#You have no idea how much this is hitting me like a sledgehammer

[cheeseandcake-from-ao3]

You ordered them all right, so don't worry. If you are curious, Wally's ancestor (Thus Bedi's descendant) is a ninja. Think her name's "Wendi" for the fusion. Anyway, her deal is like Oboro during the Sengoku Era, breaking and entering to save Oichi. It's Pokemon Conquest, but slightly more accurate to the historical records of Oda Nobunaga. Heck, Wendi's clan was hired by the Male Hero (who's design is based on Azai Nagamasa, Oichi's first husband). End boss is that shiny Rayquaza Oda summoned.

Good to know! I spent... far too long ordering and re-ordering. Far too long.

Ohhh, makes sense! I really like where you're going with this- (You have no idea how strange it is to hear "Pokemon" and "more historically accurate together" but I understand why you want it to be more accurate for this.)

JUST LEAVING HIM TO SUFFER, HUH? ...Honestly, fair. Always a sucker for free Suffering.

I'm guessing they'll be a different ending scene depending on the answer, then (in this hypothetical game)? Very nice.

[pucksandpower]

Sweet Nothings

Day 18 → Praise Kink 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The noise of the bar hums all around you — chatter and laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep thump of music. It’s warm in here, that hazy warmth that comes from a few too many drinks, and Charles — sitting right next to you — has the same glow.

“You were something else today.” Your voice spills out, laced with a bit of a slur but heavy with excitement.

You lean in closer, draping an arm around Charles’ shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His skin is warm under your touch, even through his shirt, and he gives you that boyish grin, all dimples and teeth, the one that usually makes the fans scream. Now, though, it’s just you two, and you can’t help but feel smug about it.

“Come on,” he says, laughing softly, “it’s not all me. You … your work-” He gestures vaguely with the hand that isn’t clutching his beer bottle. “You know how much you help, right?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious. That win today — it was all you, Charlie. All you.”

He shifts slightly under your arm, but you don’t move. His shoulders are tense, and it doesn’t register right away because you’re too caught up in the rush of adrenaline from the race, the alcohol, the celebration, everything.

“You were brilliant,” you continue, turning a bit so you’re nearly face-to-face now. Your words come in a rush, like you’re trying to get them all out before the buzz fades. “The way you handled that last corner? God, you were on fire. No one else could’ve done it like that.”

Charles blinks, his smile faltering for a second. His eyes — usually sharp, alert — start to glaze over as you go on.

“Seriously, you’re driving like you’re on another level right now,” you push, squeezing his shoulder gently. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s like — like you just know what the car needs, before anyone else does. And the overtakes, Charlie, the overtakes!” You laugh, a bit too loudly, maybe, but who cares? You’re celebrating. “I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet.

You tilt your head, frowning a little. His jaw is clenched, his breath a little too fast, and you can feel him trembling under your arm. “Charlie?”

His eyes, wide and almost glassy, flicker down for just a second before they snap back to yours. “I-” He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first. His face flushes deeper, his neck and cheeks bright red now.

“Hey, what’s wrong ?” You ask, voice softening as you lean in closer. He’s not acting like himself, and it throws you. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, biting his lip, but he doesn’t say anything. His gaze drops again, and it’s only then that you realize something’s off. Really off. You follow his line of sight downwards, and your breath catches when you see it.

The front of his pants is dark, a wet patch spreading, and for a second, you’re confused — until the realization hits you like a sledgehammer.

“Charlie …” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect, and you feel your throat tighten. His whole body is trembling now, and he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s staring straight ahead, as if he’s trying to pretend this isn’t happening.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, barely audible over the noise of the bar. His voice cracks, and there’s something so raw, so vulnerable about it that it makes your chest ache.

You blink, trying to process everything, trying to understand how it all happened. How you went from praising him for his race to this. You weren’t even touching him like that. You were just — talking.

And now, you realize, the praise alone had pushed him over the edge.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe slowly. He’s clearly not in any state to be left alone, and you have no idea how to handle this. But you know you can’t just — leave him like this.

“Charlie,” you say softly, pulling your arm away from his shoulders. He flinches at the movement, and you wince. “Hey, look at me.”

He doesn’t.

“Charlie,” you say again, firmer this time, and finally, his eyes meet yours. They’re wide, panicked, and his cheeks are still flushed. He looks so young, so … lost. It twists something inside you.

“Let’s get you out of here, okay ?” You say, keeping your voice gentle. “You shouldn’t be here right now.”

He swallows, his throat tightening, and nods stiffly.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to handle this delicately, but you know the first thing you need to do is get him away from all these people, away from the noise and the chaos. You glance around, making sure no one’s really paying attention to either of you. Thankfully, they’re all too wrapped up in their own conversations, their own drinks.

“Do you … do you want to go back to your room ?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady. You have to play this carefully — he’s already so on edge.

He nods again, quicker this time, still looking like he’s about to come undone at any moment.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Can you tell me your room number?”

He hesitates, his lips parting but no sound coming out at first. Then, after a beat, he stammers, “Twelve … twelve-fourteen.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear it, and you nod quickly.

“Twelve-fourteen. Got it.” You stand up slowly, trying to act like everything’s fine, trying to keep things as normal as possible. “Come on, let’s get you there.”

Charles follows your lead, getting to his feet, but he’s unsteady, his movements stiff, almost robotic. You keep close to him, one hand lightly on his arm, just in case he stumbles.

The walk to the hotel is quiet — well, quiet between the two of you. The city’s alive, buzzing with nightlife, but all you can focus on is Charles. He’s still trembling, still flushed, and you can tell he’s mortified. Every now and then, you glance at him, but he keeps his eyes forward, his jaw tight.

When you finally reach the hotel lobby, it’s quiet, thankfully. You guide him to the elevators, and as soon as the doors close behind you, you feel the tension between you both shift. It’s heavy, pressing, but you can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment, confusion, or something else entirely.

“Charlie …” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp inhale, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse, and it makes your chest tighten. “Just … don’t.”

You bite your lip, nodding silently. The last thing he needs is for you to make him feel worse. The elevator dings, and you both step out, heading down the hallway to his room in silence.

When you reach his door, he fumbles with his key card for a moment, his hands shaking so badly he can barely get it into the slot. You reach out gently, taking it from him, and slide it into the door for him. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

Charles steps inside, pausing in the doorway, as if he’s unsure of what to do next. He turns to you, his eyes still wide, still glassy, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring at each other.

“I’ll … I’ll make sure you’re okay,” you say quietly, stepping in after him. “Just for a bit, alright?”

He doesn’t respond. Just nods, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion, embarrassment, and something else you can’t quite place.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dim light of Charles’ hotel room. The air is thick with tension, the kind that clings to your skin and weighs down every breath. Charles is standing there, hands awkwardly by his sides, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He still hasn’t said much, and you can see the embarrassment practically radiating off him.

You take a step forward, your voice soft but steady. “Let’s sit down, yeah?” You nod toward the couch on the far side of the room, hoping the invitation will put him at ease.

Charles hesitates for a moment, but then he walks over, his steps slow, almost hesitant. He sits at one end of the couch, keeping as much space between you as possible. His hands fidget in his lap, and his eyes are fixed on some spot on the carpet, anywhere but on you.

You follow him, sitting at the other end, leaving a careful distance between the two of you. Silence stretches for a beat too long, the kind of silence that fills with everything unspoken. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched, how his chest rises and falls a little too fast, like he’s still trying to catch his breath.

“Hey,” you begin gently, folding one leg under you as you turn to face him more fully. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

His jaw tightens at that, and he lets out a sharp breath through his nose. Still, he doesn’t look at you. “You don’t … understand,” he mutters, the words barely audible.

You scoot a little closer, not close enough to crowd him, but enough that he can feel your presence more. “I do understand,” you counter softly. “You think I don’t, but … it’s not a big deal. It’s just-”

“It is a big deal,” he snaps suddenly, his voice raw, and it surprises you. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands like he’s trying to pull himself together. “This — it doesn’t happen to normal people, alright?”

You blink at him, startled by the edge in his voice, but you stay calm. He’s unraveling, and the last thing you want is to make him feel worse. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you say softly, leaning forward just a little. “It doesn’t make you any less, you know that, right?”

He shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line. His hands are shaking slightly, clenched into fists on his lap. “You don’t know the half of it,” he mutters, his voice barely a whisper.

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, quieter still, “This … it’s not the first time.”

Your brow furrows at that. You weren’t expecting that. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes in a slow, shaky breath, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lifts his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are glassy again, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability swirling in them. He swallows, his throat working hard, and then he says, “It happens. Sometimes. During races.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “During races?” You repeat, confused.

He nods, his gaze flickering away from yours again. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “When you … when you talk to me over the radio,” he admits, his voice small. “When you … praise me.”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence, your brain working overtime to make sense of what he’s telling you. He’s not just talking about tonight. He’s talking about during races — while he’s driving, while you’re guiding him through strategy and telling him he’s doing a good job.

It hits you all at once, and your chest tightens with a strange, overwhelming mix of emotions. You feel a pang of something — affection, maybe — curling in your stomach as you look at him, sitting there on the couch, all closed off and ashamed.

“Oh, Charlie …” Your voice is soft, almost a coo, and you can’t help it. You reach out before you even realize what you’re doing, your hand resting gently on his knee. “My perfect Charlie …”

He flinches at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, panic still simmering just beneath the surface, but there’s something else there too — something softer, something that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed,” you tell him, your thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of his jeans. “You’re … you’re perfect, you know that?”

He shakes his head again, his throat working hard as he swallows. “I’m not.”

“You are,” you insist, scooting a little closer. “You’re so perfect. You’re so good at what you do, Charlie. Every time you’re out there, I’m in awe of you. And if this happens because of me — because of my praise — then I don’t mind. At all.”

His breath catches at your words, and he finally looks at you again, his eyes wide and full of something you can’t quite name.

You can’t help yourself. You reach out further, gently guiding him to lie back against the couch. He resists at first, just for a second, but then he gives in, too exhausted to fight you, too tired to keep up the pretense that he’s okay.

“Come here,” you murmur softly, coaxing him until his head is resting in your lap. You stroke a hand through his hair, smoothing the dark strands away from his forehead, and you feel him relax just a little under your touch.

“Shh,” you whisper, your fingers moving gently through his hair, petting him like you would a skittish animal. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He closes his eyes, his breathing still uneven, but he’s calming down, slowly but surely. His hands, still resting on his stomach, twitch slightly, but you can feel the tension leaving his body bit by bit as you continue to soothe him.

“You’re so good, Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “So, so good. I’m so proud of you.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat at that, something between a whimper and a sigh, and you can’t help but smile softly.

“You’re always so focused out there,” you continue, your voice gentle as you praise him. “So calm, so in control. You handle everything so well, even when things get tough. I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

Charles shivers under your touch, his body curling slightly into itself as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. But he doesn’t move away from you. If anything, he seems to lean into your touch more.

“I’m always so impressed by you,” you say, your fingers trailing down the side of his face now, brushing lightly over his jaw. “Every time you drive, you amaze me. And I know you think it’s all just — luck, or timing, or whatever, but it’s not. It’s you. You’re so talented. So brilliant.”

He lets out another soft sound, this time more of a sigh, and you can feel the tension leaving his body completely now. His breathing evens out, his eyes fluttering closed as you continue to stroke his hair, your other hand tracing light, soothing patterns on his arm.

“You’re perfect, Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now. “Just perfect.”

He doesn’t respond, but you don’t need him to. You can feel the way his body has relaxed, the way his breathing has slowed. You keep petting his hair, your touch soft and careful, and before long, you realize he’s fallen asleep.

You sit there for a while, your fingers still combing through his hair, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. His face is peaceful now, all the tension and embarrassment gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

Your heart swells with something warm and tender as you look down at him. This is a side of Charles that not many people get to see — the side that’s vulnerable, that’s unsure of himself, that needs comfort and reassurance just as much as anyone else.

You keep stroking his hair, even though he’s asleep, your movements slow and gentle. The room is quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of Charles’ breathing.

Eventually, you lean back against the couch, careful not to jostle him too much, and close your eyes. You’re not sure how long you sit there, with Charles’ head resting in your lap, but you don’t mind. You’re not in any rush.

You’ll stay as long as he needs you to.

***

After that night in the hotel room, everything shifts between you and Charles. What had once been professional, with the occasional friendly flirtation or shared joke, turns into something more — something neither of you fully acknowledges but both feel, constantly simmering just below the surface.

Charles no longer hides from you, no longer keeps his walls up. He starts to let you in, piece by piece, letting you see the parts of him that he keeps guarded from the rest of the world — the parts of him that are vulnerable, needy.

It’s subtle at first: the way he’ll lean into you a little more when you’re sitting together, the way his hand will linger on yours for just a second longer than necessary. Then, there are the nights he starts inviting you over to his apartment, no longer under the guise of needing help with something or work. He just wants you there.

It happens naturally — one night turns into two, then three, until you’re staying over more often than not. His place starts to feel like home, and you fall into a routine with him that feels both new and familiar, like something you’ve both been waiting for but didn’t know how to ask for.

You’ve gotten used to how he melts under your touch, how he craves your praise in a way that makes your heart ache with something tender and protective. He’s always been private, always been in control, but with you, he lets go. He trusts you in a way that makes you want to take care of him, to give him everything he needs.

One night, the two of you are curled up in his bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. It’s quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that comes with being completely comfortable with someone. You’re lying on your side, facing each other, your bodies close but not quite touching. His arm is draped loosely over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip.

You watch him for a moment, taking in the relaxed lines of his face, the way his eyelids are heavy with sleep but he’s still fighting to stay awake. He looks so at peace, so open, and the sight makes your chest swell with warmth.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “I want to try something.”

Charles blinks, his eyes focusing on you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach, but you press on. “I just … I want to see something. Can I?”

His brow furrows slightly, but there’s no hesitation when he nods. “Yeah, of course.”

You smile, your heart pounding a little faster now. You shift slightly, sitting up just enough to pull the duvet down from where it’s wrapped around both of you. The cool air hits your skin, but you barely notice. Your focus is entirely on him, on the way his eyes widen slightly as he watches you.

“Relax,” you whisper, your hand finding its way to his chest, palm resting lightly over his heart. You can feel the steady thump beneath your fingers, but there’s something else there too — anticipation. “I just want to talk to you.”

Charles swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. His breathing is a little uneven now, and you can see the way his muscles tense slightly, like he’s bracing himself for whatever’s coming next.

You lean down, close enough that your lips brush the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “You’ve been so good today, Charlie.”

His breath hitches immediately, and you smile to yourself, watching the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now. Your hand slides down from his chest, grazing lightly over his stomach, and you feel him tremble under your touch.

“You’re always so good, though,” you continue, your voice soft and low, dripping with praise. “So focused. So controlled. The way you drove this weekend? God, you were perfect.”

Charles lets out a soft, shaky exhale, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him, knuckles white. His eyes flutter shut, and you can see the way his whole body is reacting to your words — the way he’s barely holding himself together.

“You make everything look so easy,” you murmur, your hand continuing its slow, deliberate path down his body, never quite touching him where you know he needs it most. “But I know it’s not. I know how hard you work. How much you push yourself.”

His hips twitch slightly at that, and you can feel the tension building in him, the way he’s teetering on the edge already, just from your voice.

“You’re incredible, Charlie,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his jaw now. “No one else can do what you do. No one else is as good as you.”

A soft whimper escapes his throat, and you glance down, seeing the way he’s already hard, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to touch him, to give him what he so clearly needs.

But you don’t. Not yet.

Instead, you keep talking, keep pouring praise into his ear, watching how every word affects him, how it drives him closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so perfect,” you breathe, your hand skimming over his hip now, so close but still not quite touching him. “Do you know that? Do you know how perfect you are?”

Charles’ head tips back against the pillow, his lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. “P-please …” he whispers, his voice broken, desperate.

You smile softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck. “Please what, Charlie?”

He shudders beneath you, his hips lifting slightly off the bed as he tries to get some kind of relief, but you’re still holding back, still teasing him with nothing but your words and the lightest of touches.

“Please,” he breathes again, his voice trembling. “I can’t …”

“Shh,” you coo softly, finally letting your hand drift lower, brushing lightly over the waistband of his boxers. “You don’t have to do anything, Charlie. Just let me talk to you.”

He whimpers again, his whole body trembling now, and you know he’s close. So close. You can see it in the way his chest is heaving, the way his hands are gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re doing so well,” you whisper, pressing another kiss to his jaw, then his neck. “So good for me. Always so good.”

And then, just like that, you see him break.

His whole body goes tense for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, and then he’s gone, spilling untouched into his boxers with nothing but your words pushing him over the edge. His hips jerk against the sheets, and he lets out a low, broken moan, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

You watch him, your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of awe and affection swirling inside you. You’ve never seen anything hotter than this — Charles completely undone, trembling beneath you, just from your praise.

It takes a few moments for him to come down, his breathing slowly returning to normal, but even then, he’s still trembling, still so sensitive. You run your fingers through his hair, soothing him, whispering soft praises into his ear.

“You did so well, Charlie,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “So perfect. You’re always so perfect.”

He lets out a soft, exhausted sigh, his body finally relaxing completely as he melts into the bed, his head resting on your pillow. His eyes flutter open after a moment, and he looks up at you with a dazed, almost disbelieving expression.

You smile down at him, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “You okay?”

He nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, still catching his breath. “I … I don’t know how you do that.”

You laugh softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I just know you, Charlie.”

He smiles at that, a soft, tired smile, and his hand reaches up to take yours, squeezing it gently. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his eyes half-closed, the exhaustion clear in his voice.

You shake your head, leaning down to press your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. “You deserve everything,” you whisper against his mouth. “Everything.”

He sighs contentedly, his body relaxing further into the bed, and you can see the way sleep is already tugging at the edges of his consciousness.

“Get some rest,” you murmur, pulling the duvet back up over both of you, tucking him in. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles nods, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally lets himself drift off, a soft, peaceful smile on his lips.

You watch him for a moment, your heart full, and then you settle in beside him, pulling him close, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll be there to guide him through it. Just like always.

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains very vague mentions of an unhealthy relationship (Billy/Krista) and a sibling death. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~4.7k

A/N : This is set a week or so after the last chapter after the last chapter. Thanks to everyone still reading this, I'm honestly overwhelmed by how many of you are following this week after week. I've hit 83 subscribers now and I'm at such a loss for words. Thanks for being awesome.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE

Chapter Thirteen

To his credit, Billy left you alone, giving you the time that you had asked for. But the longer you went without hearing from him, the more you found yourself staring at your phone, longing for it to ring or light up with a message from him. Selfishly, you wanted him to fight for you, even though you’d asked him not to. You’d told him you needed time and he was giving it to you, so it wasn’t fair for you to feel disappointed. But you did and, the more time that passed, the more it felt like things were over.

And it hurt - it hurt more than you could describe. It was exactly what you’d been afraid of, the sort of pain that only Billy could cause. He hadn’t just become a part of your life, he’d taken over it, he’d become everything in such a short amount of time. You’d let yourself get too attached, too fast, and now you felt ridiculous. It had only been a few weeks. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but the longer you left it, the more certain you were that Billy had given up on you. And that thought hurt more than anything else.

It hurt because you didn’t know if he was hurting.

It hurt because some part of you wanted him to hurt, for him to feel what you were feeling.

(It hurt because you were worried that he was hurting and that he felt like you’d abandoned him.)

And, the worst part? You still hadn’t come to terms with anything that had happened, why you’d walked out in the first place. You didn’t want to come to terms with it, you didn’t even want to think about it. There was a reason you wanted to keep the past buried. You’d fought so hard against being with Billy because you’d known that there would be moments where you couldn’t keep your past separate without letting something slip. And, now, Billy had some idea of what you’d been through - and how were you supposed to even start to explain it to him?

After a week, you’d all but given up. It was done, over. Billy was out of your life and you were sure you’d both be better for it.

“So - you and Billy, that’s over now?” Karen asked with all the tact of a sledgehammer as she sat across from you, placing your drink in front of you.

She’d asked you out, told you it was to do with work, but you should have guessed that the topic of you and Billy was going to come up. At least she didn’t sound upset or surprised that you’d broken things off with her friend.

“I guess? I don’t know,” you shrugged awkwardly, gaze dropping to the drink in front of you. “Did he tell you that it was?”

“No, Frank put it together when Billy started turning up at Anvil hungover.”

You first thought was worry, but that quickly became something else the more you thought about it. Hangovers meant that he’d been spending his nights drinking, and Billy never struck you as the type to drink alone. And, if he wasn’t drinking alone, he probably wasn’t going home alone either.

You’d spent a week worrying and pining over him, and he’d probably had someone new in his bed only a few hours after you’d left him.

“What happened?” She asked, breaking the silence that you’d allowed to fall.

“It wasn’t going to work out,” you forced yourself to look at her and the look she shot you told you that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing, it’s not -” a heavy sigh slipped out and you reached for your beer, “- there was something I didn’t want to tell him and it kinda came out in an argument, and we both overreacted. And, now everything’s a mess and I just - I think he’ll be better off without me.”

“I don’t think Frank’d agree; he’s babysitting Billy tonight, says he’s never seen him like this before.” It wasn’t her intention to hurt you, but it did hurt.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of other women out there that’ll make him feel better,” you muttered, not even trying to cover the bitterness in your tone.

“I don’t think that’s what Billy wants anymore...” she answered back before taking a drink.

As much as you wanted to ask what she meant, as much as you wanted to indulge the little spark of hope that had lit itself in your chest, you knew that dragging things out would only lead to more pain.

“Look, I - I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to talk about it,” you finally told her as firmly, but politely as possible. “You said you wanted to talk about work?”

Karen took a moment, and you could tell there was more she wanted to say, but the discomfort on your face was enough to convince her not to.

“One of our photographers was supposed to be taking some maternity leave in a couple of months, but she decided that she doesn’t want to come back after. I just thought that, if you wanted, I could put your name forward for the job?”

“You mean I’d be working for The Bulletin full-time?”

“Yeah, it’d be a full salaried position.”

“I, uh -” despite everything else you were feeling, you felt your lips pull into an awkward sort of smile, though you tried not to get too excited about the idea, “- that would be amazing, thank you.”

Karen reiterated the fact that it wasn’t an actual offer of a job just yet, that she still needed to get her boss onboard with it, but she seemed hopeful that she’d be able to convince him - after all, you’d always done good work for them in the past.

The mood shifted after that; you had more drinks and played some pool with Karen and a couple of guys that she used to work with; Matt and Foggy, who’d turned up at the bar an hour or so after you and Karen. And it was fun, it was nice - and, after the week of misery that you’d been through, it felt good to stop thinking about Billy.

But every time you saw Karen looking at her phone, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining that she was talking to Frank, and Frank was telling her about Billy. And, eventually, it became too much to bear. You didn’t want to keep pretending that he didn’t exist. So, you pulled your phone out and found yourself staring at one of the last messages he’d sent you.

I never knew I could miss someone so much.

Your heart ached and you knew that you couldn’t keep dragging things out, that your silence wasn’t fair to either of you.

I know it’s probably not worth anything now, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry how things turned out. I never meant to hurt you.

Less than a minute after you hit send, he started to type, as if he’d been staring at his phone just waiting for you to text. It started and then stopped over and over again, you held your breath, not sure you were going to like whatever it was that he had to say.

Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.

He finally answered and you kept staring at your phone, hoping, wanting more for him. But, after five minutes, there was still nothing besides that one little message. You waited another minute before replying;

Are you okay?

You weren’t sure whether or not you expected an answer - he was probably busy, probably having fun without you.

Fine.

It took less than twenty seconds for him to answer. Okay, so not too busy having fun, but his short responses made it seem like he wasn’t all that interested. It felt like you finally had your answer; it was over.

Okay. 

Was all you sent in response because you still couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye. And, then, there was nothing. He read the message but he didn’t even try to reply. After fifteen minutes you couldn’t bear to look at your phone, you just wanted to go home and sleep but Karen and her friends wanted you to stay. It was sweet, really, the way they seemed to want to cheer you up, you just weren’t sure that it was going to help at all. But, still, you stayed and played a few more rounds of pool before Karen’s face dropped.

Following her gaze, you looked towards the door and found Frank and Billy standing there. Frank came closer, but Billy stayed where he was.

“What the hell, Frank?” Karen demanded.

“He wasn’t gonna take no for an answer,” Frank told her, sparing you a glance, “if he can talk to her maybe they can sort their shit out and I won’t have to carry him home again.”

Your stomach knotted, eyes finding Billy again - had he been that bad? He didn’t look great; he looked tired, dishevelled, and like he’d already had a little too much to drink. Not exactly the best conditions for having a serious conversation, but if it was all you were going to get then you were going to have to take it.

“You don’t have to,” Frank started again, this time addressing you, “just say the word and I’ll drag his ass outta here, but I really think you oughta put him out of his misery if you’re done with him.”

You looked at Billy for a second more, his dark eyes fixed on you until you gave a slight nod of your head, motioning towards an empty booth where you could talk. Billy gave the slightest nod in return before starting to move. You heard Karen mutter something but your attention was stuck on Billy who looked like a man walking to his own execution.

Grabbing your drink off the edge of the pool table you headed for the booth, sliding in opposite him.

“Hey,” you offered softly, managing the slightest of smiles. Up close he looked worse than you'd originally thought.

“Hey,” 

Then came silence and you quickly realised that he could barely bring himself to even look at you. About thirty seconds passed before he said anything.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” his voice was soft, so quiet that it was almost lost in the noise around you. “When I said I had issues with impulse control, it’s not just sex, it’s - sometimes things just make me feel crazy...”

He trailed off into silence and it quickly became clear that he didn’t even know where to start. So much had happened all at once and you didn’t blame him for not knowing how to talk about it. You weren’t sure either, but you decided to try to help.

“It wasn’t that you scared me - I didn’t think that you’d -” you took an awkward breath, but you didn’t stop, “I know you’d never hurt me like that. But when you said it, I panicked. You were so upset and I couldn’t think, and I just needed some space. I didn’t tell you about the scar because - because I can’t talk about it. I feel like I can’t even breathe when I think about it...” 

You weren’t even sure if he understood, or if you were even making sense. Without even realising it, you’d started to tug at the sleeve of your top. Your heart was pounding in your chest and all you wanted to do was run and hide from all the feelings that stirred inside you when you thought about that scar.

Silence fell again, and Billy continued to struggle to find the words he wanted to say. It made your stomach knot to see him that way when, usually, he had an answer for everything. But you didn’t push, didn’t look at him impatiently. You wanted to give him time to explain himself. If this was the last time you saw him, you wanted to make sure he got to say everything he felt he needed to say.

“I feel out of control when I’m with you,” he confessed, “and it scares me.”

“Why? How? I don’t -” you weren’t sure you wanted an answer. Billy always seemed so in control to you, so completely unflappable and ready to take over any situation, so you just couldn’t fathom him feeling any other way.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” he struggled to hold your gaze and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him look so vulnerable, “I know how I am isn’t ever gonna be enough for you and there’s nothing I can do to fix it; I can’t buy you with nice things, you don’t want my money, and I dunno how long I’m gonna be enough for you...”

As much as you’d wanted honesty from him, you hated every awkward word that left his lips. Your chest ached and your stomach knotted, and it made you angry that he thought so little of himself - that other people had let him think so little of himself.

“You’re wrong,” you told him, barely managing to bite back your anger. “You are enough - for me or for anyone else.”

“If I was, you wouldn’t have left me.”

It kept coming back to that, like he couldn’t understand that your leaving that day was because of the argument, not because of him. It wasn’t because you stopped wanting him, and it certainly wasn’t because he wasn’t enough.

“I left because you wouldn’t listen to me, Billy,” you tried to explain, “I didn’t want to leave, I just can’t do this if you won’t listen to me, if you won’t trust me. I can’t do that again. I didn’t leave you, I left the situation.”

“You said you needed time,” he answered back, still sounding so defeated. “I gave you time and you didn’t call.” 

He had you there. Sure, you could lie to him, tell him that it had always been your intention to text him tonight, but that just felt wrong. You didn’t want to lie.

“I was scared,” you admitted and the look he gave you almost broke your heart, so much that you had to quickly correct; “not of you - of this, of us. Being with you is amazing, it’s just... it’s a lot, Billy, you know?” 

He managed a nod. “When I looked through your phone, all I could think was that you’d found someone else and I’d be on my own again. ‘cause it’s just us, I -”

“You don’t want to be exclusive in case I leave you? You want to fuck other women so you have something to fall back on if we break up?” His eyes found yours as your voice broke but, soon enough they dropped to your hand, watching as continued to tug at your sleeve. “You keep saying that but I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone else,” he tried to explain, stumbling over his words in a desperate attempt to make you understand. “That’s what fucks me up; it’s just us and that means, if I fuck up, I’ll be on my own again. But that doesn’t mean I want anyone else - I want whatever this is. I want us. I like being with you...”

“I -” you started then stopped, trying to wrap your head around everything that had been said, trying to decide what you really wanted, “- I like being with you, too.”

“I don’t know how to not fuck this up,” he sighed. “How can I fix this?”

Suddenly it didn’t feel like an ending, it felt like you could save whatever this was and, even though you were still scared that it’d go horribly wrong, you couldn’t deny that you still wanted him. Somewhere along the way, you’d started to care about him, and having gone through a week without him, you knew that you weren’t ready to let him go.

“I need you to talk to me - when things make you feel out of control, I need you to tell me, and I need you to try and listen to my side of things. And - and I’ll try not to hide so much.” Because being with him was worth that discomfort, it was worth letting him know some of the things that no one else knew.

“Does that mean we’re still -”

There still wasn’t a word for what you were, but you nodded regardless.

“If you promise you’ll talk to me and not -”

“I will,” he answered suddenly, like he was desperate for things to go back to how they had been. He reached across the table before you could respond, taking your hand in his, pulling your fingers away from your sleeve and holding tight. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” the slightest smile appearing on your lips for a few short seconds. “I was worried about you.”

Billy gave you a confused look but didn’t want to ask why. Instead his gaze dropped to your hands and his thumb started to rub gentle circles on the back of your hand. He seemed to have relaxed a little since he first showed up at the bar and, once some of the discomfort had dropped from his features, you could see just how exhausted he was.

“When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

“The last time you stayed over.” Almost two weeks ago. No wonder he looked terrible. Still, he forced a smile and a shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Billy, you need sleep,” you told him softly.

“I -” he started and stopped awkwardly, “- I don’t sleep very well when I’m on my own.”

With any other man at any other time, you would have seen it as a ploy to get you into bed, but there was something about the way he said it, the way he looked in that moment.

“Do you want to -” you started before almost reconsidering, “- do you want to stay over tonight? Just to sleep, I - I don’t know when I’ll be ready for anything more than that.”

“I’d like that. I - we - can take things slow, whatever you need.” And, suddenly, there was hope on his face again. 

“Okay, just - just stay here a minute while I tell Karen we're leaving.”

Karen, for obvious reasons, had her reservations about you taking Billy home. She tried to talk you out of it while Frank did his best to stay quiet on the matter, but the look on his face seemed to suggest he was glad that you'd sorted things out. You didn't dare ask how much Billy had told him, you didn't even want to think about it.

You ordered an Uber and headed back to the table to wait, this time sitting next to Billy, letting him take your hand in his again. He didn't say much, presumably because he was tired, and once the Uber was there he followed you outside, still clinging to your hand. You barely spoke the whole ride back to your apartment, save to tell him that Tammy wouldn’t be there because she’d been staying with her new boyfriend a lot.

He held your hand as you led him up the stairs and into the apartment, still so quiet. Once the door was shut behind you and you were finally alone, you found yourself holding your breath, expecting Billy to do - something, anything. Instead he did nothing; there were no awkward attempts to kiss you or hold you and, once you let go of his hand, he kept a respectable distance.

And you hated it.

Not because you hadn’t wanted it and not because you hadn’t agreed that you needed to take things slow, but because Billy seemed almost afraid of touching you or getting too close, and you knew exactly why. This was why you hadn’t wanted to tell him about your past or your scars, because you didn’t want him to see you as someone who’d been hurt in the past.

No, no - as much as you needed to take things slowly, you couldn’t stand this muted version of him.

Reaching for his hand, you pulled him through the apartment and into the bathroom. He gave you a confused look as you reached into the shower and started the water.

“You smell of whiskey,” was the only explanation you offered before slowly helping him out of his clothes. Unlike every other time you’d undressed him, there was nothing sexual about the act and Billy understood that.

Ushering him into the shower, you quickly shed your own clothes and followed after, earning a tired laugh from him when he saw your blue shower cap with rubber ducks printed on it. You helped him wash, lathering him in your vanilla scented body wash before letting him do the same for you. All the while, neither of you really spoke, but he seemed to relax a little and realise that, even if you were taking things slow, he didn’t have to keep his distance. 

Done in the shower and both somewhat dressed again (you in your PJs and Billy in his boxers) you led him to your bedroom and told him to get into bed before disappearing to the kitchen. You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but a few minutes later you returned to the room with two mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. 

But you almost froze when you found him in your bed holding the framed photo that usually sat on your bedside table. He put it back the moment he realised you were there.

“Sorry, I was just -”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head as you handed him his drink and climbed into bed beside him. You put your mug down on the bedside table and reached for the frame, looking at the three children in the photograph, standing happily on a golden, sandy beach.

“Is that your brother?” He dared to ask.

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, looking at the gangly boy in the picture, “that’s Sam.”

“And the other girl?”

The smile faded almost entirely. “Lily, my little sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Had. She - she died a year or two after this photo was taken.”

You heard the exhale but you didn't look at him, you didn't want to see the look on his face.

“I'm sorry,” he offered softly.

You didn't respond, you just put the photo back and grabbed for the TV remote. Soon enough you were sipping hot chocolate and watching Bob's Burgers. Billy, for the most part, stayed quiet, drinking his hot drink without comment and letting out little huffs of laughter any time he found something in the show amusing.

Billy looked half asleep by the time he’d finished his hot chocolate, his eyes closing for seconds at a time but he didn’t seem to want to give in to sleep.

“How was your hot chocolate?” You asked taking his empty mug and placing it beside yours on the nightstand, a little amused that he’d drunk the whole thing without commenting on it once

“It was nice. This is nice, it’s -” he started before stopping, an awkward sort of smile on his lips, “- no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

In a way, it felt special to be able to give Billy any sort of first, but you couldn’t help the feeling of sadness that swelled inside you. How had he never had this before? How had no one else in his life ever offered him this simple sort of comfort?

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his hand finding your cheek, “don’t be sad.”

“I’m not, I just - how has no one ever taken care of you before?”

“I guess I never really let anyone. I never really wanted to.” His shoulder ticked in an awkward sort of half-shrug. “A lot of my relationships haven’t exactly been deep.”

You hesitated before asking; “what about Krista?”

A flicker of tension ran across his face, and you regretted asking, so much so that you almost wanted to take it back. Billy settled back a little, using getting himself comfortable as an excuse not to answer for a few seconds.

“Krista happened at a bad time in my life,” he finally sighed, “I'd been hurt, she was my therapist, I - I told her things I’ve never told anyone. She made me feel broken but told me I could be fixed, and that was all I wanted.”

You tried your best to school your expression, to not let him see the emotions that were warring inside of you; sadness for him, and a hatred of her that had you hoping you saw her again just so you could tell her what you thought of her.

“I stopped going to our sessions after a while - therapy just wasn’t for me,” he shrugged and it was no surprise why. “But when I ran into her again, it felt like there was a connection, it felt easy because she already knew me better than almost anyone. It started slow, she’d make little comments about things, then when I’d argue she’d tell me that I was upset because I don’t feel things the right way - that my trauma messed up the way I process emotions - and, sometimes, when I wanted to -” you were glad he decided not to go into any detail at all about sleeping with her, “- she’d act like I was being unreasonable for wanting it, like it was too much or I wanted too much...”

“She told you that you have poor impulse control.” You’d already assumed as much, but he confirmed it with a nod of his head.

“At the time, it felt like she was being completely reasonable and that, if I did what she wanted, I’d get better...”

“Billy...” you offered tenderly, finding his hand on top of the blankets and taking hold of it, “there’s nothing wrong with you and - and that bitch should never have told you there was. You know that, right? She shouldn’t’ve even been in a relationship with you; it’s so disgusting and unprofessional.”

He just shrugged at your anger, sinking down the bed a little more obviously too tired to carry on the conversation (or maybe he just didn’t want to because he didn’t want to argue). You followed suit until you were both laid beside each other, the tips of your noses almost touching.

“Why weren’t you answering your brother’s calls?” He asked after a minute or so of silence, and it was your turn to sigh.

“It’s complicated,” and you didn’t really want to say more than that, but given everything Billy had told you about Krista, it didn’t seem fair not to give him a real answer. “He can be... protective. He doesn’t think I can take care of myself and it feels suffocating. After we started seeing each other, I felt like I was in a good place and I didn’t want him making me feel bad about it.”

“Why would he make you feel bad?”

“Because  haven’t always had the best taste in men and because he doesn’t realise that I’ve grown up.” You sighed again. If Billy could tell you were holding things back, he didn’t let on.

“You think he wouldn’t approve of me?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” you shrugged, “but, if he got to know you, I know he’d like you, he’d just - he’d find a way to make me feel like I shouldn’t be with you, like I can’t handle it.”

He nodded and decided not to say anything else on matter; it felt like a good middle ground; you’d both shared what needed to be shared, everything else could come later. His eyes closed again and you tried your best to stifle a yawn before awkwardly twisting to turn off the lamp, plunging you into darkness.

Without thinking, you reached for him, your fingers stroking his hair, trying to soothe him to sleep.

“I should be taking care of you,” he muttered softly, “I’m the one that fucked up.”

You shushed him, before whispering; “I’m proving a point.”

“What point?”

“That you are enough, Billy.”

He didn’t say another word before falling asleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

END NOTES : So this one got a bit talk-y and I hope people don't mind that. I just need Billy and reader to really get to know each other before I can get them to where they're going. Don't worry, they're not going to be able to keep their hands off each other for long.

As always, thank you so much for reading, I'm still completely blown away how many of you come back week after week to read this!!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know some people are having issues with the tags? think you might need to enable tagging on your end of things? IDK tumblr is weird)

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @damagelove @danzer8705 @unlikelystarlightcowboy @schlotzshewrote @bisexualbith @uncontainedsmiles @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lilliesofmay @billyrussoslut

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S, I just came up with this idea. Listen..

Sebastian just losing it for Steve, he loves Chris, he's fucking weak for him. But sometimes, he looks at Steve on the screen in CA:TWS or Civil War, and just can't take it, he wants that guy. And imagine him talking Chris into role playing Steve just for him, when he's got the blonde hair, the bulk and all that. He just wants to be treated well by Steve, and not as Bucky, just himself, he can't help it.

That was it thank you very much.

I do love this idea! I love it a lot. And I think this kind of fits with my fic, "Character Bleed," obviously it's not the same concept, but if you haven't read that, I think you'd like it 👀

I mean, we know that Chris feels like this for Bucky on a PG level. Remember that con panel where he said he has a soft spot for him, bursting out with "I was gonna defend Sebastian, he's not a villian, he's a victim really!"? I remember it well. I especially remember Sebastian's happy little, 'he loves me' wiggle. It was the cutest!

(16:53-17:21)

So... I can totally see this happening with Sebastian in a PG-13 to R-rated way 😏 and I would like to imagine that it spills out of Sebastian accidentally, too.

Over the years and years of playing these characters, so much of Sebastian has become tangled up in Bucky, so much of Bucky is tangled up in Sebastian (which reminds of the top Chris quote in this gif set, too), and after the years of being with Chris, his infatuation still the same, maybe even worse now, realistically, it's only natural.

His heart speeds in his chest whenever he sees Chris and, usually, the effect is the same when he sees him larger than life on screen, portaying a character. Chris only has one face and it's just so goddamn handsome. He can't help it. C'mon! It's not fair! What's a man supposed to do?

And no matter how embarrassed Sebastian is of his simmering, latent, years long crush on Steve Rogers because of his affection for his boyfriend, Chris Evans--who is real and not fictional and more than enough, of course--he'll never say it willingly.

It only comes to a head because of the fucking sledgehammer to the head that is Nomad Steve Rogers.

That's so much closer to the Chris that Sebastian gets to love every day with his thick beard and his natural, untamed body hair and just his bigness, but it's also still so Steve.

It's Steve elevated.

It's Steve irresistible.

It's Steve knee-weakeningly hot.

So knee-weakening that when they're shooting, Infinity War over one of the the weekends, too wrapped up in each other to go out with the rest of the crew, hitting the town, it happens.

They're wrapped up, consumed in each other. Sebastian is pressed roughly back into their rented apartment bed, the sheets mused and ruined, the air thick, and his legs are spread as wide as they can be but they're still tense, still squeezed tight around Chris' impossibly broad shoulders. Those fucking shoulders--they're just so huge that he can't not press against them, no matter how shamelessly he opens himself to be taken and he loves it.

He loves how little and surrounded Chris makes him feel, always having to fight to make room for him. He's so big. Larger than life especially when he's been bulking and working out like a madman for the silver screen. Jesus, it feels as though Chris hardly fits between his legs sometimes. Like. Shit. He belongs there, between Sebastian's legs, having his way with him, wringing all the pleasure he wants from him. But he's so big!

Big and heavy, pressing down on him. Keeping him in place as if he would dream of going anywhere else. He dreams of this--Chris' palms broad and hot and owning, gripping handfuls of his thighs and ass, groping him, leaving finger- and handprint bruises where no one else will see. Underneath his costume, bruises that will ache when he stretches later, warming up for stunts and making his face warm with the secret, too.

(If only the makeup artists could see, they'd tease him and tut at him, playfully scolding him for getting it so hard when he knows he has to be on camera. Couldn't he have waited a few more days? Couldn't he have controlled himself for a little longer? God, Sebastian shudders impulsively, hot.)

So, Chris' there.

He's taking up space there, between his legs. Big, broad, and feverish, taking handfuls of him, taking mouthfuls of him, devouring him, first leaving marks across his skin with his lips and teeth and tongue, then sucking him off like he wants to kill him. Murdering him with how good it feels. Hot. Wet. Tight. Sucking him down, the slick, soft insides of his cheeks, the thrilling edge of his teeth, just hinted at, the depth of his throat.

Oh, God.

It's so distracting. He's so good. So good at this. He's gotten so good at this over the years that Sebastian is losing his mind. He loses his mind every time, now. He knows just what he likes.

So, Sebastian's grasping the sheets, fisting them so hard his knuckles are white, whimpering. Breathless. And Chris does fucking something, something with his tongue that he can't comprehend when he's so hard, throbbing, he just--

Sebastian arches and moves, feverish, squirming, reaching swiftly, grabbing and holding onto Chris' hair, dyed dirty blonde and long enough to really fucking hold on.

Then, to make it worse, Chris goes with his frantic hold, letting himself be directed, humoring Sebastian for now, until he wants to take control back; he dives deep, deep throating him, humming, letting him sweat with the vibrations that gut him. So overwhelmed with how fucking erotic it is, how good it feels, Sebastian is groaning, mouth open. He can't think. He can't stop.

It simply escapes him.

He can barely see through the tears in his eyes, his head spinning, but he's blinking, staring down at his shaking hands fisted in that blonde hair, and whining, "St-Steve!"

Suddenly, Sebastian is cursing how good of an actor his boyfriend is--how willing he is to "yes, and" because while Sebastian wants to curl up into a ball, tingling with arousal that's being rapidly taken over by superheated embarrassment, his nerves spitting and sparking like faulty wiring, Chris is chuckling. Just for a moment, though. The dark vibrations feel like fire. Hot as fuck. But that laugh, rich and dangerous, disappears and is replaced with Chris' touch. Chris has let go of one of his thighs to gather his right wrist, then his left--Sebastian hadn't even realized his hands had unweaved themselves from his golden fucking head of hair, making him see double, but they had. His hands are covering his own mouth. They were. Chris is putting them back in his own hair and he's--

"Ohh, oh, God!"

He's making him hold onto his hair and he's pushing himself down, down, pressing his nose to the flat of his lower stomach, swallowing around him, making him feel so good that his hips jerk sharply up. Chris doesn't choke and Sebastian dies. Just a little bit. Dying. He's sucking him like a beast and he's just, just... it's like he's urging him on, it's like he's--

Without his hands to cover his mouth and shut himself up, Sebastian moans again, "Steve!"

It's like he's trying to get him to say it!

Between his legs, Chris is determined, there's just the hint of a smirk on his mouth, curled up around his aching cock. And in his eyes--

Sebastian knows that look.

Fuck.

He knows it!

He knows the determination; he knows the steel in his gaze; he knows the dangerous glint and he fucking sees Steve.

"Pluh-please, please!" Sebastian gasps, overwhelmed, trying to hold himself off but failing spectacularly, "please, Steve!" His outcry is immediately followed by half-whimpering, half-panting, "'m sorryy!"

He's so fucking embarrassed that his face is tingling; he couldn't be blushing more, but he also can't stop himself, his body is rushing, pulsing, throbbing, and too sensitive to stop. It's too much! There's no brakes, only more gas.

Steve, Steve--Chris, er, whatever.

Chris won't have it, though.

Chris isn't just looking at him with that bastard fucker, stubborn stare that's pure Steve Rogers--Steve Rogers who won't and doesn't know how to put his head down and give up, not giving up now--Chris is lowering his voice and putting that lilt in it that's booming, authoritative, and empowering.

Actually, that voice is not so different from his usual, deep, rumbling, this-is-making-my-dick-hard voice, and the association is going to ruin Sebastian for the rest of his life. Every time they're on set from now on, he's gonna think about this and he's gonna fucking die of mortification.

Chris has so easily slipped into that voice. That role. Criminally easily, he's started being Steve.

Steve.

Steve ordering Sebastian around like he's making calls on a battle field as he pulls off his cock with a slurp, leaning his broad shoulders back, confident and cocky, a fucking leader, "you're gonna cum for me, baby. C'mon. I see it. It's right there. I know it is." While he talks like that, he jerks Sebastian off hard. Dick wet and sloppy from his dreamy mouth. Squeezing his throbbing hard-on until Seb gasps hard enough his throat hurts, he's going raw.

"You're gonna gimme what I want, baby," Steve tells him, "and you're gonna show me how pretty you are by cumming."

Sebastian is just a man.

Just a man on edge with an order to fall over it. So, he cums.

Hard.

He cums, pumping, throbbing, and shattering in Steve's hands. A fucking wet dream worthy man--his flowing, blonde hair, his voice, his beard, his stupidly broad chest and shoulders, his torn, dusty uniform, his hands, and those fucking gloves. Sebastian can see those gloves, his rolled uniform sleeves, exposed forearms, all of it. He can see it painted on the back of his eyelids as his eyes roll back, breaking apart with pleasure.

He makes a mess of Steve's beard and plush lips and the site of it, when he manages to peel his eyes open, it makes him wanna cum again.

Now.

Please.

[berk-brain-rot]

Brain worm of the day:

The way Berk uses difference in punctuation specifically between poems as a whole.

So in a previous post I did an incredibly overly detailed babble of words into how Berk uses capitalization for individual words that provide not just emphasis, but sometimes change their entire meaning from that of a verb to a proper noun/entity.

This isn't the only way they use capitalization though. Berk's poems in Lazarus Rises seem to follow a couple different levels of grammatical rule breaking basically. Some of their poems follow basic grammar sentence structure:

What I mean by that is that capitalization occurs in the same way it would for normal sentences, with the first letter of a sentence and all I's being capitalized, as well as with periods concluding each sentences.

Sometimes they follow a form of normal sentence structure:

Their I's are still capitalized and they still use periods, but the beginning of sentences aren't capitalized. Not only that but the sentences themselves don't follow a normal sentence structure in the form of subject-verb-object, they seem to begin and end wherever emphasis or a spoken pause would be needed.

Sometimes though they completely throw the rules out the window:

In the case of this poem they don't capitalize a single letter or use a single period until the very end of their poem:

Now here's the thing, this could all be Berk just messing around with style (they're entitled to playing around with it but honestly a lot of the ways Berk writes seems entirely too well thought out and specifically chosen for that to make sense to me). This could be Berk just deciding the shift key was too heavy that day (which I would argue is in itself a choice that would carry through to your poems). This could have no greater meaning to it (press x to doubt).

But regardless of whether this was all intentional (and I very much would argue it is, at least subconsciously) the fact that Berk writes in this way provides more layers to gain from their poems.

In the case of their poem X. periods hold a significance whenever they choose to use them. They provide emphasis that might not have otherwise been given, they provide a dictation for how their poems might be read aloud, they provide another layer of meaning.

The same can be said for their lack of capitalization.

"One day, I will move on from my grief." is incredibly different from "one day, I will move on from my grief." The first case could be seen on a hallmark card honestly. It's not wrong, but I kind of immediately want to throw it away in annoyance at feeling misunderstood.

But in the second case?? You can literally feel the exhaustion.

This second line means something to me. This second line comes from someone who actually gets what it's like to grieve, who gets that to put it into polite terms, is really fucking hard.

When they throw away all grammar rules though???

Their poem XIII does this :

Tell me you didn't get to the end of that poem, and get knocked out of your chair. Look me in the eyes, and lie to me, because of course you're on the ground.

"You are not alone." hits you like a sledgehammer. Nothing else in that poem follows normal grammar. There is not a single other period or capitalized letter. So when you read that statement you can almost feel Berk trying to lovingly slam you with the idea of friendship and caring and sharing in pain together so that we are never alone again.

TLDR; Berk uses all available tools they have in the written form to knock you upside the head (/pos) with an emotion. Sometimes this is the words they choose to use, sometimes this is the way they fit those words together, and sometimes they make sentence structure their bitch in a way that I'm honestly in awe of.

As always, the source is always more interesting than anything I have to say, so if you haven't yet, go read Lazarus Rises(amongst other things) and follow them on their Tumblr @icaruspendragon because they write so many cool things beyond just their published book.

[calciumdeficientt]

Cal !! Saw the previous ask about Bryce and I absolutely loved your ideas- do you have anything in mind for Gord dearest?

Please, call me milky!

Anyway …Gorrrrrrrd! Gord was my first love, he was the first NPC i heard speak when i played the game (past this is your school,obvs) and he’s the one that hit me over the head with the autism sledgehammer. i want to scrunch him up and throw him in a wood chipper

GORD VENDOME HCS

He’s the cuntiest bitch on the bullworth academy campus and I’m literally not going to accept any form of argument, he came out of the womb wearing aquaberry. He lives and breathes it, its his lifeblood. He plans his walk around school to and from each class, checking the weather to make sure he if needs to tweak any parts of the route so that’s he has the best chance of getting every student to see how effortless, demure and graceful he is in his choice of fine clothes, jewellery and hair care. No one is fooled by him, they know it takes a hell of a lot of effort.

Gord does a closet reshuffle every 6 months or so, just to make sure all his clothes are on trend and in season. This is standard prep procedure, but what makes Gord’s rearranging so special is that he literally cannot bear to throw anything away. He attaches memories to every stitch of fabric he’s ever put on his body, he’s a work of art and therefore every single outfit he’s ever worn simply has to be memorialised, he can’t throw it all away. His father has dedicated several houses just to the backlog of Gord’s discarded clothing. There’s more than enough in there to fully stock several Aquaberry locations for literal decades.

He gets dreadful hay fever, its actually kind of disgusting to look at him if he hasn’t taken an antihistamine. Luckily very few people have ever seen him like that, he has several boxes on his person at all times during the spring and summer. He just doesnt have the heart to tell Jimmy about his pollen allergy, so when he’s given flowers he has to hold all of his sneezes in. This then makes his eyes water, and therefore makes Jimmy think he’s so overjoyed with the gift that he’s moved to tears. Luckily for gord he keeps several hand stitched silk handkerchiefs on his person at all times, initialled with thread made of spun gold, he’s not some kind of common mutt that uses disposable tissues.

Gord is a rather talented pianist, he was given the choice as a child to either play polo with his father, or take piano lessons. The thought of the latter made him so lightheaded he thought that he was having a heart attack so he chose to play piano instead. His family have a very nice grand piano in their house’s foyer, but a separate, dedicated room for music practice with an equally expensive, but less aesthetically pleasing piano. On special occasions when the Vendomes wanted to show off, they’d plonk Gord in front of the piano and set him loose. It was usually Schubert or Bach to show how deeply cultured their young son was; but in his personal time, Gord found he much preferred to play the works of more modern classical composers, Leonard Cohen was a particular favourite in his early teens. He doesn’t play all that often nowadays, he’s much too busy, but every time he thinks he might be forgetting he’ll spend an hour or so playing through the giant stack of sheet music he’s accumulated over the years.

His cologne is one of a kind, hand mixed by a company in Milan, its tailored to him and only him and was originally a gift for his 10th birthday. It’s more feminine smelling than most colognes but he thinks it makes him stand out more, he’s not a traditionally masculine guy, so he likes that his cologne reflects that. He’s been gifted many other scents, usually from distant relatives or prospective marriage candidates that dont really know him but they’re just not the same.

Actually got bullied so insanely hard for his ears when he was a kid that he refused to leave the house without a hat on. Even when he first came to bullworth kids weren’t the nicest to him. His ears are a big source of insecurity for him and he is in the process of convincing his father to let him get surgery to tuck them in. His satellite dishes are so cute and he should never get rid of them but its not really up to me.

Comforts Pinky when Derby forgets about every single one of their dates, he takes her shopping for whatever she wants, to dinner someplace exclusive (he always makes reservations on days when those two have dates, he just knows Derby will bail), and then back to Harrington house to watch movies. He openly cries at the sad parts of the romcoms they inevitably end up watching, often more so than Pinky.

Holds a fondness for poor people that not even he himself can fully explain. If he had to pinpoint it, its their freedoms. They’re free to be content with nothing, or to work to fix it, they dont start at an advantage in life and therefore get to enjoy the ride a little bit more. Thats his rose tinted view of it anyway, obviously he hasn’t the time to spend creating a nuanced understanding of his infatuation, he just accepts it as part of his psyche and moves on with his own, utterly fabulous life.

[amoransia]

Really late, but here's my ekuoto chapter 70 commentary. Nothing special, just me freaking out. You know. The usual.

Watch out for spoilers!

Dante got a very special dialogue balloon with "..." in it. Which is curious to me. I'm sure it means some sort of reflection or surprise happening within him; I really want to what he's thinking. How do you feel? Knowing that the that child you were entrusted can't even bear to be awake anymore? That he runs to escapism? Must suck. Anyway.

On the other hand, dearest Daniel is real composed. Good job on getting info out of Belphegor. That's not really a high bar, though lmao... I mean, how are you a demon and can't LIE? Embarrassing... Go back to demon high school or something. Fall from grace again! The whole premise of your existence is being a lying thing that leads people to sin, and you're here having communication issues??? Dude. That's so moe.

Everyone thinking Belph's got something up his sleeve is fucking hilarious. No. Sorry. He's not Kira or anything like that. It's not all according to his "keikaku". He's just kinda dumb and suffers from Villain Monologue Syndrome...

Him saying "my witch", though... ough! (takes critical hit)

Really funny how he showed him off sleeping and everything. Why are you bragging? Is this something to show off? I guess it is for you... I'd be embarrassed if all my coworkers suddenly saw me sleeping on a plasma 100" inch TV, though. Maybe have a little consideration! Also, I don't think anyone's mentioned this before, but I think it's a cool detail that Priest's in a fetal position. Not only does this position bring one comfort, but it can also represent how he's about to be "reborn" as a witch of Sloth. The sphere he's sleeping in can kinda be a uterus, right?

Belphegor and Mikhail replying to each other while Leah was suffering out of confusion was funny. She got the straight man role forced onto her. Miha's "I see!" was cute. Very casual, as if he wasn't talking to a Demon Lord lol. To be fair, Bel is not really intimidating.

Meanwhile, Vir is busy trying to lead his shounen manga team to victory... (or not really.) They'll definitely get some piece of Belphegor though. I wonder what it'll be... he doesn't have anything like Asmodeus' eyes sticking out, so this is a mystery to me.

Me when I get excited about an interest of mine and end up yapping too much

Dante and Vergilius are heading to the same place, so they'll meet up again... I'm looking forward to the mess that comes out of that 👀.

Imuri needs to step up her game, or I'll be taking matters into my own hands because this is ridiculous. Femme Fatale? Wtf are you talking about. Fraudmuri. The Demon Lord of Fraud. Her true title.

Her biggest crime so far is being more in love with the idea of being in love with Priest than actually caring for him. Does that make sense? So far, she hasn't done any effort in actually coming to know him. She needs to KNOW!!!! At least I can respect that she also takes male rivals seriously... and her aggressiveness towards them. Lole.

She doesn't call Priest "sleepyhead" in the JP raws. I don't really mind the addition, but I thought it was worth noting here anyway. Makes it cute.

"It'll be over soon" Naw bro Imuri is coming at you with a fucking sledgehammer. Watch out.

Tiny Imuri is so fawking cute. I've been craving these Imuri flashbacks for forever because we know virtually nothing about her. What moves her. Why does she long to love!! We'll know in due time, I guess. But please show me a bit of it, Aruma-sensei...

Asmodeus being considerate enough to make sexual things vague to Imuri is nice, but it confuses me a bit. Well. I shan't dwell on it, lest my head blows up.

Imuri seems to have some complex about being a demon with no demon power, because she keeps asserting that she is a demon? Am I explaining this properly? Like in this chapter (ch.70) and chapter 3.

Anywho.

Imuri imagining the BL route... save me... my fucking sides... I burst out laughing the first time my eyes laid on that panel. True to her succubus nature, she didn't even consider the possibility of them using blood or whatever else instead of straight-up KISSING. Those are still bodily fluids, right?? Calm down, girl! Stay put!!!

"I'm not letting his first kiss go to some guy that just appeared!!" HE'S BEEN THERE FOR A DECADE! YOU ARE THE NEWCOMER!!! IMURI, GIRL!! You absolute buffoon! Clown, even!

Whew. Lmao.

This arc also feels like a callback to that one "sleeping beauty" comment from chapter 3.

...except their roles have switched.

This time, Imuri will be the one kissing Father on the cheek to wake him up, and it'll be so, so cute. Trust. Trust me. This will happen. (Going insane).

Go and make him your witch, Imuri... Dew it... Make a move... (screaming and crying)

[sarehime]

As Karlach messaged his foot, Astarion couldn't help marvelling at how small it looked in the young woman's hands. 

Karlach had a pensive look on her face. Astarion smiled,

"How long are you going to tease me like this?" he said. Karlach finally focused her eyes on him, smiling slightly as she pulled his foot to her shoulder and kissed his ankle. Astarion felt his breath catch for a moment, if he had a beating heart, it would have stopped at this very moment.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Karlach said. Astarion rolled his eyes. 

"Let me be more specific, when are we going to make love?" he said directly. Karlach took Astarion's leg over her shoulder and began to wash his calf with a washcloth.

"Whenever you want," she said. 

"It doesn't matter what I want here. That's what you want, isn't it?" Karlach was both washing his leg and continuing to message him. This was driving Astarion crazy because it made it hard for him to concentrate.

"I want it," Karlach said. She still had that smile on her face. "But I feel like you're not looking forward to it as much as I am." Astarion felt like he'd been hit in the head with a sledgehammer.

"You're talking rubbish," he said flirtatiously. "My hunger for you grows every day." It wasn't a lie. Astarion wanted Karlach, he was just... afraid. 

Karlach suddenly bent Astarion's leg at the knee and pushed it to his chest. So she brought her face closer to his, but with his leg between them. She raised her beautiful golden eyes to his.

"Astarion, I may be a little horny, but I'm not a dog in heat. I can wait, patiently. I want you to want me as much as I want you. I want you to beg for my touch," she said, rubbing his ankle. "I even want you to cry, no, not from pain this time. I want you to cry like a spoilt child whose request is overdue, Astarion. For me. You deserve the best, you deserve me."  to be continued…

***

Me and my ‘Astarion in a bathtub’ fetish… Well, it won’t be a smut but will be sensual and erotic (as much as I can) This scene play in my mind again again and I think I should write it down at least, I don’t plan oneshot completely actually, let’s see…

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

Ok, so, I’m gonna spill my silly little interpretation of 6EM’s and SWK’s (Too lazy to type their full names.) childhood/relationship. I know I’m probably not right, per se, but I just really want to spill my thoughts about them.

You guys knows those families with the one “troubled” kid and the one “just fine” kid? Like the “I know you’re a child but your sibling needs more attention than you because they’re worse off.” kinda thing? And the kids too young to say/understand otherwise so they just kinda… deal? THAT’S how I see SWK’s and 6EM’s childhood. (Minus the sibling part, I don’t personally view them as having a familial relationship, but it’s the best example I could think of that made sense.)

I view it as like 6EM was the (more) reasonable one. The one that was pushed off to the side and left to deal with the background problems so other people could focus on the more important “problem”. A.K.A SWK. It left him neglected and feeling used, and because of how he just took what people gave him (Again, so SWK could be the main focus.) no one took his advice seriously/they just brushed over him. But he didn’t care (That much.) because he had SWK. He had one reliable in person his life, one constant that would always be there for him not just with him. It was probably a really codependent thought process. (And SWK was really greedy so he probably didn’t notice any real stress, and was probably convinced it didn’t matter what he did. 6EM would always wait for him after all.)

Then it was just gone. Everyone has a breaking point and 6EM’s was building for literal centuries. Seeing SWK with other people was probably like hitting a horribly cracked pane of glass with a sledgehammer. SWK was one of the only, if not the only, person 6EM probably felt like actually cared. And now he’s been replaced. I imagine that 6EM felt used for a long time and the only person who didn’t make him feel like that was SWK, but seeing that? Him just chilling with new friends? Not even a thought towards his most loyal friend? I imagine it’d make him feel like a toy thrown out when a child got bored.

I don’t think 6EM or SWK were responsible for the formers death. I think they were both kids (YOU CAN NOT CONVINCE ME THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS WERE ANY OLDER THAN 25, in celestial years or whatever, YOU JUST CAN’T.) who didn’t have literally any form of guidance and grew up with each other, but with very different social expectations. 6EM was horribly codependent and SWK was horribly selfish. The difference is that SWK was given a chance to grow and learn, and 6EM just… wasn’t. I assume that they just thought the other had similar experiences and thoughts as themselves because of how closely they did everything together ‘n stuff; but that just wasn’t true. You can grow up close to someone, maybe even in the same house or town and with the same people, but that doesn’t mean your experiences were anything alike.

I think that’s were it actually started to go wrong, it’s not that they were hiding things from the other, it’s just that they thought the other already knew because they were going through the same thing; even though they actually weren’t going through the same thing.

SWK grew up strong with the idea that he was unstoppable. That he could just take anything he wants. That people would just support him no matter what, that they’d be there no matter what; but he also grew up with the expectations of a king. He grew up thinking he had to be the strongest, he had to protect his family. That lead to his greed and need to protect mixing. He went to Heaven so his family could live a secure life but also because he was power hungry.

6EM grew up as an outcast, he was not well liked and the only person who was truly his friend was SWK. His best friend who literally promised him everything he could ever want. (Read: staying on FFM together forever.) He grew up with the expectations of being someone who would always be there for the other. Someone who would do anything for the other, someone who would just take whatever was given to him. Good or bad. He had a best friend who promised, and promised, and promised. A best friend who seemed capable enough to actually keep those promises, a best friend who 6EM gave his everything to and expected the other to just keep said promises. 6EM made himself a warrior, a tool essentially, for SWK because he was content just being dragged along. So when it all fell he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t allow himself to have a different purpose.

Two very different people who both expected the other to be there but in different ways. 6EM expected SWK to always come back and SWK expected 6EM to always be waiting. They were kids who took on roles too grand for their age and were given no guidance. SWK was given the chance for guidance when 6EM was not, I highly doubt it would have been any different should the roles have been reversed. I’d bet money that SWK would have attacked 6EM’s new friends to. They were both possessive, just in different ways. 6EM wasn’t ok with the change because SWK was the only thing he thought he knew, so he lashed out. SWK had changed since their last interaction and he defended.

I don’t think SWK meant to kill 6EM, either he was too blinded by rage to stop, or the final strike was a miscalculation. Maybe there’s a completely different reason for 6EM’s death, I don’t know. That’s just my thoughts on these silly little dudes. (I know I explained more of 6EM here but that’s mainly because we don’t actually know much about his childhood. Like, sure, we mainly have 6EM’s side of the whole death story, but that doesn’t mean we actually have his backstory. We know more about SWK’s childhood and shit than 6EM’s, so I wanted to focus more on the latter. Also because he’s my favorite and I’m very biased.😌)

Conclusion: 6EM was codependent and dedicated his everything to SWK, being brushed off as the lesser version while doing so many unnoticed things for SWK; he didn’t see a purpose outside of SWK. SWK was selfish and possessive/protective, just expecting things to go his way because he was strong, expecting 6EM to just be ok with whatever he gave him no matter what; but also had a lot of expectations to be the best. SWK and 6EM’s relationship was (almost) always unhealthy, it just didn’t look like it. Two enablers with different roles, a possessive leader and his most dedicated follower.

(Additional thing I want to add here: I think that if 6EM was given the chance to properly learn/process shit before LBD yanked him from the soil, then he wouldn’t have tried to get revenge. Dude was sent to the Diyu, not therapy, of course he’s gonna come back with an even worse mindset/“coping skills”.

Edit: I forgot to add that their past dynamic made it achingly easy to view 6EM as a victim and SWK as an abuser, when they were actually both in the wrong. Guilt isn’t an easy emotion to deal with. I think that there might have been a point where 6EM knew he was just as guilty as SWK, but no one likes the thought of turning out like their abuser. I think it was just too much so he kinda just forcefully blocked it out, ultimately stopping himself from healing properly and letting his spite for SWK fester.

Edit 2: … I can’t stop talking about them. My brain is filled with these gay ass monkeys and I keep realizing more. Where 6EM can’t stand guilt so he passes on blame, SWK just ignores it or denies it. They both can’t take guilt but in different ways. Head in hands, flailing and wailing, ugly sobbing. THEY’RE SO SIMILAR IN SUCH DIFFERENT WAYS AND I’M JUST AHAHAHWHGSJSNJXBSKMSKS

Edit 3: OK ISTG THIS IS THE LAST ONE, I PROMISE I WILL EXERCISE SOME SELF CONTROL AFTER THIS! SWK got self esteem issues from having too high standards from others but too low standards for himself. While 6EM got self esteem issues from having too low standards from others and too high standards from himself. I don’t know if that makes sense but I am fighting my ADHD rat brain to leave it at that.

Edit 4: I lied, I don’t have self control. 6EM likes being on the stage because he was neglected as a child [Craves attention he wasn’t properly given.] and SWK has stage fright because he had too many expectations as a child. [Fears attention that he was given too liberally.])

[voltstone]

pigeon / wrecker

(yet another) JORI SERIES RETELLING

That regret of mine to not kiss her, again, was really when it sank in: Jade may be the one who talks through her scissors, but I go about my relationships like I’ve got a sledgehammer. I don’t know if I just learned from the best, or if I did get tired of being this doll-faced girl who doesn’t have a set of scales underneath the porcelain. I just really, really wanted to wreck something. One relationship specifically, all to scavenge the debris for myself. Turns out? I’m not a good person. [. . .] Next time there was a chance, I wouldn’t hesitate. And I didn’t. I went about her like I had that sledgehammer.

(Loving Jade meant competing against another person was a losing game, and competing for the chance to be bigger than what they were was an uphill battle.)

— — — — —

or basically i want to finish writing the toxic story about the toxic ship that found me again (and is the reason why i'm writing fics at all). so um. yeah. this project is technically eight years old… shut up.

don't look at me. or do. here's the "first chapter". or go find on ao3, ff.net, wattpad. i dunno.

(no but honestly, hope you enjoy! i've wanted to write this thing for a long, long while now, but it seems i had to get better in my writing for it to happen.)

:)

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

BIRDSEED | 0

This started in a million different ways, and I’m dreading how all this will end, but here we go.

It might’ve been the coffee I tried desperately to rub off of Beck, only to make it so, so much worse, and then the coffee after because she honestly saw me as a dog, I guess. Or the next day, when I did knot that whole entanglement together tight, and there was no undoing it, but the look on her face was worth flaying any good girl image I had.

Could’ve been the first time I got it right, and I passed something just to prove myself. The Bird Scene, though I wonder if it had been the chewing out Sikowitz part that got her attention.

The hundred little comments throughout the weeks, then the thousands between those when we’d just pass each other by…

It’s easier to say it started the first time she knocked on my door, and her eyes were scheming, and that smile she wore grew wide. It wasn’t gentle, or genuine. Nothing about her was. She just never bothered for anything better.

“I’ll mug you.”

So when you have someone like this say something like that, every nerve gets shot, the next few hours are a grueling crawl to figure out just what that glint in her eye is getting at, and that smile…twitches in the back of your mind.

Speaking from experience. Of course.

She came and went, though. Nothing happened. 

Then I didn’t hit Jade with a cane the next day. And if that honestly doesn’t sum up everything about her and me, I don’t know what does.

— — —

“I don’t get it.”

. .

“I know André told you that I faked everything.”

. .

We were standing in what was supposed to be, was theoretically, the Blackbox Theater, except it was hardly a black box and was instead the aftermath of someone taking a little too much inspiration from Sinjin’s locker. I also wasn’t wearing my best. They were less clothes and more rags, and it said too much that I didn’t care how Jade West of all people was there, watching me, with sludge over my shoulder and plastered on the wall. All the walls. And floor. …and ceiling too.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

Great question. It was, honestly.

For once it had nothing to do with me being this pushover. I was done with going around the same routine. Each week had something new. So I came up with something else. An idea. And it was born the night before, and conceived from André flagging me down between class:

I would back Jade into a corner. She had a reason at first, and it was a valid one. I did kiss her boyfriend, even if it was for the iced coffee over my head. But I would back her into a corner, because I had enough, and I would give Jade every last reason to not give me her cut of hell. She would run out of reasons. She’d be stranded to fumble for her own. Run out of energy. Lose her voice.

This wasn’t being nice. I knew her game, and I knew how to end it.

“You took detention, and a lower grade, and you’re scraping crusty pudding off the wall on a Friday night just so that I won’t get in trouble?”

“Pretty much.”

A little too well, because I backed her into that corner with this one disgusting room. Which also had a security guard—Derek, since I had anger issues, apparently.

“Well y— You can’t be nice to me when I’ve been mean to you! That’s not how it works!”

I looked at her, heard the insistence in her voice—a near-desperation. Because her world had its rules, a logic, and it was very corporate, because Jade would do wonders in the family business. She operated on one equation: one input, then get its output; another input doesn’t mean the same output; the same input doesn’t mean another output.

Except when it came to me. And so I pissed Jade off. Confused her. Because I don’t see the numbers. I don’t read a black and white world in statistics.

I retorted to her a truth of mine, how tired I was:

“Well then try and be nice to me some time. Maybe that’ll work.” And then I turned around, dismissed her, to go and scrape off this onion puss from the wall.

Just as I felt my thoughts slog back to how long this was going to take…, I heard her. Scraping some other puss, off the catwalk pillar. Shock plastered a partial grin across my face, and in return, I got this…smile carved beneath narrowed eyes. I imagined it was the same kind of thing a crocodile would pull off. Which got me weary, because crocodiles preen before they sink beneath the surface, and they roll to maul. I didn’t know if Jade was above that.

She isn’t. For the record.

“This…might be more fun with some tunes.”

I didn’t realize what was brewing in her eyes. Believing in her stumble for the music—rag over her shoulder, bucket at hand—, it was a mistake of mine. She then smiled and turned to Derek, proclaimed that this was now fun, and he should join. Which was a mistake of his.

Jade schemed again. Off the cuff, she duped one to rip away the other.

Not a minute later, before the song finished, we were gone from the Blackbox Theater, and we left the security guard too stunned to follow.

She dropped the smile. Her eyes were serrated, and I walked carefully at Jade’s heel. She worked her jaw. 

“There. Happy?”

I gave you an inch. Now don’t turn it into a mile…

I stopped listening. I read her eyes instead.

They were such a cold, lukewarm, brazen green that day.

. .

This whole thing— This dialogue between us.

It started then. That scheming, and the little things, and all the silent stage directions we were following because it was never in the dialogue.

There is no word for it. The most straightforward thing about Jade and I, it’s in the glances, the promise to keep our mouths locked tight, the corners where nobody can find us…

And the soundless murmurs between us when we kiss, the ones I feel leak down my throat.

I devour her mutely.

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

Ch.2: AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[deadhumourist]

Fandom Finds - last week of Dec

Hello! I finally got to catch up on some much-needed reading, and I'm in absolute awe of how incredibly talented people on here are. So I'm going to do a weekly round-up of things I loved in the Pedro Pascal fandom- art, fics, you name it. Here's what I loved in Dec (and a little before then, as it's the intro post!)

A gentle reminder to please support and reblog from your favourite creators to ensure more people see their amazing work!

Here we go, under the cut:

Starman (series) - @imtryingmybeskar (Ezra x F!Reader)

You know when you read something so good, you close your laptop because no words you can put on paper is going to come close to what you just read? That was me last week. This series is incredible - sensitive, insightful, a transportive glimpse into something very different. Ezra drops into his soulmate's lap, but it's not as simple as that. Clear your schedule. Read it.

Driving Mr Tovar (series) - @sirowsky (Pero Tovar x F!Reader)

When I read the original series, I turned into that crazed fan that sent the author songs that reminded me of her fic. Luckily the lovely author humoured me and we are still friends today. She's currently updating the series and the updated version is EVEN better than the original (I'm halfway through the reread of Chapter 1). Pero Tovar doesn't let anyone into his life, least of all his new driver. But he has no idea who he's up against and how his life will change. Perfect holiday escapism right here.

Queen of Poisons (series) - @artemiseamoon (Ezra x F!OFC)

Arte's Ezra and fantastic OFC Nyx has been living completely rent-free in my brain since I first inhaled the series months ago. The push and pull between these two is delicious and her heroine is a deeply nuanced badass who doesn't stand back when faced with danger. If you like supernatural worlds and strong female protagonists, you will love this.

Flowers for Ishtar (series) - Beskarberry (Din Djarin x F!Reader)

I already screamed at the author like an unhinged banshee, but this was one of the most fantastical, wild series I have ever read. Non-human!Mando and F!Reader have a solid partnership until he starts acting very weird. Please, for the love of the reptilian spacepope, read the extensive and detailed warnings, because this won't be for everyone. But if you do proceed - it's funny, magical, soft, sexy, unhinged and brilliant science-fiction fantasy with our favourite buckethead.

My only wish (series) - @foli-vora (Jack Daniels x F!Reader)

Come get your fluffy, sweet Christmas goodness here! Jack Daniels grinches his way into a a situation he never thought he's find himself in. Special appearance by a hilarious little menace who forces Jack and Reader's hand as subtly as a sledgehammer. Treat yo'self.

Unnamed (one-shot) - @juletheghoul (Frankie Morales x F!Reader Siren)

Jules' short and utterly *beautifully* devastating story about Frankie and a Siren will haunt you in more ways than one. It's the kind of story that you think about at 2am when you can't sleep.

The Fox, the Mage and the Cupboard (series) - @littlemisspascal (Multiple characters x F!Reader)

Make a cup of tea, settle under a fleece blanket and let Rae transport you to a magical world where you can forget about all the madness and real world problems. It features Javi G, Din and Pero and she makes them all very special, very distinct from each other. This series feels like a soft hug with some yearning for good measure.

An Evening with Monsters (series)- @clydesducktape (Triple Frontier boys in individual stores x F!Reader)

Kinktober hit different this year with this delicious line-up of monsters - the Triple Frontier boys are an absolute feast in this series. Thia is an incredibly talented writer, it might not be Halloween anymore, but you'll be yearning for these boys anyway.

All about the Bass - @katareyoudrilling (Marcus Pike x F!Reader)

Listen. This author has created a musical universe with the most perfect Marcus Pike (a musician) and I refuse to leave. I refuse. Get your bag, we're going to Yearnsville and staying there - this is romantic and soft and amazing. Marcus and you join an orchestra and it's not just musical notes flying. *chef's kiss*

[bropunzeling]

i asked for a meal and you have given me a banquet!!! i absolutely love everything you have to say about the brady/quinn of linger! if it’s not too much could i ⭐️star⭐️ anything else (backstory, future, whatever) about Them?

hello hello! here is a bit about, like, the brady and quinn of it all:

they are still high school/program besties. quinn still lives in the tkachuk basement and then spends most of his time hanging out with brady anyway

the year before they go off to college, when the hormones are at maximum hormone, quinn gets something spilled on his sweatshirt and borrows one of brady's to wear for the night and seeing quinn walk around in HIS sweatshirt that is a size too large, smelling like HIM, absolutely serves as a sexual awakening moment for brady.

he feels really really guilty about jerking off about it in the shower because quinn is his best friend and he hasn't even felt like this about anyone, really, let alone best friends who are probably supposed to be off limits (and only ever seem to date nice beta girls, which is doubly the opposite of brady) but also like. quinn in his sweatshirt. what is brady supposed to do about that

and if it's what he thinks about the next three -- or five -- times he gets off, well--

it's not a crush, though.

or at least, not until they get to college, when they’re setting up times to play video games and chat, talking about how different college is and what they think will happen in the draft and just -- anything --

and one time quinn is just going on about his stupid gen ed class and how shitty his essay is going and rolling his eyes when brady suggests stupid topics to write his essay about and even just the sound of him complaining has brady grinning, and yeah brady could go hang out with his teammates or the other people in the dorm but he'd much rather listen to quinn anyway, he wonders if quinn would keep going if brady kissed him or if that would shut him up --

fuck

okay so it is a crush. it's a big, horrible, awful crush, but brady is going to get through this. he is not going to ruin the best friendship he has. there are plenty of fish in the sea. even if he doesn't really want to do the whole courting thing, finds the whole idea kind of weird and it's not like he’s ever found an omega he likes the smell of anyway, he can date other people. try it out. he's friendly, and he's big, and there's plenty of folks who aren't looking for a bond but are for a good time. it's fine.

brady goes on three dates; tries hooking up once. the guy is shorter and has dark hair and the whole time brady wishes it was quinn. he bails out before anyone gets their pants off.

so maybe it isn't fine. but brady isn't going to make a move. if he makes a move, maybe quinn won't hang out in his hotel room in st louis. maybe quinn won't let brady call him when he needs to complain about how his team is shit. maybe quinn won't send him stupid memes on road trips, or bad pictures of petey, or just -- be quinn around him anymore

and it's been years of this -- years of wanting and waiting and being so fucking scared to try -- when they're on the phone, like normal, and quinn's bitching about something, like normal, and it hits brady like a sledgehammer to the chest that like, he’s gonna keep wanting this. it isn't going away. he might as well try.

quinn takes a breath and he blurts out, quick, would you want to go out with me?

quinn keeps going. the pause wasn’t a real pause. brady tries again.

quinn stops talking. he makes a funny noise. what?

i was saying, brady says, i -- i fucking like you. actually i'm kind of in love with you, and like -- do you want to go out with me?

there's a long moment where all brady can hear is quinn breathing. then he says, are you really asking this over the phone?

brady's holding his phone so hard the plastic case is creaking. is that a no?

quinn says, i can't believe you're asking me out over the phone, but

it's not a no

(it's not all easy sailing and they have at least one awful 24 hour period of not talking because quinn is like are you sure you don't want a bond, are you sure, but this is already getting too long lmaoooo)

[thatoneguy031]

Uhh...

Holy wow, that was fast.

But, uhm. Yeah, onto King Clawthorne, the Titan of Burger Queen!

Also, shoutout to @rainbowangel110 for giving me more info on the show and fandom as a whole:

This isn't gonna be a "Oh my god, this character has pizazz" kinda thing, mostly because King doesn't wear much besides his collar, so this is gonna be more of an analysis of his character, and my personal thoughts on him.

Spoilers for the end of the show, by the way. If you haven't finished the show, I suggest you finish reading here!

...You're still here? Cool, just don't sue me if you get hit with the sledgehammer that is the show's endgame.

So firstly, I have to bring up something I realized a long time ago, and talked about in one of my first ever posts up here.

King actually has a mouth. But, he never uses it to actually talk.

Something that someone mentioned to me, though, is fairly interesting about him. You know how some legendary Pokemon have a telepathy-like way of communicating with the humans in the anime/movies? That someone on Twitter(I can't remember the name for the life of me, but kudos to them) said that he might communicate that way, only really using his mouth to either eat or let out those hyper shouts of his.

This is actually a really interesting idea that I wish the animators actually played with more. As far as I'm aware, neither Luz or Eda do as much as acknowledge it, nevermind question him about it. Maybe it has something to do with him being a Titan since his pops does the same thing, but I dunno.

Which brings me to yet another topic about the fellow: He's a Titan. Now, I hear y'all saying, "Guy, no freaking crap he's a Titan! The entire fandom knows this, it's no longer just a theory! What's the point of stating the obvious?!"

Here's one thing that I thought about. In my post about Luz, I mentioned that I loved her Titan Form. Besides the very heartwarming references that are in her outfit, she gets improved magic, durability, and can create glyphs on the fly, along with the magic circles that everyone and their mother in the Boiling Isles have been doing already. I was really upset when I found out that she only got to use it once before Papa Titan's spirit faded away, making sure to steal Luz's cool new form from her as it did so.

Call me Alpharad with the way I'm theory-crafting, but hear me out. King is already tapping into his Titan powers(As he should. You go, little furball!), unlocking and even mastering his hyper shout. How long do you think it's gonna be until he taps into more of his abilities? From what we know, Titans are extremely powerful. A drop of their blood contain enough power to open holes between realms, even being able to make a sort of purgatory area, as shown in Vee's debut episode(Is there a specific name for that area? That was also really cool). At least, I'm sure it's Vee's debut episode it appears in.

This might be the Pokemon fanboy in me, but what if King and Luz managed to sync up to bring that form back? Something more akin to Battle Bond, maybe? Heck, even King himself could get some kind of glow-up.

Speaking of glow-ups...

This... this is cool!

Don't get me wrong, I understand that King was in a state of distress as everything the show threw at him was finally too much to handle, and I do indeed feel bad for him. Very much so. But...

What.

The.

Heck?!

Lost Deity King, as I'm now dubbing him(Mostly because I don't know the form's real name), is what happens when you push a character too far. He's had enough, and wanted to snap Belos's neck for what he did to Luz, and Eda wanted to as well, but I'll get to her in the future. He wanted to kill him the same way Tsunami killed Gill(Wings of Fire reference, for those not aware).

...I really felt bad for him during this scene, though. Seriously. Excuse my language, but think about the absolute bullshit that King had to go through over the course of more-or-less eight years. He:

-Was basically abandoned at birth(I understand that Papa Titan had his own things going on, but he felt like he's been abandoned)

-Was convinced that he was the King of the Demons(Which isn't even a title, as far as I'm aware?) by the only thing he could even remotely call a parental figure

-Had to watch as his mother figure would turn into a dangerous owl monster basically on the weekly

-Was taken as a joke, a walking meme, for most if not all of his life(It sorta made sense for Eda and Luz, as they were family to him, and he knew it was just fun and games from them)

-Nearly died on several accounts, the most devastating of which(That I can remember) being nearly crushed in a magic cube because he did something as petty as refusing to write fanfiction due to burnout

-found out that his friend/sister TRAVELLED THROUGH TIME with his roommate/mother's sister(Who, might I add, TRIED TO KILL BOTH EDA AND LUZ on the SAME DAY, a few weeks ago) to look for the past version of someone that's actively hunting that same sister figure

-Was basically forced to team up with a potentially universe-ending being and be his plaything for about two or three days, watching those he loved being turned into puppets

-Was told that basically everything he believed about himself was an utter lie

Which, by the way, can I talk about that for a while? 'Cause this-

Just this. I can still hear his voice in this scene.

"...Y-You're all just messing with me, like usual, right?"

"Oh no... no no no no no no!"

"No! Keep that thing away from me, it's messing with my head!" Poor guy didn't even want the remnant of his horn back.

I'm not one to cry at movies or TV shows. I'm not trying to sound tough or anything, I just can't really bring myself to do that. But, when I heard King hyperventilate as he began having a existensial crisis, I bawled my eyes out for him. This scene legitimately broke my heart.

All of this, and the worst part?

...King is still a child.

That's right. According to the wiki(Which is where I pull a lot of these images from), King is around eight years old, and he's twelve during the epilogue. Point being, he still in need of caring parents. Yes, Eda was there, but continuing to tell the lie that he was the Demon King(Again, not even a real title) was a bit of a low move for her. I forgive her for that, especially since it was with good intentions, but jeez lady.

Back to the list of messed-up things that King went through:

-Was separated from Luz and his three other new friends for like, a week, as they traveled to the human realm by force(Yes, he caused it, but it was because he literally had to)

-Basically got involved in the second Great Ninja War but if the ninjas were replaced by witches, and was considered a large estate of power

...Oh, and how could I possibly forget? King also had to...*checks notes*...

-LITERALLY WATCH AS HIS BEST FRIEND WAS CRUSHED UNDER BELOS'S FOOT-CLAW-THING, POSSESSED BY STUPID DISNEY "KILL MC" PLOT BS AND DISINTEGRATE INTO BALLS OF LIGHT!!

Yeah, no wonder why he completely flipped his shit in this scene! Wouldn't you?!

It's just that... King really went through a lot. Can someone give him a hug?

Like...

How did we get from this, to... That thing?

I said that I loved the Lost Deity, but if it meant that his mental health could remain stable... I'm willing to live without it.

...Rant and tears aside, I really love King. He's just a lovable dog thing, while still being such a slippery little fella.

For example, someone made this piece of artwork of him, and it's been on my mind for quite some time.

I know this isn't official art, but y'all can still admit that King didn't even have drip anymore... He was a whole fountain. I couldn't trace the image back a specific person, but I found it somewhere here, if you guys want to use it as a wallpaper!

(Also, I don't know why, but he gives such early 2010s energy in this photo.)

Y'all want more of adorable pics of King? Here ya go!

Woo, work it! Yass, slay queen!

Real talk though, we can all agree that this guy is awesome, right? Just off of principle.

Overall, King is my favorite character in the show(Although, between you and me, it was sort of a close call when Titan Luz entered the field), and I just hope that life is nothing but uphill for him.

...He deserves it.

[jpbradley]

JP is Writing: Dark Heresy

(I'm still off work ill, understimulated and have nobody to bounce ideas off really so now I am going to ramble for far too long about a thing I am noodling around. Sorry.)

I've been toying around with GayHalforc's Sledgehammer rules, which I like for a bunch of reasons but mostly the fact that it's a rules light hack of Dark Heresy, which is a foundational text for a whole bunch of designers (myself included) who looked at its combination of low power, high lethality and lovingly crafted cross section of the Warhammer 40,000 and asked the question: What if this had rules that weren't shit?

If you want to hack Dark Heresy then Sledgehammer is a good place to start. It actually leans closer to Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay (WHFRP) but a simple reskin can set it in the 41st millennium and the rules are hacked right the way down so you can start reintroducing the crunch to a level that suits your own particular tastes.

For me this meant adding weapon traits (my group loves guns) and cribbing in Gamma World 7e's ammunition system (if you shoot more than once keep shooting cause you'll be out of ammo at the end of the encounter anyway), which is a brilliant rule I've always wanted to play with.

The other big change I wanted to make is more foundational; getting rid of the d% system.

It's something I've always wanted to do with Dark Heresy because percentiles get very 'mathsy' quickly, something made worse in the original system having variable bonuses and penalties depending on the situation. If you're shooting you +20 if firing full auto, +10 if aiming for a half action but +20 instead if aiming for a full turn. God only knows how lighting works, and thats before you even get to hit locations, cover and damage (Dice and weapon strength, minus target toughness, and maybe armour less the penetration of the weapon? ICK!)

None of which would be an issue if you didn't have to engage with that system, but stats in Dark Heresy are 25-40% range unmodified so you need to navigate all the variables to do anything reliably. Sure routine tests are supposed to get bonuses, but if they're routine why are we rolling at all?

I replaced all that with 1d10 roll under a stat between 2 and 5 (at base) which seems harsh until you throw in an extra 1d10 for having a relevant background detail and another 1d10 for anything that makes life easier. Anything under is a success, the highest of them is used for causing damage.

On the flip side particularly difficult tasks will steal a success after rolling, because that's how Heart: The City Beneath managed its difficulty and I found it suitably vicious for a hard edged setting.

Which brings us to the setting. One of the big problems with Dark Heresy's successor, Wrath & Glory, was that it tried to encompass the entirety of the 40k setting with its rules. Dark Heresy and its successors (Rogue Trader, Deathwatch, not so much Black Crusade) benefitted from focusing the action to a specific corner of the Imperium and the street level 'Cthulhu and boltguns' vibe of the original is definitely what I want to capture.

A big source of inspiration for playing Dark Heresy recently has been Warhammer 40,000 Darktide, which has a similar sort of vibe of picking your way through a massive hive city as the whole place goes to fuck. I'm not sure that I want it to be a full on warzone the way the Hive is there, but the idea of a place where Imperial rule is less absolute, rebellion more open; of a world straining at the shackles of distant masters and the space between the oppression of the past and the open rebellion of tomorrow, is something that appeals to me for reasons that you might recognise yourself.

So that is where my players will find themselves, with a name, an accusation, all of the responsibility and none of the authority needed to bring their target to justice and completely disposable to their distant masters.

[umnitsa]

Why I loved Violent Night - A treaty in many, many parts

SANTA IS A BRAWLER

I will state my case after the cut, for there will be spoilers, details, and overall madness

The first fight already starts with some weird information. First, when Tinsel hits Santa, Santa is ANGRY, which is a bit unexpected given how desperate he looked before. And then the headbutt which is a thing of beauty (and born from rage). So you know Santa can fight right from the start. Santa can take a punch. He's slow and resistant and you can see his blows are strong. It's like you're playing Cadillacs and Dinosaurs with Mess O'Bradovich (I'm sorry, I'm a 40+ year-old gamer, you have to forgive me here). In the second fight, the game room fight (I think it's against Frosty), he fights with the golf club swinging wildly, which kinda shows he is used to heavier weapons. The improvised blackjack with the pool balls is much more effective in his hands. Also, Santa was super giddy when Frosty's head caught fire. These two fights also showcase how resourceful he is in a fight, not in a desperate-to-survive kind of way, but with the trained eye of someone who knows how to cause damage. So when Nicomund, the Viking, is introduced, OF COURSE, IT MAKES SENSE, it is just perfect. Of course, he was a war-loving Viking. (The second fight is my favorite, by the way, I love the soundtrack, the whole chaotic feeling, Santa buying time by trash-talking, the suplex into the pinball machine... :D)

When the shed scene started, I was really expecting some fun and I think the movie delivered well. He receives a pep talk from an adorable kid, talks about shoving coal up naughty people's anuses, and finds a sledgehammer, by the power of him praying to his wife (aw, come on, it was adorable, admit you loved it too).

And there we have resourceful war Santa again, now with his powers unleashed by a healthy dose of self-confidence delivered by the belief of a kid in him. Wholesome carnage. I really enjoyed the sledgehammer choreography, it was so satisfying to watch. The whole image of weight and momentum, ah, it was pretty. And what can I say, I think it was a lovely scene to watch Santa beheading people with ice skates and sleds. <3 I could sing praises to the snowblower (I thought it was a woodchipper but hey, I'm from a country where we don't have snow, you gotta forgive me. again). (I won't comment on the hand grenade, otherwise, this will become a love letter. I felt so giddy at that moment I keep laughing whenever I think of it.) The final fight, with Scrooge, is so dramatic and has a beautiful beautiful conclusion. And there you see, Santa swinging wide, trying to use his height and his weight in his favor. On this one, his resistance is key. Like a warlord, he wins with maximum prejudice xD So yeah, Santa is a brawler and I really enjoyed the idea and how it was executed xD

[bluiex]

Anon’s ask gave me ideas so I had to write something small about it. Unsure if this will be kept canon to my AU, but here it is.

Some more AU lore first: Mumbo, along with most of the HEP, view the infected as their own person. Meaning they see Scar only as Father Spore, not Scar. They believe those fully infested are lost and taken over. This is why Mumbo refuses to refer to Scar as Scar here, he firmly believes he’s not. Learning that Grian is infested takes a sledgehammer to that idea and makes Mumbo very confused and lost.

Also, unsure if it’s clear, all of the hermits in this AU know each other and were friends, so seeing some get completely corrupted by the mycelium hits hard. Especially those who believe that the mycelium fully takes over the person. Anyway, snippet time.

——————

Mumbo stumbles over a root, trying to follow Grian through the small forest. Sure he knows Grian likes his alone time, especially after the war started, but Mumbo needs to speak to him. What is he doing out here is the better question.

He slows down when he hears voices, relieved that he caught up to his assistant. His relief almost immediately fades as he looks into the clearing, freezing.

Grian is standing in the middle of the clearing talking to Father Spore as it walks closer. Mumbo tries to shout at him to run, but he’s frozen in place, unable to move or speak as the spore creature approaches his friend.

Grian doesn’t seem to mind when it cups his face, thumb gently stroking his check. The avian hums, leaning into it looking blissed out.

It chuckles, “you know I love seeing you, songbird, but shouldn’t you be working?”

“I can take breaks,” he insists, defensive.

“I’m not saying you can’t, but you shouldn’t meet me during them, we can’t have you getting caught.”

Grian huffs, “no one will catch me, Scar, I’m careful.”

Father Spore just hums in response, not pressing the matter more. It leans down and pulls Grian into a kiss, the avian gasping in surprise. After not even a moment, he runs his hands through the other’s hair, holding it close. His ungloved hands.

Mumbo backs away, confused and fearful. Grian is… Grian is what? He doesn’t seem infested, act infested, yet here he is, kissing the most infectious being in the resistance. There is no way Grian isn’t infested, not with how close he is to S- Father Spore, not with how it knew to meet him there.

Grian is a traitor.

Mumbo swallows the bile that threatens to come up at the thought. He hurries back to town hall, afraid of getting caught. What does this mean? What does this mean?

There definitely weren’t any traces of the infectious spores when he first met and befriended Grian. So why, why does he act the same? How can he be himself but infected? Why can’t Mumbo tell?

He sits down in his office chair once back inside, dropping his face into his hands, what is he supposed to do now?

Mumbo knows he should confront his friend (are they still friends?), he can’t do it in front of others, but he’s terrified at doing it alone.

He’s already so exhausted by this war, Grian being the only one to keep him steady, so what does this mean? For them? For everything?

OUGH MUMBOOO whyd you have to follow him WAAAH

I really love how you have Mumbo think those infect are no longer who they were. It's so good an makes this so much more heart breaking in the end