#again apologies for his lukewarm response but...

[drrutherford]

Reaction @mobscene-awards​​

╰─▸ ❝Man of the Year❞ x

A slight frown creases his forehead as he hears his name called out for the award.

There’s some cosmic irony about winning two of the same awards as Delphine St. Clair – a woman he properly loathes – this year... Something at play he doesn’t like. The fact he’s won this award by a more significant landslide doesn’t sit well with him, either. It’s not that he wishes any of the other men had won this one in his stead, but rather that he can’t shake the feeling it all portends some sort of farce.

He isn’t a superstitious man (a recent conversation with Samar hitting with particular irony right now...), but winning this category last year hadn’t exactly brought him a boatload of luck, either. At the time, he’d hoped it would... Been naïve enough to think that maybe a page was finally turning in his life, and several years of being hated and heckled by the media and general public were finally coming to an end. Instead, the damage had turned inwards. Whatever his public reputation had apparently regained, his private relationships had suffered. And while Gideon isn’t stupid enough to think the award could be blamed for that, it had added salt not only to the wounds of his friends, but to his own resulting cocktail of misery as well.

He doesn’t move. Paralyzed in apprehension until Amélie jostles his arm, sweetly oblivious to every reason making him dread going up on that stage right now. With a sidelong glance at his family, the surgeon rises to his feet again, slowly, reluctantly.

The flash from the cameras seem more irritating this time, scattering his thoughts with every clic!, making it impossible for him to string two words together in hasty preparation for a speech. He doesn’t clock Diana’s expression this time as she hands him the trophy with a kiss to the cheek. He doesn’t clock much of anything except for the gnawing unease as he turns to face the crowd. Gideon takes a steadying breath.

Half a minute later and he’s retreating down the steps of the stage, relieved to have it over and done with. He doesn’t remember much of what he’d said in his acceptance speech either – something horribly vague about hoping to spend the rest of 2023 in a pursuit becoming of the honour – but privately he isn’t so sure. Isn’t sure that he’s capable, even if he does try. Isn’t sure some of his loved ones want him to try, at all.

He wishes Yvonne had won the category, instead. He could’ve been uncomplicatedly proud of the award then... That would’ve been more than enough for him.

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — Mean

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.4k TYPE: Fake dating, This is not fluff or angst but a secret third thing (with a cheerful ending) WARNING(S): Depersonalization/identity issues

The first time you meet Michael Kaiser, you get a bad impression.

Yeah, sure, he doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, anyway. You’ve met all sorts of unpleasant people in your life and he manages to disappoint even when the bar is so low, the only way to go lower is through digging.

You don’t exchange a word with him, but rather you have the misfortune of having to listen to him talk throughout the entire meeting. He starts countless arguments, some valid to an extent. You can tell he’s just doing this because he’s addicted to the sound of his voice and speaking to people like they’re unimportant specks of dust all while commanding their attention. There’s no point to his fussing either because he ends up signing the same contract you do.

Waste of your goddamn time — he might as well have not signed it and saved you the trouble, since the ordeal ends up lasting three hours because of him.

Maybe you should’ve not signed it yourself, but your PR manager was salivating at the idea of fake dating as a publicity stunt, especially with Kaiser who’ll be posing with you for a photoshoot in a few months, so you said ‘whatever’ and here you are. In this predicament with an insufferable man you imagine you won’t get along with, which already predisposes you to never giving him a chance.

___

The first time you speak to Michael Kaiser, you unsettle him.

It’s unlike him to feel disturbed, let alone at the slightest thing. He’s met all sorts of sickos, so he considers himself unflinching in the face of anyone who has anything off about them.

But he’s fifteen minutes late to the ‘date’ you’re supposed to use as a tool to subtly launch your fake relationship and he’s expecting a scolding. Kaiser spots you and heads in your direction, taking the seat in front with a shitty smirk and an ingenuine, half-assed apology on his lips.

What he gets in response is a blank look — almost… unimpressed, which naturally someone like Kaiser takes as a challenge and already sets the tone for the rest of the conversation — and it’s as if you’re staring into his soul. Then in an instant your expression flips to convincing joy, your warm smile contrasting his snide one, and you say, “Let’s act like we’re really stoked.”

A chill runs down his spine. On a logical level Kaiser knows you’re faking it, but it looks real, and that’s what he finds freaky. Also, the speed.

“Let’s not,” he says. “You’re weird,” he adds after you don’t respond.

You don’t react to this information either and settle for maintaining your smile.

The barista decides to spare him from having to look at you while you don’t say anything. He’s pretty sure you’re doing this deliberately, to torture him. When you attempt to order something, he talks over you and asks, “Can you give us one of those shitty milkshakes with two straws in them?”

She stares at him in bewilderment. “We don’t sell those,” she says eventually.

“Can you make one?”

“No…”

“You’re scum,” you tell him, dropping the happy facade. Again, the quickness strikes Kaiser as disturbing. Then you give her a valid order, and he asks for water since they offer that everywhere and he can’t be bothered to read the menu. After the barista leaves, you say, “I could have lactose intolerance.”

“You could. I could be trying to kill you.”

“I don’t know if a milkshake would be enough to kill me.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you a stomach ache,” he concurs.

You don’t dignify that with a reply either.

Kaiser tries to speak with you again, “I really fucking hate milk.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

“To embarrass you, of course,” he says, like he’s revealed to you the natural order of things.

“Hm.” You consider this new information. “I’ll definitely think of a way to get back at you.”

The lukewarm threat seems to amuse him more than anything.

Then you proceed to have a hostile few hours together in public as instructed. You end up throwing napkins at his face.

Kaiser isn’t good at pretending to be in love. The only such image he seems capable of projecting is one of a middle schooler who’s failing to find a balance between playful and mean. Though it also doesn’t matter to you because you mostly teeter on the edge of mean, slightly left of apathetic. Nothing really matters to you.

___

For your second court-ordered date with Michael Kaiser, your manager tells you to get caught holding hands with him at a park after the cafe meeting doesn’t spark much controversy. The notion itself has you scrunching your face, but you don’t complain about it or voice your opinion.

Again, he’s late picking you up by a not negligent amount of time, leaving you to stand in front of your building, motionless and impatient.

Instead of announcing his presence in a more acceptable manner, Kaiser blares the car horn until you realize it’s him. After you crawl inside the passenger seat, you turn to look at him and see that he looks very pleased with himself. It’s obnoxious.

“I hope we die in a car crash,” you greet.

“We won’t.” You don’t know why, but his brain interprets this as an opportunity to brag. “I’m an excellent driver.”

He’s not. Somehow you make it to the park without getting into a catastrophe — which, as established, you wouldn’t have minded.

You exit at the same time and Kaiser frowns at you by the time he circles his way around to you. You don’t care enough about what’s bothering him to raise a questioning eyebrow let alone ask, but he tells you, “I was going to open the door for you and then offer to help you up. You ruined everything!”

You roll your eyes. “How gallant.”

“Get back in,” Kaiser says, pointing (as if the gesture will be enough to convince you to play along). “Let’s redo it.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a vision for these kinds of things, that’s all.”

“Your vision is trashy and uninspired,” you reject promptly.

Kaiser seems to be the first person in the world who finds your attitude funny rather than objectionable because he grins at your response. But he’s more so looking at you like you’re a bug he finds fascinating in comparison to the rest, without any real respect or acknowledgement. 

“I admit maybe it was a bit cliche,” he says. “Would’ve made me look good, though, if someone caught it on camera.”

You smile that ghoulish smile again and grab his hand like you were told. His fingers are cold and yours even more so, making the grasp clammy and uncomfortable while you begin your stroll. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to talk about with him. Soon enough, you scowl, both the silence and the sensation of getting touched proving too much for you to hide your displeasure, even though Kaiser seems content with letting the silence fester.

“Oh? Why’d you stop? I’ve started enjoying your creepy masquerading.”

“I’m disgusted,” you say.

“Disgusted,” he repeats. “By what? Me?”

“It’s making me sick. Who knows where your hand’s been or what you’ve done.”

Albeit visibly offended for the first time if the lack of an annoying smirk is anything to draw judgments from, Kaiser drops it first. Your arm hangs by your side again, limp.

“Let go, then. Or do I need to do everything myself?” That’s quite a dramatic sentiment coming from a man who has done nothing all day besides a short drive and taking a few steps.

“But my manager said-”

“Who cares? I think my manager’s lucky I agreed to this bullshit in the first place,” Kaiser says. “By the way, my hands haven’t been in any sewers or anything to warrant this reaction, thank you very much.” He must be the type of person who only ever says thank you as if being grateful is some big joke.

“I’m not being literal. I know who you are and what people say about you. My disgust is conceptual.”

“Flattering.” Kaiser’s pleased again with the mention of this tidbit, like the mental image he’s getting of you searching him up gives him immeasurable amounts of satisfaction. One thing you’ve come to notice about him since your last outing is that he’s shameless. “You’re not special, though. Lots of people know who I am.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re scum.”

“Do you usually talk to people you barely know in this way or is it preferential treatment? I’d love preferential treatment, but the other option is amusing too.”

“Usually,” you say in a monotone. “That’s why I don’t speak much. More so supposed to be looked at rather than heard, and so on.” You finish off your explanation with a flippant gesture. That’s what it’s like for you — ‘shut your trap, it ruins your appeal.’

“Well, I-” there’s an emphasis on the word ‘I’ because Kaiser always thinks his opinion matters, “-think your worldview is pathetic and embarrassing. What’s the point of being looked at if no one will listen to you? How can you be fine with that?”

Fair point. You concede in your head, but don’t commit to agreeing with him out loud. “You’re not special either. Most people gross me out.”

“You hurt me this time.” He’s sneering, though.

After a while of walking, you find yourself sitting on a bench next to him. A few pigeons strut around near your feet, bobbing their heads back and forth, almost catching a groove. “If I had any bread, I’d feed them.”

“I’m not surprised you’d feel interested in such a commoner’s activity,” Kaiser says, as if he is somehow superior to you for not wanting to participate in this.

“Vile,” you say, voice still neutral. You’re not looking at him either, attention glued to the birds.

He doesn’t know which part of it you find dismaying — was it the class shaming or what? “So you like pigeons, but you hate humanity. You’re one of those.”

“I don’t hate humanity,” you say. “But nature is repulsive by default. It’s not amoral. When we’re cruel and ugly, that’s a conscious and opportunistic decision. Every day CEOs throw their employees and workers under the bus for more profits. Someone’s getting murdered as we speak. We’re faking a relationship to attract brand deals. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“Get a hobby instead of thinking about stupid shit like that. Caring about how ugly and bleak everything is won’t get you anywhere,” Kaiser… advises.

“Look at the pigeons.” You’re watching the one with the missing claws, wobbling and struggling to get around. “Humans domesticated them and then abandoned them. I love flora and fauna. They’re interesting and exist much more differently than we do.”

“Does that mean you like my tattoo then?”

“Not everything needs to be about you. It’s not like people will forget you exist when you don’t force yourself to be at the center of conversation.”

This stings him the tiniest bit. Either you’re probing into an insecurity or he’s reading too deep into what you’re gathering from your conversations with him. “If I wanted to have a pseudointellectual conversation, I wouldn’t ask a vapid model to psychoanalyze me.”

“Your opinions are unoriginal and stereotyped just like your ideas about romance,” you say, finally turning around to face him again with those haunted eyes. He’s unamused now, clenching his jaw and all. “A stupid athlete wouldn’t be my first choice for a ‘pseudointellectual conversation’ either.”

“You look down on others and judge them, so what makes you so different from all those ‘scum’ you hate? How are you exempt from your own standards?”

Do you realize you’re displaying similar behaviors to those you’re scolding him over?

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” you say. Kaiser is expecting an argument or something, but you kind of floor him with your follow-up. “It’s called hypocrisy. I’m probably just as disgusting as the average person.”

“Your life must be miserable if you look at everything through this lens. What was the phrase, rose colored glasses? Yours must have shit smeared over them.”

You shrug then make a 50/50 motion with your hand. “My life’s neither good nor bad. I’m indifferent on the subject.”

“Uh huh.” Kaiser considers this, then his lips twitch up, and then his smile broadens — it’s snide and smug again, and you come to the realization that he probably doesn’t know how to smile in any other way — before he inches a little closer to you. Not enough to brush against you, but enough to count as an attempted provocation. “I think people like you shouldn’t be considered alive. Legally speaking. And if we’re being figurative, you’re obviously already dead.”

You frown at him, since he’s kind of right. The fact that Michael Kaiser has the capability to discern truths you don’t want to hear rubs you the wrong way.

“Speaking of birds,” you start, deciding to change the topic, “you remind me of a peacock.”

“Wrong.” He’s pouty now. You find the expression cute, but when you catch the thought you throw up in your mouth a bit, so you ignore it. “I’m clearly a swan.”

“The fact that you have a preference when it comes to what animal you’re considered is sad.”

“And you’re entertaining. Let’s hang out again soon even if those sorry fucks don’t suggest it.”

You find it bewildering how he calls his PR manager’s input a ‘suggestion’ and seems to think he can do whatever he wants. Which, maybe he does, seeing the way he conducts himself. You’re also tempted to tell him to make up his mind on whether he enjoys your company or not, but there are more important matters right now. “We’re not supposed to do that, I don’t think.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Why this desire all of a sudden?”

“It’s what I want.” What impeccable reasoning. “I think I can make you enjoy yourself,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. Not for your merit or anything stupid.” Kaiser offers what you’d describe as a flamboyant hand wave in the air, demeanor laced with complacency. “I think it’d make me feel really charitable and generous if I can manage to add something to your depressing life. Give me a chance to try.”

“Word of advice,” you scoot away from him to the point the edge of the bench is digging into your ass and it honestly hurts, “you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. How you phrased it disgusted me again.”

Kaiser finds your favored terms interesting. Everything is sickening and disgusting and vile and scummy from your perspective. Deep down for reasons he doesn’t want to ponder, he can relate.

“Great. You’ll come around soon,” he promises, with the confidence of someone who thinks this is a game he has a high chance of winning.

___

Kaiser makes it a point to inflict his presence onto you as much as he can afford to with your schedules, even though there’s no need for it. Not that you refuse him either. He’s kind of interesting to keep around, in his own Kaiser-ish way.

Earlier today he invited himself over to your house. He’d decided you need to come up with a story about your ‘relationship,’ but didn’t wanna discuss it through text messages. Apparently he has an interview coming up and wants to be prepared in case they ask him about you.

“How did we meet?” you ask, sitting on the other side of the couch and leaning against the armrest, away from him.

The answer is immediate: “I saved you from a burning church.”

You question what other fantasies this man could probably have because that’s the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. Your voice somehow remains flat despite the bewilderment when you ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s flashy and dramatic.”

“But if anyone searches it up, they’ll see there haven’t been any… burned churches?”

“You’re such a killjoy.” Kaiser sighs. “It makes it sound mystical.”

“No it doesn’t,” you say, rather flippant about the entire thing. “It makes you sound like a pathological liar.”

“I like your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not kidding about this.”

“Then what do you think it should be?” Kaiser asks. Obviously the purpose of this inquiry is to criticize your choice of scenario — even you can anticipate such a predictable move.

You roll your eyes and then look away from him in contemplation. You hadn’t really thought about it, since you don’t do interviews, and therefore you don’t need to concern yourself with hypotheticals on the matter. “Some kind of party, maybe. Post-match celebration?”

“Makes sense,” says Kaiser. “Doesn’t compel me, though. Boring.”

With a hum, you try to imagine what would both appeal to Kaiser and sound realistic. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s swayed by practicality. “I went with someone else, but you swept me off my feet so hard, you stole me away from them.”

“I guess it sounds plausible enough while still having an element of fantasy.”

“Is the idea of me liking you the ‘element of fantasy’?”

“Yeah… That’s why I want it.”

You didn’t expect such a response. It has you looking at him weird. You do so often anyway, but now you do it for longer as if trying to glean something. In response Kaiser tells you to take a picture since it’ll last longer. The reply seems extraneous and distracting, and that only makes you feel more suspicious of him, which is weird since you’re not sure what you’re even inferring.

___

Officially it’s your fifth date with Kaiser, unofficially it’s the tenth. This time you’re holding up a frog in your open hands.

He doesn’t know what the point of all the nature-themed outings is — maybe to make him seem down to Earth in the public eye since he’s become notorious for how insufferable he is? Either way he doesn’t care, and he’s not the type to wander at landscapes, but your affinity for ugly animals is kind of cute.

The frog isn’t some special one either. No crazy colors or anything, just a regular green tree frog (according to your expertise). You let it jump onto your palms, since apparently touching their skin is bad for them or something. Kaiser scrutinizes it in distaste, staring down into its big eyes while it croaks. “So you can handle a disgusting amphibian, but you can’t hold hands with me.”

“I see you’re still thinking about that.”

“Well, it was insulting. And besides, it’s never happened to me before.”

“You’re not so bad. I don’t think I’d vomit if we brushed against each other anymore.”

Kaiser seems curious but nonetheless pleased with this development. “Why the change of heart?”

“Because you listen to what I say,” you tell him.

He somehow resists the urge to piss himself laughing at the sound of that. “Your standards are so low. It’s so sad that it’s funny,” he says. Maybe he would’ve dedicated some more time to teasing you over it, but he comes to a realization which immediately lifts his mood. This must mean he’s in your good graces somewhat, and not many people seem to fit there, so that makes Kaiser special to a degree. Right?

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“Who would’ve thought someone who looks the way you do would come out like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you were one of those kids who, like, shoved sticks and leaves in mud and called it a potion.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

Kaiser lets out an annoyed sound, tired of elaborating. “It means I think you’re strange.”

“Hmm, I bet you do,” you say. “There’s a quote I like: ‘It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.’”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s the kind of message you love. What’s it from?”

“Interesting story,” you say. “This is Jiddu Krishnamurti’s most famous quote, but it doesn’t appear in any of his books. Allegedly he said it to some other guy.”

Kaiser blinks and nods, maybe trying to keep a pretense of having the slightest concept of what you’re on about. “Whatever, got it. I can’t remember the last time I read a book. Maybe I’ll check him out.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be interested in that type of thing,” you say, staring at him as if you’re trying to figure him out.

“Actually, I am. Can you stop taking every chance to insult me?”

“I’m not. At least not on purpose… So, what are your hobbies, anyway? You never told me.”

“I practice. What do you take me for?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “That’s it?”

Kaiser opens his mouth to justify himself even though there’s no need to be defensive — maybe it’s that he feels like he’s lacking in some department after you bring your attention to it with your little response and generally Kaiser hates to be insufficient. But before he can argue and try and talk himself out of whatever perception you have of him now, an interruption happens.

The frog, which had been lazy and content with merely existing in your grasp, springs without any warning. It leaps out of your fingers and lands on top of Kaiser’s head.

Today you learn Michael Kaiser screams at an ear-shattering frequency when he’s startled. Soap opera level of shock and overreaction.

___

It is when you’re eating at a trashy place for lunch that Kaiser’s looking at his phone, which you find rude since you’re supposed to be spending time together and whatnot. He eats like a pig, too, not graceful at all — you wonder what his fans would think if they saw him with crumbs over his mouth and sauce on his chin. Good material for a public embarrassment campaign, you think.

But it’s in that moment that he finally wipes himself with a tissue and reaches out to all but shove his phone in your face. “Look, we’re so hot!”

You grace the picture with a dismissive glance before looking back down at your meal, disinterested. You already know enough about Kaiser to assume he’d get a kick out of power couple fantasies. And other power fantasies. Really, you find it pathetic.

It was something out of the photoshoot he was showing you, his favorite you presume. Even someone like Kaiser, who has conventional features, isn’t perfect when it comes to these unreasonable standards. He’d been way too stiff next to you while he posed and though his face is symmetrical, his expressions tend to stray to one side, and obviously it’d been corrected.

There’s a mismatch between you on the covers and your image in the mirror. Maybe your brain is exaggerating the disconnect, but every time you see them, it’s like staring into an airbrushed, distorted amalgamation. In other words, you prefer avoiding both the edited products and your reflection whenever you can.

“We don’t look like that,” you say, offhand about his enthusiasm as you are with most things.

Kaiser scoffs and then very blatantly tries to compare between whatever version of you he has on his phone and the you in front of him. There’s not a single good thing you can say about his decision — it’s making your skin crawl just knowing it’s what he’s doing.

“Close enough,” he deems after careful examination.

“I don’t think it’s me.”

“It’s quite literally you.”

“I don’t think anything is me. Like I’m just what I see. My perspective, my point of view. You get what I’m saying?”

“No?” Kaiser says, laughing at you and your apparently strange affliction.

“Well if not that, you have to admit things captured on camera aren’t real.”

“What are you talking about,” Kaiser asks in a flat tone, which leaves it as something less than a question. A few more snickers escape him and he’s grinning at you like a bastard — if at first he regarded you as a slightly more fascinating bug than the rest, by now you must be his favorite, the rarest… A tree lobster. “You make no sense.”

“It totally makes sense. Imagine we’re having sex-”

“What kind of stupid come-on is that?”

“It’s not a come-on, I’m explaining. So, imagine we’re having sex-”

“In what position?”

“Whatever you want as long as it works for the scenario. Anyway, imagine we’re having sex-”

Kaiser laughs harder and then attempts some seductive sort of expression which doesn’t land with you. “I’m imagining it,” he informs.

“Shut up and let me get to the point. Imagine we’re having sex and I’m recording it-”

“Wow, I didn’t take you for such a pervert? Not that I hate it.”

“-so I’m looking at you through the camera lens. The phone’s between us. I’m not, like, in the moment with you. My mind’s absent, it’s all digital. So if you think about it we’re not even really having sex.”

“... You’re losing me even more,” Kaiser says after some contemplation, finding the fantasy unpleasant all of a sudden with this new spin to it. A moment passes during which he takes another big, possibly exaggerated bite, but he at least has enough decency to chew and swallow before adding, “I think you just have a problem.”

You roll your eyes, wondering if he even entertained the thought, but shrug since it doesn’t matter in the end. “Why are we always talking about how I’m weird? If anything, you're eccentric, not me.”

Kaiser wrinkles his nose in offense at the notion and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture in the air. “No. I’ve turned out totally normal. Don’t put me at your level.”

A lot of curiosities spin around your head concerning Kaiser’s behavior whenever you meet and you’re yet to find an answer. What does he want? Clearly he’s comfortable with and used to wanting, but what is it? Attention? Money? Fame? Status? All, none? Will it ever be enough? Is it even the kind of hunger which can be satiated?

Who is he when he’s not playing this ridiculous character?

“I can’t get a read on you,” you tell him.

“Well, you’re socially inept. I doubt you can get a read on anyone.”

“So are you.”

Kaiser feigns hurt over this. He does that a lot. Maybe he finds it hilarious, maybe the performance is all for shits and giggles — who knows.

“I want to dissect your head,” you say after a while of silence.

“Really? That’s what you wanna do with me?”

“Mhm. With a scalpel. I’d make an incision around your temple maybe.”

“My beautiful and demented angel, is that your way of saying you wanna get closer to me?” The sentence comes out mocking with a paper thin smile, but there’s a sense of admiration in it. What for? You raise an eyebrow in visible confusion at the… nickname, but Kaiser doesn’t elaborate. To take away from the tension(?), he announces, “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth,” pointing at your mouth all amused.

___

Kaiser had an ulterior motive in accepting that deal. Though wording it this way makes it sound like some calculated, opportunistic, sinister scheme, when in reality it’s nothing beyond immature and a little humiliating.

Of course, in true Kaiser fashion, when looking to meet someone, he goes straight for the most convoluted option. So when the stupid idea came up, he agreed, even if he put on a bit of a show at first and acted irritating. Confessing to wanting friends is so embarrassing. He’d rather shoot himself at point blank or perhaps commit an act of auto-defenestration than admit the real reason for participating, much less in front of you.

Despite the jabs, you’re also not bad at all. Calm and uninvolved in anything that upsets him and without any expectations towards him.

At first he found your indifference derogatory, but as the months have passed by, there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he could’ve been some random guy off the street and you would’ve probably treated him the same. In front of you he is neither on a pedestal nor someone to be knocked down on his knees. More Michael than he is Kaiser.

Things have been teetering on a dangerous edge lately. His mind is wandering off towards you again, more and more often each day. Like maybe he’s excited for the next time he sees you or something else repulsive in a similar vein, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Is this what it would’ve been like to be a little boy with a crush?

Generally he prefers not to socialize with background characters. So he doesn’t know why it’s while he’s having some benign daydream about you that some newbie he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of decides to interrupt him. Besides, it’s inconvenient, he was supposed to be leaving and this guy is blocking the changing room door.

“I heard you’re banging a model,” he says, as if they’re good pals or some shit. Kaiser is also mostly immune to annoying locker room talk since all the other psychotic men he knows are too busy being as fanatical as him to waste time on something as useless as objectifying someone to pass the time, yet here this lowlife is.

Kaiser regards him with a judgmental side eye — for a second too long, almost television-style — and tries to move and sidestep him. “Why do you care? Pathetic cuck.”

“Woah, don’t be like that. I just thought it was funny. I’ve heard about that person before, would’ve thought it would be more of a hit it and quit it type thing. Yet here you are, still together.”

The emotion that zaps him is almost disorienting. Kaiser bruises easily, but it’s all about him. There’s never been much room for anyone else in his mentality of suffocating self-absorption, a depressing way to try and compensate for anyone who’s ever wronged him. Right now, though, he’s feeling anger on someone else’s behalf. A borderline exotic situation.

“So I was curious if that thing about loonies being the best at fucking was true? I’m assuming it is ‘cause I don’t know why else you’d stay with a schizoid.”

In the heat of the moment, when he’s pissed off, Kaiser is not the most poetic wordsmith. Thankfully politeness and civility are sensibilities which elude him. Without a second thought or any regret, he makes use of his water bottle still in his hand and dumps the entire contents of it over his head before elbowing him out of the way while he’s still confused.

___

You really don’t want to be having this conversation.

For fuck’s sake, you’re on break. And isn’t that supposed to mean relaxation? Yet the other model for the shoot today has been bugging you with unpleasant questions, putting you on the spot.

“Isn’t he a narcissist, though?” she asks, refusing to let go of the topic no matter how unresponsive you’ve been.

“I guess? Maybe. In a way…”

“You’re sooo… I don’t know. Like, you don’t even sound sure about what you’re telling me.” She narrows her eyes at you, leaning in a bit closer. “Aren’t you scared of him? Or is it ‘cause you’re so sheltered, you don’t know not to mess around with guys like Kaiser?”

Scared of him? It sounds ludicrous. At worst he’s whiny.

“He’s harmless,” you say. “Just a little rude and preoccupied with himself, that’s all. Actually, he’s an interesting and attentive person.”

She covers her mouth and lets out a sound of amusement, apparently now finding you more convincing and therefore dropping her worries. “He was saying you guys are suuuuuuuper in love with an interview.”

Not too engaged with the topic — since it’s about whatever lies Kaiser told the interviewer to entertain himself — you ask, “Is that what he was saying?”

“Yep. Didn’t you watch?”

“No.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s ‘interesting and attentive.’ I mean, I don’t believe it, but whatever. What about you, though? Do you like him, let alone love him? Can you even like anyone? I mean, shit, you know how you are. So, like, can you? Are you suuuuuuuper in love?”

You avert your eyes. “Yes,” you say. It’s true. You do like Kaiser well enough, probably more than you should. “And stop making assumptions about him and me.”

“What if I don’t stop? What are you gonna do?”

That’s… A very good question because there’s nothing you can do at the moment. Seems like a good opportunity to weaponize your reputation of being a deranged serial killer. “I’ll lick your eyebrows.”

You don’t know if your delivery is persuasive or not, but the idea you’d do such a thing must come off as believable enough because she makes a strange face before backing off.

___

You despise being in situations. And making decisions.

There’s a stupid PR meeting again. Your manager, who you think should move onto writing trashy novellas instead of administering poison to your career just because his imagination is overactive, proposed a new stunt. With the fake relationship running its course, you were discussing ways to publicize the ‘break up’ and he suggested a cheating scandal. Not to mention his great idea had you as the cheater — you swear he’s praying on your downfall at this point.

Maybe because you’ve been treated as some kind of fucked up creature incapable of thought and trustworthy decisions, something insentient, you would’ve went along with it like always. Even though you know you’d look bad, the point is to make noise, and it would be a scandalous story if not anything else. Another indignity doesn’t matter much on an endless list.

Then Kaiser in true Kaiser fashion declared that he wants to keep the relationship going. To you, such an act of flippant defiance is unthinkable.

But obviously this forces you into a position where you need to pick between your options. They’re all staring at you, waiting. Kaiser is smiling at you from across his seat like you’re in on a joke with him. Anxious, you say, “I’ll think about it,” and stand up to leave.

You’re sweating because somewhere within you wanna announce ‘Yeah, I wanna keep seeing Michael Kaiser,’ but it’s so preposterous.

Kaiser doesn’t chase after you (though it’d be his style to do such a thing solely for the drama), but he catches up to you by the time you make it outside of the building, approaching the parking lot.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, stop ignoring me. Heeeeeeey.”

God he is such an annoying pest sometimes. You turn around to face him, snapping, “What?! What was that about anyway?”

“No, what’s with you? What is there to think about? You don’t want to look like a clown in front of the world, do you?”

You’re looking at Kaiser again like you’re trying to figure out a mystery. He always wants things, but what does he want from you? There has to be a reason for this. Otherwise, he should’ve been fine with the separation instead of trying to prolong it.

“Listen,” says Kaiser, a little apprehensive at your silence and expressionless gaze, “I can tell you barely tolerate your shitty job and that you probably don’t like the moronic idea your anthropomorphized cyst of a manager came up with, so why aren’t you protesting it?”

Those are objective enough observations. However, “Anthropomorphized cyst…?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Kaiser huffs, irked. “And by the way the fake meek act isn’t cute at all. They’re making money off of you. Tell them to fuck off and die and stop acting like a hostage.”

“This is very inspirational and all, Kaiser, but how about you tell me why you wanna keep the fake relationship going?”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want that either, you can say we’ll settle for ending it instead of-”

You cross your arms. “Again, your attempts at a pep talk are adorable and appreciated, but you’re changing the subject now.”

“They’re not adorable. I’m right. Say I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent with a roll of your eyes.

Kaiser smiles snidely and clasps his hands behind his back. “Thanks,” he says in a sarcastic tone. Then you expect him to entertain your question, but he doesn’t, leaving you in an uncomfortable staredown against him and his stupid ‘beautiful glowing blue orbs’ ass eyes.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Your unpleasant personality and reclusive ways have bewitched me.”

…

…

“… What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Kaiser says with too much attitude considering the situation. Like, he just spoke out one of the most absurd sentences you’ve ever heard.

“Do you have a brain tumor?”

The outrageous suggestion makes him scoff. “Really? You think I need a brain tumor to like you?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Should’ve let me operate on you when I offered.”

“You’re mentally disturbed,” he replies like the fact turns him on or something.

“So were you asking me out or what?”

“Yes? No? Yes. Yeah, fine, I am.”

“Do you search up ‘personality’ on porn sites?”

“Come on, be serious. I mean what I’m saying and I want to give things between us a try. Do you?”

You cringe as if admitting your feelings or overall being in touch with them in the first place is a physically painful sensation, but in your defense you think you might throw up. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. My manager, I mean.”

Kaiser swings an arm around your shoulders, visibly pleased with the way this is all going. He sings, “That’s the spirit.”

What had he wanted from you? Affection and care, apparently. You think back on when you’d called him ‘disgusting’ and a foreign guilt overcomes you since you don’t usually lament the remarks you make during your misanthropic hissy fits.

Is it fine for someone such as yourself to also indulge in wanting? Hesitant, with shaky arms, you embrace him around the middle, the gentlest of hugs. Kaiser freezes for a moment as if he’s unsure what to do when he’s not the one initiating things, but eventually returns the gesture. Melts into it, even. Two existences brushing against one another, at first glance contrary yet perhaps similar in many ways.

When you finally pull away from each other little by little, Kaiser says, “Let’s elope now.”

You sigh. “You sure have a way of making everything sound way more exciting than it is.”

(He drives you back to your place, but still sucks at driving. Chivalrously, he avoids crashing the car, though.)

___

Yall I was drinking light yellow tap water for a few daysdo you think somethings gonna happen to me ?

Btw I hate this but it's finally finished after like around a month so whatever lol I' M FREE

[homestylehughes]

do you two know each other?

pairing(s): jamie drysdale x fem!york sister

summary: jamie hooks up with a girl he meets at a random bar, but what happens when the girl he hooked up with is he roommate and teammates sister?

warnings: fluff, sweet, and shy reader and jamie. pure filth smut 18+, oral fem!reciving, dirty talk. pet names, use of y/n.

wc: 4.4k

an: hi loveessssss!!! jamic fic...with smut;). also i actually dont know how this is 4.4k words dont ask me what happened... i got realllyyyyyy carried away. BUT I LOVE THIS. this was sent to me as request and boy did i eat it UP, so thank you sooo much for whoever requested. hopefully you read it and enjoy!!! i loved writing this sooo much. i hope you guys all enjoy, more things coming veryyyy soon. be sure to send in any blurbs or ideas you guys have for me i love talking and hearing from you guys. like and reblog if you enjoy. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

 Jamie doesnt even know how he got here, or why he's even in this club. Sitting at the table nursing a beer, that's now going lukewarm from having it for so long. He doesn't know why his mood is so down, the flyers have won their last 5 games, he's happy to be in philly

Sure he misses Trevor and the rest of his past teammates, but he's fitting in well here and he likes it. Maybe he's lonely? Who knows at this point, all he knows is he'd rather be anywhere but here.  “Jamieeee buddy!!! Cheer up!!!! Go get laid!!!” one of his drunk teammates yells out at him from across the bar. A small chuckle rips through his body, as he looks back at his teammate raising his beer with a smile. 

Finally killing off the beer, he makes his way to the bar to get a new one, leaning against the counter, waiting for the bartender. All of the sudden Jamie feels something or someone's body crash into his left side. 

“Oh my gosh, i'm so so sorry” the sweet voice of a woman echoed in his ears. “Are you okay?” The nameless woman speaks again, holding Jamie's arms to steady herself and to look at him. “Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?” He finally speaks, the woman in front of him as to be one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

The way her hair falls, so perfectly in her face, the way her leather pants and corset fit her so well, hugging every part of her body perfectly. He swears she's an angel. 

“Yes, I'm okay. I'm so sorry, some guy ran into me and you happened to be here and you know.. I ran into you.'' The woman pauses, blowing air from her lips, the plump lips Jamie can't help but stare at while she's talking. “Basically what I'm saying is, I'm sorry. Can I buy you a drink?” 

Buy him a drink? A very attractive, seamly sweet woman bumps into him by accident and is now offering to buy him a drink? Maybe this night isn't as bad as it seems.

“Oh no you don't have too, i promise all is good '' he says back to her, “please i insist” she again counters. “Okay fine, but i'm buying the next round if you'd like.” he says with a small smile. “Sounds good to me.” she says, returning a smile. Even her smile is perfect, he thinks to himself. 

Waving down the bartender, “hi! Can I get two highmoons please!” she says smiling at the bartender, handing him a 20, telling him to keep the change, yelling a thank you. Before grabbing the two drinks in front of him, handing one to Jamie, before leaning in closer. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?” she whispers into his ear. 

Jamie nods in response, holding out his arm out, so she can grab his hand, grabbing it quickly, warmth flooding through the both of them, as Jamie leads them through the crowded bar, back towards the table James was once at. 

“Thank you, I'm sorry i couldnt hear you up there,” she quietly says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “You say sorry alot, nothing to apologize for” he replies looking at her, taking her in, in a different light. She still looks beautiful. “I'm sor- actually nevermind. Oh! Im y/n” she says holding out her hand for Jamie to shake, “jamie” he says as he shakes her hand. 

“So Jamie, what are you doing here?” she asks, while taking a sip of her bear. “Honestly I don't know, I didn't really want to come here tonight.”

“Me either, my friends made me come tonight, they said i needed to stop acting like a grandma, pulling me out of my comfy bed, put me in this” she says juestering to her outfit. “So now i'm here, talking to a guy..that i find cute” she finishes saying the last part quietly, hoping that Jamie did not register what she said, but he does.

“Well I'm glad you're here, you saved me from a night of boredom. Now i'm talking to this girl that i find..cute” he says leaning towards her from across the table with a smile. 

“Oh really?” she says with a glimmer in her eyes 

“Mhm, wouldn't say it if it wasn't true pretty girl.'' Jamie replies with a smirk on his face. “So Jamie, tell me what you do? Tell me your story” she says leaning even closer to him across the time, so close that she can make out the freckles that are scattered across his face so beautifully. “Well, where do I begin?” he laughs out before speaking again.

This is how it was the whole night, laughs, smiles, flirty remarks were being thrown around all night. Jamie telling her about his hockey career, being transferred from anaheim to philly. You couldn't imagine the excitement that spread through her when he said that, being a hockey fan herself growing up all around it thanks to her brother. 

They spent hours talking about anything and everything, from childhoods, to first kisses. Being so caught up in their conversation either of them realized their full drinks were now empty, not bothering to get another. 

The tension between y/n and Jamie grew over the few hours that they spent together. y/n checking her phone to see that it was now close to 2 a.m., knowing that it's probably time to head home, even though she didn't want to anyway and especially not alone.

“It's getting late” she says looking at Jamie, “oh yeah, shit it is” Jamie says glancing at his watch at the time. 

“How far do you live from here? I can walk you home if you'd like?” Jamie says, hoping she says yes, not wanting this night to end just yet. “I do actually, just around the block,  I'll be more than happy to have you walk me home.” y/n says smiling brightly at him.

“Well let's get you home.'' Jamie says, getting up from his seat. Once again he holds out his hand for y/n to grab, leading her through the still crowded bar towards the exit. The cool air nips at their skin as they walk outside. 

“Which way?” Jamie asks now looking at y/n, taking in her features in the natural light. Even though it's dark out the street light and lights from the bar luminate her skin beautifully. 

“Left” she replies, as she also takes in jamies appearance, he's even prettier outside she thinks to herself. 

They began to walk in the direction of her apartment, making simple small talk as they do, their hands still closed together. After the 10 or so minute walk to her apartment, they arrive now standing outside her door. 

Now standing in front of each other, Jamie realizes how much he wants to kiss her, stepping a little closer to y/n, “i'd really like to kiss you right now, if that's okay” he softly says tilting his head down closer to hers. “I'd really like you to kiss me right now” y/n whispers back to him. 

Not a beat later, Jamie's lips are y/n’s, the kiss is sweet, not rushed, their lips moving together. Jamie's hands moving from beside him to her face grabbing her cheeks, pulling her close as if she's going to disappear any second. y/n’s hands finding the back of his head, tucking her fingers in between his soft black locks. 

They finally pull apart after a few minutes, their chests rising and falling quickly, eyes locked together. Now she really doesnt want him to go home now, and neither is jamie. “I don't do one night stands' ' y/n quickly says, staring at Jamie, “me neither, so let's not make it a one time thing "Jamie says before finding his way back to her lips, pulling her into another kiss.

This kiss is more urgent and hotter than the last, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his hand moving down to her waist pulling her body into his. 

“Jamie” she says breathlessly, as he pulls away from her lips, trails kisses down her exposed neck. Small moans are leaving her lips as she feels her knees growing weaker and weaker for him.

“Jamie” she says louder now, pulling away from him slightly. His eyes finding hers, blown with lust, “inside.” is all she says before pulling him up the steps of her apartment. Fishing her keys out of her purse to unlock the door, she can feel Jamie's front against her back, leaning down to pepper her neck with more kisses, making it harder to open her door.

Once the floor finally opens their stumbling inside, y/n dropping her purse on the floor not caring where anything goes. Their lips move together once again, as she walks them backwards further into her place. 

“Jump '' Jamie mumbles against her lips, immediately following his orders, she quickly jumps wrapping her legs to his waist, Jamie walking her through her place. 

“First room on the left” y/n lets out before watching her lips back jamies. Pushing the door to her room open quickly, finding her bed, tossing her back on it. 

y/n’s chest rising and falling quickly as Jamie looks down at her, “you're so beautiful” he says before lowering himself between her legs and is open for his invitation. 

y/n’s hands finding his hair pulling him against her again, their lips fighting against each other. Moving one of her hands from his hair to under the shirt he's wearing tracing her hand along his bare sides, feeling his muscles contract under her touch. 

Wanting to feel all of him, she pulls at Jamie's shirt wanting him to take it off. Getting the message quickly Jamie lifts his lips from hers, leaning himself up and slipping his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in her bedroom before reconnecting their lips. Her hands now explore the plains of his bare back. 

“Not fair that my shirt is off but yours isn't” Jamie says from above her, “well take it off then”. Jamie doesnt need to be told twice, quickly flipping them over, settling his back against the headboard, pulling her into his lap. His hands quickly found the clasps on the back of her top, unhooking them one by one, while kissing her neck. The small moans y/n lets out from above him, make him harder by the second.

Pulling the now unclasped top from her body, watching the straps fall from her shoulder, as he takes in her bare chest. He can't help but reach out to hold her breast in his hands, the smooth warm kiss pulling him in. “fuck you’re so beautiful ” he rasps out, leaning forward, wrapping his lips around her left lip, his eyes remaining locked with y/n’s. “Fuck” she moans out, the feeling of jamie warm mouth wrapping around her nipple is sending her whole body into a blaze. 

She can feel the heat between her legs grow by the second, feeling his hardened cock resting in the inside of her left thigh. Taking matters into her own hands, deciding to grind their hips together. Jamie's lips instantly fell from their assault on her breast. A strangled moan falling from his lips, as he watches her grind herself against him.

“Fuck y/n” he groans out as her hips hit just the right spot on his hardened cock. “I need you Jamie please” y/n says breathlessly, looking down at him with lust in her eyes. 

Flipping them over again, Jamie starts making his way to her pants, kissing down her body, until he gets to her top button. Looking up at her making sure it's okay before he takes them off, “yes please” y/n says lifting her hips up to help him take them off. Her pants are off now, just leaving her in her white cotton underwear. 

Jamie leaning back on his heels, taking a good look at her. “There's so many things i want to do to you right now” Jamie says, while trailing his hands up her bare legs, spreading her thighs getting a better look at the wet patch that’s now formed on her underwear from how wet she is. 

“Please do something, Jamie please.” y/n sys getting more antster by the second. “Where do you want me, pretty girl?” Jamie says before pressing a kiss to her core, breathing her scent, his mouth watering instantly. “I want you to fuck me, please”. “Okay pretty girl, since you've been so good to me, '' he says. Working to undo his belt and pants, unbuttoning them before pulling them down his legs. “I wanna see all of you Jamie” y/n whines out too. “You will baby, you will, but first i wanna taste you” he says, now hooking his fingers under her underwear. “Is that okay, baby?” pressing kisses to the inside of her thighs, waiting for her response. 

y/n’s brain is mush she can hardly think, he's barely touched her and she's already out of it. “Yes' ' she says finally, looking down at him, Jamie remains in eye contact as he pulls her underwear down her legs. The soft fabric hitting her ankles before completely pulling them off her body. Her body now completely exposed to Jamie, usually she'd run to cover herself up, but the way he's looking down on her body, like he wants to eat her alive, is changing her mind. 

“I've thought about how you'd taste, all night” kissing his way back to her core. Pressing a soft kiss to it, before spreading her lips, finding her clit immediately. “Oh my god” y/n moans out her back lifting from the bed. Jamie hands pinning her hips down. His tongue begins exploring her cunt, sucking and licking every part of her as he could. The sounds coming out from above him are music to his ears, he never wants to stop hearing them. 

“Fuck jamie right there” y/n says a certian thrust of his tongue in her cunt, has her hands flying to his hair, pushing his face furthe into her cunt. Jamie doesn't let up, continuing to lap her up like a starving man. 

“Im almost there fuck. Please done stop” and jamie doesnt, sliping a finger into her tight hole, he begins fucking her with is fingers, his lips still wrapped around her clit. Don't stop and ragged moans fall from her lips as she begins to cum. “Im cumming fuck” y/n moans out, jamie increases his pace, fucking her with two fingers now, feeling her seize around them. 

Her head pushed as far into the pillow as it can go, her jaw open as she cums, her legs shaking as she tries to close them., but jamies strong hands hold them open, as he continues to fuck through her orgasm. 

y/n’s chest falling and rising quickly, trying to recover from her orgasim, lifting her head down to look at Jamie, who's looking back at her. “Fuck.” is all he says before climbing back up the bed to her, reconnecting their lips. Tasting herself in his mouth makes her mind go dizzy. “Need you fuck me jamie” y/n whines pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Want to ride you, please” trailing one of her hands to his hardened cock in his boxers, running her fingertips along the covered ridged length, her mouth watering, at the feeling.

“Yes, pretty girl” he moans, dropping his head into her neck, as he feels her hand run across his hard-on. Pulling himself off of her, slipping back into a sitting position in her bed, y/n helping him pull his boxers down. His hardened cock falling out, precome painted along the tip, his pretty cock staring at her, begging her to put her mouth on it. 

Moving her hands to the base of his cock, the weight of it in her hands, causes her to let out a low moan. Jamie's mouth hanging open, looking at her with half hooded eyes waiting for her next move. Settling her thighs on either side of his thighs rubbing her thumb over his precum covered tip, Jamie moans out from above her. “Baby please do something” he says urgently, grabbing her hips, helping her lift up, y/n lines up his cock with her entrance, slowly sinking down on it. 

“Oh my gosh” y/n says once she's fully sat on his length, jamies hands are hips hold her in place. Their eyes finding each other again, “you look so beautiful” he says, bringing his hands to her face, pulling her into a soft kiss, y/n smiling into the kiss as she begins lifting herself slowly from his cock. Jamie lets out a moan against her mouth as she skinks back down on him. 

The room begins to get hotter as each snap of y/n’s hips against jamies, moans and pants fill the room. “Fuck y/n” jamie groans out to her, watching her slide down on his cock, the way her hair is falling around her face, the soft glow of light in room, highlights the thin layer of sweat that covers her body as she rides him. 

The grip Jamie has on her hips begins to tighten as he feels her tighten around her, his own orgasim also approaching. “Im almost there fuck jamie” y/n says dropping her head into his neck. “I can feel you baby, doing so good for me” leaning forward as he kisses and sucks on her exposed neck. “Look so pretty riding my cock pretty girl,” Jamie says, moving his hips to meet her thrusts. “Jamie dont stop, fuck im almost there”. 

Each snap of their hips against each other is pure magic, the sounds of their skin smacking along with their moans will enter the room. Before y/n can realize she’s cumming, her lips finding jamies as she does, her hips still moving up and down his cock. “Im cumming baby” Jamie moans out, as he goes to pull y/n off of him, grabbing his hands she stops him, “cum inside me please, im clean, on the pill.” she says looking into his eyes she can tell he’s almost there. 

“Please jamie, i want to feel you cum inside of me”, thats all it takes before jamie begins to fall apart above her, smashing his lips to hers as he cums, y/n continuing to fuck him through it, the movement of her hips never stopping. 

Her hips slowly stop moving, now just resting sitting in Jamie's lap, the sound of their breathing is the only thing you can hear in the room. Jamie bringing his hand to her face lifting it up to look in her eyes ``that was..” he trails off, struggling trying to find the right words. “That was amazing” y/n says finishing his thought with her own words. “Yeah it was,” he chuckles before giving her a soft kiss. 

“We should go get cleaned up” she says after a few moments, Jamie nodding his head in agreement. y/n lifting off him slowly, already missing the feeling of him inside her. Getting up from her bed, leading them to her bathroom, turning on the shower climbing, Jamie followed in suit with a smile on his face. 

The shower was sweet and soft taking turns washing each other, stealing a few kisses from each other once and awhile. It almost all felt too domestic, something the both of them could get used too. Climbing out of the shower, y/n handing him a towel, as she begins to dry herself off she can feel Jamie staring at her. “Everything okay?” she asks, “more than okay, didnt think my might would turn out like this” he says, taking a few steps closer to y/n grabbing her by the hips pulling her closer. “But i'm not complaining” he says with a smile, “and neither am i” she counters before leaning in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around him.  

Jamie picks her up once again, carrying her to her bedroom, laying her back down before reconnecting their lips. This is how they spend the night, all wrapped up and each other, their connection they share blossoming by each touch. 

– 

Ever since their first night together Jamie and y/n have been texting nonstop. both their schedules are super busy so they haven't been able to see each other again. That all changes tonight.

“y/n pleaseeee” cam says on the other side of the call. “I'll never ask you for anything ever again, if you come tonight. All the guys wanna see you.” he pleads again. Rubbing my head at my desk, trying to come up with an excuse to not go to a charity event the flyers are throwing but i can't come up with anything. “Okay okay, please shut up and stop begging me i’ll come with you” i finally say. “You're actually the best sister ever, I'll pick you up at 7 and wear something fancy! Gotta go to practice! Bye love you!” Cam quickly says before ending the call. 

I stare at my phone in disbelief before getting back to work again, 7 o’clock can't come fast enough. 

Trying to find something to wear to this event is going to kill me. Every dress I put on I hate. It's either two flashy or too borning. Maybe i just shouldn't go, i say to myself, knowing cam would actually kill me if i didn't. Settling on a simple black dress, quickly finishing my hair and makeup. Checking my phone to see that cam texted me that he's outside. Slipping on my shoes checking on my makeup before heading out the door. 

My phone dinging from a text message, seeing that Jamie texted me “wish you were here with me tonight, at this work event” it reads. Smiling before sending a quickly before getting into cam’s car. 

“Who's got you smiling at your phone?” is the first thing he says to me. “None of your business, don't make me leave and go back inside '' I say while snapping my seatbelt into place. 

“Okay fine” he says before pulling off, making his way to the event. Small talk fills the car, as we catch up, I find myself wishing I saw my brother more. Even with us living in the same city, we barely have time to see each other, his hockey schedule and demanding work schedule keep us from seeing each other. 

“Oh guess who will be there tonight?” Cam says, putting the car into park before handing his key to the valet , muttering a small thank you before heading over to my side, opening the door for me. “Who?” I ask , stepping out of the car. “My roommate, the one I told you about who transferred here a few months ago. He also plays defense. Really sweet I'm sure you guys will hit it off, "Cam says, winking at the last part. “Okay buddy, let's calm down.” I say laughing as Cam holds his arm for me to take. 

The event itself is amazing, the music, decor, everything about it, I barely have time to take it all in before cam pulls me over to a group of his teammates, throwing me into conversation with them. Sometime during our conversations Cam runs off saying he's going to find his roommate who I have not yet caught the name of, and to grab us drinks. 

Turning to talk to one of the wags that are there, I hear my name being called from behind, turning around to see Cam with drinks in his hand and Jamie standing right next to him. Jamie? What is Jamie doing here? And how does he know my brother? 

“y/n there you are!” Cam says, handing a drink to me, “y/n this is my roommate Jamie, the one who transferred from the ducks! And Jamie this is my sister y/n” my eyes are wide as I stare at Jamie, I'm sure all of the color has left my face, jamies staring back at me just as shocked as I am. 

“Hello guys?” Cam breaks the silence. “Do you two know each other?” he asks again, glancing back and forth between us. Still neither of us respond, just continuing to stare at each other. “Well since either of you are responding im going to take my drink, and your drink: he says plucking my drink out my hands. “And I'm going to go congregate, have fun! Introduce yourselves…unless you two have already done that already bye!” and just like that he’s gone faster than he came. 

“Hi?” I say speaking first. “You didn't tell me your brother played for the flyers' 'Jamie quickly says. “Im sorry, i didn't mean to hide it from you, it's not something i want people to know me for.'' I say, pausing before taking a deep breath, “I didn't know you were Cam's roommate. He talks about you all the time.'' I say laughing awkwardly, shifting on my feet, scared of where we stand now. 

“Well I both think we left out important details, didn't we?” Jamie says, flashing me a smile, reaching out to grab my waist pulling me closer to him. “You look gorgeous, I missed you” he says leaning into my neck. “I missed you too, you look really good.”, my eyes moving over the simple, yet sexy suite he’s wearing. 

“Imagine if we just happened to leave at the same time.” Jamie says into my ear husklely. “Imagine if I happen to say that's a great idea and follow you?” I say, biting my lip to conceal my smile. Grabbing my hand pulling me behind him, through the crowded event, leading her out the back door. 

Neither of them realized the cam’s eyes had not left them since he walked away, seeing their whole interaction, seeing them leave the venue together. A smile dancing across his face, happy for his sister and his teammate. Wondering how long they would try to keep it a secret from him. 

[koolkat9]

Sick and Tired

Rating: T

Relationship: Germania + German Bros

Word Count: 775

Read on AO3

Author's Note: This was supposed to be fore German Bros week, but it turned more into a Gil and Germania fic than a Gil and Lud fic. So it will be it's own separate thing. But still...I wanted to release it on the same day. Based on a teen dad prussia au I have.

It had been a long day and a long night. Poor Ludwig had come down with his first cold, and given it was the weekend, it was Gilbert’s turn to take care of him. Gilbert had finally gotten him to sleep and was sitting down to start on his studying when a raspy cry rattled down the hall.

“Shit,” Gilbert muttered under his breath.

He tried to focus on his textbook and the notebook in front of him. He read the sentence over and over, the meaning of the words getting drowned out by the cries.

“In 1741, Frederick the Great…” he read aloud, hoping that would get him to focus. “Fredrick the Great achieved…Agh.”

He pressed his hands against his ears, screwing his eyes shut.

When the crying continued, Gilbert finally shot up and strode down the hallway. He threw open the door, it slammed against the nearby wall. For a moment, Ludwig stopped crying. Until he started right up again after getting over his shock. Gilbert groaned.

He picked up the baby and began rocking him. Bouncing him back and forth, frustrated.

“Shhhhh,” Gilbert hushed, “You’re fine. It’s fine. You’ll feel better if you sleep, you know?”

Rock and plead, rock and plead. It went on for an hour. But with his tired brain and Ludwig’s constant screaming, time was lost on Gilbert.

“Just please be quiet,” Gilbert begged, vision blurring with tears. “Please… please… please.”

Gilbert swayed slightly. He couldn’t tell if he was dizzy from being overwhelmed or tired or maybe he hadn’t drunk enough water today. He pulled himself over to the rocking chair and began rocking Ludwig once more.

But no matter what, Ludwig wouldn’t stop crying, face beet red.

Gilbert sniffed, pulling Ludwig closer and just breaking down into sobs.

“What’s going on–” A voice started to ask, only to cut himself off. A shadow shuffled amongst the darkened room.

“Papa…” Gilbert blubbered, finding his father kneeling in front of him.

“Someone still not feeling too good?” Adalbert asked, rubbing Ludwig’s head.

Gilbert shook his head no, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush now.”

Adalbert’s hand came to rest on Ludwig’s forehead. “Fever.”

He nodded to himself, rising to his feet, and headed to Ludwig’s closet. He pulled out a thinner set of PJs.

“Give him to me,” Adalbert instructed.

Gilbert handed Ludwig over tiredly. He collapsed back into the rocking chair. He couldn’t watch as his father dressed Ludwig in the lighter closed. He buried his head in his hands, tears soaking his palms. Why couldn’t he stop?

He hadn’t even noticed that Adalbert had taken Ludwig out of the room. When Gilbert finally looked up, he scoured the room frantically.

Luckily Adalbert returned a few minutes into Gilbert’s search.

“Don’t worry, I just was giving him a little lukewarm bath,” Adalbert explained, “Did wonders for you when you were a baby.”

And it seemed Ludwig took after Gilbert in that way. He was already dozing off in Adalbert’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert mumbled wetly.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You did your best. Especially considering you’re under stress about that test. Speaking of…” He placed Ludwig back in the crib. “You should have come to me. I could have taken care of him today.”

“But he’s my responsibility, I–”

“Gilbert.” Adalbert’s voice was stern and his eyes cool. Gilbert winced. “When we decided to go through with this, you promised your studies would come first and I’d support you and Ludwig to make that happen.”

“But we also said the weekend would be my time to take care of him.”

Adalbert sighed. “Yes. But the importance of your studies trumps that. So right now, I want you to go to bed and sleep. I’ll take care of Ludwig tomorrow until you finish studying.”

Gilbert wanted to argue, feeling like a failure and that his father was angry at him. But he knew it was fruitless. He joined Adalbert beside the crib, wanting to at least check Ludwig one more time.

He looked so peaceful now. Still a little sick, but at least he wasn’t sobbing. Tears burned behind Gilbert’s eyes.

“I think he likes you better,” Gilbert choked.

Adalbert put a hand on his shoulder. “I think he likes you just as much.”

Ludwig cooed at them, little hands reaching out, not to Adalbert but to Gilbert. Gilbert quirked a brow. Cautiously, Gilbert reached out, letting Ludwig grasp his finger. After a few minutes, Ludwig closed his eyes and was fast asleep.

When Gilbert turned back to his father, Adalbert had a small smile on his face. “What did I tell you?”

Gilbert returned the smile. 

[dysco-lymonade]

#6 for kissing prompt using any clexa you want 😊

You’re now entering an unknown Clexa AU set some time during college.

Maybe it’ll develop into something? Send me your thoughts and questions.

-

The bass is pounding so hard that Clarke can see the sound waves in her cup of lukewarm beer. Her mind wanders to Jurassic Park and she wonders if she wouldn’t enjoy being hunted by a T-Rex more than being at this party.

Beside her, Finn Collins is apologizing profusely.

Again.

She knows he is speaking, but she’s not listening. She honestly doesn’t really care that he missed the opening of the art show. It wasn’t like she’d sent him an invitation. It was a small college-wide display that would be going on for weeks.

She sees a hand come in to her line of sight. When her eyes focus, she sees fingers snapping in front of her face. “Yo, Earth to Clarke.” Finn has successfully grabbed her attention, and her murderous gaze.

“Did you seriously just snap at me?” She furrows her eyebrows.

He doesn’t even flinch at her tone.

“Yeah I was seeing if I couldn’t make it up to you.” He shoots her what she’s sure is supposed to be a cute crooked smile. It really just makes her want to rearrange his face.

She sighs, trying to make it clear that she’s not interested, without having to actually say it. “Finn, look. I’m not sure what—“

He cuts her off with a hand on her forearm. “I know you’re upset, princess. But it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“What won’t?” Clarke shrugs her arm away from his touch just as his eyes wander to something behind her.

“Oh hey, Lexa. Can you give us a minute?” Finn asks.

Clarke doesn’t hear a response. Instead, she feels herself being turned around with a gentle grasp to her shoulder. It’s like she’s moving in slow-motion.

Clarke’s eyes briefly land on the determined face of one Lexa Woods before she’s suddenly too close to focus on.

Two soft palms cup Clarke’s jaw as slender fingers grasp around the back of her neck.

Then Lexa’s lips are on hers.

It’s so unexpected that Clarke hadn’t had a moment to ready herself. Lexa comes in too quickly, damn near chipping Clarke’s tooth.

Clarke can’t find it in herself to mind. Instead, she sinks in to the feeling of Lexa’s hands cradling her face.

Clarke wraps her hands around Lexa’s waist to pull her in tighter, just as she starts to feel Lexa pulling away.

Clarke can hear Finn muttering curse words under his breath as he wanders off.

“Jesus, Lex. What was that?!” Clarke all but squeaks. Now looking Lexa directly in the eyes.

Panic is the only word that could possibly describe the look on Lexa’s face.

“Shit. I just saw him over here bothering you again and I thought— I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think.” Lexa’s rambling and Clarke can’t help but find it endearing. Leave it to Lexa to step in and save Clarke from unwanted advances. She’s just never been quite so bold about it.

“Lex.” Clarke tries to get her attention to calm her down.

“That was bad, wasn’t it?” Lexa winces.

“Absolutely terrible.” Clarke teases back with a grin. “You should do it again.”

[deluweil]

Lol.. first they promote the hell out of things only to cut it and then they go and delete critical comments on Insta... nicely done ABC.

Guess someone had to do overtime to delete over 500 comments on the Oliver reel. First I checked it was over 700, then suddenly you couldn't click on the answers anymore and now there are about 240 comments left.

Only a few about the cut karaoke. A lot where about how they bait and keep the transphobe around. All those seem to be gone now.

I have a bad feeling about this.

LOL yeah, PR team made a big boo-boo 😂

Not the first time, mind you, Fox used to make the same mistakes I wonder if these are the same ppl.

Also they are not responsible for the cuts, they work with what they get from the director and producer along with showrunner's descision.

Considering Oliver was talking about his favorite parts being filmed at the bachelor party and how much fun they had and how much they drank just to get through that karaoke scene, I'm guessing all cuts were made last minute and the responsibility is less on the PR ppl and more on the decision makers who has been known to be pathological liars over the years.

Moderation in the comments of a tv show is good to a degree imo, I've seen many pages on IG of big soccer teams and tv shows where the comments aren't moderated and it all borders on harassment and negative vibes between the fans themselves and the actors see it more than the decision makers anyway and the ppl talk about why they take a step back from social media.

Do I want the Marisol actress on the show? absolutely not, and that was before I found out about her bad joke on ig. - If you're a public figure and want to get work (in the US at least, where I come from if they fired every idiot who opens their mouth out of turn everybody would be out of a job) you keep your mouth shut and keep your account clean, she only has herself to blame for the hate she gets, especially considering that she didn't even apologize.

But sadly, she is here, crossing my fingers she won't be for long, not only because she's is a bad person, but also because her character is so lukewarm and trivial it's bordering on the absurd.

I am sad for Ryan and Oliver because they seemed so excited about these scenes in the bachelor party and the put in a LOT of effort into it.

BUT if that means the episode of Madney wedding focuses on Madney and nothing else, I am more than okay with that.

That is why you make the bachelor party in a separate episode, or like in CF in Mouch's party, you see them in the elevator dreading what may come, the get to the door figuring out that they've been played and that it is going to be a kick-ass party - the door closes- and opens up again in the morning and they all step exhausted and hungover into the elevator where it's clear the party was epic!

In 10 episodes season, you need to plan out, in advance, your time and scenes carefully, clearly it doesn't happen on 911,

My biggest fear is that from the hour and 15 minutes that were cut into 43 minutes, that the episode would feel rushed and not have emotional impact a Madney wedding should induce and maybe it would have been better if they cut guest stars storylines and calls down to make more room for a proper ceremony.

A kidnapping at this point feels like an overkill, they could have gone for a rough and dangerous call before the wedding and after everyone walk away, they are seen later that day or the next. at the wedding with a beautiful ceremony, like in Cruz's wedding in CF.

I really hope this episode focuses on Madney, everything else is completely unnecessary, I would be pissed if this episode focused more on other ships and take the spotlight off of Madney.

And the PR team should be handed the RIGHT materials in order to make a valid promo and post the right promotional pictures because otherwise it looks like they're deceiving the fans on purpose and that could be the reason why ppl would stop watching the show, ppl don't like to be played for fools.

Now, knowing that everything we were told we'll see was cut, and that final cut was made last second and SO much was cut, I have a bad feeling too, I am hoping we are both wrong. Because they can't afford another 6x18 episode - the format should be better with the move to abc not stay just as bad.

[aveegrex]

A SANDWICH?

Or why exactly winning a bet against Nanami feels like he still has an upper hand.

genre: smut prompt pairing: Nanami x gn!reader word count: 0,9k cw: filmed masturbation (m!), confessions, food play

author’s note: I am NOT responsible for this. I wrote it half-asleep and @diaphanoso okayed it so now y’all have it. Whatever :/

You and Nanami have been working together for so long that your relationship progressed past the boundary of an office one.

You not only share lunches, but also dinners sometimes - well, two foodies finding one another in lifeless walls of a lifeless financial firm, what a modern day romance.

So, there’s this little game you two have. A challenge. Every day each of you tries to outdo the other cooking-wise. Every day you and Nanami head to either your or his place and while one is working their magic, another has to wait patiently for said magic to bless their tastebuds.

One day, you surprise him though.

“Bet I can make you hell of a sandwich” you say, munching on his homemade vegan lasagna.

His brows fly up. “A sandwich?”

You swallow, a playful hum indicating your satisfaction with the meal of the day. “Yeah, a sandwich. But-“ you chug lukewarm tea and Nanami winces, still annoyed at your barbaric afterwork habits. “I bet I can make it just like your favorite one, from the bakery. You won’t tell the difference”

He scoffs at that, wiping his hands with a cotton napkin. “You do realise they put some chemicals there to postpone the due date, right? You won’t find it on a shelf in some sto-“

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You’re up?”

He shrugs, tongue gliding over his teeth behind the tomato-stained lips. “I guess. What’s the catch?”

You grin, a chuckle rumbling through your chest. “You’ll owe me one wish. Any wish. However weird or crazy. And vice versa, sure”

“Okay” he grins back, certain of his victory.

Days pass, and a couple of dozens of shared dinners later, when he’s effectively forgotten about the bet, you present him with a package.

“Open up” you smile, devious glimmer blatant in your squinted eyes.

Nanami cocks his brow, turning from the keyboard to face you. He weighs the package in his hands, familiar pleasant heaviness and softness hinting at exactly what’s inside.

Wrapper gone, he ogles at the perfect piece of handiwork, indistinguishable from his guilty pleasure.

“Eat up already, come ooon” you whine, foot tapping at the hardwood in anticipation.

He nods, teeth digging into the crunchy bread nonchalantly, and stills. The taste is exact, just absolutely the same taste he’s had this morning. Identical.

Bemused, he raises his blown wide eyes to you, and you snicker at the silliest face of Nanami Kento the “please keep the noise down” coworker.

“How?” he’s wondering, impartial to the fact that he’s speaking with his mouth full.

“No, no, it’s only magic if you don’t know!”

“But-“ you lean closer to his ear, careful to never let the pre-pension age accountant in the corner hear you. “Now you owe me, Ken”

He nods, intent.

“Now, you owe me a set of nudes because I was dying to know what’s under the shirt of a man so hot I’d fuck his goddamn lunch”

He stills again, mouth slightly ajar to welcome another bite in. Putting the delicacy aside, he simply nods, not finding it in himself to word out anything to such a lewd confession.

After that encounter, you and Nanami stagnated. Too professional nods shared in the hallways, an order for one - for once, - in the nearby cafe, you pondered if you’ve ruined everything you two had going on, a sweet friendship that you threw away to honour your annoying horny.

The chat with him was unusually quiet all weekend, and you were head deep into your notes app, failing to formulate a makeshift apology for your inappropriate request. Words never stuck together right, and you were about to give up for the night, when a loud ping breeched the silence of your room.

Nanami Ken👨‍🦳: a video attachment.

Hands shaky, you open the dialogue too fast for your own good, finger tapping at the video the second it downloaded.

And you gasp. There, in a dim light of what you recognise to be Nanami’s kitchen, stands Nanami himself. Or so you guess, since his face is only there up to the nose.

Also, Nanami is naked.

Your silent room fills with small huffs and tiniest squelching sounds and your eyes blow wide. He’s stroking himself, perfect body flushed and glistening with sheen, his right hand moving characteristically for the deed. There are only glimpses of his dick, but what you manage to catch is impressive to say the least. Appetising.

He’s letting out the shallow moans, lips pressed tight, and you fail to hold your thighs from squeezing, barely restrained sounds of his pleasure exciting your own.

He’s close, and you anticipate to see his lips opening up to wash you over with what you believe will be the best moan of your life, but...

It’s so much fucking more.

Seconds away from climax, he yanks something from out of the frame and blood rushes to your core: a fucking sandwich sits atop of the table. Nanami shifts the camera with a shaky hand and you can see everything now: the full length, his contorted face, and how cum spurts lusciously out of his angry tip, covering up the bread and planting onto the lens in few drops.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Bon appetit, bun”

Cut.

MDNI, reblogs and comments are welcome, eat well

© 2022 AVEEGREX, all rights reserved. reposting and copying my works without my consent is forbidden.

[noa-de-cajou]

Lamia and Lycarn belong to @hel-phoenyx, Faloi, Braterstwo, Alderich and Redemane (last three only mentioned) to @corneille-but-not-the-author, Agathe to @thal-ent

A little response to something Louna wrote back in december uwu

____

“Faloi, with all due respect, what the actual fuck?!”

Ether raises her eyebrows at the woman standing in front of Faloi’s desk.

Wow. Rude.

She’s pretty, for sure. Abyss, she’s gorgeous even. But that doesn’t give her the right to do whatever this was. Faloi calmly gestures towards where Ether is standing in response, introducing her as his counselor. The woman seems to calm down from her initial shock, and extends her hand towards Ether with a much nicer expression.

"Apologies for the impoliteness. I am princess Lamia Frosilaen, heir to the throne of the divine Mandate, and charged of the diplomacy between my kingdom and the Republic.”

Lamia Frosilaen. Now Ether remembers. Faloi's cousin, whom he rarely talks about, but when he does it’s always with a form of fondness in his eyes. Ether only sees a princess who’s trying to get on her good side. Not someone Faloi should look at with that much trust.

Deep down, she knows that she's mostly being jealous. Petty. But given the way Lamia looked at her barely past the office's threshold, she thinks maybe she has a right to be juste a little bit annoyed.

She takes the hand offered to her and shakes it with lukewarm enthusiasm.

“It is… an honor.”

She doesn’t mean that at all and Lamia can probably tell, but she doesn't look particularly hurt or offended. Good. Ether may prefer to be honest but it's always pleasant to not fear the death penalty for disrespect to an important official. Well, even if she did, Faloi would probably save her ass. Like he always does. She glances at him as the thought crosses her mind, and immediately feels Lamia’s blue stare on her face. Abyss strike her, what is it with the Frosilæns and their ridiculously piercing eyes?

"Faloi, would it be possible to talk to you privately as soon as possible ? I have urgent matters to discuss with you, and Shifahrad will get worried if I don't come back in time.”

A shiver runs down Ether’s spine. She knows.

She knows and that's probably what said private talk will be about. Faloi doesn't seem fazed, but again, he never really does.

"Of course. Ether, if you please…”

Ether obeys and leaves, albeit reluctantly. She understands where Lamia’s wariness comes from, of course. After all, she’s genosian, just like Chifuniro was, and she’s close to Faloi, just like Chifuniro was.

But I'm not her.

That is both a regret and a relief.

She didn't choose where she was born. She did choose to leave home, but she didn't choose to be cast away from her country. She’s happy she was, now.

But no matter what, she isn't trusted.

Braterstwo is jealous of her, Alderich almost seems afraid, and Lamia is wary. The only person to trust her is Faloi.

But how can she blame them? She betrayed her country, her colleagues, to join the enemy. She doesn't have political ambitions or dreams like they all do. She only cares about the fate of this country because it’s dear to the person she loves. A person who doesn't even love her back.

And who would trust a genosian, anyway? Even she wouldn’t.

But she will always be one, no matter what she does. Her left arm is a constant reminder of this.

Their stares, too. Braterstwo’s, Alderich’s, Lamia’s, all of their eyes see her the same.

An elf, an opportunist, a leech, an intruder, but first and foremost, a genosian.

Lamia’s eyes looked at her and they said danger. Potential, but a danger nonetheless.

Faloi is the only one who looks at her without barriers.

But if everyone he loves tells him that she’s no good, will he listen? Will he abandon her?

She thinks about Lamia, the trust with which he looked at her.

Ether’s little selfish brain can’t help but dislike her.

She wishes she never came here.

____

Where were you, Lamia?

Where were you? Where were you when he needed you? Where were you when he died, Lamia?

I wasn't here.

I was in his room. Our room.

Reading.

Reading while the axe sliced through him.

Reading while he died alone.

Fucking. Reading.

You could have been there. You could have gone with him, Lamia. But you didn’t.

If I went with him, I would have died too.

Because I'm weak.

You could have protected him. Or at least you could have bought him time. Stopped them. You could have done something. Anything.

I couldn’t do anything.

I could only cry and I can't even do that anymore. There's no tears left.

No shoulder left to cry on, either. I can't burden Redemane with my own grief. He's already kind enough as it is.

You stopped several Coups before. You could have stopped this one. Right ? Right ?

He put all those efforts into making sure I wouldn’t be alone.

Yet I still feel alone.

There’s no one to talk about him with. Redemane didn't know him that well.

You did. I know you did.

But you’re not here.

Where are you, Lamia?

I wish you were here.

______

“Congratulations on your marriage, Ether.”

Lamia Frosilæn looks much older than what Ether remembers. It's been almost a century now. Of all the places they could have met again, she wasn't expecting it to be Ether’s wedding to the very Empress of the Shabbathai-Qianfu. And she wasn’t expecting her to be surrounded by a whole harem of women either, but who is she to talk.

“Why thank you, your Majesty. I trust you've been well?

“I have, thank you.”

Lamia looks about a lively sixty now, and she’s probably much older than that, but again, who is Ether to talk? The former queen's eyes are still as piercing as ever, but this time they’re not wary. They’re… almost nostalgic.

Ether shifts a bit awkwardly, not knowing what to say. She's not the little impulsive counselor she was back then, and all the anger she felt has disappeared with time. She doesn’t have much to say to her. They've both aged, both grown.

And the one person who could have helped them to bond is still dead.

“Did you have something you wanted to say to me?” Ether finally asks when the silence becomes too much to bear.

Lamia smiles faintly at her.

“I wanted to see what you'd have become, mainly. I won't be around much longer, and I want to go with as few regrets as possible. I'm glad to see that you found your happiness.”

Ether smiles back, a bit more cynical.

“Well I went to Abyss and back to get it, so I'm glad too. But if I may correct you, and I will, this isn’t the first time.”

She looks around the palace gardens, sees Ai talking to important guests she knows, Agathe and Lycarn trying to steal as much food as they can like they won’t be able to eat it for the rest of her lives in the palace. The lights, their smiles, this evening, it's not perfect but it's getting close.

“I was married once before. I found happiness then. I also fell in love with a lie and still found happiness.”

She turns back to Lamia. The former queen doesn't share any physical traits with her late cousin, but Ether thinks they look a lot alike, in a way.

“And Faloi was my happiness, too.”

Lamia's eyes fall on Ether’s necklace, the only thing with her earring that doesn’t quite seem to fit her wedding attire.

“I think you were his as well.”

Her smile finally reaches her eyes.

“If I do see him again, I'll tell him about you. I think he'll be relieved. And beyond proud.”

A little tear burns Ether's eye, she quickly wipes it. There’s no shame in crying at your own wedding, sure, but she doesn’t want to.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Please send him my love, if you meet again.”

The smile on Lamia's lips grows more teasing.

“You’ll tell him yourself when it’s your turn to go, Ether. Only I decide when to play messenger.”

Ether laughs. That’s right, she can tell him herself, when the time comes. And it won't come before a while. She looks at Lamia, holds her hand out to her. The one made of flesh. Lamia looks surprised for a second, but grabs it nonetheless, squeezes it lightly. There’s a mutual understanding, a shared sentiment in their eyes.

You're here.

The time for wishes is long past.

[heesosweet]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Title: You N Me Us

Pairing: Seunghan x Sohee

Word Count: 2.5k

You N Me Us

9:00 p.m.

Seunghan sees him for the first time when he walks through the front door of the house of some fraternity Seunghan hasn’t felt the need to catch the name of. They’ve crammed as many students as possible into the home for the opportunity to bring the New Year in with a slew of heavily intoxicated semi-strangers. The guy is dressed in a pink knit sweater that swallows his upper half whole. The cold has stained the tip of his nose a soft red that he tries to warm away with his sleeve. Despite the absence of lighting in the packed living room, he still seems to glow. A natural haze takes over his features due to a smile that pinches his cheeks and causes his eyes to resemble the crescent moon that hangs in the night sky. He lets himself be guided through the crowd by a guy with hair that grazes his shoulders. His face is all strong lines and large eyes that part a path for the two of them without much resistance. When he scoots past Seunghan, his hand clutched tightly in the hand of the friend he came with, he turns to him and smiles so softly that Seunghan almost misses it in the darkness of the room.

“Sorry.” He calls out over the music despite there being no reason for him to. Seunghan means to tell him, it’s fine. Use this moment to figure out what his name is, but instead his mouth opens and shuts around nothing. And to that the guy smiles at him again. This time it resembles the one Seunghan watched him pass out to others as he made his way through the crowd. It’s wide and bright and it makes the tips of Seunghan’s fingers tingle where they’re wrapped around his half empty solo cup. He lets his eyes linger on Seunghan’s own for a moment longer before he allows himself to be dragged the rest of the way to the kitchen by his friend. Seunghan watches them until he can no longer see the hints of his pink sweater in the gaps in the crowd. Sighing he lifts his cup to his lips and downing the rest of the contents of his cup. It’s watered down now and lukewarm now, but Seunghan tricks himself into believing that it calms his nerves.

“Your New Year’s resolution should be practicing better social skills.” Eunseok’s words tickle the shell of Seunghan’s ear. His words are slightly slurred due to the appearance of yet another can of beer in his hand. Seunghan says nothing. Just reaches back and removes Eunsok’s heavy arm from his shoulder.

“He didn’t even say anything really. Nothing that needed a major response.” Seunghan says and as the words come out of his mouth he knows that he’s trying to console himself more than anything. As long as he believes that the guy didn’t expect him to respond with anything then he doesn’t have to feel like he missed out on something.

“He apologized. You could have at least said it was okay. You couldn’t even do that!” Eunseok’s words seep into one another the faster he tries to release them from his lips. It makes understanding him a difficult job that is equal parts unsatisfying when he realizes he’s still just poking fun at him. Seunghan wouldn’t say that he’s a bad conversationalist. He would however admit that it does require a lot of patience from others to be able to figure that out.

“Look it’s a new year in,” Eunseok looks at his watch as he speaks, “in like 3 hours. Start trying new things. Start with getting that guy's name.” He points into the crowd as he finishes his sentence and Seunghan sees that same shade of pink near the sliding doors that face the backyard. He’s leant against the wall, talking to the same friend he arrived with and a girl that Seunghan remembers vaguely from his dance theory class last semester. In a second the guy is turning his head and then his eyes are locking with Seunghan’s. They squint for a moment as if trying to put together the features he’s seeing under lights that are a half step away from practically being completely off and when the pieces come together he lifts his own cup to his lips, taking a small sip before turning away from Seunghan and back to his friends. Seunghan runs a nervous hand through his hair. Grimacing slightly at the sweat that coats his hand afterwards.

“I don’t know him and we said literally one word to one another. It’s not that serious. Besides, where is this coming from? I didn’t even say anything about him.” Seunghan walks away from Eunseok as he speaks, but he follows closely behind. Seunghan seeks out their other friend, Seungchan, in the crowd. It doesn’t take long to locate him. His height placing him literal heads above everyone else. He’s next to the staircase where a chipped dart board rests against the smoke stained wall.

“I know you. When you get that little nervous twitch in your lip it only means one thing and not being serious is exactly why it shouldn’t be an issue to ask him for his name.” They reach Seungchan whenever Eunseok says this to him. Sungchan is in the middle of throwing a dart whenever they reach him.

“Whose name?” He asks just as he launches his dart. It misses the bullseye by an inch. He lets out a cry, dropping his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Eunseok wants me to chat up some random guy just because he said one word to me.” Seunghan says moving to stand next to Sungchan. They both look out at Eunseok as he shakes his head. Wagging a long finger out in front of him.

“I want him to chat up a guy that I think he might have a good time with. I’m being a good wingman- no. A good friend.” He shrugs as he finishes his sentence. Sungchan looks between the two of them before responding.

“What’s so wrong with that?” He asks. Seunghan sighs and gets ready to walk away from the both of them. The sounds of Eunseok’s voice grating on his nerves.

“Exactly. Nothing is wrong with talking to someone you think is attractive. Especially on New Year’s Eve. He’s just scared.” Eunseok says and it makes Sungchan reach out and swat a hand in his direction. Sungchan catches Seunghan by his wrist before he can walk away.

“It doesn’t have to be this big thing. It’s a party. Ask him his name. Talk for a bit. Get a kiss when the ball drops.” Sungchan can barely make it through the end of his sentence before Seunghan is tugging with all of his might to free his wrist from his hold. He laughs when Seunghan settles with turning enough so his back faces the both of them. He sees the guy again then. He’s in the living room now. Dancing to some upbeat pop song. The bass of the speakers are so loud that Seunghan can’t make out any of the words over the ugly grumble it sparks in them. The guy and his friends don’t mind. They twirl and fall against one another in exaggerated grinds that make them all red in the cheeks. He’s in mid spin when he spots Seunghan too. Seunghan wonders what he sees. Is it the effort he put into the small amount of makeup he put on before leaving his apartment. Or is it the alcohol that rests in his cheeks, working in tandem with the nerves that makes the room feel ten times hotter than it is. Could it be the way Seunghan’s eyes drag from the messy fringe of his hair down past the collar of his sweater and to the tops of his thighs where his sweater hangs loosely. When Seunghan’s eyes make it back to his face, he doesn’t smile this time. Just raises his right brow and cocks his head slightly to the left. He’s turning around to face his friends again the next second. Seunghan can feel that twitch Eunseok mentioned earlier making a comeback.

“If I did want to talk to him… how would I do it?” Seunghan asks.

10:00 p.m.

Sohee decides that he’ll let the guy that’s been stealing glances at him for the last hour approach him first. Not because he feels as if he should be the one that’s sought after. No, that’s not his reason at all. Truthfully Sohee is afraid that if he moves too fast he risks scaring the guy away.

“He’s never gonna say anything to you if you keep staring him down.” Wonbin says as he pours himself, Sohee, and Yuna another shot.

“That’s unfair. I don’t think I’m staring. It’s just that everytime I look up he’s already looking so we kind of lock eyes.” Sohee says, picking up his shot glass. The liquid splashes and spills over the rim of the glass when he taps it against Yuna and Wonbin’s own.

“Exactly,” Yuna taps her glass against the counter as she speaks, “if anything he’s the one doing the staring.” She raises the glass to her lips and knocks back the entirety of its contents. He and Wonbin follow suit.

“Right? Me looking at him should be encouraging.” Sohee says as they make their way out of the kitchen and back into the swarm of bodies that fill the too small living room. All of the furniture has been pushed to rest against the wall, which wasn’t really much to begin with. An old couch, a shredded recliner, and a small coffee table. The couch is free so Wonbin leads the three of them there. When they sit the bones of the couch whine and groan beneath their weight.

“Dear god I hate frat parties. Imagine all the various liquids and bodily fluids we’re probably sitting on.” Yuna says.

“It’s fine as long as you don’t think too much about it. Also thank god for in-unit laundry.” Wonbin says. He whispers the last part and keeps his back stiff so he doesn’t rest against the stained cushions. Sohee spotted him when they sat down. The guy he’s been playing peekaboo with is sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. There are two guys that stand on either side of him and they both appear to be talking at the same time and it seems as if Sohee’s guy is doing his best to take in what they’re both saying at the same time. It causes his brows to crease in the middle. A little wrinkle invading the sharpness of his features. It makes Sohee smile.

“You’re staring.” Wonbin leans over to speak the words directly into Sohee’s ear. Immediately he pulls his lips down into a frown, dropping his eyes to where his hands rest in his lap.

“Oh leave him alone. He isn’t hurting anyone,” Yuna says, reaching behind Sohee to swat at the back Wonbin’s head. He attempts to dodge it but he’s a second too late.

“What? I’m trying to help. He wants the guy to come and talk to him. The guy is already too afraid. Sohee’s staring is only going to make him more nervous. Then boom Sohee misses out on his New Year's kiss which means he’s destined to spend 2024 alone.” Wonbin says the words like he’s read them before. Like some sort of prophecy that the world is all in on. Everyone except Sohee. It makes him frown for real this time.

“Why is that the conclusion you came to?” His words come out small and meek and Yuna’s trample over them like an unimpressive colony of ants.

“Or his staring lets him know that Sohee is interested too-”

“So you do think I’m staring?” Sohee cuts in. Yuna raises her hand and rests it against his mouth.

“So then he can finally build up the courage to come and speak to him.” She finishes, dropping her hand from Sohee’s mouth. Wonbin nods, eyes drifting off into the crowd in front of them before coming back to rest on his friends.

“You’re right.” Is all he says.

“What happened to missing my New Year’s kiss? Being all alone all 2024?” Sohee asks.

“You can still not get the kiss and end up miserable and lonely, but he is on his way to come speak to you right now. So I’m guessing the staring did pay off.” Wonbin reaches across Sohee to take Yuna’s hand. He pulls her off of the couch before turning to give Sohee a wink. Yuna sends him a thumbs up and a smile that makes him giddy with anticipation. When they make their way from in front of him the guy is about two steps away from the couch. He stops in front of Sohee.

“Hey. Is it alright if I sit with you?”

11:15 p.m.

Seunghan finds out that his name is Sohee. He is also able to see that he has three moles that rest on his cheek that reminds him vaguely of The Big Dipper. He notices that his hair seems almost too thick for his head, but that it suits him nonetheless. He also realizes that Sohee smiles a lot. Smiles at Seunghan’s nerves. Smiles when Seunghan needs a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. Smiles when Seunghan smiles. Seunghan finds out that he likes talking to Sohee.

11:30 p.m.

Sohee thinks that Seunghan is nervous. Sohee thinks that Seunghan is nervous, awkward and shy and he likes him more for it. He appreciates the effort that Seunghan puts into maintaining eye contact despite the way it makes his knee shake, causing it to knock into Sohee’s every now and again. He likes that after every time he apologies for it he breaks out into this nervous grin that makes his face soften like dough. Sohee thinks that he would like to talk to Seunghan after tonight.

12:00 a.m.

Five minutes before the clock strikes twelve Sohee decides that he will kiss Seunghan. An equal effort sort of thing he reasons. He takes note of the way Seunghan's eyes drift to his lips more often as they speak about their majors and what their schedules look like for this upcoming semester. He notices the way it makes a new layer of sweat break out on his forehead and the way it causes him to pull at his fingers. Sohee notices also how these nerves spur Seunghan to fill up more of the space in their conversation. He begins to spew facts about himself like a fire hose in response to the way his nerves make his body shake. Sohee listens to it all. Takes it all in with soft eyes and a gentle smile. One that is almost as gentle as the hand he places on Seunghan’s cheek when the crowd begins to count down, cutting his sentence about internships short. His presses his lips against Seunghan’s own in a chase kiss. One that causes fireworks to go off in Seunghan’s ears. One that makes his own heart beat so loudly that he fears Seunghan can hear it over the cheers of everyone else in the room.

“Happy New Year, Seunghan.” He whispers against his lips.

“Happy New Year, Sohee.”

[arxxq]

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑?༄

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your taste in books are so lukewarm..] ❞

IN WHICH— Itoshi Rin happens to encounter a girl who seems all to familiar to him in a random bookstore. And that was just the beginning of their journey.

Part 1

Mentions of Afab reader

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

Heavy rain, although people love rain..it does give you disadvantages from time to time. And currently that is happening to Itoshi rin. He was just walking down the street until the the rain appeared, and him not wanting to get sick or get hypothermia had no choice but to enter a random bookstore that was nearby. Lucky for him.

The moment he entered he was welcomed in with a warm and welcoming atmosphere. The owner smiled at him but Rin just gave his usual stoic expression. Since it seems like the rain won't go away any time soon he decided why not read a book while waiting.

So he walked to the shelf's and checked out the novels that were there. There was a book that piqued his interest but just as he was about to get it, his hand brushed with another. He looked towards the owner of that hand on to his surprised it was a girl who looked familiar.

The female herself looked towards the hand she accidentally brushed to and to her surprise it was no one other than Itoshi Rin. Her eyes never left him and nor did his. Rin was to mesmerized by her eyes and her other features and the same goes for y/n herself. The mood between them was tense.

Due to realization, Y/n broke the eye contact and apologized. "I'm sorry..you can have the book if you like," she also offered the book to him. Usually rin would've just take the book right but for some reason he said something that stunned himself as well.

"We can read it together if you'd like..that is if you don't mind?" He said. Y/n blinked multiple times trying to process what rin had said. Rin himself was silently questioning himself to why he said that so suddenly. After thinking and processing, y/n agreed to his offer and they sat down on the sofa that was set up.

Due to reading it was nothing but a moment of silence between the two. Although both y/n and rin wanted to break the silence for a moment, they thought that maybe they should just enjoy it instead. As time pass by slowly, both y/n and rin didn't notice that the rain had long gone. Just as both rin and y/n was about to reach the next chapter, there was a notification sound from rin's phone.

He took the phone out of his pocket, to see a text message from his older brother. Now although rin and sae had finally set aside they're differences and moved on from the past, that does not mean they will be able to get along again. Rin groaned since he didn't want his encounter with the girl to end this quick.

"I have to go, it was nice meeting you stranger," y/n chuckled in response. "Well it won't be our last encounter striker..trust me on that," rin rose a brow in confusion. What did she mean and more importantly how did she know about his football career. It did intrigued him quite alot but he decided to save the questions for next time.

As he walks home he thought of something that actually managed to make him smile. "What an interesting person..I'll be looking forward to our next meeting, bookstore stranger...."

Oh god. I made two Itoshi siblings post in one day. I mean what can I say. I love them. I'm also supposed to be sleeping since tommorow's going to be a long day for me. I also haven't pack since uh I'm staying at my cousin's for like 2 days or just day. Well I should get to packing I guess. And sleeping lmao (ㆁωㆁ) mistakes will be edited once I reread this.

[flower-zombie-rob]

what’s stopping me?

Another, much less depressing, R irissona fic! This time featuring @geekyfox2‘s sona Geeky and @ratwhowrites sona Remi. This one’s quite cute so don't worry, so sad angst here! Hopefully I used the right pronouns for these sona characters, I tried my hardest to do my research on what they're like. Enjoy!

It had taken a while for R to come to terms with the prosthetics, even longer to adjust to them. Their balance had been off and they’d toppled across hallways many times, clumsily attempting to get a hang of their sleek new artificial limbs. After the first few embarrassing tumbles, they’d learned the basics of the movement changes and they discovered exactly how to stop the leg from becoming detached mid-step, though they acquired the help of the more patient iris employees. Today they’d made it all the way to the cafeteria! For the first time in weeks they could climb the white plastic chairs and sit alongside those scientists they'd come to know in the years before the accident. The sentiment of their excitement wasn’t theirs alone, it was, most definitely, shared by the employees in the room, unprepared to see R today after the accident.

A familiar face came sauntering into the room, her walking speed rapidly increasing as she caught sight of R sitting at the cafeteria table. Within seconds, Geeky was cuddling the young altr from behind in a long overdue embrace. R wasn’t sure what the name of the feeling bubbling inside them was, but it must have had something to do with the hugs they’d missed from all the medical downtime. It was a really really good feeling, that’s all they could tell. Fuzzy, like the hair of the employee they were currently staring adoringly up at. They turned around, letting out a squeaky apology after bashing Geeky's shin with their new leg(the clunky thing was still too janky to swing around a stool safely). Comforted by the presence of a friend, R rested their head on Geeky’s warm shoulder, the lab coat fabric providing a pleasant pillowcase. It wasn’t lost on them how much they’d missed any sort of closeness while they were stuck in quarantine or kept in the medical wing to re-learn how to walk. Some employees, most, just didn’t have the time to go and visit them. Heading down to the medical wing was a trip for most of R’s common acquaintances, who worked on a completely different side of the facility, so seeing the frumpy scientist again was overwhelming R with joy.

“I missed you, buddy.” Said the taller employee, letting go of them to ruffle their messy, lilac hair. R smiled brightly in response and uttered out a simple sentence, making the effort to speak as well as they could for their friends.

“Missed you too!” They yelled excitedly, shoving their arms around the iris employees neck for their second hug within the same 5 minutes.

Suddenly, as they let go and leaned back, R found themselves hoisted up into the air! They felt the hands of another grumpy scientist friend, peering over their own shoulder to see the face of Remi, who’d put down a lukewarm mug of coffee on the table to swoop R off their feet.

“There you are, where have you been, huh?” R squealed in surprise. They were giggling excitedly in pure joy.

“Remi, you should be at your station.” Muttered Geeky, though there was no real weight behind it.

“I needed a coffee! And I’m so glad I got one, I would’ve missed R popping back up around here.” He looked down to inspect R’s new prosthetics, obviously surprised by how much more weight the fake arm and leg added to the tiny altr. “These are cool. Normal arms are for losers anyway.” He leaned down to whisper it, pulling his riding-up lab coat sleeve down.

“Get back to work or I’ll get done for not supervising you.” Geeky cut in. She took R from his hands and helped them back down to the floor, holding their hands as Remi picked up his coffee and waved at the two before shuffling back out and down the hall.

“Come on then,” Geeky encouraged, standing up and heading to the cafeteria exit’s double doors. ”looks like you’re unsupervised so why don’t we go out and get you some fresh air while I check if Bab locked the mothman up properly. They had one job and that was to turn a single key! Is that so hard? You’d do it better than they would, R, you-” she looked back suddenly to realise the altr hadn’t moved from the spot they’d been left in. Geeky beckoned them over, confused and concerned, only for R to shake their head nervously.

“can’t…” They looked down shamefully to their prosthetic leg. They’d only just figured out how to confidently walk from their room to the cafeteria, and that was barely a few metres! There’s no way they’d be able to make their way through all those halls to the outside cells. The dread of falling over when they’d just gotten the hang of walking again crept up on them and kept them glued to the spot until Geeky came over and took R’s hands gently.

“Hey” she spoke softly, moving one hand to rest carefully on R’s shoulder. “You can do this, Bud. Here, I’ll hold your hands and if you fall it’s no big deal, right? You just get back up, like always.” They gave R a little pat on the shoulder and aided them in their first steps towards the double doors, holding their hands tightly all the way through the facility. It was a memory R would recall for the rest of their time relearning to walk. Because no matter how many times they fell over and had their prosthetics fall off and seize up, they’d get back up again. I mean, they thought, if the others believe I can do it, what’s stopping me?

People who may be interested: @intothebutterflyburrow@glass-trash-bab @tahcoo @bondedostae

[cyberphuck]

(An angry email accusing me of being the absolute worst under the cut!)

Hi Reddit, AITA for not clicking "like" on a wattpad story because I felt that, in light of what I was already doing-- going through the story chapter by chapter in emails and leaving thoughts on each one-- it was an empty gesture and when people do that to me it doesn't help?

I (nb38) warned my longtime friend "Sadie" (f50s) that original fic is very hard to get views on in today's internet and that wattpad might not be the best place to find readers or get validation. She posted there anyway and within three days was already asking me why she had so few views. I had a talk with her about seeking validation for creative works and feeling crushed when it doesn't happen or doesn't feel like enough, and that "that way lies madness." (I also thought the story was not her best work and also not the sort of tale-- a very whimsical early 90s fantasy type-- that most casual readers online would be into, but i did not mention this because I didn't feel it was helpful.)

Like I said, she'd been sending me this story chapter by chapter and I was commenting on each part, though I got a new chapter every day and was in the middle of quitting my job and couldn't keep up. I told her I'd be kind of slow and wanted to give each part the attention it deserved. She asked me about wattpad. I basically said "ehhhhhh." But she wanted to post it, and when I went to check it out I offered to rework the summary it would be more appealing, and she happily accepted.

I sent it. I got a reply of "thanks, but you've never really cared about me or supported me and neither has anyone else and I think our friendship is over."

??????????

I sent her an email back. I told her I didn't think this was really about the story and hinted she may want to talk to someone with a degree about her feelings, but that I would be there for her and we could get through this. She told me her other friend had "sucked up" all her love and support and then gone on to have a great life and left her behind. Neat, what does that have to do with me. I did let her know that what she'd said had really hurt me, that I hadn't thought our friendship was transactional in that way, and that this didn't mean I didn't love her but wow, dick move.

Radio silence for a few days. Then Sadie returns, apologizes for yelling at me, said she'd been in the psych ward and hated it, I commiserated and said I hoped she was getting the help she needed because I thought she'd gotten some perspective. Instead she told me again that I'd been shitty for not liking her story on wattpad right away (again, this woman is a published author in her fifties). I again said I didn't think this was about the story.

Silence for a few more days. Then, another message: "I'm in therapy and I'm sorry again for how I treated you."

I'm a little bit warier this time. I don't really want to get in a cycle of her using me as a punching bag and then coming back with a lukewarm apology three days later. My reply was to the effect of, "listen, I know you're hurting but this has been twice now and I'm not going to abandon you but youve got to be more careful how you treat people. I've been hurt this way before and it's really painful for me to go through."

The response I got was long, but here are some highlights:

Again! This began because although I was leaving comments and thoughts on her story via email, I didn't immediately click like on the wattpad version of it.

The only reason I'm not dumping the entire email thread here (like I usually do, so that people don't think I'm only telling my side of the story) is because Sadie is kind of a public figure and I don't want to smear her reputation online because I don't think she deserves (or would survive) that.

We'd been friends since 2002.

[impish-crow]

[TRANSLATION] HIBIKI BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION SS(Short Story) 🎉

Pushing open the studio door, the lukewarm heat from outside surged in all at once.

"Wow, it's so hot…"

Even my own voice escaping my mouth is irritating. Despite the fact that the sun has long set, the daytime heat lingers on, and not only that, it's carrying a dampness that hangs heavily in the thin evening darkness of summer.

(Truly unpleasant.)

I let out a sigh, not knowing how many times I've sighed since waking up today.

"Kouno, quit complaining all the time. It's annoying." "It can't be helped, it's hot." "The air is so muggy…"

"Shion." Toya, who was walking ahead, stopped and turned back with a concerned look.

"You really seem to be struggling. Shouldn't you let Sogo carry you?"

"I'm fine. I can manage. It's just to the parking lot, so I can do it somehow…"

Despite Shion's brave response, it's evident on his face that he is nearing their limit.

"I've always hated summer."

Muttering that, I noticed Endo glancing over in this direction for a moment.

But I pretended not to notice.

Intense heat. Right in the middle of August.

(It's hot and exhausting… so hot.) Nothing's going well. If possible, I'd want to pretend I'm dead and just get through this. While thinking that,

(Oh, not again.)

My phone is ringing.

(How many times since morning?)

I know who's calling without even looking at the screen.

Today is the day when once a year, I'm subjected to a one-sided confession of guilt and apologies for not being able to do anything. So, I'm not picking up. Absolutely not. (Mom, I've had enough of that.)

I'm not a kid anymore. I'm living on my own just fine. I'm not hurt anymore, really. (I've been raised well enough. I'm grateful. I don't want or need anything more from you.)

Please, I hope you understand soon. (… Ah, it got disconnected.) That's a relief. Explaining things is tiring anyway and it's hot.

"Hey, Megane.."

Shion raised his face slowly, and Endo continued.

"How about having today's drinking session at your place, after all?"

"…At Shion's place? Not Sogo's?"

Surprised, I asked again, and Toya nodded easily.

"Let's do that. Shion seems unwell since the morning, and it's worrying to leave him alone."

"I'm sorry, but my place is small."

"It's fine. As long as there's enough space for one person to sit, we're good." "Huh, Toya, you're coming too?" "Is there a problem if I'm there?" "There isn't, but you hardly ever come even if you're invited. And today, Shion doesn't seem well either, so there's no need to push yourself to drink on a day like this." "A day like this, huh?" "Kouno. Isn't today your birthday?"

All three of them looked at me simultaneously.

(Huh, no way… What? Is that so?)

They were looking at me with expressions that seemed like it should be obvious. I was surprised.

"Could it be that you forget it?" "Yeah, well… but so what?" "What do you mean? We're going to drink, it's your birthday." "I'm having a bit of trouble understanding what you're saying…" "Get it together, you fool. Oh, Sogo-saan!"

Sogo came running back from the parking lot.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting." "Whoa, you're all drenched in sweat!" "During summer, just lifting and lowering the drums is a workout itself. The inside of the car is ridiculously hot too."

"I'm really sorry, I had Sogo-san carry the keyboard too."

"Don't worry about it. I left the door wide open and turned on the AC, so let's go. It would be nice if our mood improves a bit while we're driving." "That's the thing, though. Is it okay to have it at Megane's place today?" "I don't mind, but is it fine for all of us to barge in? It's still an option to do it at my place as planned. I even aired out the guest room's futon the other day." "Home is where anyone most comfortable. Also, while we're at it, we can inspect Shion's room and buy anything necessary for his summer life. It's your first summer living alone, right?" "Yes… um, sorry." "Do you properly turn on the AC when you sleep?" "I set it on a timer." "Huh? You're gonna die, you idiot!" "Shut up! If I leave it on, I'll freeze to death!"

I'm living on my own just fine. I'm not hurt anymore. I still don't like summer, though. But…

(Since when did things become like this?)

At the very least, this year's summer is not the same as before.

"Hey, Hibiki, why are you smiling?" "Sorry. I just felt like, it's kind of fun."

Finding myself able to think like that was a bit refreshing. I couldn't help but smile.

[shakespeareaddict]

Probably the most lukewarm take on the latest Somerton “apology”:

People have already pointed out that head trauma and ADHD and memory problems don’t really work like he said they worked. And people have pointed out that if he was writing papers in school, he would’ve figured out “hey you need to cite your sources, maybe you should take notes to avoid forgetting!”

BUT. If these things DID work the way he claims they did. If everything really *was* an accident, or an embarrassed lie, or a trauma response or whatever the excuse is again. Then if James Somerton actually intended a real and genuine apology, then he should’ve:

A) apologized, personally, to the people we already know he stole from (and not just one other YouTuber he had somewhat incidental beef with)

B) started going through his previous drafts to see if he could find other people he “””accidentally””” plagiarized from, and apologized to them too

C) started making reparations himself instead of claiming he “reached out to hbomberguy’s team” to sort of piggy-back on hbomberguy’s existing donation scheme. This might include donating to the people he plagiarized with but also *naming* them and beginning to promote their work—because other than money, the thing he stole was the admiration of people who were moved by words that James Somerton did not write, people who might’ve supported the other creators he stole from!

[firelordteo]

Lukewarm take I guess, but I feel like some people should open their eyes and realize most of the main, recurring characters are kids, teenagers. And not just any kids, but kids who have lived in a world that’s in a war. Kids who experienced trauma, or abuse, are mentally ill, or lived in harsh conditions. Kids who were forced to grow up way faster because of their tragic circumstances. Circumstances that affected how they act, how they see the world, how they react to things. And it makes me really sad how some of ya’ll are so quick to tear some of these kids apart and demonize them for making mistakes, even though making mistakes is just part of life, especially if they live through so many rough things. Should characters be taken accountable for doing mistakes? Yes, absolutely! But it doesn’t make them horrible people or irredeemable, abusive, and whatever other words some folks like to throw around, because the fact is, they still got their whole lives ahead of them. And often times, it makes their character a lot stronger or believable, beause guess what! People in real life make mistakes too. And in Avatar in particular, it was amazing to see these kids grow and learn, even if it was in a shown in a subtle way. And it was amazing to see how everyone was different, how everyone deals with problems they have in different ways, and how they cope with things, even if not in the best or healthiest of ways, because again, that’s just what kids would do. So please,  Stop saying Katara was annoying for bringing up her mother’s death often. She is deeply hurt, she had to step up and take up so much responsibility in her family, and she had a right to have a right time forgiving the people who have made her life so much tougher. And saying Sokka didn’t care about his mom as much as Katara does. He is also hurt from it, and is just coping with it and dealing with it in different ways. This goes the other way too btw, it’s okay Katara expressed it in a different manner than Sokka did. Stop saying Azula is 100% evil and doesn’t deserve love. She was weaponized by her father, encouraged to do bad things, when she was just seeking approval of her parent. (which kids simply just do!) She was just in a very unfortunate position, not being able to realize her wrongs when she lived under the wing of someone who glorified this behavior. She does have feelings too, she even had a moment where she apologized to Ty Lee after making fun of her. She was genuine at that moment.  Has she done some awful things? Definitely, but that doesn’t mean she going completely insane from losing people she thought were loyal friends was a triumphant moment. It was tragic, she’s so damaged, and yet she’s only 14. Stop saying Mai doesn’t care. She does, just because she doesn’t show it outwardly like some other characters do, doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, and doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. It was very clearly mentioned that she didn’t have the best family life, that she was taught to be obedient, quiet, perfect little girl, and it makes complete sense how this affected her later in life. And don’t act like her calling Zuko out over his temper tantrums was abusive. Calling people out on their bullshit is so important, because then, they can better themselves. And just because I said all this doesn’t mean it’s not valid to not be a fan of a character. Sometimes something may not be our cup of tea. But to hate them so much and demonize them, and not even take the effort to think about them in a way that isn’t unclouded by feelings, and not give them any credit where the credit is due is just so tiring to see for me. I could go on and on about this and how some folks just get these (and other ones I didn’t even mention) characters so wrong, but this post is already long enough so I will just leave this here. 

[whereonceiwasfire]

Hello! If you still need drabbles to tinker with, may I leave a suggestion?

I don't know why but recently I've been really into horror and creepy stuff, so I was wondering if you'd like to do something like that? I actually find a good horror fic really purging for some reason, it's like I have all my anxiety for the next month twisted out of me like a sponge

Maybe it'll help you too!

Here are some ideas if you need them but you can do anything really, it's your drabble

Maybe the concept of facelessness? Things without faces are creepy

You can maybe just do a classic ' nobody is sure what the heck ghosts are but they're very inhuman and creepy, and Danny very much fits in that category '

If you want to vent out how much having a cold sucks again you can probably do something with either overstimulation or numbness in general, like maybe being a ghost is different than being human because you feel nothing physical but you have emotions? So it's like - Danny can't smell or taste anything in ghost form? Maybe he can't feel temperatures of things?

If you're not in a horror mood maybe you can do something with the feeling of being alone while it's all rainy or snowy outside. It's a very special feeling, and it's pretty peaceful, so it would probably be comforting to write •^•

I apologize in advance; I heard "horror" and my brain went brrrrr so this really got away from me haha. Thanks so much for the request, I had a blast writing this horror-ey little oneshot (cause I don't think you can call this a drabble anymore lol)!

Scott gets suggestions, all the time, for your standard fare—Salem, New Orleans, Pine Barrens, Mansfield. He’s been to some of them, is still planning to make it to the other ‘most haunted places in America,’ eventually, so leaves little“soon” or “keep haunting�� or  “check out my vid on Salem here,” in response to the comments. 

But he’s only ever gotten a request to visit a small town he’s never heard of before once—Amity Park. It didn’t come as a comment left on his videos, it wasn’t sent in an email to his account or a DM, it wasn’t even a passing conversation with a barista or a gas station attendant. It was a text to his phone, from an unknown number—the town name, and nothing else. When he tried to answer back, he’d gotten a “message not delivered” notification. 

He has to admit, he appreciates the theatrics of it, being something of a thespian himself.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe in what he does, he’s just pragmatic enough to realize that sometimes the paranormal needs a little help. People don’t subscribe to his channel because they want to watch him give a little shiver in his fleece-lined, denim jacket once in a while. No, they watch his channel because they want to see him with wide, reflective eyes glinting like a cat’s in the night vision filter, gasping, and whispering, and going off about the dark presence he feels.

His hopes aren’t high that he’ll get any new content—that there’s anything spookier about the town than its try-hard name. Scott’s not even entirely sure that people will be all that interested in watching a video on the place. 

But curiosity gets the better of him, and that’s how he finds  himself, van stuffed full, on hour ten of his drive to Amity Park. 

It’s dark, his headlights slashing across the highway, illuminating a whole lot of shadowed nothing before him. He squints out the windshield as he lifts the lukewarm dregs of his gas-station coffee to his lips, chugs it back with a grimace, and settles it back into the cupholder. 

He knows he’s got to be getting close by now, but none of this is even remotely familiar, and in terms of landmarks, there’s zilch. Just a thick wall of trees on either side of the road, shadows painted upon shadows. Once in a while, he passes a crooked branch, or a roughly hewn rock that’s semi-distinctive, but even those all look the same. It’s almost as though it’s a background on repeat—almost like he’s driving in circles.   

Not to mention his crappy old Econoline is the only vehicle on the road. It’s as if he’s driven right off the map. 

Where the hell is this town? 

“Get it together, Scott,” he says, scrubbing a palm down his face, and cranking The Cure to keep himself awake. “Nobody’s watching, you don’t have to turn on the charm yet.”

He flickers his attention back to the cupholder, instinctively reaching for his coffee again. Pulls his gaze back up before his fingers have curled around the top of the cup. 

“Shit! Fuck!” he shouts, immediatly slamming on the brakes, jerking the steering wheel, and fishtailing across the highway as he registers the shadowed figure in the middle of the road. 

He’s panting, breathless, when the van screeches to a sideways halt, his fingers gripped so tight around the wheel that his knuckles poke white against the flesh. His head snaps ups, gaze flickering out past the windshield for whatever he thought he saw. 

Nothing. The road before him is completely empty. 

Scott tries to jerk around, twist a look behind him, but the seatbelt has locked around his torso, click click clicks as he strains against it. Eventually, it releases, and he unclips himself, throws open his door, engine still idling, and clambers out onto the asphalt. 

“H-hello?” he calls, Vans scuffing the concrete as he peers into the darkness. 

Slowly, he starts to circle around the chunky backside of his overstuffed Econoline, heart pitter-pattering against the walls of his chest as he studies the pavement—dark skid marks drawn like a sketch along his screeching trajectory. His palm rests against the cool aluminum side of the van, and he swallows hard as he stoops to check the undercarriage. 

He can’t make out much in the shadows, pulls his phone from his back pocket and turns on the flashlight to sweep back and forth beneath the vehicle. 

Nothing. 

“What’re you doing?” 

Scott gives a strangled cry as he jerks upright, dropping his phone against the pavement with a clatter as his hands lift in an instinctive defense. 

But it’s a kid that stands across from Scott. He can’t be much older than fourteen or fifteen—wears grass-stained jeans, a t-shirt, and chucks, his dark, mussed hair blending with the shadows behind him.

Scott has the fleeting consideration that this kid is not what he saw in the road. It was only a second, only a glimpse, but whatever it had been was far larger, steeped in shadow, headlights glinting off little reflective pockets.  

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott snaps, shaking himself as he stoops for his phone. It lays on the asphalt between them, flashlight illuminating the boy from below, lending an eerie quality to the already bewildering interaction. “Isn’t it, like, past your bedtime?” 

The kid doesn’t answer, just turns the slightest smile, and asks, “You lost?”

There’s something so immediately unsettling about it. About him. Something about the kid’s voiee, the way it almost mirrors the soft susurration of the leaves rustling around them; something about the way the light reflects off his eyes, only the thinnest ring of blue around blown pupils; something about the creeping, prickling sensation across Scott’s skin when the boy steps a little bit closer.

“I’m…looking for a place called Amity Park,” Scott blurts, almost as a way to keep the boy from getting any closer.        

The kid does stop, tilting his head, a bit too far to be inquisitive, a bit too far to seem natural. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“I heard it’s haunted,” Scott said, trying to shake off the weird apprehension he feels.

“It is,” the boy says with such certainty it sends a chill crawling up Scott’s spine. 

What the hell is wrong with him? He’s been to graveyards, and generations old houses that look like the set of a horror movie. He’s been to hotels where celebrities OD-ed, and businesses where people were allegedly murdered, and abandoned warehouses, and destitute institutions. He’s spent nights in places most people won’t visit in full daylight with nothing but his phone and a tripod.

So why is he so jumpy all of a sudden—so put off by one little kid? Albeit, a spooky little shit who, for some reason, is on the side of the highway at 1:00am. But still.

“I can show you how to get there,” the kid says, lifting on his toes and cupping his hands around his face as he presses his nose to the back window of Scott’s van. “If you give me a ride home.” 

“You kidding? I’m a stranger. That’s not safe. Haven’t your parents taught you anything? I could be a serial killer.” On the other hand, should Scott be leaving a scrappy little tweenager on the side of the road?  

The kid just slowly turns his head toward Scott, a too-wide smile stretching across his face, teeth glinting a little too sharp in the wan moonlight. 

“I’m not worried,” he says. Then, giving a dismissive wave, features smoothing out so fast Scott wonders that he ever saw anything unusual at all, the kid continues. “Besides. You can’t get to Amity without a guide.” 

“What?” 

But the kid is already circling around to the passenger side door, hauling it open, and slipping into Scott’s van—either not hearing or just not bothering to answer the question. 

Scott just gives his head a shake, and clambers back into the vehicle, pulling the door shut with a loud thud as he settles into the driver’s seat. Even though the engine is still running, the heater blasting, there's a chill in the cab, and Scott gives a little shiver. 

The kid is folded up in the passenger seat, has his knees to his chest, his chucks propped up on Scott’s dashboard—is turning an EMP reader over in his hands with his eyebrows lifted. 

“Can you not?” Scott asks, snatching the device from the kid’s hand and tossing it into the back. “And for fuck’s sake, put on a seatbelt. I’m not going to be responsible for you getting splattered across the highway.”

“Why do you care? I thought you were a serial killer?” the kid asks with a sarcastic turn to the words, but he obliges, strapping himself in with a click. 

“Ha. Ha. Look, kid—” but Scott doesn’t get any further than that, a disquiet gripping in his chest the second he turns a glance over at the boy.

“Danny,” he supplies, snapping Scott out of it.

He shakes himself as he turns his attention out the windshield as he eases the van back into the proper lane of the empty highway. 

“Look, Danny,” he manages with a hard swallow. “I don’t know what you were doing out here in the middle of the night. Quite frankly, I don’t want to know. But you can’t be pulling shit like that. It’s dangerous.” 

“You swear a lot, you know?” Danny says, popping open Scott’s glove compartment and rifling through the CD cases there. 

Right. Kid.  

“You can’t be pulling crap like that,” Scott amends.    

Danny ignores him completely, lifting an absent glance out the windshield and pointing, “You see that rock up there?”

Scott’s brow furrows. Okay, he’s sure he’s passed that rock already. But that’s impossible. He hasn’t turned off this straight stretch of highway in almost an hour.

“You’re going to want to make a left up there,” Danny says. 

“There’s isn’t a left up—” but Scott cuts off as they draw near, because there is. A left-hand turn onto a paved road that he could've sworn wasn't there a second ago There are no signs, nothing to indicate what road they’re turning onto, but it’s undeniably a road.

Scott turns a wary glance over at the kid, back out the windshield, slowing as he clicks on his turn signal.

“What did you mean when you said you can’t get to Amity Park without a…guide?” Scott asks, wringing his grip around the steering wheel.

Danny opens up one of Scott’s CD cases, pops out the disc, and starts spinning it around his index finger. 

“I mean. Just that? The town doesn’t just, like, show itself to people. But you can’t just come and go either, so getting a guide is hard. Guess you could say you were lucky. If Boxy hadn’t been messing around today, I might not have been out far enough to find you. Don’t think I caught your name, by the way? It it something cool like Riker, or Arrow, or something? You look like you could have a cool name.”

“Uh. Scott,” he answers, brow twisting even further. 

“Lame.” 

“You got quite the imagination on you, hey kid?” Scott asks, gaze out the windshield, turning over the boy's strange story in his head.

“I guess,” Danny says with a shrug before popping the CD back into the case and pulling out the cover booklet instead, flipping absently through the lyric pages.  

They fall silent, and Scott tries to ignore the strange, increasing sense of wrongness that pervades the cab of his Econoline—the prickle up the back of his neck; the feeling of a hundred eyes on him; the heavy, oppressive sense there’s more than just him and the kid in his car.

Scott lets out a quiet scoff as he grabs for his coffee again and tips back the empty paper cup, getting nothing but a couple cold drips for his effort. 

He's gonna need to crash for a solid day when he finally makes it to this stupid town. His exhausted mind is obviously playing games with him.

After a couple minutes, the trees thin out on either side of the road, streetlights and powerlines cropping up as though out of nowhere, following their progress toward the faint glow of civilization in the distance. Scott releases a tight sigh when he sees it, the promise of other people setting his jangled nerves at ease. 

They’re just passing a large sign emblazoned with Amity Park, A Nice Place to Live, when something swoops out of the sky at them with a deafening shriek. 

Scott swears, slams on his brakes for the second time that night, throwing an instinctive arm out to catch the kid from being thrown forward into the dash. 

“What the fuck?” Scott shouts when they’ve ground to a halt, twisting a bewildered glance over his shoulder where he can see the creature doubling back through the dark sky above. 

It’s ephemeral and insubstantial—beats glowing wings around a shifting, changing form that takes on the likeness of a massive vulture. Its body stretches further across than the Econoline, and it opens a beak of shadow to let out another piercing cry. Scott throws his hands over his ears, winces as spiderweb cracks run through his windshield.

Two pairs of blood-red eyes peer out from the sleek shape of the beast's head, and they blink sideways at him just before the creature rears, readying to dive again. 

“Okay, this is getting annoying now,” Danny says with a put-upon sigh, like this is nothing more inconvenient than misplacing his keys. “Give me a sec.” 

If Scott hadn’t watched it happen—scrabbling back in his seat with a shriek, trying to get as far away as possible—he wouldn’t believe it was real. 

The kid’s slightly disproportionate form stretches out with a shiver of glowing light, elbows, knees, popping out of joint, bending backward as he elongates into something inhuman. His skin melts into shadow, fingers tapering into glimmering bone claws, features swallowed up with blackness, nothing but a yawning, glowing mouth taking up the space where the rest of his features should be. It opens wide—rows of teeth, a long, forked tongue—screaming back at the bird as the kid's monstrous form melts through the vehicle like he’s passing through water. Reflective green eyes blink open all over the shadowy, humanoid shape, slitted pupils all snapping over to the wheeling vulture in unison. 

The kid, the…monster…effortlessly catches the bird out of the air before it can set upon the van, his fingers bleeding like tendrils of ink as they stretch to encompass the writhing, flapping, screeching vulture. Whatever the phantom says to it sounds more like static than words—an indistinguishable hiss. The bird just lets out another shriek that rumbles the road beneath Scott’s car. 

The shadowy creature the kid’s turned into just shakes its faceless head—unhinges his jaw, that horrible mouth stretching larger than should be possible—before he stuffs the bird in whole.

“Fuck no,” Scott breathes as he slams the van into reverse, twists his head over his shoulder and he stomps on the gas. 

He doesn’t even have time to whip into a violent, dangeroud U-turn—only gets to the town line, the very edge of the Amity Park sign, before the car shudders to a stop, the crumple of aluminum like he’s come up against a wall. He’s thrown forward against the seatbelt,  gives a grunt, blinks bewilderedly behind him. 

What the…? 

There’s nothing in his way, no reason he should have stopped. 

“Don’t worry.” 

The voice is entirely inhuman—Danny’s kiddish lilt overlaid with something echoing and eternal—and when Scott turns forward, that creature is lumbering toward the van on its almost canine, bipedal feet.  

“No, no, no.” Scott scrambles to free himself from the seatbelt, spills out of the van, and immediately skirts a few steps backward, glancing up at the creature blinking a dozen glowing eyes at him. 

He bumps up against nothing, can’t move any further than the invisible line drawn in the sand between this damned little town and the world beyond.              

“Don’t worry,” the creature repeats again as it clambers over the van like it’s skirting a decorative rock in somebody’s garden. “I protect this town.” 

It looms over Scott at seven—eight feet tall? Reaches an arm toward him, stretching long, impossible fingers toward him.

Scott tries to run the only direction he can—parallel to the town line—his Vans crunching against gravel before tendrils snap around his ankle, blood rushing to his head as he’s lifted upside down, suspended in front of the creature. Those dozen eyes stare at him.  

“Holy shit, man. Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t fucking eat me,” Scott panics and writhes, tries to twist out of the grasp, to no avail. 

The phantom creature just cocks its head, a facsimile of the boy’s inquisitive tilt from earlier. 

What, the, fuck?     

“I’m not going to eat you.” It gives a childish laugh, haunting in its sharp, piercing clarity where it comes from that horrific, monstrous mouth. “Weren’t you listening? I protect this town. And you’re part of this town now.” 

“No, man, I just want to go home. This is too much.” Scott sways listlessly back and forth as he gives up trying to free himself.  

“...you…can’t? I thought I told you. Humans can’t just come and go.”

“What?” Scott asks, breathless. 

The creature gently rights him—lowers him to the ground beside his van. He has to steady himself on the hood to keep his knees from buckling, blinks sightlessly up at the phantom creature. 

There’s another, unnatural shiver through the air, a ripple of glowing light over the creature’s body, and then, that little kid is standing in front of Scott again, scrubbing a hand up his arm. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Danny says, features twisting up into a frown. “I thought you—I mean. People don’t usually come here from, like, other places. When they do, it’s because they have nowhere else to go. I thought. I just figured…” 

Scott doesn’t know exactly what the boy is, if the kiddish face he wears is some kind of ruse, but Scott’s sure prefers him this way. Even though, now that he knows what it is, there’s still something so distinctly inhuman about him. The way his features don’t look molded quite right, pulled just slightly beyond the realm of natural; the way his eyes seem lit from something within, carrying a faint, residual glow like the dozens of eyes he wore when he became that…phantom; the way his arms, his fingers, seem just a little bit too long, his teeth just a little bit too sharp, his joints extending just a little bit further than they should be able to.

“How is this even real?” Scott chokes out with a manic little laugh. 

“Strictly speaking, it’s, uh, not,” Danny says. When Scott just turns a helpless, defeated look over at him, he shrugs, averts his gaze. “Amity Park, uh, doesn’t exist. Not. Not in the human realm, anyway. I—it’s hard to explain. My parents can do a better job.” 

“Parents,” Scotts breathes, disbelieving.

“Yeah. C’mon. I’ll introduce you. You’ve got a lot to learn,” Danny says, shrugging off this life-ruining news with unsettling ease—an inhuman lack of concern—as he jerks his head back toward the van.

As Scott dazedly follows the kid back to his own vehicle, Danny starts, turns, smiles up at him. The sight of it sends shivers crawling up Scott's spine. 

“I almost forgot,” Danny says before sweeping an arm out to the city sprawling out before them. “Welcome to Amity Park.”