#also I’m not sure why I got a book pass for this considering I’ve read it before

[yourqueenb]

I randomly got a book pass for Save the Date, so my take of the day is that the way people talked about Justin was actually insane. Not exactly a new take, but still very accurate.

People were literally saying he was in the wrong for “following” MC to her new job to warn her employer not to hire her? As if said employer wasn’t his sister and she was considering MC as a wedding planner. And as if he hadn’t watched MC either flip a whole table or shove bread into her boss’ mouth like the day before 😐

[whytheylosttheirminds]

june gloom - part 2: is this gonna end ever?

(Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader, 6.9k words)

part 1

summary: Six months after Rafe walked out of your life, you're finally picking up the shattered pieces he left in his wake. When you accidentally find yourself working at his wedding, your thrown right back into the chaos you thought you were free from.

content: angst/smut, 18+ minors do not interact!, mentions of alcohol abuse and drugs, mentions of cheating, what could be considered infiedelity

a/n: as a fair warning, the angst only gets worse in this one. however, I promise the third and final part will see a satisfying and happy ending for these two if you stick with me. also, this one got wordy, but after struggling with it for a while i'm very happy with how it turned out. thank you to this anon for inspo and for everyone's support on pt. 1.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊

Crickets chirped a chorus around you as you laid back on the flannel blanket, the grass beneath making a soft pillow for your head. Your lips wrapped around the blunt, lungs expanding to welcome the smoke. You hummed in pleasure as the high-end strain went down way smoother than any of the trash you would usually get on The Cut.

“God, this is good shit,” you said with a lazy smile.

“Only the best for you,” Rafe smirked, leaning over on the blanket to pull the joint from your lips so he could join in your revelry.

He took a long drag and let it go in a smoke ring that rose above you and disappeared into the starry sky. You tried and failed to stifle your laugh.

“What’s funny?” He asked, eyes glazed over with his high.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just…what frat house did you learn that in?”

“Shut up,” he teased back, making you laugh harder.

“No, I’m sure the sorority girls found that very sexy,” you continued.

“They did actually, thank you,” he joked. “You would’ve too.”

“Yeah right, I’d make a great Phi Beta Whateverthefuck,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Did you go to college?” He asked.

You’d known Rafe for about three months, spending nearly every night together since you first met at that club. You had talked about just about everything under the sun except yourselves, you were caught off-guard by this excavation into your history.

“Um, no,” you answered, taking the blunt back from him.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, taking another hit, “didn’t wanna.”

“Do you regret it?” He continued.

You sat up and pulled your knees to your chest, looking down at him with a frown.

“What?” He questioned.

“Why the sudden interest?” You said, harsher and less playful than you’d intended to.

Rafe sat up next to you, pulling his knees towards himself to mirror you. His eyes were intense on your face as he mumbled, “you don’t want me to get to know you?”

Truthfully, you wanted that and so much more, but you couldn’t tell him that. You knew this was just a way for him to pass the time until he could get you in bed again, and maybe you were okay with that. You decided you’d entertain the line of questioning, just this once, not knowing then that this was just the first of many deep, meaningful conversations you’d share with him.

You took a deep breath and said, “what do you want to know?”

He looked up at the stars as he considered the answer to that question. You took the opportunity to admire the way the moonlight reflected off of the sharp angle of his jaw.

He decided on “what’s your biggest dream?”

You bit your lip and looked down at your bare feet, digging them into the blanket, not used to this kind of conversation and yet feeling curiously comfortable opening up to him.

“I want to go to India,” you answered honestly. “I read a book when I was a kid about a little girl who grew up in India and I’ve wanted to go ever since.”

Rafe nodded in approval, “that’s a good one. You should go.”

“Yeah, as soon as I win the lottery, it’ll be my first stop,” you joked bitterly.

“Or I could just take you,” he shrugged.

You smiled at him, incredulous. 

“What?” He asked, genuinely unsure of the meaning behind the look you were giving him. You realized he might actually be serious, even though you knew it would never really happen.

“Nothing. That’s sweet,” you smiled. “But I want to get there on my own. I wanna earn it.”

“I can respect that,” he conceded. 

“Anytime you wanna lend me that private jet, though, just hit me up,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, eyebrows raised, “oh I see…you’re using me.”

“I thought that was obvious,” you smiled coyly. 

“Uh-huh,” Rafe said, playfully shoving your shoulders so you fell back onto the blanket. 

You giggled as he climbed over you, caging you in between his arms as he held himself up, looking down at you, tucked perfectly beneath him.

“I think I’m okay with that.”

He leaned down and kissed you, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip tenderly, lowering himself down until you were chest to chest…

“Are you listening to me?”

Your friend waved her hand in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Sorry, what?” You were pulled from your thoughts.

“I said they want us there at four this friday,” she showed you an email on her phone.

“Oh,” you blinked, coming back to the moment. “Where is it?”

“Some mansion on Figure 8. It’s a wedding, but they're doing like a whole weekend thing, so it’s Friday through Sunday. Last time I worked one of these I made over five hundred.”

When she first told you about the catering gig this weekend, you turned her down. You’d been carefully avoiding the north part of the island for the last six months, and a whole weekend would be a high-risk endeavor. However, you didn’t have to check your bank account to know you were near broke, and Figure 8 was where the real money was made. You agreed and ironed your white button down and black slacks, your go-to outfit for catering gigs.

As you pulled up to the address your friend had sent you, you cursed under your breath. The estate was huge, the old house immaculately kept and towering proudly under a crystal blue sky. You turned down the radio as your beat up car sputtered its way up the long, grand drive.

“We’re definitely not on the south side anymore,” you joked to yourself. 

You pulled around back to the service entrance as directed by your friend’s text and tracked her down in the crowd of other blue collar workers. Everyone was moving quickly, arranging the massive party space according to the wishes of some unseen bride and groom. 

You were put to work right away, polishing silverware and arranging it as instructed by the very specific, color-coded diagram you had been given. Tonight was only the rehearsal dinner, and there were two-hundred names on the guestlist. You chatted with your friend as you did various other chores, speculating about who could possibly be the owner of this massive property.

“Maybe it’s a crime lord,” your friend joked. “Like some mafia type shit.”

“Maybe it’s a celebrity,” you guessed. 

You didn’t have to wonder for long. 

“Hey! A little help here!” A delivery driver called to you as he struggled to lift something large and rectangular out of his truck, the mystery item protected with a large, black sheet.

You ran over to give him a hand, and he directed you to a big easel he had set out, “picture of the happy couple,” he explained. You called your friend over, informing her you were about to have all your questions answered.

Once you had set the canvas down, you asked the delivery driver if you could remove the sheet. “I don’t give a fuck, my job’s done,” he said, hopping back in his truck and driving off. You and your friend giggled as you did a little countdown and drumroll routine. You pulled the sheet away and her mouth fell open

“Of fucking course,” she immediately took out her phone to take a picture.

You stepped back to look at the giant, blown up portrait. Every muscle in your body tensed and the blood drained from your face, you grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. 

There on the oversized canvas, smiling that perfect, crooked, arrogant, beautiful smile, was Rafe Cameron.

He had his arm around the woman you recognized to be the one he’d left you for, calling off your whirlwind love affair in pursuit of something more optically appealing to his family. He’d found it; they were gorgeous together.

Six months had passed since you’d last seen him. The first few months were the hardest you’d ever faced. At first, you went out almost every night, needing to stay shitfaced to keep your mind from wandering to him or your fingers from dialing his number. Eventually, you had to delete him from your phone, not trusting yourself in those late night moments when you missed him so much you thought you might die. No amount of booze or weed could make you forget the feeling of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes when he fucked you that last time. Your friends started getting worried. You blacked out so often, you couldn’t keep a job. After three or four months of your reckless behavior, they called a sort of intervention and convinced you to calm down. 

You decided if you were going to be alone, you’d make yourself good company. 

You stopped drinking, and even gave up cigarettes. It took several false starts, but the patch got you through it. You picked up good habits, too, starting your mornings with yoga and meditation. You were planning to go back to school, tired of career-hopping through dead-end minimum wage jobs. You stopped eating take out so much, started grocery shopping and saving every spare cent you had for a travel fund. You even cut and dyed your hair, finding freedom in the ability to change whenever you wanted, in the fluidity of answering to no one but yourself. You were still untamed, but for the first time in your life, you felt a semblance of control. You decided you’d build a beautiful life even if you had to scratch and claw your way to it. And you’d do it all by yourself.

Slowly, and with the most effort you’d given anything ever, you were finally starting to get over Rafe Cameron.

Or so you thought. Now, standing in his backyard, decorating for his wedding, you felt like you were right back where you were that night in June, lying naked on your bed while he walked out of your life forever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A high-pitched, angry voice startled you, pulling your eyes away from the picture.

You whipped your head around to see her, even more stunning than she was in pictures, her wide Disney-princess eyes shooting daggers at you. Your first and most irrational thought was that she somehow knew who you were. The delusion of that concept was quickly made apparent.

“The picture was supposed to stay covered until tonight,” she barked at you and your friend, who looked at you with wide-eyed panic. “Aren’t you the fucking caterers? Why are you even out here?”

“S-sorry,” you stammered out, your mind reeling as it tried to connect to your reality. You picked up the sheet off the ground. “We’ll cover it back up.”

“No, don’t touch it! Where’s your manager?” She demanded, her hands on her hips. “They need to know about this. What are your names?”

Your friend looked at you with wide eyes, you knew she needed this job even more desperately than you did. Plus, she’d stuck her neck out to get you hired and now she’d lose the money and her credibility.

“It was me,” you blurted out. “Not her. Don’t worry, you don’t need to get anyone fired, I’ll just leave.”

It wasn’t a big sacrifice, considering you were already thinking if you stayed another minute you might have a full blown panic attack. At least if you threw yourself under the bus and got fired, your friend would have no reason to question why you ran from the property crying.

“Fine, whatever,” she dismissed your act of loyalty with a wave of her manicured hand while your friend looked at you with grateful eyes. “What’s your name then?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you handed her the sheet, which she snatched from your hands irritably. “I’ll just go.”

You tried to keep your composure as you walked back toward the house, praying you’d remember your way back to your car. Your heart was pounding, your anxiety and shock threatening to bubble over, you could feel tears springing up and your hands shaking.

You rounded one of the many corners of the massive house, finally out of her line of vision, and broke into a sprint. You passed through another courtyard, where more preparations were underway. There were far too many eyes on you. If you remembered correctly, there was only one more turn before the part of the property you were parked on.

Dirt crunching under your feet, you slid around the corner and straight into something hard and large. You let out a sharp “ouch” as your face burned with the force of the collision. To your horror, you realized you’d run into a person. You kept your eyes low, looking at the man’s feet as you held a hand over your face, wondering for a moment if you’d broken your nose. Then, a familiar scent flooded your senses, and you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder. 

“Woah, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Rafe’s voice asked, clearly unaware of who he was talking to, you looked so different than you did six months ago.

You raised your wide eyes to look at him, hand still cradling your throbbing nose. You took him in through rapidly blinking lashes, begging yourself not to cry. His face shifted slowly from concern for a stranger to recognition of someone all too familiar.

He pulled his hand from you in shock, his mouth opening and closing and opening again, trying to form words that just weren’t coming. You knew you needed to get out of there before they did.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, hoping he understood you were talking about more than just your injured face.

You sidestepped him and kept running, leaving him standing wide eyed and ashen faced as he watched you get into your car and peel away from his home, and away from him. 

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The key rattled against the lock, your hands shaking as you tried to get into your apartment. When you finally got the door opened, you peeled off your clothes quickly, as if they were covered in something radioactive. You pulled on a tank and some sleep shorts, fully ready to get in bed and stay there for days. Everything in you was unraveling. The sight and sound of him undoing the steel backbone you had built for yourself. You climbed under the covers, curled into a ball, and sobbed.

You cried so hard, it knocked you out. Without trying to, your body fell into a hazy, uneasy kind of sleep, haunted by images of Rafe. When you woke, blinking confusedly at the fuzzy outline of the time on your alarm clock, it was dark outside. The clock read 11:03pm. You pulled yourself from your bed with a groan, craving something to comfort you in your post-meltdown emptiness.

As you stood at the sink, filling the kettle for some tea, your mind replayed the events of the day. He’s getting married tomorrow. The rehearsal dinner that you helped set up for was probably over by now. You pictured him saying goodnight to her with a kiss, hanging his tux for the morning, making sure he had the rings ready. You already knew you’d lost him, but the permanence of tomorrow’s events felt like a boot on the neck of the small part of you that still wondered what if.

Your phone rang out loudly on the kitchen table, making you jump, so startled you almost dropped the tea kettle, the water now overflowing. You set the kettle down on the stove and turned on the burner before looking at your phone screen, which read “unknown number.” You hit decline and let it go to voicemail. After a minute, you poured your tea and sat at the table, watching as your phone lit up again with notification of a new voicemail. You unlocked it and pressed play.

You knew the voice immediately, though it was coming out slurred and strained. You clutched the phone to your ear with both hands to hear better.

“Heyyyy baby. It’s me. I’m sorry for calling so many times, blowin’ up your phone and you’re probably out somewhere, looking fuckin’ gorgeous like always. Shit there’s probably guys lined up to take you home. Do you remember when we met? Fuck you looked so hot. I thought if you said no to going home with me I might literally die. But you said yes! You said yes and you took me home and we, fuck…god…it was so good, you’re so good. Not just the sex. I mean, yes your pussy is so perfect, but…shit it’s raining…but you were- you are…jesus Rafe get it together. I can’t remember what I was saying. I’m so drunk, I- ouch, fuck!- I miss you, baby. It's cold out here but I don’t care, I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t listen to them talk about this fucking wedding. Fucking flowers and table settings and shit I don’t care about any of that…just, please…baby…I need-”

Your phone beeped loudly, the voicemail cut off for length. You replayed it, twice. Outside your kitchen window, you could see the rain getting heavy. The low was in the 30s tonight, and it was supposed to keep raining for hours. You couldn’t hear much in the background behind Rafe’s drunken rambling, but you could tell he was outside. You pictured him stumbling into a ditch somewhere. He had hurt himself on the voicemail, did he fall? You couldn’t stand the thought of him alone, out in the cold rain, hurt.

Despite every instinct, you pulled up the number he called from and texted him.

Today 11:14pm

Where are you?

Today 11:16pm

‘Unknown’ shared their location with you.

You grabbed your coat and keys and ran out the door before you had time to second guess yourself. You found him lying on the beach, his clothes soaked through from the rain that was still falling heavily. He’d clearly thrown up, just a few feet from where he was laying now. You ran to his side and quickly checked that he was breathing.

“Jesus, Rafe,” you recoiled at the overwhelming aroma of booze radiating off of him.

His eyes flew open at the sound of your voice. 

“Baby?” he groaned.

“We gotta get out of here, Rafe,” you struggled to help him up.

With an enormous amount of effort, you got him into your car. He leaned his head against the cold window as you drove, his breath fogging up the glass with each exhale. You looked over at him every few seconds to make sure he was still conscious. 

Once in your apartment, stumbling through the door with his arm over your shoulder, you led him into the bathroom, guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub while you ran the shower, water heating slowly.

You tapped his arms. 

“Up,” you instructed. He lifted his arms obediently and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes as you peeled off his wet polo, doing everything you could to avoid staring at his bare torso.

“Think you can do the rest yourself?” You motioned to his lower half.

“No,” he said with a smirk.

“Rafe,” you warned, not playing around.

“I can do the rest myself,” he said with his hands up in defense. 

You left him in the bathroom fumbling with his belt. While he showered, you brewed a pot of coffee and poured two steaming mugs, sitting uneasily at the table when he finally emerged from the bathroom. He was in only his boxers and you blushed aggressively, as if you hadn’t seen him naked a hundred times before. He caught the redness in your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, swallowing hard.

“Sorry,” he said earnestly. “My clothes are still wet.”

You pushed back your chair and walked to your bedroom, returning with folded clothes in your hands. He looked suspiciously at the men’s t-shirt and basketball shorts you gave him, cocking his eyebrow at you. You just glared back at him, tilting your head slightly as if to say I dare you to give me shit about where I got them. He didn’t push it, pulling them on wordlessly.

“Coffee?” You offered once he was dressed.

“Please,” he slumped into the chair across from you, sipping the coffee with a sigh.

“Feeling better?” You asked.

“Much better, thanks,” he said. “Never mix rum and redbull.”

You snorted, “I could’ve told you that.”

“Well you weren’t there were you?” The sentence started playfully but ended with a bite.

You sipped your coffee, wondering who would be first to acknowledge the elephant in the room. You sat in silence for a few minutes, both drinking your coffee and letting the air grow thick between you.

Finally, he caved and spoke first, “why’d you leave?”

“Why would I stay?” You responded, voice dripping with spite.

“I- I guess I don’t know.” Now it was Rafe avoiding your eyes.

“Does she know…about me?” You asked timidly.

“No,” he mumbled, before sipping up the last drop of his coffee.

“And where does she think you are right now?” 

“My bachelor party.”

“We should get you back there, then.” You stood and collected both mugs, bringing them to the sink.

Rafe scoffed, “you’re kicking me out again?”

“I never kicked you out, Rafe. You left,” you said, clutching the edge of the sink, bracing for an argument.

But he didn’t argue, he just let the silence settle between you for a long moment before finally saying, “I wish I hadn’t. I miss you.”

You turned, expecting to find him still slumped over the table, but he had stood and was now startlingly close. You jolted, squaring your shoulders in defense as he got closer to you.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Then why’d you come get me?” He asked, his eyelids low as he looked down at you. “Why’d you bring me here?

“Why’d you call me?” You asked back.

“I asked you first,” he said, no playful smile to match his childish words.

“Why does it matter?” You sighed.

“‘Cause it does, it matters to me, please just give me a reason,” his voice grew more desperate as he stepped even closer to you, his looming body caging you against the sink. He searched your face as he waited for you to respond, needing an answer you couldn’t give him.

“Are you gonna marry her?” Your words tightened the tension already growing between you, causing Rafe to close his eyes in frustration.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he shook his head. 

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, placing it on your waist. He squeezed gently at the soft skin of your side. You leaned into his touch for just a second before coming to your senses.

“Are you? Going to marry her?” You repeated stubbornly.

“Yes,” He said, eyes falling from your face to his hand on your side.

“Then you shouldn’t be touching me,” you grabbed Rafe’s hand and lowered it from you. “I won’t be a mistress. I won’t be that dirty pogue who fucks a married guy, I wanna be something better than that.” 

You slipped out from between him and the sink, pacing to the other side of the room, but his body turned aggressively to follow you.

“You are. You’re so much better,” his voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to reassure you.

You shook your head in anger, raising your voice as you snapped, “then why are you marrying someone else?”

“Because I have to!” He matched your heated tone, as if he was the one to have something to be mad about.

“We’re going in circles, Rafe! We are in the exact same spot we were six months ago! Except I’m a different person now. It changed me, losing you. I got better, I got healthy, I got sober. I got over you!” You were yelling now, searching for the words to make him understand that he wasn’t the only one who had something to lose now.

“Well I didn’t get over you,” he stated simply.

“No, you got engaged,” you pointed out.

“Fuck that, fuck her, you know I don’t love her!” He scoffed. “You saw her today, you know she’s a bitch.”

“That’s really nice, Rafe, you should put that in your vows,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Oh c’mon, she doesn’t love me either,” he rolled his eyes. “She still fucks around, everyone knows it.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it took you by surprise. You searched his face for a sign as to whether it was true or just something he made up to make you sympathize with him. The way his eyes fell to the ground and the apples of his cheeks blushed slightly told you it was true, she cheated on him, and he was ashamed of it. It made you sick, the thought of someone having him so close and caring so little. The only thing worse than the thought of her treating him like that was the thought of him accepting it as if it was what he deserved. You should’ve felt sad for him, but it just made you angrier.

“Then why, Rafe? Why?” You knew you were becoming a broken record but you just could not wrap your head around his choice. “Why are you still with her?” You hated the way it made you sound like you were blaming him for her actions, but you needed to understand.

“Because I’m going to have to end up with someone like her anyway, I may as well just get it over with,” he said with a resigned shake of his head.

“That’s fucked up, Rafe,” you said, even though you knew he already knew it.

“It is what it is,” he shrugged, defeated.

Your eyes caught the clock on your stove. It was almost 1am. Rafe was supposed to be saying his vows in twelve hours, and you knew if he stood here in your apartment for another minute, looking at you so helplessly, you’d crumble for him.

“I think you should go home,” you said, trying and failing to mean it.

“Not yet,” Rafe said, his tone implying there was something more he was waiting for.

And even though you wanted to, you just couldn’t give it to him. 

Mustering the last of your pride, you took a deep breath and said, “If you’re waiting for me to ask you not to marry her, we’re both gonna be disappointed. I’ve been doing good, Rafe. I got my life together, and I won’t be responsible for ruining someone else’s. It’s not on me, you have to decide. If you don’t want to marry her, then don’t marry her. But do it for you, because I’ve got me covered.”

Rafe considered your words, standing completely still as they washed over him. He had to choose. He could either ruin his reputation and potentially lose his family to be happy with you or keep the lifestyle he’d grown so accustomed to and be miserable with her. He looked so sad, and you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but you stayed silent, wanting him to say what he was feeling all on his own for once. You needed a simple answer.

But Rafe Cameron never did anything the simple way.

He didn’t say anything,  he just started walking toward you. Once he was close enough to touch you, and your back was against the wall, he reached up to touch your face gently with one finger, silently asking if you were still in pain from your collision earlier. When you didn’t wince or push him away, he leaned down, bringing his lips dangerously close to yours.

“Just one more time, please. Don’t kick me out, be with me one more time,” he whispered against your skin.

You shook your head slowly, whispering back, “I won’t kick you out, but I also won’t let you touch me and then marry her.”

“Fine, I won’t touch you.” 

Rafe leaned back, only slightly, pulling his face away so you were level with his chest. He folded his hands behind his back to show you he meant it. You could smell his familiar musk, his chest so close to your face you could hear his heartbeat as you looked up at the pulsing veins in his neck. His hair, still wet from the shower, flopped messily over his forehead. A single drop fell from his bangs and landed on your collarbone. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he tracked the droplet rolling across your exposed skin, down your chest, over the curve of your tits and finally disappearing into your tank top.

Eyes locked to Rafe’s, you lifted your hand slowly, placing it over the spot the water had fallen, sliding your fingers delicately down the drop’s path. When you reached the neckline of your tank top, Rafe’s eyes consuming every movement, you reached up with your other hand and lowered one of the straps of your top slowly. You dragged your hand down further, cupping your breast through your lacy bralette and biting your lip at the pressure.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He put one hand on the wall next to your head to steady himself, bringing his body impossibly closer while still not touching you. His other hand fell to his side, moving dangerously close to his dick.

“You better not touch yourself either, or I swear to god I’ll stop,” you warned him.

“Don’t stop,” He brought the drifting hand up to the wall on the other side of your head. “Please, baby.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his voice, raspy and strained with need. With two hands on the hem of your shirt, you pulled it slowly over your head, leaving you in just the see-through undergarment. 

“Take that off too,” Rafe tried to sound dominant, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” you scolded with a shake of your head. “And you’re not going to see me naked. You have a fianceé for that.”

Rafe was pained by this, his nostrils flailing as he clenched his jaw in frustration. You ignored him and put your hands back on your body, palming both of your tits again before trailing lower over your stomach. Rafe’s tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips as he watched the way your stomach flexed with anticipation, hands finally landing on the waistband of your sleep shorts. One hand pulled the elastic back while the other slid beneath it slowly. When your fingers ran over the fabric of your panties, teasing your clothed clit, your head fell back against the wall and your jaw fell slack. Rafe ran one of his hands through his hair as he watched pleasure flood your face, desperate to touch something, anything. The hand still on the wall closed into a fist. You started rubbing circles over your clit through your panties, the fabric already soaked through, wet since the sight of him in his boxers. Your breath hitched when you found the perfect rhythm and you closed your eyes tight, a melodic moan rising from your throat.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking sexy,” Rafe growled through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flew open and you pulled your hand from your shorts, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between you and the vulgarity of what you were doing. You slid under his arm and hurried to the other side of the kitchen.

“You should go,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself and shivering at the sudden loss of his warmth.

Rafe stayed still, trying not to spook you. His head dipped low, looking down at his ringing hands.

“I missed you,” he mumbled helplessly.

“You mean you missed fucking me?” You asked spitefully.

One agonizingly slow step at a time, Rafe crossed the room. You turned from him as if to push him away, literally giving him the cold shoulder. But he wasn’t deterred, he just got closer and closer until he was right behind you, close enough for his breath to sweep across your shoulder as he said, “yeah, what if I do? I miss it so much. There’s not a day that passes without me wishing I was here, fucking you so good you scream my name.”

His arrogant words made you so fucking angry, and so fucking wet.

What little resistance you had mustered disappeared. Breathless, you whispered, “what else do you miss?”

“I miss your little moans,” he continued, the corner of his lips raising slightly at the sight of the goosebumps that shot up your arms. “I bet you still cry out for me when you make yourself come, don’t you? I want you to show me.”

“We can’t do this,” you shook your head.

“No, I can’t do this,” he corrected you. “You can do whatever you want.”

No fight left, you took his suggestion, and soon you were laying back on your bed, your shorts thrown on the floor, your hand moving feverishly under your panties. Rafe laid next to you, his body drawn in as close as it could possibly get while keeping his promise not to touch you. You’d made no such promise, the hand you weren’t rubbing over your slick folds gripping his arm for purchase as you moaned at your own touch.

“Talk to me,” you begged.

“Yeah?” He said excitedly, as if he had been waiting for permission. 

You nodded desperately, bringing your eyes to his as one of your fingers dropped down to enter yourself.

“You remember the first time we fucked?” He began. “Right here on this bed. I took you from behind. You were so tight around my cock, like you were fucking made for me.”

You added a second finger, driven by his filthy words. His jaw clenched, restraining himself with more effort than he’d ever given anything as he watched you writhe.

“Keep going,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut.

“I had to turn you around, I had to see that pretty face when you came for me for the first time,” he recalled. “God, I bet you wish it was me stretching you out right now, don’t you? You wish it was my cock pounding you into the mattress until you can’t breathe, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, lips pouting, overwhelmed by the memories and your need to feel him.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he groaned, feeling himself twitching in his pants, desperate for his own release but committed to yours. “I need to see you come, baby, one more time. Please come for me?”

You cried out as you clenched around your own fingers, their size so inadequate with him so close, knowing what he could be doing to you. But you meant what you said, you couldn’t let him touch you, not while his bride was sleeping just across town, no idea her groom was in some pogue’s bed, begging her to come for him. Maybe it was sick, but the thought of him being so desperate for you that he was risking everything with her made your thighs clench around your hand, nearing the edge.

“Tell me about the first time you saw me,” you pleaded, the rasp in your voice warning him you were close. 

“Holy shit, baby, you were so fucking sexy,” he said, rising up from the bed and propping himself on his arm to hover over you, the proximity throwing you into even more of a frenzy. “Dancing in that club, the way you move, shit, I wanted to lay you down on that dancefloor and fuck you right there. So did every other guy in there. But they didn’t get to have you, I did. And I’ve never been the same since I first touched you.”

It was all too much, his words, the memory, the sensation of your fingers sliding in and out so easily, the way he was talking making you so wet. Your high crashed into you like a truck, your back arching off the bed, your chest bumping into his as you came with his name on your lips.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Rafe exhaled as you rode out your high. Eventually, your muscles gave out from the pleasure and you slumped back into the bed.

He watched you in rapture as your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, struggling to recover. Neither of you knew what to do next, the shock of what just happened washing over you. Your body was so exhausted from the chaos of the day and the aftershocks of your orgasm, all you wanted was him, and you were too tired to fight it.

“Rafe?” You whispered into the darkness of your bedroom, the light of the moon the only thing illuminating the small space.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice sounded so small, and you hated the vulnerability of your request, but at this moment the only thing you wanted in the world was to feel his arms around you.

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch you?” He teased gently.

“I said I’m getting better, not that I’m perfect,” you smiled, turning your body towards him. “And I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in your arms. Just once.”

“Is it gonna be an issue?” He asked. You knew what he really meant was, “are you going to regret sleeping with an engaged man?”

The answer was yes, but you didn’t care.

“Just let me be a little selfish,” you said, turning around so your back was against his chest, pulling his arm around you. “I had you first.”

“You still have me,” he whispered against your neck, pulling your body into his.

“Shhh,” you said, lifting your fingers gently to his lips. “Go to sleep, Rafe.”

He smiled and did as he was told.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The sunlight landing on your face is what woke you from the deepest and sweetest sleep you’d had in six months. Your first instinct was to smile, humming in satisfaction as you stretched your well rested muscles.

Your second instinct was to reach for him. 

You shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t pull your knees to your chest, shouldn’t be crying alone in your cold bed. Of course he left. He was always going to leave.

Some small, pathetic voice in the back of your mind said, “maybe he just went to break things off with her.”

Even though it made you feel like the most pitiful girl in the world, you checked his location, still available from the night before. He was on Figure 8, the address you had gone to yesterday. He was at his wedding. 

He had wanted you to ask him not to marry her. He never would’ve said it, but you could see it on his face. He had too much to lose, too many people depending on him, too much weight on his shoulders. But maybe he would’ve given it all up, if only you’d asked.

You threw your phone across the room in frustration. Maybe you should’ve just asked him to stay with you, maybe you should’ve put your pride aside this one time, maybe this was all your fault. 

You were up and out of bed before you had time to talk yourself out of it. You pulled on your catering clothes from the night before. Surely, they wouldn’t let you in the gate if you looked like some wedding crashing pogue, but maybe you could slip in undetected if it seemed like you still worked there.

You don’t even remember driving there, your stomach on fire with nerves and something that might even be excitement, as you raced across the island. The clock in your car read 1:03pm, and you prayed to whatever god was listening that the ceremony had started late.

As you planned, they let you right in the gate when you said you were with the caterer. You didn’t even bother to park at the service entrance, your tires squealing as you came to a stop right in front of the house, leaving the engine running as you ran towards the ceremony site. You could hear music playing in the distance, hoping it was the processional. 

But when you turned the corner, you heard a large crowd break into applause. You came to a halt, backing up to hide under the cover of a tree a few yards from the end of the aisle. You watched as Rafe appeared, his beaming bride on his arm. He dipped her low, giving her a kiss as the crowd cheered again, the gold ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight.

You were too late.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

pt. 3 coming soon

[stealthetrees]

Okay I’ve snapped.

If you say Percy Jackson is stupid I will find you and make sure you regret it.

I have inattentive type ADHD. I was diagnosed in 4th grade and got put on medication. I did not think there was a difference but I got an award from the school for how much I improved. They didn’t know it was because of meds.

Before I was diagnosed I remember being on the verge of tears often at school because I got so frustrated that I couldn’t do work. I sat at my desk with the pencil in my hand staring at a worksheet physically unable to write the awnser I knew. I would stare at the question and like an optical illusion the rest of the page blurs together and I can’t even make out word anymore.

I thought I was dyslexic for the longest time because some fonts are so difficult for me to read. I could look at a recit, know it says lettuce, and it will not process in my brain. Unless I am a few hours away from a deadline it is nearly impossible to start assignments. Essays are hell.

You know those songs that have an American accent but are completely nonsense? That’s what it sounds like a lot when I listen to people talk. Usally I can grasp the general meaning but I can not tell you what word you just said.

Time is not real. I sit down, scroll through tumblr for maybe 15 minutes and my roommate asks why I’m sitting doing nothing for 4 hours straight. Full days disappear and I can’t remember anything that happened. I have no idea how long it takes me to do something I do almost every day.

I went two weeks at the beginning of the semester with meds that where 10 milligrams lower than my usual dosage. My grades still haven’t recovered.

THAT SAID. In cannon, Percy Jackson passed 13 years of school with high enough grades to be accepted to a university. Not medicated. Without accommodations.

So either the education system in New York is taylored specifically for people with ADHD, or Percy Jackson is a fucking geinios. I can’t spell.

So ignoring the fact that nearly every fight he won by outsmarting his opponent, let me tell you why.

In the books, he’s an introvert, sits in the back, tries to keep his head down but usually fails, gets detention often, and has been expelled multiple times. That’s not the kind of kid teachers go out of their way to help. He’s also unlikely to ask for help. So, despite his struggles in the classroom, he has never been held back or had to redo a grade as far as we know. And it’s pretty likely considering his age.

Add in the fact that he would be constantly sleep deprived from staying up very late (like from 10-3, based off my experience) and his dyslexia, Percy would need to be really good at retaining information after hearing or seeing it only once. That’s actually supported by his ability to memorize prophecies word for word after only hearing them once. We know Percy is bad at taking tests, so he would have to be really good at recalling information.

He also did it all unmedicated. I want to cry just thinking about it.

tldr, the fact that Percy’s grades where high enough to get into college means hes fucking brilliant

[catoperated]

At some point we’re gonna have to talk about how toxic websites like 4chan and Something Awful (rest in piss, Lowtax) influenced trans spaces online.

I only ever used SA back in the day, and it’s now mostly forgotten that “troon” came from a portmanteau of “trans goon” (goon being a member of something awful, not like a gooner… but, eh, it’s still apt), though it was always meant to be belittling.

And then there I was, a transmasc egg surrounded by transfemmes. I didn’t know how to express that I wanted what they had but different, cause I seriously didn’t know trans men existed back then. All I saw were transfemmes, and most of them were transmedicalists. I got called a transphobe when I said wearing a skirt shouldn’t be a required part of transitioning. I have since met many cool trans ladies who aren’t truscum, but the scars remain.

At the time I couldn’t fully articulate how uncomfortable I was with the idea of transitioning to the same old binary, because I also didn’t know GNC was a thing. So for a time I was suicidal because I had no idea of the options open to me. I’m not sure that reading Theory back then would have helped. Having read Theory now (both feminist and communist), I’ve come to the conclusion people lean on it way too much, take it way too literally, never considering that the things proposed have to be adapted to changing times and circumstances. It’s almost like evangelicals interpreting the Bible literally—to everyone’s detriment.

My point being, you can read anything, watch any YouTuber, but for fuck’s sake form your own opinions instead of just throwing books and videos at people like it’ll explain everything and also must be followed to the letter. It won’t, and it shouldn’t.

Yeah, I was also briefly suicidal over leftists dogpiling disability activists for daring to get groceries delivered or using plastic straws. Only other disabled people probably remember this, but it was perpetuated by that butter cat account, which was the most surreal fucking thing to watch unfold.

I’m just tired. Tired of self-proclaimed feminists failing to recognize the patriarchy is what makes us all suffer, including cis men, and that’s the real enemy. I know radfems are largely to blame for pushing the “all men bad” narrative again with the express purpose of dividing trans people, I’ve seen them cackling about what they get away with on accounts where they pretend to be trans. It’s sad people are making their work so easy for them.

I don’t hate or resent transwomen (I can’t remember if the space is preferred or not, but I’m sitting here sweating over it, afraid someone will call out my language when “troon” is already up there), but here I am right back at that awful feeling I had when trying to say skirts should not equal femininity. Fuck, I would probably be suicidal again if not for my partner, who is the best thing to ever happen in my life (love you, babe).

I don’t know how to word this better or more succinctly. My mind wanders a lot when writing. But it’s not just me, right? I see the schism forming and it’s bad for all of us, because the people who want us dead do not care how we present ourselves or how well we pass. We desperately need to support and uplift each other if we’re going to survive all the shit they keep throwing at us all in governments across the entire goddamn world.

So yeah, we need to look at how those websites poisoned the well, as it’s where that mentality of “if you’re not queer/trans in the proper way I deserve to call you a slur” mentality comes from. The pickme urge to go “I’m not like those cringe fags/trannies, I’m one of the cool ones,” too. To reiterate, the people who want us dead for existing do not care one way or the other.

Fuck, why am I worrying about how I word this? If people are gonna interpret this in bad faith there’s nothing I can do to stop them. I just wanted to get this off my zipper-tits—which I’m stealing from you fuckers who use it against transmascs. I got my dirty testosterone fingers all over it and it’s ruined now, sorry.

[lilithinstarlight]

Hi hi! This is the person who requested the Freminet x seacreature!Reader! I saw you were interested in anons and was wondering if I could be considered ��� Anon?

Yippie! 🎉🎉

Also sorry if this doesn’t make much sense, I’m on the verge of passing out rn 😭🙏

Here's my request? (These are becoming more of me just rambling about scenarios 😔😔) : Lyney x Secretive!Reader

(Ik you just did a Lyney related post but I love this little guy <3 (I'll try being more diverse next time)

————————————————————————

Imagine;

Lyney is taking a walk around town, he isn’t sure how he got here nor why he is here but it’s peaceful. Well until he sees someone dressed in all black from head to toe (I imagine something like a veil on their face as well but that’s not as important) to say it was weird is an understatement.

He doesn’t know how to feel about the person it definitely wasn’t something you’d normally expect someone to dress like. They sat near a café and were reading some kind of book, but it wasn’t like they paid him any mind. So he continued with his stroll, but when passing by he was stopped suddenly.

Lyney looks back to see them holding their wrist, but before he make any attempt at discussion they let go. They shift a small envelope into his hands, stands up, and walks off. It takes him a couple of seconds to understand what happened, but by the time he realizes Reader has already left…

(The letter can be anything you wish it to be :3)

It’s been a couple of weeks/months and it seems Reader had simply vanished until Lyney finds himself strolling around after a show once more. He finds himself wandering near the café he saw the mysterious person awhile ago highly expecting them to not be there once again. However he is shocked to find the person doing the exact thing as before- reading a book.

He hops into the seat next to them wishing for answers especially after reading that letter. He has been analyzing it for hours before night, looking for any second message, anything that could indicate something specific. He yet to find such a thing and he needs answers…now.

————————————————————————

And that is where I’ll let your mind go wild! >:3 Answer however you wish, will they be strangers? Will they be enemies? Will they be secret lovers?

What shall they be….only you can decide >:D

(I’m sorry that probably sounds so cringy 😔 I promise I’m kinda normal I’ve just been obsessed with choose your own adventure games recently)

HELLO!!!! I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE! Also!!! bc i've been so busy at school i don't think i'll be able to keep this blog running... i'm super sorry but education yknow....

ANYWAYS it's totally not cringy! ur request is under the cut! :)

Though the sunlight was beginning to fade and the sky was painted in beautiful sorbet shades of an orange-to-purple mélange, Lyney found himself wandering between the silver coated houses of the more suburban areas of Fontaine.

His fingers traced the cold metal of the homes as he walked, and he softly hummed to entertain his mind. His siblings would surely be beginning to worry, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not yet. Something was... calling him.

"Ah!"

Lyney could feel his hands gripping the pavement as he let out a yelp. Looking down, he saw he had tripped on a set of stairs. Looking up, a young person sat, face hidden by a near-opaque veil. They were reading a book - Les Fleurs du Mal - and did not spare a single glance towards him as he picked himself up and dusted his clothes off. He wasn't hurt, so he decided to continue.

That person...

He shook his head. Not his business.

One step after the other, Lyney was almost completely gone from the cafe.

And then, he stopped. A cold, dry hand was clasped around his wrist. He whipped around, jerking his arm away, and saw that same veiled figure.

He opened his mouth to ask, but they slipped a note into his other hand and proceeded to run the direction he was about to head. Clearly, they had no desire to be followed.

Unable to stop his curiosity, Lyney stepped to the side of one of the houses and began to quietly and slowly open it, glancing from side to side.

To The Man in the Large Hat -

Though I am hesitant to help your kind, I feel obligated to inform that your bowtie was dropped as you fell. Please do not attempt to thank nor contact me in any way.

That was the end. His bowtie? He looked down at his shirt. Just as the letter said, he had dropped it. The more ominous bit, however, was the mention of 'your kind'. Could they have meant...

Fath-

This wasn't worth dwelling on. He turned, ignoring the lost bowtie, and began to run back home.

---- 1 Month Later ----

Only minutes ago the curtains had closed and Lyney had bowed to his loyal, loving audience for what had to have been the hundredth time. He still loved it, though by the end of such shows he was too tired to do much else but wander.

A left here, a right there, a magician always finds his way back home. Directions were never a concern. He let his feet take him where they needed to go, trusting his body and his intuition.

Today, they took him to a street with silver homes and intricately designed pavement.

The moment he noticed, he stopped in his tracks.

One month ago, this had been where he had met the person who had given him the letter. The person who had caused countless sleepless nights, spent poring over black ink and stained paper, short dreams filled with flowers and books - les fleurs du mal? - before waking up to start the cycle all over again. They had a certain beauty to them, despite none of their features being visible, something to do with the charm of mystery and the allure of the unknown. The same thing that lead scientists to discoveries and adventures to lands undiscovered had infected him, yet only for this veiled enigma... like a kind virus, one already embedded into the human condition.

Lyney squeezed his palms to bring himself back to reality. He hadn't seen or heard anything about this person after that one night, not even from his siblings, whose quiet nature lead to observances like this. Was he going to let one strange moment control his behavior? No, he decided, and he continued walking.

Making sure to watch the pavement this time, he calmly put his right foot forward, calmly let his clenched palms relax, and calmly walked up the stairs that led to the cafe.

The moment he turned towards the tables, he physically recoiled, jumping back like a wounded dog.

The writer was calmly sitting at a cafe table, steaming drink in hand, large book splayed across the table.

Archons. He knew they had specifically directed him never to talk to them... but he couldn't just let all those night go to waste. He had to get answers. He braced himself and tentatively walked towards the table.

He began to pull out a chair, and the person ignored him. He sat down, and was ignored. He leaned in, still no response. Fine.

"Hello there! It's nice to meet you again."

---

You turned slowly to look at him. Was that the horrible Fatui child? What did he want with you? It was better just to get this over with, you supposed.

You sighed, and asked, "Did you read my letter?"

"Yes. And what a charming letter it was! How kind it was of you to point my bowtie out to me. Really, I just wanted to ask one question..."

"I don't want to hear it," you said with a tone of finality. You didn't care if he sent some Fatui goons after you - you could fight.

"Well, please, just hear me out! I need to know what you meant by... 'your kind'. Don't try to be soft-"

"Fatui." You cut him off. He knew damn well what you meant.

"Um," Clearly uncomfortable, he shifted in his chair, "Well, I appreciate the honesty! But, while I do know that many dislike us, we're a bit misunderstood. See, Father, who runs the House of the Hearth-"

"I said that I didn't want to hear it. Either shut up or scram."

"Is there... Is there, well, some sort reason you're opposed to us?" he asked. It seemed like a genuine question. Focalors, you hated how genuine he seemed.

"Yeah. You killed my mom." Bluntness seemed the best here. If this kid (you refused to call him by whatever his name was, even if you did seem around the same age...) was really somehow blind to the damage the Fatui did, you'd hammer it into his tiny brain.

"Oh..." he set his hands on the table, "I... I'm really sorry... about that."

You sat in silence for a minute. He was trying to figure out what to say. Some sort of excuse, probably.

"You know, I don't agree with all the actions we take. But, you see, I don't really have a choice. Father took me in when me and my siblings had nowhere else to go, so I'm obligated to be loyal and protect my home..."

Yeah. Excuses.

"But, I guess... I know how it feels... to lose a parent..." He chuckled. "I'm not good at this emotional stuff. But I wanna help."

Wait, what?

"I can't do anything that's going to put the Fatui or the House at risk... But I want to help. I want to show you that we're not all bad."

You looked up at him, surprised. Were you sure this man was even in the Fatui? He seemed much too kind. Though, it could always be an act, in order to gather information on potential threats.

Screw it, what did you have to lose?

"Well..." you started, and he looked at you expectantly, "You can start by spotting me for this coffee. I left my Mora at home." He smiled triumphantly.

"I promise, I'll show you!"

---1 Year Later---

You waited, in your veil, on the side of the House where Lyney was having a meeting with his Father. Sure, it was dangerous. But you loved it, and fine, you loved him.

The doors pushed open, and your public-enemy-private-boyfriend stepped out.

"I see you've been spying on enemy territory?" he prompted with a laugh. You nodded, smiling, though it wasn't visible under the fabric.

Once he walked down close enough for you to speak quietly, you whispered, "Like you haven't been doing that since we met."

[johnnycadeirl]

prolly never gunna finish lol!

The Outsiders (Johnny's perspective)

I am Johnny Cade, a 16 year old greaser. I live in Tulsa Oklahoma, and I have my entire life, I have 2 parents, a mom and a dad. Sometimes I wish I didn't have either and then maybe I could be at peace, I could probably live with my pals, too. Ponyboy, Sodapop, and Darry would probably take me in, or Two-Bit if they could. My friends understand the situation at my house, they've saved me from my folks a handful of times. Two-Bit especially, sometimes I feel like I’d be better off dead, my parents sure would like that.. They probably wouldn’t notice for a while anyway since I haven't been going home as often anymore, and when I do.. They either ignore me or beat on me. I usually sleep at the Curtis house, or I stay with Two-Bit from time to time, when I can’t stay with Two or Pony, I sleep in the lot. I’m sure I would have a place with Dally if he didn’t stay at Bucks all the time. He doesn't have the best relationship with his parents either. His dad couldn’t care less about his whereabouts, and state. And we never hear about his mother, or any relatives that he may be able to stay with. He digs okay, so does the rest of my gang. They’re the closest relationships I’ve had to family. I'm smaller, and younger compared to all of them, well.. Except for ponyboy, at least for the age part. Ponyboy is 14 and he has already lost both of his parents in a car accident. I feel absolutely terrible for their entire family, especially Darry.. He’s only 20 and he has to continue raising his 2 kid brothers, he doesn’t usually have issues with Sodapop, but him and Ponyboy have never really gotten along, which got worse after their parents died. It was rough on the rest of the gang too. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were great people, and they took care of those who didn't have great relationships with their parents.. Me and Dally especially- Dally and Mrs. Curtis were real close, I’m sure their passing was also very hard on him.. Of course, he would NEVER let anyone know that, especially anyone in the gang. He thinks emotions and stuff like that are wastes of time, and he had never done so much as cry in front of any of us. Of course we had seen him angry, he hates the world and almost everything in it. He doesn't seem to hate me though, I’ve never been to sure as to why.. But I love Dally a lot, I love the entire gang a lot. They’re all I’ve got in life, without the gang I have nothing, I AM nothing. I would probably be dead and gone if it weren't for them. Or I’d be in a different state, trying to start a new life, without my parents being there to bug me and hurt me. Maybe there wouldn’t be any “Greasers” or “Socs” there too.. Just people. Normal, plain old people.. Maybe I’d be able to go to church there too.. Me and Ponyboy used to go all the time, we invited Two-Bit, and the rest of the gang once, they caused a pretty dramatic scene.. So we never went again. Ponyboy always talks about living in the country, pretty far 'away from the city.. I don’t think I’d mind the “country life” too much, I’d just need to get used to it for a bit, especially since I’ve never been outside of our neighborhood. Maybe there I’d be considered less stupid. That’s all I’ve ever been called by teachers and my parents. I dunno, maybe I am stupid.. I can really get excited about learning if it’s something I find interesting. Ponyboy has mentioned a book before Gone with the Wind. Maybe in the country Ponyboy would be able to read it to me or something. Ponyboy likes books a lot,

[lunadorned]

I’ve been thinking of some theories. These ideas tie in with the concept that the Maasverse explores the same world in different time periods, with ToG being the oldest of the three, followed by ACOTAR and then CC.

(Disclaimer: I’m just playing around with some thoughts. I don’t have the time to back up my thesis with citations at the moment, so the ideas presented are based upon my recollection of reading the books in the past few years. I’m well aware that I’m human and, as such, able to make mistakes, so. Don’t take this as a full-bodied literary analysis, just a simple thought exercise.)

I think that Rhysand is a descendent of Maeve via his father’s lineage. Those violet eyes and dark hair? A monstrous form? Mind reading and thought manipulation? We’ve seen all of these traits in the false faerie queen. And Rhys’s father had a penchant for cruelty—just like Maeve.

Which begs the question, who could have fathered Maeve’s line?

Consider who in ToG was able to step in the space between. Who was able to “winnow” before this skill was called such? We’ve got two candidates and both of them (unfortunately) had relations with Maeve: the wolf twins.

I think Maeve specifically chose the twins because they were rare among their kind and they had magic she did not possess.

Fenrys mentions at one point that even he’s not quite sure how his magic works—it’s a kind of ability without much information, and hence, rare. To Maeve, this would be a coveted skill.

So, okay. One of the twins could have conceivably fathered a child for Maeve. If that’s the case, where’s the kid? Why did no one ever see them? Did Connall have privy to that kind of information?

My theory is that Maeve’s child is the owl with whom she was often seen. Although rumored to be a healer, the bird didn’t exactly have a confirmed backstory. What if, like their wolf father, the child was a shapeshifter? SJM didn’t explicitly state how the shapeshifter gene works. A case could be made that the gene could be passed on without a specific animal being attached to it.

Even if the owl is not Maeve’s offspring hiding in plain sight, there are still plausible theories as to where the child could exist. Maeve could have easily hidden a child in her kingdom and manipulated the minds of caregivers to obscure identity. In this vein, she could also have erased any knowledge of a child’s existence or of her potential pregnancy from the minds of The Cadre, Connall included.

Maeve may also have gotten rid of Connall for this very reason. If she only required a child (perhaps multiple children) from Connall, not true companionship, then he would have at some point fulfilled his purpose. He would have become disposable, especially if Maeve wanted her progeny kept secret. At some point, the kid would likely start asking after their parentage. As a single parent, Maeve would have total control over the child’s life. We know she loves to be a puppeteer; she’d never allow anyone else to pull her kid’s strings. Or, maybe Fenrys is the true father, and Connall figured this out. Either way, Maeve couldn’t risk that knowledge getting out and making her vulnerable.

I already suspected that Connall was manipulated into his own demise, but the theory that it furthered Maeve’s hidden agenda (while also causing Fenrys pain), gives additional weight to the idea.

And when we think about Rhys in connection to Maeve, many puzzle pieces begin to make sense. His mind-bending abilities are unrivaled. He can break a brain with little effort. Rhys was even able to hide an entire city for decades. He shape-shifts into a monstrous form and struggles with this dark side. Sounds like Rhys has a lot in common with his violet-eyed ancestor. And let’s not forget that Rhys, just like the wolf twins, is one of the characters able to winnow in ACOTAR.

Mor, Rhys’s cousin with the same lineage, can also winnow. Yes, there are others in ACOTAR who have the winnowing ability, and that could mean potential mixing of lines for those families. It’s worth exploring.

Updating to add:

Forgot to mention that the word “Daemati” suggests these mind-reading powers are “demonic”. And Maeve was a demon/Valg.

Thanks for reading!

What do you think? Did Maeve have an heir? Multiple heirs? If so, with whom? Is Rhysand Maeve’s descendant?

[pastafossa]

I have two questions:

1. Have you ever considered writing a book that you would want to get published?

2. I wonder if you will explore Matt’s blindness in TRT. Like for example at the end of the day Matt did lose his eyesight and maybe sometimes wished he could see Jane. It doesn’t have to be a big thing because Matt has accepted his disability but like a moment when he’s just really wants it. Idk I thought it would cool

1. I’ve thought about it, yes! And I’ve actually got an (unedited) trilogy of vaguely humorous, post-apocalyptic scifi adventure books that’s like... halfway written, and that I’d love to get published. I was actually in the process of working on Book 1 when Covid hit, and then my writer’s group kinda... collapsed, which is when I promptly discovered that as an extrovert, I desperately need interaction to make The Story go. No interaction, no drive (and that’s also why fic works fine). And sometimes I toy with the idea of starting up again, maybe with a new writer’s group. I’m also looking into taking a lot of the original elements of TRT and then self-publishing that (with some changes to get Disney off my back obvs), which would let me keep the fic up, too. Not sure! I definitely have plans to try to get a book published eventually though!

2. Sometimes I’ve thought about it! I may touch on it eventually, though very, very delicately. Like you said, it wouldn’t be big because I really do think Matt’s accepted he’s blind and he doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and it’s really not. I do admittedly think he probably still gets understandably frustrated at how blatantly inaccessible some things still are (ex: i literally walked by a coffee shop that had a printed piece of paper inside the window in small print that said ‘large print or braille menu accessible on request!’ and I was like... ok but a blind/visually impaired person can’t read that???). Cause that’s the truth of it - he is still blind. He’s got a disability that affects his day to day and even if he’s happy the way he is (or that’s how I read him), he still needs his aids. I’ve tried to make that clear in TRT - Jane’s taken up his labeling system with braille, she leaves things in *very* specific places because Matt’s got an organization system he needs, he uses his ear pieces and refreshable braille display. And yeah, as someone who’s disabled myself, I could see him now and then going... ‘I wish I could see just for a second’ when there’s no solution for something - when he’s touching old pictures of his dad, or now and then when he’s with Jane, in the same way I’m sometimes like, ‘I wish I could literally run somewhere without pain, just to feel the wind’. It’s a passing thought usually, but it’s probably there now and then for him. So the thought’s rattling around in my brain, definitely. If the right moment in fic comes I can see touching on it!

[businesstiramisu]

Okay I rewrote the post. Thoughts on the last tenth (or so) of Worth the Candle:

[I don't really expect this to be interesting to anyone except me, but i do want to save these for future me, lol]

 I found the ttrpg Fel See Incident much more satisfying than the Aerb version. No, not satisfying, it was horrible. But it was exactly what the story had been building it up to be, for 1 million plus words, and that's quite an accomplishment. Whereas the Fel Seed of Aerb.... I think the problem is scope creep? When the stakes get Too High and the antagonists (or protagonists, for that matter) get Too Powerful my brain just gives up and I disengage. Like "sure, whatever, just tell me who wins". Whereas the ttrpg version, and the real world-level drama around it, felt horribly plausible.

I did like "we'll win the second time because, if Joon had gotten a second chance at the game, he would have let the players win." That was a nice bit of narrative reinforcement/article of faith.

 I love the Long Stairs. It's almost enough to make me think I should give SCP a more serious look, but I'm still worried the horror will be Too Scary for me. (And don't get me wrong I would hate to play a ttrpg campaign in it... actually, maybe it wouldn't be worse than usual? I could just follow the RDP instructions instead of my usual choice paralysis. well, depends on how often they come up. I probably wouldn't like having to make new characters constantly b/c they keep dying.) But like when Juniper wished they could've stayed in the labyrinth and explored the other cultures living there, I was right there with him.

The final reveal of Uther/Arthur..... hmmm, complicated feelings. On the one hand, ugh! why couldn't he just apologize, and admit to being terrible!! Well, he kinda did later... to Juniper, after they'd spent a long time rebuilding camaraderie and basically giving each other a pass for the horrible shit each considered the other to have done. And that was depressingly realistic. Well, idk that anything in my life compares (fortunately) but the most serious, scary arguments in my life have mostly gone like that.

Juniper and Arthur's ultimate goodbye felt appropriate, even cathartic. Raven and Bethel didn't get anything comparable though. Just Uther brushing them off (or in Ravens case saying "I understand this is hard for you but you've got to suck it up", basically). Which, yeah the world ain't fair. It wasn't justice, though. They didn't get their due like Juniper did.

The final conversation withe the dungeon master was also surprisingly satisfying! I liked it a lot more than when Sophie's World did the same thing. (And I've probably read more books that have the character confront the fact that they're characters in a novel, but that's what came to mind lol).

Maybe b/c it was really funny how the DM told Juniper "you're all characters in a novel I'm writing" and Juniper immediately rejected that explanation as bullshit.

Similarly, the Narrator, as the actual Juniper who was writing WTC

Heaven!Fenn though, felt overly self-indulgent to me. Which is maybe ridiculous, b/c the whole story is an exercise in self-indulgence/self-examination, but i dunno she just didn't work for me

Well, it's pretty hilarious that she was The One Person In Aerb Ever To Go To Heaven, and was always destined to be that one person. Hilarious in a pretty arbitrary way.

Someone in the comments to Ch. 245 or 246 said that "Worth the Candle but Reimer died instead of Arthur" is a great fanfic premise and... i dunno, it would be a massive amount of work, but it's tantalizing to think about. Seems like Aerb would have to be very different with--well, idk, would it be a whole collection of Reimer's characters, since he never seemed as devoted to one of them?-- instead of Uthur Penndraig, but with the themes of putting people on a pedestal, using their tragedies as an excuse to wallow in your own grief and depression and rage, and also the DM presumably having the same goals, I have to wonder how much it would even matter?!

Wow, the void beast was a metaphor for global warming?! kinda kicking myself for not picking up on that. Unless I just forgot about it; this story is really long.

[florilegia-or-what-you-will]

Commonplace Songs

So. Here’s the thing. I have a bad habit of skimming, especially when I’m reading rubrics. I don’t notice I’m doing it but it can mean I miss important bits of information, such as the part about your last entry being a 250 word retrospective. Luckily I am aware of this deficiency of mine so I tend to check my rubrics periodically to make sure I haven’t missed anything. So I wrote the post. But. Before I realized there was a set end to the life of this blog I still intended my own form of wrap-up. I decided to make a playlist with at least one song per reading from this class. Even after I knew I just had to write a lil paragraph I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here is the playlist anyway. [Commonplace Songs] Obviously it would be a bit of a time commitment to listen to the whole thing, so this was mostly just for my own enjoyment, but I had too much fun not to share. Notes for each song under the cut.

Abbess Hild & Caedmon, & Caedmon’s Hymn - Sisters of Mercy - Leonard Cohen

This one was honestly one of the most difficult to figure out. I generally struggled most to find songs for the explicitly religious texts, but I think this one works pretty well if you think of it as being from Caedmon’s perspective.

The Exeter Book Riddles - The Riddle Song - Joan Baez | Scarborough Fair - Simon and Garfunkel

These are cheating a little I know, since they both have very old origins themselves. I did consider including Schubert’s Swansong as a reference to Riddle 7, but I’ve tried to stick with songs that have lyrics.

The Wanderer - Man of Constant Sorrow - Joan Baez

Man of Constant Sorrow is really a modern version of The Wanderer to me. An exile “bound to ramble” away from their loved ones, unable to see them again in this life.

Deor - This Too Shall Pass - Danny Schmidt

This one is obvious from the title, and she makes rings! What more could you ask?

The Wife’s Lament - You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me - Dusty Springfield | One Too Many Mornings - Joan Baez

You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me really captures the tragedy of still being in love with someone who’s abandoned you. I think the desire for physical proximity really works with The Wife’s Lament. One Too Many Mornings works for the feeling of physical, but more importantly, temporal distance. The tortuous, and at the same time mundane passing of time, and the feeling of it being too late.

Wulf and Eadwacer - Farewell Wanderlust - The Amazing Devil

I struggled with this one. Another song considered was Better Man by Pearl Jam but I think Farewell Wanderlust works better even if it's less specific. It's got the anger, frustration, heartbreak, and defeat going for it. 

Dream of the Rood - The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails 

I decided no church music was allowed which made this one harder. I decided to lean into the slight body horror of the description of the cross shifting between bloodstained and bejewelled. Also: “He’s covered with scabs he’s broken and sore” just like Jesus! Obviously this doesn’t really suit the glorious tone the poem was going for, but I personally found the poem a bit unsettling.

Judith - Glory and Gore - Lorde | The Dismemberment Song - Blue Kid

Glory and Gore definitely fits the tone of the poem best, it's hard to explain why without going line by line, but trust me this one is exceptionally good for Judith. The Dismemberment Song is here even though it's not quite right, because it was suggested to me and it made me laugh. Content warning though, it is very clinically detailed about, you know, dismemberment.

The Battle of Maldon - Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin

This one is pretty obvious right? I came so very close to including Waterloo by ABBA as well, but I do have some restraint.

History of the Kings of Britain - Set Fire to the Rain - Adele | Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears

Set Fire to the Rain is for Igerna. All that love, and vulnerability, and secrets, and distrust. This song is just about Igerna to me now, it's pretty perfect for her. Everybody Wants to Rule the World works really well for Arthurian legend. “Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world”

The Mabinogi - Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac | She’s Always A Woman - Billy Joel

Rhiannon is ludicrously obvious, I don’t think I need to explain. She’s Always A Woman is also about Rhiannon, specifically how Pwyll defends her and keeps her as his queen even though everyone is against her.

Lanval - Who is She? - I Monster | Come Wander With Me - Jeff Alexander

I feel like a magical woman appearing out of nowhere to be your girlfriend would actually be pretty trippy, hence Who is She? Come Wander With Me is a bit more suitable tonally. Have fun wandering off, never to be seen again, Lanval!

Ancrene Wisse - Agoraphobia - Deerhunter

As you might expect, from a song called Agoraphobia, this works well for anchoresses. The lyrics match the actual daily life of an anchoress surprisingly well.

Middle English Lyrics - Luck Be a Lady - Frank Sinatra

With regard to The Lady Dame Fortune is both frende and foe

Sir Orfeo - Frozen Pines - Lord Huron | Word Spins Madly On - The Weepies

Frozen Pines captures the frozen-in-time-ness and its about seeking a lost loved one in the woods. It's perfect. World Spins Madly On works because time has also very much not frozen, and they are apart from one another, knowing, and at the same time not knowing, where the other is. Honourable mention to Nothing Takes the Place of You by Toussaint McCall, which just wasn’t quite right, but has a maturity the other two lack.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight I - Family Friend - The Vaccines

Poor Gawain is the only responsible adult at court. Jokes aside, this is a really good character song for Gawain.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight II-III - All in Green Went My Love Riding - Joan Baez

I’ve mentioned this one before. It's too perfect not to include.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight IV - Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons

Another character portrait for my favourite boy Gawain! This also works for him in Morte d’Arthur. He tries so hard, and always comes just a little bit short, and then blames himself mercilessly.

Canterbury Tales – General Prologue - Prologue: Into the Woods - Stephen Sondheim

I’ll be honest, I had no idea what to do for this one, but I committed to a song per reading. It does work well in a way. They are both prologues that introduce a billion archetypal characters at once, tell you what they want, and make fun of the a little. Sondheim could have done a kick-ass musical adaptation of The Canterbury Tales.

Piers Plowman – Prologue - Land of the Believer - The Weather Girls

Club music perilously close to gospel music, I wouldn’t be surprised if this genuinely was about Jesus and religion. I considered skipping Piers Plowman because we didn’t actually go over it in class, but I’m a completionist.

Chaucer – Canterbury Tales – The Miller’s Tale - You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Oh Absolon… I considered going with Tainted Love, but I needed a ridiculous song for a ridiculous story.

Chaucer – Canterbury Tales – The Miller’s Tale - Put the Blame on Mame - “Rita Hayeworth” Anita Ellis

On the other hand, Put the Blame on Mame is about a beautiful woman being blamed for disasters both natural and human, but which is supposed to, in my opinion, make you think about how ridiculous it is to actually blame a woman for that kind of thing.

Julian of Norwich – A Revelation of Love - Space Age Love Song - A Flock of Seagulls

I love taking songs that aren’t supposed to be about Jesus and making them about Jesus, and Jesus in the role of alien girlfriend is funny to me. That said, it does work really well for the transcendent vibe of medieval mysticism.

The Book of Margery Kempe - Crazy - Gnarls Barkley | Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode

I found it a bit difficult to take Margery seriously at first, because she is patently a ridiculous person, but is she really crazy just because others think she is? Trying to think of songs for her is actually what made me take more seriously what her life was like. She experienced many dangers and a lot of persecution for living her truth, hence Policy of Truth.

The Book of Margery Kempe - Sad Eyed  Lady of the Lowlands - Joan Baez

A singular, and shockingly untouchable woman.

Second Shepherd’s Play - Mack the Knife - Ella Fitzgerald | Sheep - Pink Floyd

I admit, these are both kind of joke songs, but they do work! Mack because Mac, sheep because sheep.

Second Shepherd’s Play - Under Pressure - Queen and David Bowie

The slightly more serious choice for this play. It matches the complaining of the shepherds at the beginning of the play, and it has references to prayer, and a desire for change that works given it is a nativity play.

Noah’s Flood - Rain on Me - Lady Gaga (feat. Ariana Grande)

Okay, hear me out. I know it's a club song, but it's actually perfect for Noah’s wife. I can’t go line by line, but it expresses disappointment with a relationship, be it with God or Noah, but it also expresses gratitude for being alive, even though they wish they were “dry” , a reference to rain, and alcohol.

The Crucifixion - Blowing’ in the Wind - Joan Baez

This one was really hard without just choosing a song literally about the crucifixion, which would be cheating. Blowing in the Wind is about ignorance and apathy to human suffering, which is also what characterises the Roman soldiers. Also, yes, I will pick the Joan Baez version of every song I can. Thank you for asking.

Mankind -  WWJD - The Axis of Awesome | Out of Touch - Hall and Oates

Mankind - Send Them Off! - Bastille

WWJD is another joke song, but you can’t tell me a group of demons in a morality play wouldn’t sing this. Like the demons in the play, it humorously pokes at a question people would really be asking about how they are supposed to ever live up to Jesus. Out of Touch and Send Them Off! are more straightforwardly readable as Mankind singing to/for Mercy.

Morte d’Arthur, book 1 - Tower Song - Martha Wainright | In the Blood (feat. Ashley Barrett) - Darren Korb

Tower Song is my other song for Igerna. It works along the same lines as Ste Fire to the Rain, but it's a little more vicious. I was torn about including In the Blood, even though it works well for Arthur, because of course it does, I transposed one young hero who is the future of his people, onto another. I still think the Arthurian angle changes the way the song reads enough for it to work, though.

Morte d’Arthur,  book 8 - Happy Ending - MIKA | Heavy Crown - Trixie Mattel

For Happy Ending, please see my previous post on Lancelot and Guinevere. Heavy Crown is for Arthur, “Winning’s losing with a couple strings [...] Gotta be the last to know”, I think it suits the melancholy of all the lost glory Camelot, and how inevitable the whole thing felt to Arthur the second he was confronted by Agravaine and Mordred about Guinevere and Lancelot

[estellamiraiauthor]

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 1)

Hey there Tumblr, long time no see! Let’s try something fun and new!

So, a few years ago, when The Stars May Rise and Fall was first published, I tried to do an “annotated copy” as a giveaway—i.e. a paperback with all my little “making of” notes in the margins. That lasted… about three pages, before I gave up on writing legibly enough for anyone else to read AND on cramming everything I wanted to say literally between the lines.

But I still really do like the IDEA of a sort of on-screen commentary, and it’s feeling like about time for a re-read anyway. (Yes, I read my own book. Why write the book you want to read if you’re not going to actually read it, amirite?) So… why not do it here?

Feel free to read along, if you like. If you haven’t read The Stars May Rise and Fall yet but are just generally interested in Phantom retellings or whatnot, this first one won’t spoil anything you can’t get in the “Look inside” preview on Amazon, although future ones might. So grab a copy and join me?

Regret is a pretty strong word, and not one I’m sure I want to use at all about this book, which is very much the book of my heart, the book I wrote because I wanted to read it and it didn’t exist. But if I regret anything about it, it’s that I decided to make the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical the first version of Phantom I paid homage to. Now, I definitely don’t regret including the ALW Phantom in the MANY versions I ultimately ended up giving little nods too. Like a lot of angsty kids in the 90s, it was the version that really got me interested in seeking out others, after all. But seeing reviews (and before that, rejections from literary agents) saying that they stopped reading after two or three chapters because “it followed the ALW musical too closely”… maybe I should have modelled the opening scenes after a different version, or just done something entirely new.

Still, it is what it is. And back in 2004 or whenever it was when I first had the idea for a visual kei Phantom retelling, I didn’t really consider opening with any other format than the tried and true “Phantom character hears Christine character singing, reaches out through the mirror to offer help” kind of formula.

A lot of it was also shaped by the venue itself. While “Rock Eden”, the live house where Teru and his band most often perform, doesn’t exist by that name, it’s basically Meguro Rock Maykan—which is a real venue, that at the time looked the way it’s described in the book and is still in the same location. And I knew from the start that that was where I wanted to set my Phantom. While most live houses are standing room only, or might have a few bar stools at the back, Rock Maykan apparently used to be an adult theater (it was certainly SOME kind of movie theater; the adult part could be an urban legend), and as of 2000, when the book is set, had these old-fashioned theatre seats (which have since been removed) and a balcony that’s off-limits to ticket holders but could be accessed by venue staff and anyone with a backstage pass. I’ve also been backstage there, and the dressing room is (or was at the time), practically wallpapered with old backstage passes and graffiti… perfect for a story that so deeply involves the ghosts of both people and dreams.

So, the mirror was that backstage mirror, and “Box Five” was going to be that balcony. Because of course no one has private dressing rooms in tiny little hole-in-the-wall venues like this, I couldn’t have Rei, my Phantom, talking to Teru directly through the mirror, but I wanted that basic formula for the opening… for better or worse. Sorry, one-star Amazon reviewer?

One of the things I always kind of imagined people would ask me once the book was a big hit (haha!) was how, exactly, Rei heard Teru singing and managed to contact him. At one point, I had written part of that scene in Rei’s point of view as well, but ended up dropping that point of view entirely (again, to the chagrin of several reviewers). Maybe someday I’ll be famous enough to get to do a Midnight Sun from his POV? XD

Anyway, if you’re interested. Teru has a backstage pass that gets him into the dressing room (and the balcony, if he wants, but he doesn’t have any reason to want to go up there until later). But Rei has access to EVERYTHING, including places where only the venue staff would be able to go, thanks to Chizuru, his assistant-slash-former hair and makeup artist, who now works part-time at Rock Eden. This is never really laid out on the page, but my sort of headcanon is that the owner/manager (who also never appears on-page) is one of the few people in the industry who knows that Rei survived the accident that disfigured him, and that Chizuru basically got the job (despite having income from elsewhere) so that she could secure access for Rei so that he could continue to scout talent. Now, I don’t ACTUALLY know what the venue-staff-only areas look like (I’ve been backstage, but as a staff member for a band, not the venue itself)… but that’s at Rock Maykan. This is Rock Eden, the fictional version, so we can go ahead and assume that there’s some kind of back hallway that can’t be accessed from the dressing room, but is separated from it by a thin wall, and that Rei heard Teru singing and talking to his bandmates from there.

These shows also used to have flyers for each band. (I’m not sure if they still do; musicals and things have definitely cut back on the amount of paper they pass out.) Fans would receive a pack of flyers when they entered the venue, and Chizuru, as staff, could easily take a pack from the pile. So Rei hears Teru singing to himself, thinks he’s got the right voice for his music, and then Yasu comes in, and they start talking. At some point, someone uses Teru’s name, and Rei asks Chizuru to get him a pack of flyers, which he uses to figure out which band Teru is in. There’s only one Teru playing that night, so he’s able to use the flyers to figure out that Teru is the drummer from La Rose Verboten, so he knows who Teru is when he comes onstage, despite having only heard his voice before.

And I think he kinda falls in love right there. He doesn’t WANT to… ohhh, there are SO many reasons he doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t dare to think that there’s any chance that ANYONE would ever love him back, but somewhere, buried deep under a lot of trauma and denial, he sees Teru onstage—and Teru LOVES being onstage, he loves music and it absolutely shines through—and Rei, despite himself, wants to talk to him.

I think there’s a lot of internal warring with himself over the course of Teru’s set, which would be maybe 20 minutes long. Rei knows he shouldn’t, it’s SUCH a bad idea to reach out to this guy who’s got this beautiful voice but also is just So Gorgeous… but he has to. And he has these business cards, because this was before you could just wave your phones at each other to exchange contact information and that was how you’d make connections, so he sucks up his fear and writes a note, and gives it to Chizuru before he can lose his nerve.

And Chizuru knew where to drop it because all of these bands are using the same dressing room, and a lot of them would have the same or similar equipment, so they write their names on electrical tape and stick it to their stuff, so she found the equipment that said Teru and La Rose Verboten and was able to leave it where he would find it. In case anyone was wondering.

The actual structure of the chapter itself… I’m still not sure if I love it. This opening was ROUGH for me to write, partially BECAUSE I knew that I was opening with kind of a cliché scene and needed to make it enough of a “hook” to make people want to read beyond that. There were literally maybe about 50 versions of it over the years, and I ended up with the current version, where the whole “hearing the beautiful voice through the mirror” thing has already happened and is being recounted as a memory in past-perfect, and the “present” of the story is Teru later that night, back in his apartment, going through the same kind of internal battle over whether he’s actually going to call this mystery number.

Of course, he does, and I think this kind of mirrors what Rei must have gone through earlier (so, maybe I should’ve kept that POV?). He KNOWS it can’t possibly be an actual talent scout or record producer… but Teru and Rei both, despite being pessimistic over a lot of things, always have a little spark of optimism buried somewhere in there, too. So he calls. And he falls in love just a little with Rei’s voice too, although he also buries that deep because he’s so firmly in denial about his sexuality at this point.

This is another point I get a LOT of flack about—how unrealistic it is that Teru would just agree to go to this guy’s apartment when they don’t know each other at all. And all I can say about that is… I definitely did similar things when I was Teru’s age (21). Was it the safest thing to do? Nope. Would I want my kids doing the same thing? Hell no, absolutely not. But do 21-year-olds do stupid things sometimes? You bet! So, yes, I have gone to the tiny Tokyo apartments of people I didn’t know very well. Including men. Including older men. And I was fine, not because that was a good decision—again, it is MOST EMPHATICALLY NOT—but because I was lucky. Like a lot of the people who do a few stupid things in their youth are.

As far as whether this fictitious character in a work of fiction is supposed to be a role model or whatever—it’s a novel for adults, about some pretty complicated and dark and occasionally messed-up stuff. (See also Rei’s struggle to accept his disabilities… is it the Best Possible Reaction™️ to the situation? Absolutely not. But you can’t say it’s not a reaction that a human being could feasibly have.) I think it’s pretty clear that I did NOT intend this to be some kind of morality lesson on how to have the perfect relationship and love yourself in the process. I understand that some readers want every bad decision to have negative consequences… in the case of Rei, I think a lot of the self-destructive behavior eventually does. But yeah, Teru does something stupid and dangerous and doesn’t suffer because of it… and that happens to real people too, every day.

I honestly think a big part of it, too, was my terrible-in-hindsight decision to list this as LGBT+ romance on Amazon. It’s a love story. It’s not a genre romance novel. These characters weren’t written to be “romantic heroes” and in the end, I do wish I had just listed it as general fiction, because I think I inadvertently set up certain stylistic, character, and plot expectations that the story was never intended to meet.

So. The beginning. I don’t really love it. But it’s certainly a hell of a lot better than the very very first draft from 2005, which was basically a shitty songfic of X Japan’s “Unfinished.” :P

[devilgate]

1984: A Year With Gravity

Ministry of Plenty

It’s 2024. It’s 40 years since 1984. So I guess that’s why there have been a lot of things turning up that are related in one way or another to George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four1. It’s considerably more than forty years since the novel was published: more like 75 years. Which is a memorable enough number in itself.

At Worldcon in Glasgow in August, the last panel I went to was about the book. People discussing when they had first read it, how it had affected them, the effects it had on literature and culture more broadly, and so on.

Then a few weeks later the podcast of the BBC Radio 4 programme In Our Time dropped into my feed, with an episode about it. It was described as a ‘summer repeat’. I assume the programme is off the air but they like to keep the feed fed. It was originally broadcast in 2022, so nothing to do with any anniversaries in this year, but no matter.

All of this served to remind me of two things: one, that it was high time I read it again. And two, since read it in my teenage years and never since, I had shamefully never quite read all of it. Because there’s that bit in the middle where Winston is reading ‘The Book’, as it’s called. And when you’re fourteen or fifteen that can seem terribly dull and easily skippable.

Also at the convention2 I picked up a copy of Ken MacLeod’s new collection, A Jura for Julia. You might guess from the title that there’s some sort of connection, what with Julia being the only female character in the original book, and Jura being where Orwell spent the last months of his life writing it.

And indeed, the collection is bookended by two connected stories comprising a sequel to Orwell’s novel.

So I was going to revisit the original and then read Ken’s stories. But I realised I didn’t actually have a copy. I think I read it from the library all those years ago. We got our son a copy at some point, but that’s either with him or in a box in the basement. So I decided just to buy a new one.

While I was in Foyles I noticed another connected work: Julia by Sandra Newman. I remembered reading about this when it came out and thinking I’d like to read it. It’s a retelling of the story of Nineteen Eighty-Four, from Julia’s point of view. It came out last year, so I’m sure author and publisher had anniversaries in mind, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Not Forever

So what about these books, then?

There are two things Ingsoc got right, I mention in passing: going over properly to the metric system — which leads to the oddity of a prole barman who has never even heard of a pint — and going to full use of the twenty-four-hour clock, giving us that famously startling opening line about the clocks striking thirteen.

Not much else, though. It’s a bit odd thinking about it now that the ideology is called ‘English Socialism’ when the geopolitical bloc Airstrip One is part of, Oceania, is clearly dominated by America. The renaming of the UK makes that clear. And indeed, the switch to decimal measurements and twenty-four-hour time are even stranger, given how America in our world is the biggest holdout against those.

I suppose the ‘English’ in ‘Ingsoc’ could mean the language. But a socialism dominated by America? Something that calls itself socialism, at least: it’s no more socialism than Germany’s ‘National Socialism’ was.

I’ve said before that I dislike dystopian fiction as genre or background to stories. I wonder if that dislike was caused in part by early inoculation with this work. But what I found really weird about reading it after all these years is how weirdly cosy it all felt. Maybe it’s just because I knew what happens; maybe because there are these sequels by other hands to consider; or it could be somehow inherent in the writing. But I had no real sense of bleakness, nor even of menace. Strange, really.

It is, of course, a tragedy, among other things. Winston and Julia know that they’ll be caught by the Thought Police and taken to the Ministry of Love eventually; but they believe that, whatever they have to go through, there will be a core of them, deep in their hearts, that will survive, uncorrupted, undefeated. I was reminded of Evey, in Alan Moore and David Lloyd’s V for Vendetta. About how you’ll survive — maybe win — as long as they can never reach that last half inch of you (I write from probably inaccurate memory).

That turns out not to be true for Winston and Julia, as they each betray the other. O’Brien’s assertion that ‘We will empty you out and fill you up with us’ proves true; and the novel closes with Winston loving Big Brother. There is no hope. A boot stamping on a human face.

Except, then we get the appendix. It tells the story of Newspeak, and does so wholly in the past tense, describing plans the party had for the minimal, stripped-down language. How it was expected to limit the capability for thoughtcrime — for thought itself — in the populace forced to use it. But it is presented as if it were an academic work, part of a history of the Big Brother times in what was then called Airstrip One, and is now called Britain again.

Hope in an appendix. I like it.

Keeping it Short

So we come to the first sequel I want to speak of, which is composed of Ken MacLeod’s two short stories. ‘Nineteen Eighty-Nine’ picks up on Winston’s story. He’s taken from the Chestnut Tree café thinking he’s finally going to be killed. But in fact it’s the revolution. Big Brother and the party are overthrown. Winston is to be Minister of Truth in the new government.

And then in ‘A Jura for Julia’ it’s a decade or two later. Julia is a researcher in ‘computational literature’, mechanical writing. She used to be a mechanic who worked on the machines that created cheap novels for the proles. Now she’s an academic studying the technology behind the machines. She travels to Jura because she has heard there is an important link there to the history of the machines. What she finds ties her story and Winston’s together with Orwell’s in a fascinating way.

A Woman’s Perspective

I hadn’t heard of Sandra Newman before Julia, but she’s written several books, and been nominated for various awards. This one is authorised by Orwell’s estate and tells the familiar story from Julia’s perspective, expanding it both in worldbuilding, character, and time.

It’s a much richer story than Orwell’s, in that Julia’s character is dramatically expanded from the original, and we learn a great deal about the society, or the various societies that exist in Airstrip One. It’s all well done, very convincing, and completely in keeping with the original. There’s nothing added that couldn’t have been imagined in Orwell’s time.

Julia the character is not much more than a cipher in the original, and here she has a rich inner life, and is wonderfully and believably changeable.

One chapter opens with the line, ‘She was in Love.’ Which jars you for a second, because the previous chapter ended with her and Winston’s arrest. Till you remember that she refers to the ministries just by their key words: ‘Truth’ for the Ministry of Truth, and so on.

It takes us to a an ending not so very different from MacLeod’s but perhaps a more ambiguous one.

And that’s enough Nineteen Eighty-Four for a while, and enough 1984, too, though it strikes me that the novel I’m writing at the moment is set then. It’s a year that still has a massive gravitational pull on the imagination.

Note that the title is always written in words and properly hyphenated. ↩︎

Strictly I ordered it afterwards, as it was sold out at the con by the time I tried to get it. ↩︎

[meetmyothersouls]

💀 surprise me, but not THAT scary please. thank u 🥴💓

Happy first day of Halloween!

I’ve got you babe 🤗 I’m pulling some inspo from the movie Barbarian, and a few others that have a common theme that I’m intrigued by in what I consider “modern horror themes”

Also so sorry, this was supposed to post last night but I fell asleep before I got the chance to post it!

Wrong House

Warnings: slow burn, spooky, flirting, dark themes, adult themes, not proof read.

You pull up to the airbnb that you reserved for yourself a month ago. It’s dark out and also rainy, so you can’t really see the other houses around you and you silently curse yourself for not checking out the area beforehand. Oh well, it’s late and you want to go to bed and get out of these wet clothes that were already drenched from a few minutes of standing in the rain.

You know how these things work, having rented a few air bnbs in the past, however, you never usually do this alone, you’ve usually got a few of your friends or cousins flanking you, keeping you company and easing your anxieties which is exactly what you wish for as you reach in the box that should have contained the key to your rental.

“Fuck,” you say as you pull out your empty hand.

You walk back to your car, mind blank as you think on what to do. It’s too late to call anyone, so you start your car, having come to the conclusion that getting a motel for the night may be your only option.

But a light flipping on in what should be your air bnb grabs your attention. You should turn around, drive to one of the six motels you saw on the way here, but damn it that air bnb is yours! You booked it a month ago, and payed good money for it, so you get out. You march up to the front porch, the rain soaking you all over again, and pound on the door.

“Hello!?” You say as you as you knock against the wood. You hear footsteps thudding through the house, but they aren’t running away or hiding they’re heading toward you. You hear the fast click of the dead bolt unlocking the door followed by the clinking of what sounds like a chain lock.

“Hello?” A man says as he opens the door. He looks tired, like he’d been sleeping before your arrival.

“Uhm hi,” you smile. This is awkward. “Sorry, but I think you’re in the wrong house.”

He rubs one of his eyes and chuckles, but it’s not one of amusement. “What?”

“I rented this airbnb on Vrbo last month, see,” you say pulling out your phone showing him your verification email.

He furrows his brow, takes your phone from you. A long, skinny finger scrolls as the light from your screen illuminates his rather handsome face.

“Listen, I’m not sure what to tell you. I also rented this air bnb about a month ago on Home Away.” He turns motioning further back into the house. “I can grab my phone, show you the receipt.”

He turns around before you answer, but you stop him. “No it’s okay. I’ll go. I passed a few motels on the way over. I’ll call Vrbo in the morning.”

You sigh as you turn around. You kick the water in a puddle as you trudge back to your car. How the fuck can they make this kind of mistake? You’re already stressing over what you’ll say to them on the phone tomorrow when his voice causes you to turn back around.

“Hey, uh, I’m not sure if you’ll get a motel tonight.”

“Why not?” You raise your voice a little as the rain comes down harder.

“There’s some fuckin’ medical convention in town. Everything’s booked.” You run a hand through your hair, and a few fingers catch on some of the tangles. You turn your face up to the sky, it’s requiring a lot of effort to not scream into the night. “Look, the rains picking up. Why don’t you come in, you can call around to some motels, see if they have any vacancies and at least you’ll be out of the rain.”

“Thanks,” you say unlocking your car. “But I think I’ll just call around while I drive.”

“I don’t really like the idea of you driving around at night. Alone. Lots of creeps out here,” he responds quickly. “Come inside where it’s safe.”

You consider his words, and while half of you thinks joining a stranger inside of an air bnb is a terrible idea, the other half of you wants to change your wet clothes and be done with this night, so you grab your bag and walk inside.

——————

After an hour of phone calls, and no vacancies you give up with an exhausted whine. “You were right,” you sigh. “Not one vacancy.”

He’s holding back an I told you so, you can tell, but instead he says “why don’t you stay here. I mean we both paid for this place, there’s no real reason either of us should leave. Stay the night and we’ll call these idiots in the morning.”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I don’t even know your name. And staying inside of an air bnb with a stranger doesn’t seem like the smartest idea. How do I know you’re not some creep?”

He holds out a hand, “my names Timothee. Not a creep.” He’s got a nice smile.

You smile back and shake his hand. He’s charming, too, but you’re still wary. This situation is weird and you don’t plan on letting your guard down anytime soon. “Timothee Not a Creep. I’m y/n.”

“So now we’re not strangers,” he says, still holding onto your hand. He lets it go and walks over the the kitchen.

“Technically we are still strangers.”

“Well what do you want to know. I’m an open book. Wine?” He holds up a bottle with a ribbon on it as he speaks from the kitchen.

“No thanks, I don’t drink.”

“Okay then water?”

You hesitate, not wanting to take a drink from him. “Sure.”

Timothee sits the water down on the coffee table in front of you. You stare at it, but don’t pick it up to drink it. Not yet, you think as you decide to feel this dude out. You inspect if from a far, not being too obvious. It looks like, well it looks like just water. But then again you’re not an expert on how spiked drinks look. Nothing is floating in it or swirling.

“It’s safe,” he says, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I didn’t put anything in it,” he chuckles and you can’t tell if he’s offended or genuinely amused.

“Oh no, I wasn’t thinking that.”

“You can go get your own, I mean if you want to be sure, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

You decide to take a drink, feeling bad for assuming he’d drug you.

It’s silent. Awkwardly so, as you sit and he smiles at you. You crack one back, feeling stupid.

“You should take the bed,” he says, standing up after a too long period of silence.

“Oh no. No. Truly I’d rather sleep on the couch.”

“Why?” He asks, and it catches you off guard.

Because you took his Airbnb, because the couch is closer to the door for an easy escape if needed, because he’s kind of creepy and intriguing all at the same time. “I have a thing about sleeping on dirty sheets.”

Timothee disappears into the bedroom, returning moments later with arms full of bedding. You hear the washer open and the soft shuffle of blankets and sheets being loaded in. He starts the washer and reappears in the living room.

“Problem solved.” He smiles and it’s cute. “Though we’ll have to stay up until they’re done washing and drying.”

———————

It takes a collective hour for the bedding to completely wash and dry. In that hour you and Timothee talk and get to know each other. You find yourself able to loosen up. You tell Timothee things you’ve told few others and he listens.

He’s a great listener.

You even take a few sips of his wine. You don’t like it but you feel content. Happy.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you say holding up your hands. “There’s no way you think I Know What You Did Last Summer is better than Scream. There’s now way!”

“Okay listen! Hear me out!” He stands up and walks around the coffee table to explain. “If you look at it from a filming standpoint you-”

The loud beep from the dryer sounds, interrupting Timothee’s speech.

“Guess that’s you’re sheets.”

“Yeah I guess so.” You check the time on your phone. 12:30am. “Fuck it’s late. We should get to bed anyway.”

“I’ll help you with your sheets,” he says. “Unless that’ll make them dirty again.”

He’s teasing you and you kind of like it. “I’d love your help, you jerk.”

Timothee disappears for a moment and reappears with an arm full of bedding. He jerks his head toward the hallway and you follow him into your new room.

It’s dark and smells faintly of old wood. Kind of like an antique shop. Timothee helps you with the fitted sheet and the pillow cases before heading toward the door.

“It was nice meeting you, y/n. I’m sorry they fucked up your reservation, but I’m kinda glad they did.”

He’s making you feel all fuzzy inside and half of you wants to ask him to stay in the room with you tonight, but you don’t do instead you say, “me, too.”

He smiles a big smile that’s extremely cute, but kind of shy and sad all at the same time.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Timothee.”

————————

You jolt awake and it’s still dark outside.

3:15am.

You’ve only been asleep for a few hours, but the dreams you were having were…strange and you can’t sleep now.

You turn on the lamp on the bedside table and for whatever reason you notice a wallet on the dresser in front of the bed. Curious, you get up and grab it, bringing it back to your bed. It’s old, worn out leathers. Soft after years of use. The corners are tattered and tiny pieces of blue fluff from Timothee’s jean pockets are stuck to it. This makes you smile. You open it up and his New York ID pokes out of the top of one of the pockets. You shouldn’t be going through his stuff, but the Airbnb shouldn’t have made the mistake that they did, and you shouldn’t have drank wine earlier. Lots of things that shouldn’t have happened happened. So you continue to pull it out. You smile immediately at his ID photo. His curly hair looks soft and it sticks out in a variety of directions. You silently curse yourself for not touching it a few hours ago. His smile is that big one he gave you before exiting the bedroom for the night. Goofy and slightly shy. You shake your head, unable to believe that you’re falling for someone you’ve only spent a few hours with and don’t even really know. You move to slide it back in but something catches your eye underneath his photo.

Chills pepper your skin as you read the dates on his drivers license.

DOB: December 27th, 1958.

Issue Date: December 27th, 1985.

What the fuck?

You look at your phone, checking the date incase you’re still fucking dreaming.

October 1st. 2022.

There’s no way this guy is 64 years old. There’s no fucking way. He looks exactly like he did in his ID photo from the 80s!

Immediately, you Google his name.

At first nothing comes up and you almost give up, but page two of Google reveals many articles with Timothee’s name in it.

You click one.

-Suspected Suicide of a young New York male by the name of Timothee proves to be more.

- Suicide or Murder? Young New York local found dead in quiet neighborhood.

-Who killed Timothee? Was it him or was it someone or something more sinister.

You throw your phone as you hear his voice.

“Y/n?”

He sounds far away, like he’s rooms away. But you’re in the only bedroom.

You don’t answer.

And it’s eerily quiet.

“Y/N HELP ME.”

This time it booms through your room and it sounds like it’s coming from under your bed.

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @gatoenlaciudad @patronsaintofthetwinks

[moemoemammon]

may i request hcs for a poly mc?

Poly!MC with the Demon Brothers!

(GN!MC as always✌️)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

He will never get over the fact that he's got to share you with his annoying ass brothers. But as the most patient(?) of the seven, he's learned to compromise

And by 'compromise' I mean literally making a schedule for how much time everyone gets with you, to avoid unnecessary fights. They all get you for an entire day, on a respective day of the week in chronological order. (Lucifer on Sunday, Mammon Monday, etc)

Though... we all know he abuses the system by making excuses like "MC, I need you in my office for a moment. I'd like to discuss your grades." and "Come with me for a moment, MC. I'd like you to explain something to me."

Basically he fools everyone by making it sound like you're in trouble, when he literally just wants to hang out with you some more. Maybe he can convince you that all you really need is him..? Jk he respects your decision even if it eats him alive because why his brothers of all people-

"As much as I don't understand your choice, I've lived with those six long enough to know how to deal with them. That being said... I also know how to keep them at bay. We'll have plenty of time to ourselves, hm?"

Mammon

The only brother that can see through Lucifer's ruse, but he can't say anything about it because... come on, it's Lucifer we're talking about.

But that's not stopping him from arguing about that dumb schedule! Why's he got to wait until MONDAY, which is a SCHOOL DAY, just to hang out with you?? Why does he have to go second when he was your FIRST???

Keeps trying to convince you to skip classes with him so you can sneak away and spend the day together. Nobody's got to know, okay?

The whole once-a-week thing teaches Mammon the importance of time management, so he's making the most of the time he's got when you're all his. He's taking you on all sorts of dates and there's no way he'll take no for an answer, got it??

"Oi! What did I tell ya about makin' those goo goo eyes at Levi, huh?! Only look at ME like that, understand? Just you wait, I'll take ya on a date so great, you'll only be able to think about THE Great Mammon! ....Huh? Y-yeah, I want ya to hold my hand."

Levi

Tuesday has officially become his favorite day, for reasons that have nothing to do with the upcoming Ruri-chan themed maid cafe event going on soon-

Tuesday's actually used to be his raid days, when he’d get online with his rpg buddies and do dungeon runs until dawn. But now? He's sacrificed all of that just so he can take the time to enjoy being with you

He may not know much about traditional dating, but don't underestimate the power of an otaku with centuries of dating sim knowledge under his belt-! He'll show you so much moe, your head will pop!!

Just be patient with him, okay? He's seriously trying to be romantic here, even if the thought of holding your hand is enough to make his palms sweaty. But he's not passing up an entire day filled with MC-! Not even his inferiority complex will get in his way!

"Eheheh... I've spent all night coming up with the perfect plan of action! First! We're going to have a TSL marathon of all your favorite episodes! Second! We'll speedrun that game you wanted to play, because I bought it! Third! We'll make a TSL-themed dinner to enjoy in my room! Then, we- ..Huh? What do you mean there won't be enough time? S-seriously?!"

Satan

Wednesday... well, that's right in the middle of the week, so it gives him plenty of time to carefully plan what he wants to do with you when it's his turn to have you. (He also does everything in his power to ruin Lucifer's dates oop-)

We all know Satan's gonna write a whole ass dating journal filled with all sorts of romantic ideas he wants to try out on you.

It's a literal date planner, and he's got things meticulously scheduled just to ensure he makes the most out of your day. You'll have to tell him that you prefer to go with the flow, or he might get a little overzealous-

But having a chance to settle down and realize that it's alright to relax once in a while is a relief. He can't help but feel annoyed when he sees you with the others, and it makes him want to cram even more of himself into your thoughts, so a breather is definitely needed.

"You know, I've been reading more books of the romance genre lately, and it's been giving me ideas for how to spend my time with you. I know you said I shouldn't take live advice from a novel, but... when I read the stories, I can't help but picture the two of us. Shall we read some of them together?"

Asmo

Thursday?? Why couldn't he have a weekend??? Everyone knows there's nothing fun happening on a Thursday night... That being said, Asmo has to get creative!

He's no stranger to improvised romance, so this boy pulls out all the stops and always delivers?? Somehow???? He can plan the perfect date in under thirty minutes-

And the time away from you makes him realize that he actually has to consider the depth of those dates. He finds he's not satisfied with cheap, devilgrammable dates anymore. He wants substance!

So he's taken to staying home with you, carefully and quietly getting to know you, and sharing himself with you. He loves it best when the date leaves him craving more and thinking of nothing but your smile. He hopes you can say the same, too.

"...Aaand that's how you do a cross stitch! Levi taught me that one, and it's saved my life a dozen times! It was a great idea that we should make matching wallets, huh? I'm just FULL of ideas like that! Go ahead and praise me all you want~!❤️"

Beel

Madame Screams does a discount on their sweets every other Friday, when they rotate their stock. He couldn't be happier! Though, he’d be fine with any day of the week tbh-

That doesn't mean he doesn't value his time with you, though. It being close to the weekend means he gets to stay up late with you, the two of you sneaking into the kitchen at night to smuggle away a mountain of snacks

Or he'll take you out into the mountains for a picnic, hoping the view of the surrounding scenery and your face will curb his appetite.

He couldn't be happier to have you for an entire day. A whole day, where hunger is just an afterthought and all he cares about is making you laugh... It makes him happy. He's starting to love Fridays even more now.

"Are you sure you're not tired? We've been hiking for a while....Here, hop on my back. I don't mind it. It's nice when I get to be close to you like this....Hm? My face is red? I think it's the heat.. maybe."

Belphie

Saturday, huh? Perfect. He preps for the weekend by sleeping as much as possible on Friday, so he can stay up all Saturday with you.

And when night falls? That's when his plan really comes into play. He spends the entire day doing the things you want to do, making sure you're thoroughly worn out so when it's time for bed, he has no problem coaxing you into bed with him.

And he's exhausted at that point so once he wraps his arms around you and falls asleep, there's no escape. The longer you're stuck there, the less time he spends glaring at Lucifer for stealing you on Monday.

But really.. the highlight of it all is the big, goofy grin on your face when he watches you indulge in the things you love. Even if it might not be his cup of tea, he's just happy that you're happy. And if he can keep you away from Lucifer, it's a win win.

"If you keep smiling like that, it'll make it even harder to give you away tomorrow. But you know.. we could just run away for a day or two. We could go camping somewhere, and stare up at the stars all night long. It'll be our secret."

[noteguk]

bad behavior | jjk | m

This is in the same universe as “bad influence.” It can, however, be read as a stand-alone. 

— summary; in which staying late to volunteer at a self-help meeting was the best decision you made in a while. 

— contents and warnings; smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, public sex (in a church…), dirty talk, fingering, degradation (name calling) but also praise, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, cum play, there is a window and also reflections, rough sex, cockwarming, jk being a lil shit because that’s his main personality trait, jk smokes (only mentioned), enemies to fuckbuddies: dawn of the first day 

— words; 8.2k

— author’s note; for the anon that asked how their first time was like ;) join me as we explore the lore of this godforsaken couple 

It was your mother’s idea for you to find a new place to volunteer. According to her, it had been a long time since you experienced “the invigorating energy of community work” — last time was when you were trying to level up your college application — and it could really “soothe your anxious soul” during the trying times of college finals. Apparently one tutoring program and two research projects weren’t enough to distract you, but you could see where she was coming from. 

In the end, you accepted. The old places you used to volunteer in had either shut off their programs or were just too far away from college for you to consider. At first, you decided to follow your mother’s suggestion and tried to work with children — “small miracles”, as she called them — in a local daycare. Which ended up being a terrible idea. 

You liked giving back to the community, you really did, but it wasn’t long until you realized that working with infants hasn’t been your wisest decision, and that children weren’t miracles at all. You got tired of going home covered in paint and with pieces of playdough entangled in your hair, and that was when you weren’t unlucky enough to get hit with other, less clean fluids. 

So you eventually gave up — both on the daycare and on the faint idea of one day going into pediatrics — and searched for a new place. After having to yell your way through retirement homes, and getting fed up with washing people’s sidewalks, you finally settled in a program that was flexible and light enough for your intense college hours: preparing (and then later cleaning up) a room that was reserved in a local church for weekly meetings. 

The entire ordeal took about two to three hours off your day, and more than half of it was spent as free time: waiting for the meeting to end, cramming piles of information in a small room next door. You didn’t really know what the meetings were about since they changed practically every month — they were, at first, a support group for teenage mothers, then it became an AA meeting, then a group for drug users trying to quit. Lately, you were starting to think that the church just gave away the room for whoever had the money to rent it, so it wasn’t a surprise when it was reserved for a motivational speaker to give confidence lessons. 

You had researched the guy, some old dude with an unpronounceable name and a sketchy background, and found exactly the type of person you had expected. Yes, you were in the house of Christ, but you were still being heavily judgmental of the fact that he was giving those talks when he had no qualifications whatsoever, and was probably making bank off all the self-help books he regurgitated at least twice a year to prey on vulnerable people. You did share your worries with the administrative office of the church, but they ultimately fell on deaf ears, and you gave up on the idea of kicking his ass out of the holy grounds anytime soon. 

It was after one of those pseudo-motivational talks that you walked into the empty room, ready to clean everything up before rushing back to your place, where your roommate had promised to greet you with some wonderful takeout. The chairs were still placed in a circle on the center of the room, where they had been since forever, and you made sure to align them perfectly before you moved on to the litter that had been thrown around the place. 

One good thing about those self-help meetings was that they were a lot cleaner than a lot of other attendees, so the “picking up the trash until your back started to hurt” part passed by surprisingly fast. You had just moved on to the snack table, analyzing what you could still save, when your soul almost left your body. 

“Hey, you,” you heard a known voice behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

You swiftly turned around, heart thumping violently against your ribcage. You didn’t know how you hadn’t let out the biggest, most blood-curdling scream ever, but that was just the first of many miracles of the night. “Jesus Christ,” you wheezed out, taking one hand to your chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like this.” You swallowed dry, some part of your brain recalling that he had asked you a question. “And I’m volunteering here.” 

“I didn’t sneak up on you, you’re just jumpy.” Jungkook scoffed, leaning against the doorframe with that stupid playful smirk curling up on his lips. You didn’t know they allowed demons inside the church. “And of course you are.” He rolled his eyes. 

Maybe a few months back, his mocking tone would’ve stung a bit more. However, you had been tutoring Jungkook for about three months then, suffering through endless sessions of his whining and complaining, and you’ve grown used to his passive-aggressive antics already. You learned that Jungkook was a shark seeking for blood, waiting for any crack that would allow him to jump into a perverse little joke — about how you behaved, your priorities, or even the color of your highlighter. You, of course, always stood your ground and threw his comments right back at him — which was his initial plan, as you’ve come to realize. Jungkook enjoyed playfully arguing with you, and you thought that it was another level of strangeness and masochism you simply didn’t have time to dissect. 

Still, Jungkook (shockingly) wasn’t the terrible person you once thought he was. Every once in a while — when he was trying to talk you out of teaching him — the conversations you two would have were actually mostly pleasant, and he wasn’t awful to hang around when he dropped the whole badass persona to act like a real human being. You would even dare to say that Jungkook could be actually funny at times, and not in the bitter, sarcastic way he usually was. Sometimes, you dared to think, he could actually be reasonably nice. And also kind of cute. Even hot. 

But you would never actually admit any of that out loud. Or even to yourself, really. 

“And you?” You asked, turning back around to face the table full of half-eaten food. That looked like a battlefield, and you could already tell that there were only a few survivors left standing. “What are you doing here? Repenting?” 

Jungkook chuckled dryly. “You wish. My parents want me to quit smoking,” he said. You could not see him, but you could hear him walking closer to you as you fumbled with the large Tupperware. “We settled on this crap instead of a forced intervention.” 

You scoffed. Most of the food before you was unsalvageable — some of the cupcakes had been bitten once and then placed back, and you wondered how someone like that could function in society. “You don’t seem very motivated to quit,” you mumbled. 

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “I don’t really care.” 

His voice was much closer to you, and you felt the air leaving your lungs for a pitiful instant. You convinced yourself you had only gotten scared again. “You should care about the growing possibility of lung cancer.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not really on the top of my list of priorities at the moment.” 

“And what is?” You asked. 

“Amongst other things…” he trailed off and, suddenly, he was standing besides you, pointing at the chaotic pile of sweets. “I actually came back to grab another one of those cupcakes. The chocolate ones are great.” 

You didn’t know why, but his comment broke the odd tension that you didn’t even know that was there, clicking you back into your previous mentality — the one that you just wanted to finish cleaning up so you could leave soon. “All yours,” you told him, “grab as many as you want.” 

Jungkook hummed in satisfaction, reaching out to grab one special brown cupcake — an untouched one, thankfully. “I love when you talk dirty.” He almost moaned before shoving the cupcake inside his mouth, taking a huge bite off it. Dramatically, Jungkook rolled his eyes and sighed in delight. “These are fucking great.” 

You chuckled, glancing at his direction. Jungkook was dressed in all black, like he usually was, and you were starting to recognize a newfound admiration towards his constant use of leather jackets. What? He looked good. “I’m glad the self-help sessions are paying off,” you commented, swiftly placing the cupcakes inside the transparent container. 

Jungkook was paying attention to your actions now, like he noticed you were there working for the first time. “What are you doing with the rest?”

“The church will probably donate it, give it to the homeless or something.” You shrugged. “Or they’ll eat it, I don’t know. I just clean up the place and leave.” 

Jungkook laughed at that, taking another monstrous bite from his cupcake and throwing himself on one of the nearby chairs. Your eye twitched a little at the thought that he had ruined your perfect circle, but you’d have to fix that on your way out. “Sounds absurdly boring,” he sang. “And they’re not even paying you.” 

You sighed. “After all the places I’ve volunteered in, boring is a blessing,” you told him. You had just placed five hot dogs in the container, and you were starting to wonder if it would be a good idea to feed people in need with those suspicious sausages. “But, yeah, you probably don’t care about any of that.” 

“You don’t know what I care about,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. You didn’t know if he was trying to tease you, but his voice came out so soft and monotone that you couldn’t really be mad about it. It was true, after all: you didn’t actually know what he cared about. Sometimes you thought that he could read you better than you could read him. “Want me to stay here with you? This place is probably empty already.”

You could not hold back your laugh at that, turning around so you could look at him. “Are you offering to be my bodyguard? In a church?” 

Jungkook pouted. There was a thin line of chocolate on the side of his lips, which he quickly licked clean. “I’m trying to be nice.”

You giggled, turning back towards the disgusting food. The rest was mostly trash, but you were happy enough with the amount you had managed to find in a good state. “That’s new.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. “I’m always nice.”

“Always is a strong word.” You smiled, closing the lid of the Tupperware. You had managed to fill three small containers with the leftovers and, honestly, that was a big victory. “But you can stay or you can leave, I don’t mind. I’m almost done anyways.” 

He frowned. “Is that your answer?” 

You turned around. “What? You want me to beg for your company?” You smiled. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever do that.”

“I’m staying.” Jungkook crumpled up the piece of cupcake wrapping and threw it in the trash can besides your body. He watched you for a moment as you started to throw the leftovers away, your back turned to him and a distracted look on your face. When he broke the silence again, you were throwing the last piece of bread in the bin. “Why are you volunteering?” 

“Because I like giving back to the community.” 

Jungkook sneered at your words. “Seriously now. Don’t lie, we’re in a church.” 

“I do, actually,” you stood your ground. There was a vague sound of crickets coming from the half-open window and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you, but, other than that, the city was covered in absolute silence. Perhaps that was why you felt so at peace. “But my mom told me it would be a good thing to keep myself relaxed. You know, take my mind off college stuff.” 

He hummed, and you heard him getting up from the chair. “You always do what your mom tells you?” 

You met his gaze. “Didn’t your parents make you come here?”

He smiled. “Not the point.” 

Before you could hold yourself back, your lips were curling up. Again: Jungkook wasn’t absolutely awful to be around when he actually acted like a human being. “When she says something I agree with, yes,” you told him. “My ego isn’t bruised when it comes to following someone’s idea.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying that mine is?”

“I didn’t say that.” You smirked and turned back to the table. You started piling up the used plastic cups, already eyeing all the used plates, forks and knives that you’d have to throw away. The daycare had better eating manners than that. “Thought we were talking about me.” 

“We were,” Jungkook agreed. One of his inked hands moved to the table, and you were about to tell him that he could eat more of the cupcakes when you realized that he had started to reach for the discardable plates, throwing them away. You really didn’t think he’d help you. “Finals are coming up, though, and you care about that shit. Shouldn’t you be using this time to study or something?”

“I study while you’re out here listening to becoming your real self or, I don’t know... waking up the giant within,” you said. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” 

He hummed, his nose cringing up at the disgusting remains of food that stuck to the plastic forks. Jungkook seriously didn’t know how you could do that for fun. “You know there are better ways to relax than cleaning up a dusty room, right?” 

“Probably,” you agreed. The cups were already in the trash, alongside with the plates, and there were only a few crumpled up napkins to get rid of before you tasted the sweet nectar of freedom. “But here I am. That’s what I chose for myself.” 

“Literally any other option would’ve been better,” Jungkook pressed on. “Isn’t that obnoxious friend of yours in cheer or something?” 

“Who? Jisoo?” You smiled at him. No one had ever called her obnoxious, but you couldn’t say that the title didn’t fit. Jisoo could be really… intense when it came to standing up for what she believed in. “She is. She invited me to join her already, if that’s what you’re gonna ask, but it’s not really my thing.” 

“It’s a shame,” he mumbled, leaning against the table. It was a beautiful miracle how clean that room had become just by getting rid of the piles of gross food, and you had proudly thrown the last piece of paper inside the trash bin when Jungkook spoke up again. “You’d look really hot in that outfit.” 

You stopped in your tracks, taking a second to digest the claim he had so mindlessly thrown your way. Just like all-things-Jungkook, a pleasant conversation could not last long, so you weren’t even surprised that he managed to ruin that talk with such a fuckboy-esque comment. 

Also like all-things-Jungkook, he managed to awaken a reaction out of you that you didn’t even know could be there. With a faint heat in your cheeks and a frown blossoming amongst your features, you actually felt a little bit of... satisfaction with the fact that he thought that you’d look hot in that skimpy outfit. At the same time, you wanted to slap yourself for falling into his charms so easily. 

In that conflicting turmoil of emotions, all you could say was a monotone, “You cannot be serious right now.”

Even if you kind of wanted him to be serious. 

“I’m being dead serious,” Jungkook didn’t back down, much to the elation of your ego. You felt like a schoolgirl being recognized by her crush, and the idea alone made your stomach curl onto itself. What the hell were you even thinking about? Yeah, Jungkook was pretty hot, but he was also kind of a douche and you didn’t want to get involved with that mess of a person. Or at least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I mean…” he continued, “you’re even rocking this knee-level dress right now, can’t even imagine how you’d look if—“ 

“You can shut up now, Jungkook, thanks,” you interrupted him. Because you didn’t know how to act when he was so blatantly flirting with you, you switched back to the same passive-aggressive behavior that you had given him for the past three months. Call it self-preservation, call it panic, but your mind simply didn’t know where to go from there. “And I’m also done here, so you can skidaddle back to whatever swamp you came out of.” 

“Awn, don’t be mean, princess.” He pouted. Jungkook was a master at getting you worked up, and you had just given that to him on a silver platter. Maybe if you had mock-flirted back, he would’ve baked away. You would never know. “I was just fucking with you, you’re too easy to tease.” 

You pressed your lips together, hip touching the corner of the now empty table. “You were pretty much harassing me,” you said playfully. 

“I was not.” Jungkook smirked, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants. When had the two of you gotten so close? There was barely any space between your chests. “But it’s okay, I’m not gonna compliment you anymore, don’t worry. You don’t have to be so defensive.” 

“I’m not being defensive,” you said, defensive. 

“What, is it the church setting?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a look around. “Is it making you uncomfortable?” 

“No,” you answered, crossing your arms before your chest. Jungkook followed the movement and his gaze got stuck on the shape of your breasts for a second too long, making a newfound wave of heat rise up to your cheeks. “Not as much as you’re trying to make me uncomfortable right now.” 

He chuckled. “You do look cute when you’re shy,” Jungkook teased, taking a step towards you, and you took another one back, pretending you were just going to lean against the table. You sat on it in a weird diagonal position, with one leg still on the ground and the other dangling over the edge. Jungkook was so close that, when he spoke again, voice just above a whisper, you could feel his breath on your skin. “If you don’t want me here, just ask me to go and I’ll go.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The atmosphere was filled with electricity, your body drowning in the warmth of his presence, the sharp seriousness in his dark eyes, and you could not bring yourself to say anything. Did you want him to leave? 

No, you realized in a rush of adrenaline, you didn’t want him to leave at all. 

Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows. “Hm? Nothing?” He smirked, placing himself between your legs. Every nerve of your body was screaming for you to touch him, to just wrap his mouth with yours, and you simply could not respond to any of its commands. “You’re full of surprises.” 

You found your voice at that comment, heart hammering against your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.” Jungkook placed one strand of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flickering down to your chest. From where he stood, he could see the beautiful mounds of your breasts peeking under the fabric, licking his lips at the sight. “Can I at least say that I like your dress?” 

Jungkook’s palm slithered up your knee before you could even react, moving towards your inner thigh and raising your dress along with it. His touch was electrifying, and you found yourself craving more of it, a sigh caught on your throat at the tenderness of his hot skin. 

“Something tells me that your compliment isn’t so innocent,” you told him, leaning your head back slightly so you could hold his gaze. “Aren’t you gonna complete that and say that I would look better without it?”

Jungkook chuckled. “The idea is compelling, I’ll admit it,” he said, rubbing soft circles on your skin. His other hand slithered around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But don’t need to take it off to fuck you.” 

Your eyes grew wide at that, brain short-circuiting. You frankly couldn’t believe that was happening — the fact that Jungkook was so shamelessly trying (and honestly succeeding) to initiate sex with you. In a fucking church too, of all places. “What- what did you say?”

“You heard what I said.” His stare didn’t falter. Jungkook was looking at you like he could eat you whole, and you seriously wouldn’t mind if he tried to. You'd deal with the social and psychological implications of that another time. “Just tell me to stop and I’ll do it, princess. No hard feelings, promise.” 

This time, you spoke out and the firmness and certainty in your voice surprised even yourself. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

“No?” His voice sounded like honey, so deep and melodic even through the thick layers of his sarcasm. You had never heard him get so serious, so focused, and the thought that it was all for you was igniting a fire inside your guts. “You wanna get fucked in a church?” 

You bit your lip, blinking up at him. The point was: you wanted Jungkook, of all people, to fuck you. The fact that it was in a church was just the cherry on top, and you didn’t care about it as much as you should — your mom would be weeping blood if she knew what was going on, but you weren’t planning on telling anything to anybody. “And what if I do?” You asked back teasingly. 

Jungkook smiled, knocking the breath right out of you. You could only hope that you didn’t look as horny as you felt, because your pride was still on the line. “Told you that you were full of surprises.” He pushed one of your legs open, making you lose your support on the floor. Now, both of your feet were dangling off the edge, body trapped between his strong arms and thighs on either side of him. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

You shook your head, and your voice reached you a bit later. “No.”

“Naughty,” Jungkook said, leaning in. He stared at you like a lion stalking its prey, his gaze lingering on your parted lips before, at last, he tilted his head to the side, deciding to move towards your neck instead. “But if you have the taste I think you do, you probably had some lame missionary sex with some goodie-two shoes.” 

When he started kissing your neck, you almost forgot to give him a response. You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan, instead producing a low, shaky sigh. “And if I did? What’s the problem with some lame missionary sex?” 

“No need to get mad, I’m on your side here,” Jungkook said, one of his hands navigating up your waist, between the valley of your breasts, before grabbing your boob. That time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped you. “Did he make you cum?” 

“Sometimes,” you said, slightly flustered. You didn’t think you’d be discussing your sexual history with Jungkook, but, well, there you were. “He was alright.” 

“Only sometimes?” Jungkook chuckled, the vibrations of his deep timbre vibrating through the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb grazing your nipple. The heat between your legs only grew, your entire body practically begging to feel more of him. “That’s a shame, I could do better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start getting cocky.”

“I never stopped being cocky,” he responded without hesitation. Well, he was right. “And I do have a good track record.” 

“Doubt it,” you said, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game, pressing right at the weak spots of his inflated ego to see how he would react. Perhaps you’d be luckier trying to poke a bear with a short stick. “You wouldn’t know the difference between a real and fake orgasm even if it hit you in the face.” 

Jungkook leaned back and looked at you for an instant. You knew he had caught onto your challenge straight away. He liked it as much as you did, there was no doubt about that. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asked. There was no denying the devilish aura that was all around him now, suffocating you with its tempting heat. “How long do we have?”

“I’m locking up the room tonight,” you said, watching as his eyes sparked with an emotion you could not decipher. “But I wanna get home before ten. Have homework.” 

You could see him fighting against the natural urge to ridicule you for saying something like that at such an odd time, but, at the end, he managed to avoid it. “More than enough time.” Jungkook placed one hand on the back of your neck, gaze darting hungrily toward your lips. “Come here.”

And then his mouth was on yours, and everything else was white noise. Jungkook kissed you much slower than you had anticipated, taking his sweet time caressing your mouth with his; hands exploring the curves of your body and teasing their way underneath your dress. He sighed heavily against your mouth when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, his soft tongue poking out and entering your mouth perfectly. Jungkook was a good kisser, you had to admit it, and he got your knees weak sooner than you’d like. 

His body was hot and firm against yours and you could feel the outline of his abs underneath your fingers as you trailed your hands down his torso; his quick heartbeat drumming on your palms. Jungkook’s breathing got heavier as you hooked your fingers on the hem of his pants and tugged him toward you. Instantly you noticed the outline of his hard cock against your inner thigh. 

Then, something switched. Just as you had reached out to touch his hardness, squeezing it lightly underneath your fingers, Jungkook groaned against your mouth and bit down on your lip. You had barely any time to react before he was pulling away from the kiss, gaze darkening. 

“Such a tease,” he mumbled hoarsely, his breath hitting your mouth in soft waves. His hand was hovering over your heat, his middle finger pressing down on your sensitive nub, making you whimper. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

Jungkook was much quicker than your thoughts and, within a second, the motion of your panties being pushed aside made you fumble closer to him; your hands holding tightly onto his shoulders when he finally decided to touch you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned next to your ear, making your mind go blank for a split second. The teasing motions of his digits brushing your entrance were enough to make you whimper, hips thrusting forward in a failed attempt to make him move further. “Look at this, you’re soaking my fingers. Wanna get fucked that bad?”

But he didn’t let you respond. The sudden intrusion of two fingers inside your pussy made your back arch, nails digging in the leather of his jacket as Jungkook opened you up. “I—” you tried to speak, but it was hard to think when he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. The sounds of your wetness were a filthy symphony filling the quiet atmosphere. “Jungkook, what—” 

“God, that’s so tight,” he groaned, speaking through clenched teeth. His voice was enough to shut you up at the spot, a frail moan dripping from your lips. “Relax, baby, you’re too tense. Let me take care of you, alright?” 

You nodded, eyes drifting shut as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. You hated to admit it, but Jungkook was already winning against your ex by a long shot: the way his digits brushed inside you, gradually moving apart to stretch you, got you searching — begging — for more. You were sure you could cum around his fingers and, when he curled them up and they dragged against your sweet spot, the idea became a lot more palpable. 

“Jungkook, you’re taking too long, I’m gonna cum like this,” you complained, chest rising and falling under the waves of your upcoming orgasm. You could feel it building up in your stomach, ready to snap, and you didn’t want it to happen around his fingers. “I wanna feel you.” 

Jungkook breathed out at your needy request, placing a kiss against your jaw. “I’m just getting you ready for my cock, baby,” he said. A loud moan dripped from you when he unceremoniously added a third finger, your legs trembling on either side of his body. “I don’t know if you can take it.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, only half aware of the fact that your voice sounded more like a whimper than a serious comment. “I can.” 

He smirked wickedly. You really were pushing his buttons. “We’ll see about that,” Jungkook responded. 

Within a second, right as your orgasm was about to wash over you, he removed his fingers from your pussy. The frustrated moan you let out was quickly swollen by him, his mouth rogue against yours and the sweetness of his tongue intoxicating you — probably those stupid cupcakes, you thought. 

“Turn around for me,” he asked. 

You quickly did as he requested, putting your feet on the ground before turning your back to him, hands leaning on the table. Jungkook placed one hand on the curve of your spine, pushing you down until you had your chest against the surface, ass perked up and pussy in full display for him. There was a gush of cold air against your flesh when he pulled up the fabric of your dress and tossed it over your waist, exposing your lower body for him.

The boy hummed at the sight, one of his legs kicking your feet apart so he could position himself in the middle of your thighs. “You’re pretty all around,” Jungkook commented, one of his palms grazing your asscheek before grabbing it. His motion was harsh, needy; earning a whimper from you. “Knew you would be.” 

Through the dense clouds of your desire, there was still some part of you that managed to make fun of that situation. “You spend your free time thinking about my ass?”

“Won’t answer until I have a lawyer present,” he joked. 

You felt his fingers hooking around the fabric of your panties, pushing it further to the side so you had your cunt fully exposed for him to see. The drumming of your heartbeat almost drowned out the low groan he produced at the sight of your flushed heat. 

“Princess, your pussy is dripping so much…” Jungkook trailed off, one of his fingers tracing a line between your lips. He felt the urge to eat you out, to lick you completely clean and make you cum on his tongue, but he decided that would have to wait for a different time. “Is this all for me?” 

“Yeah, all for you,” you said, weak. There was a thundering exasperation building up inside you, motivated from your denied orgasm and from the way that Jungkook was taking his sweet time. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled and your chest was filled with pride. “Can’t wait to fuck it.” 

“Then don’t wait,” you practically begged. “Just rush.”

He removed his finger from your heat. “Shh… be patient,” Jungkook told you and you swore you could practically hear the smile in his voice. You could hear him shuffling behind you, the sound of his zipper opening echoing around that still room. “I’m gonna give you whatever you want.” 

You whined at the abrupt feeling of his warm cock rubbing between your folds, its tip hitting your clit after every languid thrust. “Fuck,” you cried out, shaky. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said that he was big, his length was so thick that you were starting to get second thoughts whether you could take it or not. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. “Just put it in, Jungkook.” 

But Jungkook was having way more fun just teasing you. “Pussy’s so wet for me.” He breathed out, his hands tightening around your hips. You felt him throb between your folds, and the sensation got you searching for air. “You’re soaking my cock, baby. You want it that much?”

“Y-Yeah.”  

Jungkook hummed, leaning in so he could place a kiss on your shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve to be fucked, princess,” he promised, his length still rubbing between your folds. He was so hard and heavy that your mind was spinning, your lungs drowning in expectation. “Gonna fuck you so well that you’re never going to forget it. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” your voice was a pathetic moan, and you hated your body for betraying you so easily. “Yes, please.” 

After another pec on your shoulder, Jungkook leaned back. “Be loud for me, alright?” He asked. “Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed hard — what were the chances that someone would hear you? You had no idea. “Yeah, whatever you want, just fuck me.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous thing to say.” He moved around behind you, making you flinch when you felt his cock align with your dripping entrance. The anticipation was driving you insane. “Might have to see if you’re up for it another time.” 

There was an answer somewhere in your mind — you could swear there was — but it was quickly forgotten the second that Jungkook pushed himself inside you. The drag of his cock was a delicious torture, streching you out and filling you up to the brim until you were shaking under his touch, both of you moaning at the sensation. 

“Oh my god.” You breathed out, hands turning into fists on the table. Your cheek was pressed against the polished wood, hot breath creating small white clouds on the surface. 

Jungkook released a shaky sigh when he felt you clenching around him, your body desperately trying to move closer to him. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his hands holding onto your hips for dear life. Gradually, he moved himself away from your pussy just so he could slam back inside, marveling on the way you trembled at the feeling, crying out his name in the prettiest of whimpers. “Your pussy is so fucking tight. Squeezing my cock so well.” 

Took you only an instant to realize that you were absolutely addicted to the feeling of his cock inside you, the heavenly push of his hardness in and out of you as he slowly started to set a pace. “Oh my god, I’m—” a pitiful hiccup interrupted you, turning your voice into a sharp cry. “That’s so good, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you, his thrusts starting to pick up speed. Your eyes closed in endless bliss, every part of your brain focused on the sensation of his fat length stretching you up. “Told you I’d be, not my fault you didn’t believe me,” he said, but you could tell that his confidence had started to wear itself thin — he, too, seemed to be much more focused on the way that your bodies met. “Do you touch yourself, princess?”

You almost didn’t know how to answer him, a deep heat rushing up to your cheeks. “W-What?”

“When you’re alone, baby,” he practically hissed. You were bouncing on the table then, your body jerking up and down as he fully pistoned his cock inside your heat. “Do you play with your little pussy?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, embarrassed. “S-Sometimes.” 

“Show me how you do it,” he requested in-between huffs, lust dripping from every syllable. Jungkook spoke to you like a siren, effortlessly inducting you to comply with everything he wanted. “Come on. Don’t be shy, I wanna see you play with yourself for me.” 

You didn’t even know if what you were feeling was shyness, but there was a veil of hesitation that covered your actions. As your hands moved downwards, one of them clenching around the fabric of your dress and pulling it up while the other trailed over your mound, you felt strangely vulnerable, exposed. At the same time, you wanted to do what he asked you to, wanted him to wash you over with compliments until your mind was going blank. 

So you closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of two of your fingers coating themselves in your wetness, then their pressure on your clit. You whined at the feeling, pleasure exploding in your veins as you started to rub yourself, tracing small circles on your sensitive spot. There was no way you could ever reach that sensation again, the sweet motions of your fingers combining perfectly with the thrusts of his hard, fat cock inside you. You were doomed. 

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” Jungkook whispered, obsessed with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him. You had gotten so tight that he thought he would see heaven at any second now. “Feels good?” 

“Y-Yeah, so good...” you struggled to get out, “feels amazing, Jungkook.” 

“So perfect for me,” his praise shot straight up to your core, making you mewl under him. God, the way that you were tightening around him was going to drive him insane. “You feel so fucking good, I can’t stop fucking you.” 

Jungkook took one of his hands to your neck, using it to guide your body upwards until you had your back pressed against his chest; his hot lips assaulting your neck. The new position made it so much easier for his cock to drill inside you, reaching even deeper and hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. It wasn’t long before you were moaning out, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you. 

“Just take a look at that, baby,” his voice broke you out of your hypnotized state.  “Look at you. Such a good slut, just taking everything I’m giving you, touching yourself for my cock… fuck. Could watch you like this forever.” 

You had to take a moment to understand what he was talking about, and then you saw it: the window. It stood silently across the room from you, half open, and the glass combined with the darkness of the night gave a perfect reflection of the two of you. You could see yourself, the mess you had become, as Jungkook pounded in and out of you and your fingers worked on your clit; the darkness of his hungry gaze as he followed the motions of your body against his. 

Even if you cried out at the sight, your body freezed up a little at the thought of someone walking by and seeing that private spectacle. The possibility itself was minimal — the window gave way to the side of the land, where a big, thick fence separated it from the nearby houses; most of the ground covered by large trees and bushes — but it wasn’t zero. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation that would come from being seen like that. 

He, of course, noticed your change of demeanor right away, and you could see in the faint reflection that he had smirked at that realization. “What is it? Are you worried someone is going to walk by?” Jungkook almost groaned against your ear. His cock continued to pump ferociously in and out of you, and you couldn’t even understand your own thoughts for a moment. “That someone is gonna see you get fucked like a good slut?” 

“It’s not—” a moan cut your sentence short. Not like you knew where you were heading, anyways. 

“No one is gonna see you like this, know why?” Jungkook was grunting, his fingers tightening around your throat. You cried out at the feeling, your cunt clenching around him in a way that got him fucking you even harder. “Cause this is all for me. Just for me.” 

Then he was pushing you back on the table, your chest crashing against the wooden surface and his hands yanking you by the waist. Jungkook was fucking you so hard that your worries left you as soon as they arrived, your mind a turmoil of desires and broken exclamations that didn’t give space to anything else but him. 

“You look fucking gorgeous like this, stuffed with cock,” he marveled at the sight. There was a known wave of pleasure hovering over you, ready to crash at any given moment, and you stopped rubbing yourself just so you could prolong its arrival. “Wanna see you cum for me, make a mess for me, baby.” 

The words left you in a confusing, broken order, “Jungkook, I can’t… too much… can’t...” 

“Shhh, you can,” he was slowly easing you into your orgasm, his cock drilling in and out of your pussy. Jungkook fucked like a machine, fast and precise, and you didn’t think you’d be able to forget that anytime soon. “You told me you could take it, so now you’re gonna take it. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” 

“I- I want to… I’m so close,” you cried out, pressing your forehead against the table. You didn’t know how it hadn’t broken yet, with the way that Jungkook was fucking you so mercilessly hard. “I’m so, so close.”

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he urged you on, his member throbbing inside you at the thought. Your legs were so weak that you knew you’d fall facedown on the floor if he wasn’t supporting your weight with his strong arms. “Be a good girl and cream my cock for me.” 

And that was it. That was all that you needed to push yourself over the edge, submerging you in ecstasy and making you squeeze him so deliciously. “J-Jungkook!” You moaned out his name again and again, unsure of how loud you were being, but also not caring as much as you should. Jungkook realized he loved hearing you call his name more than anything else. “Fuck! Oh my god!”

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned back, his thrusts a sloppy, uncoordinated mess. He was hypnotized by the view of your cunt hugging him, your wetness dripping down your thighs as you rode out the last seconds of your orgasm. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect— gonna cum too.” 

You gasped out at the sensitivity that was starting to spread, every movement shaky as you tried to push yourself against him. “Yes, please.” You looked over your shoulder, meeting his hooded gaze. Jungkook looked like a god, his dark hair sweaty and messy and his lip trapped between his teeth. That image would plague you forever. “Cum inside me, please.” 

He groaned loudly, eyes closing for a second. “Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” he hissed, chest heaving with anticipation. You knew he was close, everything pointed to that, and all that you wanted was to see him reach his high, using your body like it was just a doll for him to fuck. “Didn’t know you’d want to be filled up with cum, princess.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” You smiled — a pretty, fucked-out smile that got Jungkook grunting like a madman. “I want your cum inside me, Jungkook, please.” 

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, don’t worry— Shit.” The sounds he was making were heavily: those breathy, high-pitched moans that echoed all around you; broken by deep grunts that had your thighs shaking. Jungkook fucked himself in you like he was meant for it, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he finally found his orgasm. “Fuck! That’s it, fuck—”

Jungkook called out your name and mixed it with praises and curses when he came, spilling himself inside your pussy. You sighed at the feeling, taking in the blissful sensation of having his hot cum spilling out of you, dripping down your legs as he continued to thrust inside you, milking out his orgasm. 

At last, he started to wince from sensitivity. His body collided against your back, his heavy breathing fanning your neck as he tried to collect himself. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbled, “you’re amazing.” 

“You’re not so terrible yourself.” You could not help the smile that appeared on your lips, nor the way that you melted against the surface of the table, drowning in his heat. 

Still, you couldn’t stay there for much longer: it was already a miracle that no one heard the chaos going on in that room, and you weren’t trying to push your luck for the night. Especially since you had a pile of homework (and possibly — now cold — takeout) waiting for you at home. 

You raised your body, leaning against your elbows. “I have to leave,” you told him, taking one of your hands to lay on top of his tattooed one, trying to ease his grip from your waist. “Now if you could just…” 

“Shhh, shhh,” Jungkook hushed, unrelenting. He was much stronger than you, and your muscles were too weak for you to try and do much, so you eventually gave up. “Stop moving. Let me feel you around me for just a bit more.” 

You frowned. “Why?”

“I like it,” he said simply. His breath was a faint caress against the skin of your neck, and you didn’t have much fight left in you. “We all have our tastes.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t kinkshame.” Jungkook pouted, then pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “You just begged me to fuck you in a church, remember?” 

“Yeah, I guess I don’t have much place to judge.” You laughed dryly, then looked over your shoulder. “Why is your cock still hard? How long is this gonna take?” 

Jungkook groaned, clearly annoyed. “Shut up and enjoy the moment.” 

~ 

The so-called moment lasted about two more minutes (which was kind of impressive, you thought) before Jungkook softened and slipped out of you. You hated to admit but you kind of liked the feeling of having him still inside you, completing you as his lips danced around your neck; fingers tenderly playing with your hair. You never thought Jungkook would be so gentle after fucking you like that, but you guessed that you weren’t the only one that was full of surprises. 

Jungkook, apparently, also liked to admire his work. After he had slipped out of you, he made you sit back on the table just so he could stare at his own cum dripping out of you, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark gaze. He had pushed his white release back inside you and smirked up at you, asking, ever so kindly, for you to go home like that, filled with his cum. 

You, of course, promptly accepted it. 

“By the way,” he called when you two had already stepped out of the church, enveloped by the coldness of the night. There was only one solitary light pole illuminating his features, making him look like one of the saints in the chapel — nothing but fake advertisement, in your opinion. “Wanna know how much I got in that immunology test?”

“How much?” You asked. 

“Eighty two.” Jungkook smiled brightly then, and you found yourself joining him. “Never saw a grade so high in my life. And that counts all the times I’ve cheated too.” 

“Seems like the tutoring sessions are paying off.” You crossed your arms before your chest, the hem of your dress swirling around your knees. The night was weirdly peaceful after everything that had taken place. 

“They are.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to the next one. Helps that my tutor is kind of a hottie too.”

You scoffed. “So I’ve heard.”  

“And, by the way?” 

“Yeah?”

“You would look better without it.” He pointed at your dress, a sly smile already sprouting on his lips. “Hope to see it next time.”

“Good night, Jungkook.” You rolled your eyes, already turning around — yeah, like there would ever be a next time. 

~ 

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

TAGLIST: 

@taehyungieskith​ @fan-ati--c​ @btstrasht​ @crazy4myself​ @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

[collecting-stories]

Inventory - Daryl Dixon

Request: you can write anything tbh! just something small and sweet, if you don’t mind :) (daryl anon)

A/N: This is honestly just random established relationship fluff or something.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You weren’t entirely sure that you liked Alexandria. It felt like someone had captured the old world in a time capsule and you were viewing all the things that you had forgotten about. Shower pressure and hot water and actual running water weren’t things that you took for granted and you’d practically cried in the bathroom when the toilet flushed but all the other parts felt uncomfortable. Like clothing that didn’t fit you anymore. You weren’t Daryl, waiting with his hand on a gun for the moment everything went to shit, but you certainly weren’t about to done a cardigan and act like a soccer mom getting ready for a bake sale either. You would let Carol handle the assimilating and gossip. Or at least the former, the latter, you couldn’t escape.  

“I wouldn’t’ve pegged him as your type.” Olivia mentioned, hellbent on making inventory a gossip session.  

“What?” You looked away from the open garage door to where Olivia was stacking cans of corn and writing down their number in her composition book.  

“Daryl. I noticed you watch him a lot...is that like, you guys got a thing going on or you just looking?” She asked.  

You paused in your rearranging of cans to look back out the garage door again. Daryl was across the street talking to Aaron and Michonne and you tried to formulate an answer that made sense for Olivia and for you. She hadn’t technically asked if you were ‘together’ (that ominous word that felt so weighty when you said it to yourself) but she was definitely asking for a definition. Were you more than friends, absolutely. That wasn’t even something you needed to think about. You certainly weren’t sharing beds with your friends the way you did with Daryl. But he’d never given any definition to your togetherness and somehow, even defining it felt like such an archaic thing. Another piece of the old world pulled from the time capsule.  

“I mean...” you shrugged, “both I guess?” There was a thing, for lack of a more concrete term, but you also liked looking at him a whole lot. You’d been enjoying looking at him for a while now and sometimes on the road you’d thought, if something happened, who would you look for in a crowd. It wasn’t just that you liked the view, it was that feeling of something that anchored you into the moment, made your head a little less dizzy, made all this more bearable.  

“I guess he’s not bad looking.” Olivia laughed a little, her cheeks reddening at the thought and you wanted to agree. He most certainly was not bad looking. And you had told him so plenty of times, in the privacy of your own room. “He doesn’t seem very...” she paused, looking over at you as if she had caught herself speaking out of turn.  

Small talk and social etiquettes felt like something you’d left behind too, far too used to being direct with people. It almost felt odd for her to be so unforthcoming.  

“Friendly?” You asked. She didn’t need to say it for you to know what she was thinking. It seemed to be a consensus throughout Alexandria. The community had differing opinions about all of you but the one thing they all agreed on was Daryl’s lack of acceptable behavior. He wasn’t particularly friendly with any of them (aside from Aaron maybe) and he acted more like a caged animal than someone who was grateful for shelter and protection.  

“Uh, yeah.” Olivia nodded, pink cheeks staining darker, “I mean, I’m sure he talks to you, of course...it’s just, I’ve never found him to be particularly...warm.”  

Warm, you felt like the word echoed in your mind once she said it. You’d never really spent too much time thinking about the way you would describe Daryl, he was just, himself, and that was it. You didn’t linger on what he was, what you expected him to be. Even if you didn’t ever think of yourselves as ‘together’ you knew exactly what you were.  

You thought about offering up a defense for him, explaining that he was warm. He was being wrapped in a blanket on a cold night or feeling the sun on your shoulders in the early morning. It wasn’t something you considered often, that you felt like you needed to name, but you knew it right away. The words came on the tip of your tongue, like you’d been waiting to think them. But you didn’t get the chance.  

Daryl came up the driveway while you were staring at him and the softest of smiles graced your features as you watched him, giving a small wave. Maybe you wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t been talking to Olivia but, as Daryl held your gaze the whole up the drive, you were reminded of when you might’ve categorised his behaviour as more shy than reserved. Now it felt like he held back because he chose to, deciding what parts of himself other people got to see. When you’d first known him it was more a defense mechanism than an ordinary occurrence, and he’d never been comfortable meeting your eye.  

“Did you come to help with inventory?” You teased, already hearing the grumbled response in your mind before he said it.  

“Just passing by,” he replied, glancing over to the far corner where Olivia was still sitting, notebook open in her lap. “Morning.”

You wondered if she was scrutinising the interaction. Trying to see for herself what you saw in Daryl, as if that was possible.  

“I’ll go check to make sure we’ve got all the dry foods from upstairs.” Olivia announced, standing from her spot and bumping her chair back against the sorting table. It rattled but nothing fell over and she went so quickly out of the room she looked like she was power-walking.  

“What’s a matter with her?” Daryl asked, taking your water bottle from the ground by your chair and unscrewing the cap so he could drink some.  

“She was asking about you, weren’t your ears burning?” You joked.  

He glanced down at you, unamused, before finally taking the bait, “why’s she asking?”  

“Said I stare at you all the time.”  

“So quit staring.” He capped the water bottle and set it back in its place before fiddling with different cans on the shelves, pulling them off and reading the labels.  

“Easier said then done,” you replied, grabbing your notebook off the shelf in front of you, “besides, I don’t wanna forget what you look like.”  

“Why? You going somewhere?”  

You scrunched your nose at his words and shook your head, “no, but you are right…saw you talking to Aaron.”

“Think ya watch me just ta spy on what I’m doing.”  

“I’m right though, you two are headed out?” You asked.  

“Don’t make it something it ain’t…I’ll be back in a few days time.”  

Daryl was good at coming back when he left, you knew it from experience. He’d come back when he’d left with Merle, he’d come back when he’d left to find Beth, when he went off on his own to hunt he always came back. As sure as you were that he would leave, you were just as sure he would find his way back again. It wasn’t something you had to think about or reassure yourself of but sometimes it was easier to give in to that worst case scenario that sat in the back of your mind.  

“I know,” you said it like you were promising him, “but that’s a few days without seeing you…who am I supposed to look for?”  

Daryl set down the can of beets he was looking at and walked the short distance back to you. His hand wrapped around the end of your ponytail and he gave a gentle tug, guiding your head all the way back so you were looking straight up at him. You thought it was probably a good thing Olivia wasn’t here, she’d seemed scandalised enough at his presence in the room, you could imagine all the things she’s knock over if she saw him now, one hand holding your ponytail and the other on your neck as he leaned down and kissed you.  

It was a softer kiss than the hold implied and you considered the juxtaposition of Daryl’s softness and roughness your favorite thing about him. It’d taken a while, to see the soft bits, but now you saw them all the time. How he kissed you so comfortably, like he’d always been doing it. His tongue brushing your bottom lip almost teasingly but he pulled away before you could do more, standing back up straight and dropping his hands. He gripped the back of your folding chair and you leaned against his hand, feeling them press into the skin between your shoulder blades, bare from your tank top. You kept your head tilted back, a little more comfortably though.  

“When do you leave?” You asked, half expecting him to tell you he was headed to the gate now. Your brain still felt a little dizzy from the kiss but that was a normal occurrence.  

“Tomorrow morning.” He replied, letting go of the chair to run his knuckles along your spine. “Shouldn’t be longer than a day or two.”  

There was a quieter bumping noise and a soft curse as Olivia peeked back into the doorway, a few boxes of pasta haphazardly held in her arms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”  

“It’s alright,” you replied but truthfully you were just being nice. Because Daryl had already retracted his hand you felt goosebumps on your skin in his absence, as if your body was trying to chase the sensation of him.  

“Ya need help?” He asked, motioning to the boxes as she dropped them onto the sorting table.  

“Would you mind? I’ve got another laundry basket full of them to bring down here and I dropped like five on the staircase.” She explained, following after him to point them out.  

Daryl disappeared through the door, Olivia right behind him, and you went back to organising the latter half of the alphabetically arranged cans. Olivia tended to be more loose-lipped than her other Alexandria counterparts and you couldn’t help imagining her asking him questions, trying to dig out some part of a person under the cold exterior he’d given off while he was here. Searching for the warmth she thought was lacking. They weren’t gone long, Olivia’s chipper voice carrying down the stairs.  

Daryl came through first, laundry basket piled high and the slightest hint of a glare as his eyes met yours, as if you’d somehow put him up to the task of helping.  

“You can set them on the sorting table,” Olivia instructed, “I’ll go through them once I’m finished the canned goods.”  

Setting them down, Daryl just nodded in agreement. You stopped from saying you’d see him tonight, in case that information was somehow on a need to know basis. But he was obviously being less purposefully withdrawn than you’d thought because he took another sip from your water bottle before telling you the exact thing you’d been too reserved to say.  

“I’ll see ya tonight,” he promised, putting your water bottle back and giving your ponytail a playful tug before leaving back down the driveway.  

You watched after him until he turned the corner and was out of eyesight.  

“I can see why you like him so much…” Olivia finally said, getting your attention as you looked back at her.  

“What?” You asked, wondering if he’d said something to her that changed her mind.  

Her cheeks tinged pink again and she looked down at her notebook, “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything…just, you know, wanted to bring those boxes in.”  

You nodded, prompting her to continue.

“I saw him kissing you…” she let out an airy sigh, “I’d be staring at somebody all day if they kissed me like that.”