?” His mother asked, but her daughter was far more fascinated with the grooves in the table, looking at them over and over. 

“I am excited,” She said quietly, and Alicent’s brows raised. That was a rare thing for Helaena, any form of happiness.

 “You are? What for?” She asked quietly, and Aemond looked at her, too. 

“For the fish.” She said quietly, a smile forming on her face. Alicent blinked, brows furrowed. As she was about to speak, Aegon opened his mouth. 

“This isn’t fish, it’s pork. It’s pig,” He said, laughing as he shook his head and filled his mouth with wine. It was a miracle that his lips weren’t permanently stained with purple. Helaena hummed, her eyes wandering quietly. Alicent shifted uncomfortably in her chair, looking at all of her children with her big brown eyes.

 “The weather was nice today. Did you get out to the gardens, Aemond?” She asked, and he nodded silently. Trying to create conversation at the table was like trying to turn water into wine. 

“Yes. I read a great deal of pages.” He mumbles. Silence again. The sound of forks against plates echoed off the walls, and Aemond was itching to leave. It was a miracle when the dinner hour was finally done, and he went to his chambers in a hurried manner. Looking under his bed, he carefully picked out his sack of coins, looking at them under the light. Books were a luxury, especially amongst the common folk. But he was good at bargaining. It was quite the thrill. Taking two coppers and a single golden dragon, he grabbed his cloak and went to his washroom, making sure to pin all of his hair away from his face.

If the merchants caught glimpse of the silver wisps, he would be overcharged, he was sure. He was silent as he moved through the streets, his cloak pinned to the very top of his head. So long as he stayed away from the Streets of Silk, he was as good as invisible. The book stores were nothing fancy, a simple hole in the wall with an oil-filled lantern to keep it from getting too dark, bugs buzzing on the walls as he looked over the titles. He could not find a single shop that only sold books, for all of them sold a plethora of things. But this one, Books and Beads, was quickly becoming his favorite. 

It had its own charms, figuratively and literally. Orange peels burned constantly with cinnamon, making the whole room smell like autumn, and his eye squinted as he traced over title over title. They were all things he had never heard of, unique with crooked cut parchment, and some still smelling of ink. Fresh copies. He flicked through the first few pages of a fairytale: A breakfast in the woods. It seemed fairly demonic in nature, going into the ideas of old fairytales and the old gods, and yet, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

Written with illustrations and brief poems, it didn’t make sense in the slightest. But it would give him something to do. He could fill a whole notebook with quotes, and perhaps he could add it some lines of his own. He would do that often, which is why he cut off his personal library to everyone else. They didn't need to know what he wrote in the margins. It was like therapy. Except, not as good, and it didn’t solve much. His eye continued to wander until he came across the most curious thing. 

The Big Book of Sea and Sand. It was the only copy, and it looked as though it had been beaten with a hammer. It was full of drawings and diagrams of sea creatures that he couldn’t even be bothered to pronounce, and passages full of words he didn’t know existed. After a moment of pondering, he went to the counter, where an old woman resided. Her hair was gray and thin, and her head was covered with a crown of shells and wood. It was messy, and ugly, but pretty in a way that was both endearing and off putting. “Just these, please,” He said, holding up both of the books. 

 “Three silvers,” She said, her fingers trailing over the titles as she wrapped the hard covers in gritty paper. He scoffed, shaking his head and placing his hand down. 

“They are not worth that much and you know it. That book looks as though it has been stomped on by a herd of filthy sheep,” He said, eye narrowed. He knew he could afford it, but there was a thrill in the bargain. And besides, if he walked out with a good deal, he would be able to buy more books with the same pocket. The woman raised her brows, her forehead wrinkling like the face of an old dog.

 “But the knowledge is still worth three silvers. The covers may be ugly, but the value does not change,” She said, wrapping the stack in twine. He sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked down. 

“Two books do not cost three silvers,” He mumbled.

 “How about this. Two books, and one fine quill.” She spoke, holding up what seemed to be a peacock feather. It was large and extravagant, the fibers of the feathers shining with the colors of the deep sea, swirls of green and rich violet. “You have a deal,” He said, popping the three silver coins on the counter and pushing his package into the pocket of his cloak. As he moved for the exit, he walked past a bin as large as a wagon, full of glass beads. Some were humongous, while others were the size of a pin head. Small burlap sacks were placed next to the box, along with a sign.

A bag of beads for a copper. What was anyone to do with so many of them? Make bracelets for a whole kingdom? He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he left the shop, before an idea tickled his brain. What did women love more than money and flattery? Gifts. And what was better than a gift? Something handmade, with love. Slowly, he walked backwards until his feet were back on the wooden floor, and he didn’t bother looking as he filled up a burlap sack with two scoops of beads, glass and nut and wood. 

“This, too.” He said, putting the copper down before the woman could respond. The night was growing old, and he did not care to be out when storms were brewing and sex was in the air. He groaned as he moved through the forest, the cold air lapping at his warm skin and nipping at his exposed ears. He could see the glow of candles gleaming in the windows of the maids quarters, and the silhouette of Helaena doing her nightly pacing. Perhaps she would like a bracelet, too. And he was very aware of how many beads he had purchased. Maybe one for his mother, as well.

Even though he knew that she would not wear it. His hands twitched as he dragged himself to his chambers. Whoever built the Keep had to be smoking something stronger than the Gods if they thought this place would be walkable. It took him half an hour to navigate in the darkness, until he finally collided with his bed, slapping his purchases down on his bedside table as exhaustion climbed up his spine. But he could not sleep just yet. 

He would have to bathe, to wash the scent of the city off his skin. There was a constant smell of smoke and sweat in the air, and his shoes would need a wash too. He had no idea what he had stepped in that smelled so vile, and he wasn’t certain that he wanted to know what was in the mystery substance. He poured himself a cup of wine, running his bath until his mirror was coated with steam. His heart thumped as he stared at his reflection. He hardly ever had his mirrors uncovered, he often forgot what he looked like. It was easier this way. His eyes wandered down to his chest, covered in small bruises of love bites and knicks and scratches from training.

His hands were calloused from holding swords and reigns. He’d let himself be hardened like a diamond in the earth. With a sigh, he slowly sat in his bath, wincing from the heat as his skin flashed bright red like a boiling crab. He pulled the pins from his hair, letting it get covered in water, the artificially straight strands scrunching into their natural curls. How he hated it. It was too Hightower. It took away from his regal appearance, in his opinion, at least. 

He only bathed every few days, and he knew the morning would be spent in his chair, hours of having a hot comb scraped across his scalp and ends. It would only last three days before his hair would get too heavy with grease and need another wash. His ankles rested on the edge of the tub, and he drank his wine until a splash spilled into the water, twirling like blood. He groaned, downing the rest of the cup before he finally washed himself, scratching his scalp with his nails as a mountain of shampoo grew on his skin.

The sun would be up soon, and just as the first touches of sun spread across the sky, his cheek hit his pillow. He knew it was close to noon when he heard the loud screeches of the birds and the maesters, and he groaned as he lifted his blankets over his head, burying his face in the plush. His hair was a mess of frizz all around him, like an unkept mane of a lion. A knock hit against his door, echoing off his wall. With a huff, he slowly sat up, pawing around for his eyepatch that had gone flying off in his slumber. It was upside down and hardly secured to his head when he called out, clearing his throat.

 “Yes?” He calls out, waiting for a response. After two seconds, he rolled his eye, standing up and throwing on his long, heavy robe, swinging the door open, finding his knight. “Yes?” He repeated tiredly.

 “Your mother requests your presence in her solar,” The guard responded. He didn’t understand why his mother could never come to his chambers to speak to him. It made him feel a certain way, one that he didn’t really understand. She frequently visited Helaena, and yet.. He was not worth the effort. He nodded quietly, thanking the knight before he rang his bell, summoning his maids. There were maids that were meant to help him dress, but he didn’t care much for people touching him, or seeing his bare body. Especially people that he would have to see around his home. It was an odd concept. And he liked the one that did his hair. She was quiet, and she didn’t expect anything. She would simply light a candle and heat the metal comb, wiping it on wet fabric until it sizzled. 

“You could do well with a thinning.” She said. He didn’t respond, sitting still and biting down on his lip as the teeth of the comb bumped his skin. It took nearly an hour for all of his hair to be hot and straight, and the maid helped him to get the leather bands in, keeping it out of his face. “It is supposed to rain today. Do not go outside, or all of this will be in vain,” She spoke, and he nodded as she wrapped her supplies back up, slipping out the door. He dressed in his day clothes, which were not so different from the ones he wore to bed. A white undershirt that was hidden by the darkness of his doublet, a golden buckled belt resting on his hips.

Giving himself a glance in the mirror, he quickly corrected his eyepatch before heading out his door, heading to his mothers solar. She had learned very quickly that when she wanted to speak with him, it was best to send for him an hour earlier than she actually expected. He took longer than most princesses to prepare for his day, knocking on the door. When his mother opened the door, she looked bright and excited, like a puppy. His brows raised. He was not used to seeing his mother so enthusiastic, so unmasked. He smiled back, slowly, though he wasn’t sure why they were smiling. “We have a response,” She says, quickly going to her desk and holding up a letter. It didn’t look to be very long, and he carefully grabbed it in his hands.

Your Grace,

We are delighted that you have chosen to reach out to us. Luckily, Emberwyn still remains unwed and is almost a woman grown. While she is not overly fond of the idea of marriage, she would be willing to meet with your youngest son, Aemond. We would like to invite you and your son to our home on the 20th day of the Moon. We will provide a dinner of fish, clams, and crabs, and would love to have you stay as guests for the night. Our guest chambers have just been redone and are in great need of a break-in. 

Lord Tully.

Aemond read the letter a few times over, just in case he misread anything. “The 20th day? Isn’t that in only four days?” He asks, brows scrunched. It would be a long journey by carriage, unless, of course, he went on dragonback. Which could go brilliantly, or lead to him horrifying the woman he hoped to court. “It is. It would do us well to start packing. And do your best not to say anything unsavory,” She spoke, waving to some maids, having them get her trunks. “Unsavory?” He repeats, staring down at her. It was hard for him to believe that he had been shorter than her, once. When he was 14, he had the biggest of growth spurts. For four moons straight, all he did was eat and sleep, and suddenly he was 6 feet and built like the statues in the Sept. 

“It would not be proper to speak of the histories and philosophies. While I know you enjoy such topics, it is not appropriate to discuss at a lunch with a lady. Be sure to stick to simple topics that could not lead to arguing. The weather, the meal, her gown, your journey. And try your best not to speak of your swords,” She spoke, and as much as he would love to argue, he bit his tongue and nodded. He didn’t understand the rules of courting. What was the point of speaking on the passing of the clouds and the burning of the sun? It would tell nothing of his character, nor Emberwyn’s. And he did not want to marry a simpleton. She would have to have at least some interest in his hobbies, as he would in hers. If she had many hobbies. And he hoped that she did. A pit grew in his stomach as he watched the maids pack up his things. It was becoming too real.

 The excitement of the letter was greater than this feeling. Of not knowing what would happen. But now that he knew he would actually be meeting her, face to face, he twisted in discomfort. He frowned as the maids packed his ugliest clothes. The coats that he hoped he would never have to wear in the public. He always found his formal clothes to be hideous. The high colors, the bright red, the gems. He only sighed to himself as he took his books and his bag of beads to the library, burying himself at a table between the shelves. They were like a protective wall around him. As he untied the twine that kept the packaging paper together, he was careful not to cut it or wrinkle it too much, stretching it out. It was as big as his wingspan, and he tried to get an idea of how short it would be. 

As he cut it with his knife, he silently ridiculed himself. Why would a noble lady want a beaded mess crafted by his hands? He only got more agitated as he tried to get the tiny beads onto the material, his eye squinting. The end didn’t want to get into the hole. Licking his lips, he took a deep breath as he sucked the end of the twine, trying to get the end to be more narrow, trying to shove it through the hole once more. It took him perhaps an hour to get ten beads on teh twine, and he stared tiredly at it, setting it down. “Maeya,” He spoke, calling over one of the maids as the sweeped the library floor. She was quiet and chubby, a bit younger and shorter than him. 

“Yes, my Prince?” She asked. She looked anxious, as if he were about to fire her on spot, despite the fact that he didn’t hold that authority. He always felt guilt in his belly whenever the maids reacted to him in such a way, perhaps afraid that he would treat them the same way that his brother did.

 “Come here, please. Let me see your wrist,” He spoke, waving her over. After a moment of hesitance, she lifted the sleeves of her dirty gown. Her fingers were squishy and stumpy, and her skin held no jewlery. Based on what he was picturing in his mind, her and Emberwyn were probably the same size. “You are a woman. Or a girl. You are something.” He said awkwardly as he wrapped the twine around her wrist, pinching the material where the twine would wrap comfortably on her skin. 

“...Thank you?” She mumbled, brows scurnched. She couldn’t tell where he was going with this, and her cheeks were getting a little pink. “You’re welcome.” He said, taking the twine back. “So- what do you know about women? Do you think a woman some years older than you would like something such as this?” He asked, holding up what he had so far. He was trying to copy a pattern from a book of traditional beading, but it was much too advanced for him to follow correctly. He was certain he had repeated the same step a few times.

 “...I think a woman would,” She responded honestly. “It is not my taste. But it is the thought that counts.” She spoke. He nodded, fiddling with the jewlery in his hand. “I think these beads are prettier,” She says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a few shell beads. Some were clay, but she seemed to stay away from the glass ones. 

“You like them more than the glass?” He asked, watching her nod. She slowly sat down, combing through the small spheres. 

“I think that you should use a shell as the center piece. Who is this for?” She asked, taking the twine into her own hands. “A lady. A fine lady of Riverrun.” he said, a hint of pride in his tone. She hummed, turning the project in her hands a few times. “Well. For a lady of riverrun, perhaps she would like something with a natural look. Use the wood and the shells, and try to follow a zigzag knot for the closure,” She suggested, and he nodded as though he understood.

 “A zigzag knot, of course,” he mumbles, sighing as she walked away. When he finally finished crafting the bracelet, it was time for his afternoon meal of a meat pie and eggs, and he ate as he leaned over one of his books. 

“Posture,” Alicent reminded him softly, making him sigh as he straightened up. She was one of the only people that ever saw him act like a child. Hunched over, picking at his food, mumbling under his breath. And yet, he could never see the same from her. She had played her role so hard that she forgot her own little quirks. He just hoped that he would never live that way.

 “Are you anxious?” She asked quietly, and he nodded as he set his book down. 

“I am, of course. I do not like being away from home. And I do not like travelling by carriage,” He reminded her. The last time he had done so was before he lost his eye. Since then, he was not keen on travel. He preferred to stay home as much as he could.

 “I know that. But this is only the first meeting. And once you both agree to a proper courtship, things will progress. Perhaps she could come here, or maybe she will even be interested in meeting Vhagar, but I cannot make any promises,” She responded, and he nodded as his eye wandered. 

“Eat your food before it gets cold,” She spoke, and he chewed quietly. “Enjoy it while you can. In Riverrun, all they ever eat is fish. Disgusting.” She mumbled, sipping her tea. He fought the urge to scoff, leaning back in his seat. 

“I hope you do not say that while we are in their home,” He said, and she laughed quietly against her cup. 

“Of course not. I know better. Now, we have to leave in a day, so make sure that you have everything you wish to bring,” She said as she dug into her small bowl of fruit. 

“In a day? I thought they were not expecting us for a few more nights?” He asked, to which she nodded. 

“It is a long journey. It is best to leave early than arrive late.” She spoke, and that night, he slept in his bed as a single man for what he hoped to be the last time. For the next afternoon, he would be on his way to Riverrun.

Thank you to everyone who reads!!!

-BK ♡

[lifeismaxleymaxleyislife]

Birds and the Bees

Summery: After walking in on Max and his boyfriend in a less then ideal situation Goofy decides to give his son THE TALK (new and improved edition!)

This fic contains: some explicit material

“Oh Maxie,” Bradley moaned as Max sucked on his neck,probably leaving bright red marks along his skin. But Bradley was too lost in the pleasure to care, allowing himself to be pushed further into the thin blue blanket the two had to rely on at night to keep them warm. 

A part of him should be ashamed, he knew. Being aroused while in the room his boyfriend had spent most of his life inside of. He looked to the windows covered by baby blue curtains with patterns of rubber duckies sprawled along, bits of the night sky peeking past the limited fabric.

Max claimed that his father had put them up after he moved out to keep the room from looking too bland and he hadn’t seen them since he was seven, but Bradley had a hard time believing that story.

He wondered what sort of embarrassing story material had unfolded within these walls, stories that Mr.Goof had yet to tell him about. The life Max lived before he ever stepped foot on college campus. Before he ever met him.

 He was so close to hearing about that one time Baby Goof tried to build his own personal indoor ramp in his room, but right when he was getting to the good part he was rudely interrupted by a bright-faced Max dragging him outside for a round of horseshoes in the backyard. Bradley had won, of course, and he made a note to wake up early and continue the conversation with Mr.Goof over a cup of coffee.

“Mmmm Max!” Bradley groaned, pulling away from the pleasure when he felt his boyfriend’s lips enclose over a certain spot “I told you nothing above the collar; they won’t heal by the time we get to my parents,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb anyone outside the door.

 Max smirked, a smirk Bradley both hated and found irresistible-a smirk that made him want to slap him for looking so smug but also kiss him for looking sexy while doing it. “Well, sorry, I’m kind of working without my guide,” he said, tilting his head towards his maroon shaded sweater topped by a bright blue collared shirt. 

Bradley sighed, baring his neck a silent request for Max to continue his previous ministrations but also a threat that he better be careful. They had to be out of the Goof family home and on his parent’s front door step by noon and if sees a single hickey in plain sight, he would personally be serving Maxamillian soup on a silver platter as an appetizer.

The last thing he wanted nor needed was an unwanted comment about his ‘lifestyle’ from a aunt he didn’t even know the name of.

This visit was supposed to be a pit stop for free food and a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep on an actual bed, but somehow dinner stretched all the way until midnight.

Bradley’s hands moved to Max’s tank top, the only piece of clothing he had left aside from his boxers. Max groaned, separating his lips from Bradley’s neck long enough to toss his article of clothing aside, not caring where it landed, before diving back in, this time taking Bradley’s lips into his.

Bradley moaned at the contact, wrapping his arms around Max's broad shoulders, pulling him as close as their bodies would allow them to be. He let one of his arms wander lower, palming the front of his boxers and feeling the way it flattened around his fully erect dick. He groaned into Bradley’s mouth making him smile in satisfaction. He rubbed his hand teasingly up and down before letting his fingers rest at the waistband.

“Come on,” Max mumbled against his lips.

“Be patient, Baby Goof,” Bradly teased “We have all night,” He bit down on his boyfriend’s bottom lip pulling it seductively finally plunging his hand beneath the boxers.

“Maxie! I brought you two more blankets to keep you warm!” Mr.Goof’s voice announced, accompanied by the opening of a door.

“Ow, Shit!” Max cursed after he quickly pulled away from Bradley, his lip still trapped between his teeth. Bradley cringed as he tasted the blood on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t know you two were uh-,” Mr.Goof began “I would have knocked if I knew-” 

“Dad, get out!” Max exclaimed, cutting his father off mid sentence or Bradley supposed could be classified as a ramble.

His dad stared at them like a deer caught in headlights for a second before responding, “Right! I’ll just leave these right here for when you need them,” he placed the blanket on Max’s dresser that sat a few feet into the room before turning to exit, pausing in the doorway to look back. “Have fun, now. You two are adults, so it’s safe to say you know about-”

“Dad! Can this please wait until tomorrow?”  Max interrupted again.

“Right. see you in the morning!” Mr.Goof said followed by the sound of the wooden door closing shut.

The two of them sat in silence, not knowing what to say until Bradley broke the silence with a chuckle, the sound echoing throughout the room. 

 “Ugh, this is an instant boner killer,” Max groaned.

“Oh, come on Baby Goof,” Bradley teased, straddling his boyfriend’s hips. “It’s not like he walked in while we were going all the way.”

“I sense an awkward conversation in my future.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing that talk is all the way in the future,” Bradley said, moving further down the bed until his face was in front of Max’s now mildly erect cock. “Now, come on I said we had the whole night, didn’t I?”

“What are you- oh,” Max’s question fell on deaf ears as it was drowned out by his own moans.

---

“I don’t know what to do, Sylvie,” Goofy said, pacing back and forth in front of their king-sized bed.

“Well, it was bound to happen at some point, dear,” Sylvia replied, not looking up from the book she was currently absorbed in. “I think they both know it was only an accident.” 

“But the reaction I had, what if Maxie thinks I don’t support him and his relationship?”

“Hey,” Sylvia called out to him before he could delve deeper into his own thoughts, her emerald green eyes keeping him grounded as she stared at him. “I gave him the talk when he was younger, you know, the birds and the bees. But now he has a boyfriend. Does that make me a bad father for not considering the possibility of it happening? Did I let him go into the world unprepared? Did I-”

Sylvia kissed him gently, their lips meeting briefly before she pulled back. “I know that you love Max and you want to see him happy. You see that Bradly makes him happy, right?” He nodded. “You’re a fantastic father, Goofy, and the fact you are worrying about this only cements the fact. You'll find your own special way to make sure Max knows just how much you care. Now come on,” She held her hand out towards him, “let’s go to bed.”

A smile spread across Goofy’s face, reaching the corners of his eyes as he took her hand in his own. “Thanks Sylvie,” he said, closing the gap between them to plant a peck on her lips before following her to the bed.

---

“Morning boys!” Goofy greeted, sliding the last pancake onto its plate. “I made your favorite Maxie chocolate chip pancakes,” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Max said, taking his plate along with Bradley and going to sit at the dining room table. Goofy noted the fact that Max didn’t look him in the eyes when he said that.

“It’s now or never,” he told himself.

“Hey Maxie,” he said, ringing his hands together, “can we talk?” His eyes moved to Bradley who was eating through his pancakes as if he hadn’t had a meal in ages. “Outside.” 

Max looked over to his boyfriend, who shrugged before going back to eating. “Sure,” he said, before following his father’s lead to the backyard. 

They walked in silence for a while before stopping in front of the horseshoe stakes, three stacked atop one another on the particular one they were in front of.

“You see, son, being with someone is like a game of horseshoe,” he started, to which his son groaned.

“Dad, I don’t need the horseshoe lecture anymore. I’m a grown man now,”

Goofy ignored him, continuing with the lecture “You give and you give, stacking onto each other with love.” He threw them at the opposite stake until both of them were even in number.

“And sometimes the love is so much that you want to express it in a different way.” He held up a stake and a horseshoe before quickly dropping the latter narrowly missing it from crushing his foot. “But you know, sometimes it doesn’t have to be a horseshoe you love. Sometimes it can be another stake.” He said, quickly rushing over to the other stake and pulling it up from the ground.

“And just because they seem too similar doesn’t mean they don’t fit together. But they shouldn’t be put together all willy-nilly because just like a horseshoe a stake can have rust and it can hurt the other stake without knowing so it is better to be safe and keep things clean with a wipe or spray, so everything is-”

“Dad,” Max interrupted, head slightly tilted to the left, eyes glued to the two stakes his father was trying to mash together. “What are we talking about right now?” 

Goofy sighed, dropping his head low to face the ground. “I’m trying to give you the talk I should have given you all those years ago. The birds and the bees, or the bee and the bee, or bird and the bird, or is it stake and the stake,”

Max chuckled, placing his hand on his father’s shoulders “Dad, look, I appreciate it, but I already know everything I need to know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, well, the internet turned out to be a great tool when I was figuring things out.” 

“It should have been me helping you. It’s my job as a father.”

“Well, it’s not like you could have known what I was into or who I would end up with, but I appreciate you for trying,” Max said “it means a lot to me,”

“Aww, Maxie,” Goofy gushed, pulling his son into a hug which he returned, his arms wrapping around his father’s torso.

------

Thank you so much to for reading! This is my first time writing fanfiction and I am so happy to be here! I haven't watched the movie in a while so I wrote the personalities the best I could. Please feel free to comment whether positive or constructive.

Till Next Time! Bye!

[jojo-schmo]

A Walk Down my Art Memory Lane!

Now that I’m thinking about my childhood Kirby art, I dug through my storage a bit and thought it’d be fun to share a few! Here are some of Baby Jojo’s drawings!

note: I was not active in any online Kirby art communities at the time and I never posted these anywhere so I made these drawings just for my own enjoyment hehehe.

These are probably among my earliest Kirby drawings. Most likely ~2008!! I must’ve been in fifth grade maybe…? The first picture is a very rare example of pre-2022 Dedede sightings in my art. Around 2010 I became embarrassed and frustrated about not being able to figure his shapes out. So I spent the next 12 years avoiding him at all costs and instead sticking to the safer things to draw, like nice round Bronto Burts or Waddle Dees. Who knew it would take me writing an entire comic about him in 2022 to finally learn to draw him in my style!! :P

The second picture speaks for itself lol. I was the girl who googled “maskless meta knight” back when we had no fancy 3D renderings of his face. Just edits of anime screenshots and fanart of him holding his mask/getting his mask stolen and looking at you with the biggest, pearliest, white eyes. JPEG artifacts littered these images like sprinkles on a cupcake. And I would giggle and squee with every one like the baby fangirl of Meta Knight I was. :3

This one was probably ~2009. Very ambitious piece for me at that age. I struggled with the perfect roundness of Kirby haha. I had just gotten these cool alphabet stencils and couldn’t wait to write “Kirby” everywhere with them. This was probably the complete catalogue of Kirby characters I had the ability to draw at that time. It’s funny to think about how Magolor wouldn’t exist for another two years when I drew this.

Hmm. Maybe I should redraw this one day as a fun honor for my younger self.

Triple Waddle Dees!! A rare but precious Sailor Dee sighting, and of course my sweet Bandana Dee. This was probably around 2011 after Return to Dreamland came out and I came to adore Bandee. :3

This is probably around 2012- some time after Mass Attack came out. I had this AU at the time where each of the 10 Kirbies from Mass Attack had their own personality trait from the original Kirby, and a permanent copy ability assigned to them. Hence the Spark Kirby having wings and a halo like in the game- where you get damaged and have to rescue the poor Angel Kirbies before you lose that life!

Also my Poppy Bro Jr OC that I don’t think I named at the time- but I redrew him recently and named him Allegro the Poppy Bro. I loved drawing his hair and his funny teeth :D

Finally, I redrew just a few of the characters from my old drawings tonight. Just doodling for fun, nothing serious. But it’s something my child self would be happy to know I could do.

Guess I’d better draw all the Dededes that Baby Jojo missed out on drawing!! Thank you to anyone who read to this point. I encourage anyone to draw things that would make their younger, baby self proud of you. ….even though I bet they already are proud of you. <3

Remember, as long as you keep drawing, you’ll improve at your pace! Just keep at it! You’ll notice that difference over the years!

[legobiwan]

“Please don’t let me be alone.”

“I’m right here, okay?”

“You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” Mario and Luigi.

(Completely 100% platonic. That last one can be them talking about things changing for them in the romance department, and worrying that's going to pull them away from each other. Just as an example. )

I decided to take this in a slightly different direction, anon :)

So, a bit of context. This takes place pre-SPM, but there's some foreshadowing in there, so probably a month or two before that whole series of events goes down.

While I know Luigi and Mario talk, we have evidence that Luigi keeps some things from his brother, mostly related to his more negative emotions, as shown in the diary scenes of Paper Mario 64. I kind of run a little bit with this idea here.

As to what Luigi is looking for in terms of love...I'll let you all decide. I'll say upfront that this is written as a purely platonic relationship between Luigi and Mario, and I know exactly who I am thinking of in those last lines, but that's - literally - another story.

Very little editing has been done here, caveat lector and all that jazz.

Also, poor Morel. He's trying. Probably too hard. You'll meet him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Mario!”

The owner of the squeaky voice toddled up the path towards them, his small stature unbalanced by the large guitar strapped to his back, the neck of which seesawed with every step.

“Hi, there!” Mario greeted, the Toad letting out a small oomph as he half-collapsed against Mario’s side, hands on his knees, his ruby-red vest soaked with sweat.

Luigi really hoped the kid wouldn’t keel over this time. 

“Do - “ Morel panted, taking a large swallow before trying again. “Do you have a minute?”

At this point, it was part of their routine. He and his brother would decide to run an errand in the town, maybe check out one of their favorite spots. Let’s pick up some cherry juice from that cafe or Hey, how about we go to that market and see if the new sports equipment is in, his brother would say airily, as if it was going to be a quick thing, an easy jaunt into Mushroom Square and back home before the mail came.

These days, it was never a quick thing. Not with his brother around, at least. What had been maybe a weekly occurrence had exploded into a near-daily even, the denizens of the Mushroom Kingdom stopping to ask his brother for a picture, or an autograph, or even a piece of advice in relation to plumbing, mechanics, or even relationships. 

As if being the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom made Mario some kind of expert in psychology.

Of course, this meant everyday chores that would have taken no more than ten minutes in Brooklyn bloated into an all-day activity, his brother unable to turn down the beaming faces and adulation of the Mushroom citizenry. In the end, Luigi had taken full control over the majority of the domestic duties in their shared house, if for no other reason than the fact he could get to the market and back in a reasonable amount of time.

No one ever stopped Luigi to ask for advice. Not usually, and if they did, it was quick and usually in relation to either his brother or, oddly enough, King Boo, whose name had become as synonymous with Luigi’s as the whispered commentary of “coward” and “oddball” that trailed him like toilet paper stuck on a shoe.

Most of the time, the Toads wanted to know what it was like being trapped in the painting, what horrors he saw there, if it was the afterlife, or something similar. Luigi had given up on trying to correct them after the first few times, giving out uninspired answers like “dark and scary,” which seemed to both placate the Mushroom Kingdom residents’ thirst for grisly gossip and align with their internal schema for who they thought Luigi was. 

It didn’t matter, in the end. He had saved his brother. Twice. The health and safety of everyone involved was more important than his ego.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from occasionally daydreaming about King Boo attacking the Mushroom Kingdom, just so Luigi could prove a point

“You know, Morel,” Luigi said, shaking thoughts of Toads screaming for his help from his mind, “we were on our way to pick up some - “

“It’s okay, Lou,” Mario interrupted with a brisk wave. “Shop doesn’t close for another hour and I’m sure Morel won’t take too much of our time.

Luigi was sure the opposite would be true, but far be it from him to be the bad guy and tell Morel to come back later. His reputation in the Mushroom Kingdom was dicey enough as it was - he wasn’t to exacerbate things by being mean to a teen Toad.

As Morel and his brother talked, Luigi let his thoughts wander. He nixed their shopping list, weighing the pros and cons of raiding the back of the cupboard for whatever dregs of food they had left. He wondered if Mario even remembered who Morel was, watching his brother make the appropriate gestures and smiling widely, that glimmer of recognition absent in his brother’s expression. He couldn’t really blame Mario, not for that. How many times can you be asked for an autograph or advice before all those faces blurred together? Even Luigi couldn’t always keep them straight, and he had a lot more time to quietly observe and register his brother’s admirers. 

Morel, however, was not to be forgotten. The last time he had accosted them, he had wanted to show off one of his many creative endeavors, this time an hour-long, abstruse interpretative dance performance that was somehow supposed to help with diplomatic relations at an upcoming summit between the Mushroom Kingdom and the Yoshis. 

Five minutes in, Mario’s eyes had glazed over. Ten minutes in and three pirouetting Piranhas later, Luigi found himself mentally running over a table for standard thermodynamic values in select substances. Carbon was always the hard one. Way too many possibilities.

Luigi bit the inside of his cheek, bringing his attention back to the conversation.

“So Mario,” Morel unsheathed his guitar from his back, pulling a crumpled piece of paper with multiple strikeouts from his pocket. “Have you ever liked a girl? Like, liked like?”

Luigi choked down a laugh. The Romeo of Room 312. That’s what he had called his brother back in middle school, who pined after a different girl every week. Vanessa Tuccio, Jackie Galagio, Stephanie Rizzo. None of them gave his brother the time of day, Mario still being in that awkward stage where he hadn’t made up for his lack of height with an abundance of muscle, his voice teetering somewhere between squeaky laryngitis and the hoarse, nasal tenor of a common cold.

By the time they hit high school (and Mario’s voice had finally dropped), that all changed, his brother doing pretty well himself in the dating department, at least as far as Luigi could tell. They weren’t as close those years, with he and Mario at different schools, Luigi buried in a mountain of chemistry and physics textbooks while his brother hung out with his jock friends at a ratty gym on 86th Street. 

But he had taken a nice girl to prom. Had had a few breakups, some of them Mario’s fault. All what Luigi assumed was normal teenage stuff.

Not that he really knew.

Luigi had tried dating a few girls in high school, girls with long hair, glasses, and a religious devotion to the periodic table. Nothing ever went past the clammy hand-holding stage and one very awkward kiss over a smuggled bottle of cheap wine on the Coney Island boardwalk, each girl in question giving him a polite brush-off after a week or two, only to attach themselves to some other guy who somehow seemed to know how to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

Frankly, it was a miracle Luigi had lost his virginity at all by the time he graduated, his new-found, reckless courage bolstered by the death of his father and the whole shitstorm with the family business being ripped out from under their noses. He had barely finished senior year, whatever motivation he had once had to claw himself out of Bensonhurst and into Cooper Union whisked away once he was faced with the reality of being a seventeen year old orphan staring down a mountain of unpaid bills and a deceased father who may or may not have owed favors to the mob.

From that point onwards, he and Mario were focused on survival, on running a third-rate plumbing business out of a second-rate studio, Luigi elbows-deep in the guts of their father’s van more often than not, neither he nor Mario willing or able to shell out the cash for an actual mechanic. It was tenuous and relentless, and there was no way either of them had the energy or capacity to think about something as banal as dating when creditors and loan sharks were breathing down their neck every five days.

And then - their lives had been turned upside-down once again.

The concept of dating in the Mushroom Kingdom was laughable, and Luigi had resigned himself to a monastic existence while they figured out a way back to Brooklyn. There were so few humans around and it was clear from the outset that there something was going on between his brother and Peach, even if it had never advanced beyond hugs that lasted a few seconds too long to be called friendly and doe-eyed glances cast across the long tables of the the palace dining room.

Which left Luigi the odd man out, a situation he was overly-familiar with in this new world, his brother the famous hero of the Kingdom and Luigi himself an afterthought, at best. And sure, he had met a few other human women - smart, funny, beautiful human women who seemed to like talking with him, who, against all odds, found him genuinely interesting. 

But despite his brother egging him on, Luigi couldn’t quite find the motivation to try and turn that friendly flirting into anything more. Sure, Daisy was amazing and a force of nature. And Princess Eclair had been utterly captivating, to the point where Luigi wondered if she was some kind of enchantress. But for all of that, there was something missing, something he couldn’t quite make fit, a niggle in the back of his brain with his father’s voice, telling him to hit the gym, to put down his books and stop wearing those colorful socks or else he was going to get a reputation - the kind of reputation that ended with a fist in your face in a Brooklyn Heights Promenade bathroom.

There was something else, something more he wanted. But he was damned if was going to find it in the Mushroom Kingdom, and with the likelihood of them ever getting back to Brooklyn diminishing with each passing year - well, those monks didn’t have too bad a life, right?

“Okay, okay, are you guys ready?” Morel had sat himself on a small boulder, motioning for Luigi and Mario to follow suit. With his audience in place, the teen Toad strummed a few chords on his guitar, reaching up to adjust the tuning, then strumming again, then tuning, a process which took at least five minutes. Luigi was no musician, but even he was pretty sure Morel was just stalling at this point.

“Alright,” Morel sighed, breathy. “So, there’s this girl, right? And she’s really pretty. And I want to impress her, like, really impress her. She’s all into this band,” Morel’s face twisted, “Lion’s Mane and their front Toad is super cool and good-looking. I figure I can win her over if I show I can sing just as good as him, if I can write my own songs and everything! So here we go.”

Morel straightened, his small fingers digging into spaces above and below the frets. He took a large breath from his nose, held it, and then began play.

“Please don’t let me be alone.

I’ll talk to you on the phone.

I lose my spores,

When you walk on through those doors.

I’m right here, okay?

Right on the Mushroom Way.

It’s my time to say,

Chanterelle, you’re so swell!”

With a florid movement, Morel ran his thumb over the strings for the final chord, a broken set of notes that reminded Luigi of a dying carburetor he once tried to fix in his racing kart. Next to him, his brother’s smile was plastered on so tight Luigi thought his face might break in two if he tried any harder. 

“So what do you think, Mario? Do you think Chanterelle will date me?”

His brother’s eyes went wide, Mario’s smile growing even larger as he drummed his fingers on the knee of his pants. 

“I think,” Luigi offered, taking pity on his brother, “you put a lot of effort into this and Chanterelle will certainly be…surprised.”

Morel bounced up and down on his heels. “Do you think she’ll feel the love in this song?”

Luigi side-eyed his brother, who looked about one misplaced word away from bursting out in laughter. A small, vindictive part of Luigi wanted to pop the perfect persona his brother had cultivated, wanted the image of the hero be brought down to the level of the man he knew his brother was.

But looking at Morel’s shimmering eyes, the open admiration glowing from his small body - Luigi knew wasn’t going to do that to him. 

“You’ve certainly shown us what love can look like,” Luigi said, diplomatic. “And sound like.” Like you need a mechanic, he thought.

Morel punched the air. “Yes! Oh boy! Thank you! Thank you, Mario, you’re the best! I’m gonna go find Chanterelle right now!” The teen toad scrambled to get his guitar on his back, setting off in the direction of the Town Center, looking back every few seconds to give enthusiastic waves.

Mario let out a small laugh. “Thanks for the save, bro.”

“Eh,” Luigi shrugged. “I didn’t say anything untrue. He certainly demonstrated what love could be.”

“I just hope she lets him down easy. It’s a rough age for that stuff, human or Toad.”

Luigi hummed in response, looking out over the emerald-green hills that dotted the path to the Town Center. It was probably a rough age for that stuff at any age, trying to navigate love - to know another person and let them know you. 

“Hey Mario. While we’re on the topic, what about you and - “

“Still want to go to the market, Lou?” Mario asked, the slightest tremor of panic in his voice. Luigi had been trying, without success, to get his brother to open up about the whole situation with him and Peach had been trying to get him to shed the persona that was slowly taking over his everyday existence. Not that Mario was being mean or deliberately distant. He was still his brother, they still talked together, laughed together, occasionally cried together. But Luigi still couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed. Something about the way Mario’s focus drifted every time they met up in Rogueport, or how he had come out of that painting the second time, vigorously shaking Luigi’s hand like he was running for political office. 

Luigi gave a silent nod, picking up his tote bag from the ground before following his brother’s lead, starting off in the direction of the town

Then again, maybe it was for the best. If Mario didn’t have to tell Luigi about his private life, then Luigi wouldn’t have to share his, wouldn’t have to get into the creeping insecurities and resentment that clouded parts of his existence in the Mushroom Kingdom. Wouldn’t have to explain that he didn’t know what love looked like, at least not the love he thought he was seeking, the part of him that craved understanding, with being known, unconditionally.

He had his brother. They were alive, healthy, and together. It would have to be enough.

[watermelonsugacry]

Quick question do the fans know about bandmembers relationship with her father? Like I know she probably keeps it very private but they must’ve found some stuff out. Also have people asked her often like interviewers or anyone really about where her father was since he was never brought up? Seems invasive but I’m sure there would be some interviewers who would cross the line. Anyways love you!!😘😘

She keeps that side of her past VERY private but the fans are like the FBI so of course they find out bits and pieces.

Like they know that her father wasn't present in her life and how she doesn't want him to be in her life anymore. They know he lives a rich life now and has a separate family--the fans were quick to investigate and find out that his new wife and daughters went to one of her shows for her most recent tour. And that YN was kind enough to take a picture with them backstage and sign a little something for them.

The fans know that Penny isn't her biological mother but they don't see or treat her any differently than if she was. The fans LOVE Penny and love how much she loves YN.

There was one time in an interview when they asked about YN's family pretty early on in her career. It was in a group interview before heading off on their first world tour. It was an innocent question that got her worked up:

"And you, YN? How about your parents? Are they coming to the first show as well?" The woman asked in a perky tone before extending the padded microphone in YN's direction.

"Um, well me stepmum is gonna come along," She says from her spot squished in between the boys. "Penny loves the boys and gets real excited whenever she sees them so that should be pretty embarrassing," Seventeen-year-old YN lets out a playfully pained laugh at knowing how Penny gets when she's around the rest of her bandmates. Her stepmum loves to pinch their cheeks like they're in primary school. Hopefully her response was enough to redirect the question.

"And your dad?" The interview lady presses on. "I'm sure he would like to see his little girl making her dream come true."

The term "his little girl" makes her want to cringe. She never considered herself as such. She's still working on her media training, on taming her smart mouth from snapping back, so she tries her best to mask her uncomfortableness with a smile but it comes out strained.

"I'm sure he would."

The boys sensed her uneasiness as soon as the question left the interviewer's mouth. Thankfully, after a stern look from one of their management representatives from behind the camera, the woman quickly moves on to another question.

It became a subject that their management team prohibited any interviewer to ask which she was grateful for. Yet, the subject of her father probably would have come up in her first H*ward S*ern interview or something because we all know he's hella invasive.

"So your father," The horrid interviewer begins behind his microphone and unnecessary sunglasses. "He was a drunk wasn't he?"

It wasn't a question but more of an assured assumption to try to embarrass her. But anyone who knows YN knows that she doesn't take shit--especially when it comes to this host.

"Takes one to know one, huh?" YN counters with a faux furrow of her brows and an innocent tilt of her head.

Fans love to edit the video with close-ups of each of her band members' reactions that sit behind her:

Her guitarist tucks his lips in as he tries to suppress his smile. Her drummer turns his head away and brings his smirk to the ground. The man on keys can't help the snort that comes out of her mouth, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. And her bassist just has his tattoo-covered arms folded across his chest, nodding his head with a proud smirk resting comfortably on his lips.

"I love this girl," Howard shakes his head with a laugh. "So I'll take that as a yes. So with that, I assume he was a bit abusive too? I mean, every pop star has to have some type of trauma to be able to be as successful and talented as you."

"Oh, Howard," YN shakes her head in return, a genuine laugh tumbling past her lips. A gorgeous smile graces her face that can make any person weak in the knees. "Your logic is truly one of a kind. Um, I mean, he wasn't the best father out there. But I honestly wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for me mum. She was both parents combined and she's just the most amazing woman in the world."

"And Penelope wouldn't happen to be single and interested in, I don't know," The older man waves his hand in front of him, a sickening smirk on display. "A handsome, successful interview host?"

"Yeah, sure." YN nods sincerely at the suggestion. "Know any?"