#also might remove the last line so it just looks like i said it it would be so funny

[emjayewrites]

in between the lines • jules kounde (3/4)

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: This is the last 'book' of the "football baes universe". Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. Also, I don't know much about Eritrean culture besides Google...so this might be a tad wrong. Gif by @hopefulromantic1

Senait's mother had outdone herself with the spread – injera perfectly laid out, zigni and shiro steaming in their bowls, the rich scent of berbere and traditional Eritrean coffee filling the air. But the real feast, apparently, was Senait's love life.

"Dr. Tekle's son just finished his residency," her mother said, carefully casual as she spooned more zigni onto Senait's plate. "He's moving back to New York next month."

"Mama..."

"He's very handsome. Good Eritrean family."

Her father nodded in agreement, the gesture familiar from years of backing up her mother's matchmaking attempts. "His parents are from Asmara, like us."

Her phone buzzed on the table. Jules' name lit up the screen, accompanied by a photo of Maurice. She flipped the phone over, but not before her mother caught the smile she couldn't quite suppress.

"Who is that making you smile like that?"

"No one."

"Lies." Her mother's eyes sparkled as she began preparing for the coffee ceremony, the familiar ritual a backdrop to her interrogation. "Tell me about this no one."

Senait pushed food around her plate. How could she explain Jules? The professional footballer who had a pet rooster, who drank chamomile tea and watched Batman, who somehow managed to be both dominant and gentle in a way that terrified her.

"He's just... someone I met through Zuri."

"Zuri?" Her mother perked up. "The one married to the footballer?"

"Engaged," Senait corrected automatically. "And yes."

Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Jules: Maurice misses you. Judging my dinner choices don't hit like yours.

"You're smiling again," her mother observed.

"I'm not—" Senait's protest was cut short by her work phone ringing. Her boss's name flashed on the screen.

"On a Sunday?" her father frowned.

"Sorry, I have to take this." Senait escaped to the hallway, already feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.

Twenty minutes later, she returned to find her parents having a silent conversation with their eyes – one perfected after twenty-six years of marriage.

"Senait," her mother said softly. "You don't look happy."

"I'm fine."

"You look tired. Stressed." Her mother reached across the table, taking her hand. "This job..."

"Pays the bills," Senait finished firmly. But even she could hear how hollow the words sounded.

Her personal phone buzzed again. Jules had sent a video this time – Maurice strutting around his enclosure while classical music played in the background.

His music taste shifted a bit. He prefers Bach over Beethoven now, Jules texted. I blame you.

Despite herself, Senait felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. This was Jules' way – gentle persistence, humor mixed with genuine care. Never pushing too hard, but never quite letting go either.

"There's that smile again," her mother said. "Tell me about him."

So Senait did. Not everything – not about the heated nights or the way he could command her with just his voice. But about Maurice, about his tea ritual, about how he noticed when she was stressed and never made her feel weak for it.

"He sounds... different," her mother said carefully. "From Tymir."

The name still caused a twinge, but a duller one now. "He is."

"Then why do you look scared?"

Senait stared at her half-eaten dinner. "Because what if he's not? What if I'm just... seeing what I want to see again?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Or what if you're letting fear of the past rob you of something good?"

Before Senait could respond, her work phone buzzed again. Three emails marked urgent, all requiring immediate attention.

"I have to—"

"Go," her mother sighed. "But Senait? Sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all."

Back in her apartment later that night, Senait found herself surrounded by work files but thinking about Jules. About his offer to help her with the calligraphy business. About how he'd noticed her true passion for it even before she'd really admitted it to herself.

Her Etsy notifications pinged – another order for custom wedding invitations. She'd been getting more lately, word of mouth spreading about her work. But it wasn't enough to live on, not in New York.

But it could be, a small voice whispered. With the right support, the right planning...

Her phone lit up with another text from Jules: Stop working. It's midnight there.

S: How do you know I'm working? J: Because I know you.

Four simple words that shouldn't have made her heart race. But they did, because they were true. Jules did know her – had taken the time to learn her, to see past her walls.

And she'd been pushing him away.

I'm scared, she typed, then deleted it. I miss you, she typed, then deleted that too.

Finally: Maurice has terrible taste in music. Bach over Beethoven? Don't blame me for this switch-up.

Jules' response was immediate: He gets it from his godfather.

S: Aurélien?

J: Oui. Terrible taste, that one.

Senait found herself smiling, even as her work phone buzzed with another "urgent" email. The contrast was stark – the anxiety that immediately rose with work notifications versus the warmth that Jules' messages brought.

Her mother's words echoed in her mind: "Sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all."

Opening her laptop, Senait pulled up her calligraphy portfolio. Really looked at it – the wedding invitations, the custom journals, the manifestation cards that had started as a hobby but gained a following.

Then she opened her work email, filled with demands and deadlines and soul-crushing projects.

"Let me help you start up," Jules had said.

Her phone buzzed again: You're thinking too loud, chérie.

How can you possibly know that?

Because I know you, he repeated. And I know you're probably sitting there surrounded by work, thinking about all the reasons why you can't change anything.

Senait stared at his message, feeling exposed. Stop being right all the time.

Stop being scared all the time.

The words hit her like a physical blow. Because he was right – she was scared. Scared of change, scared of dependence, scared of letting someone see her fully and decide she wasn't worth the effort.

Like Tymir had.

But Jules wasn't Tymir. Jules noticed things, cared about details, supported without suffocating. Jules had a ridiculous rooster that liked classical music and a tea ritual that would make British grandmothers proud.

Jules was... Jules.

I'm not ready, she typed finally.

J: For what? S: To quit my job. To take risks. To... J: To let someone in?

She swallowed hard. Yes.

There was a long pause before his response: Good thing I'm patient then.

And that was Jules in a nutshell – understanding her fears without letting them become walls, supporting without pushing, being solid without being suffocating.

I do miss Maurice, she admitted finally.

J: Just Maurice? S: And his terrible taste in music. J: And?

Senait took a deep breath. And his annoyingly persistent owner.

J: See? Was that so hard? S: Shut up. J: Make me.

Heat pooled in her belly at his words, remembering exactly how she'd shut him up before. In his kitchen, in his shower, against his—

Her work phone buzzed again, breaking the moment. But this time, instead of immediate anxiety, Senait felt something else: resolve.

Maybe she wasn't ready to quit her job. Maybe she wasn't ready to let Jules help her build something new. Maybe she wasn't ready for a lot of things.

But she was ready to stop pushing away something good just because she was scared it might turn bad.

I have next weekend free, she typed before she could talk herself out of it.

Booking your flight now, came his immediate response.

And for once, Senait didn't argue. Didn't push back. Just let herself feel the anticipation, the warmth, the possibility.

Because maybe her mother was right. Maybe the biggest risk wasn't in letting someone in.

Maybe it was in keeping them out.

_______________________________________________

LaGuardia's familiar chaos felt different this time. Senait wheeled her carry-on through security, phone pressed to her ear as Zuri's excitement bubbled through the speaker.

"You're really going to do it?" Zuri asked for the third time. "Like, actually quit?"

"I'm thinking about it," Senait corrected, finding her gate. "Which is crazy enough."

"Not crazy. Overdue." Zuri's voice took on that influencer tone she used when discussing manifestation. "Your current job is literally killing your soul."

Senait couldn't argue. Working at Precision PR wasn't terrible – the mid-sized firm handled decent clients, and her junior account executive position kept her afloat in New York, even if just barely. But fifty-hour weeks managing entitled clients' social media crises while making just enough to afford her small Bushwick apartment and once-in-a-while luxuries wasn't exactly living the dream.

Big ups for my side job and savings though.

"The new intern's been helpful at least," Senait said, settling into a seat. "Pretty sure Kelly would sacrifice her firstborn for a full-time offer."

"Good. Let her handle the bullshit while you plan your exit strategy." There was a pause. "You know, I could promote your calligraphy—"

"Zuri, no."

"My platform's growing! Ever since the media found out I'm dating Aurélien—"

"I appreciate it," Senait cut in. "Really. And if you want to refer actual clients my way, amazing. But I need to do this myself."

"Fine, fine." Zuri's smile was audible. "So… two extra days with Jules, huh?"

Senait was glad her friend couldn't see her cheeks flush. "I had the PTO saved up."

"Mhmm. Nothing to do with missing him?"

"I miss Maurice."

"Girl, please. You're literally flying to Barcelona for dick."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Tell Jules I say hi! And that if he hurts you, I'll have Aurélien break his legs!"

Senait ended the call, shaking her head but smiling. Her phone immediately lit up with a text from Jules: Boarded yet?

S: Still at my gate. Flight's on time though. J: Good. Maurice is preparing a welcome concert. S: You're ridiculous. J: You like it.

And she did, that was the problem. She liked everything about him – his playfulness, his quiet strength, the way he commanded without controlling. Even his absolutely absurd relationship with that rooster.

The flight passed in a blur of work emails (mostly Kelly asking clarifying questions about projects) and half-hearted attempts at napping. By the time they landed in Barcelona, Senait's body was confused about what time it was, but her heart knew exactly where it was going.

Jules waited by baggage claim, looking effortlessly sexy in a pair of shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and Adidas Sambas. The sight of him – tall, dreads pulled back, quiet confidence radiating – made something in her chest tighten.

"Chérie," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. She melted against him, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.

"Hi," she managed, suddenly shy despite everything they'd shared.

His hand found the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. "Tired?"

"A little."

"Good thing I have a very good shower."

The drive to his house was comfortable, Jules' hand resting on her thigh as he caught her up on Maurice's latest musical preferences ("He's now developed a thing for jazz") and team gossip. Senait found herself relaxing, the constant tension she carried in New York easing just from his presence.

"You're quieter than usual," he observed, pulling into his driveway.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Senait watched him carry her bag inside, appreciating the view. "Life. Work. Changes."

Jules set her bag down, turning to study her face. "Good changes?"

"Scary ones."

He stepped closer, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Tell me."

So she did. About Kelly's eager assistance providing unexpected breathing room, about her Etsy sales increasing, about possibilities she'd never let herself consider before.

Jules listened, his hands working the tension from her shoulders as she talked. When she finished, he kissed her temple.

"Shower first," he decided. "Then we talk more."

The shower was exactly what she needed – hot water sluicing away travel grime, Jules' hands gentle as he washed her hair. For once, there was nothing sexual about it. Just care, just comfort.

"I missed this," she admitted quietly, letting him work conditioner through her curls.

"Just this?"

"Maybe other things too."

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. "We'll get to those other things. But tonight, you rest."

"Jules—"

"Not a discussion, chérie." His voice carried that tone that brooked no argument. "You're exhausted, stressed, and probably haven't eaten properly in days."

She wanted to protest, but he wasn't wrong. "Since when are you the voice of reason?"

"Since you needed one." He rinsed her hair carefully. "I have food warming. Then sleep."

"So bossy," she murmured, but there was no heat in it.

"You love it."

And maybe she did. How he took care of her without making her feel weak. How he commanded without constraining. How he just… knew what she needed.

After the shower, Jules wrapped her in what had to be the softest towel she'd ever felt. "Better?"

Senait nodded, letting him guide her to his bedroom where he'd laid out one of his t-shirts for her to sleep in.

"Food first," he insisted when she eyed the bed longingly. "Then sleep."

They ate on his balcony, the Barcelona night warm around them. Jules told her about training, about everything and nothing. His voice washed over her, soothing in its familiarity.

"I missed you," he said suddenly, seriously. "Not just the sex. Just… you. Here. Being yourself."

Something in Senait's chest cracked open at his words. At their simple honesty, their quiet certainty.

"I missed you too," she whispered, the admission feeling like surrender and victory all at once.

Jules smiled, the expression soft in a way few people ever got to see. "I know." He stood, pulling her up with him. "Come on. Bed."

As they settled under his ridiculously high-thread-count sheets, Senait found herself curling into him automatically. His arms came around her, solid and sure.

"Sleep," he murmured into her hair. "We have time."

It was at that moment she realized this wasn't just a fling anymore, wasn't just physical attraction and witty banter.

This was becoming something real. Something with potential for both great joy and devastating hurt.

But as Jules' breathing evened out beside her, as the distant sound of Barcelona nightlife mixed with the occasional comment from Maurice, Senait found she wasn't as scared now.

Because Jules was right – they had time. Time to figure this out, time to face those scary changes together, time to see where this could go.

And for the first time in a long time, Senait was ready to take that time. To see what happens when she stop running and start building instead.

Even if what she was building involved a French footballer with a musically inclined rooster.

Especially if it involved that.

_______________________________________________

Jules couldn't stop smiling, even during Flick's intense training drills. The past few days with Senait had been perfect – watching her explore his favorite spots in Barcelona, her genuine excitement over the vintage Hermès scarf she'd found at his go-to shop, the way she'd curl into him during their Netflix marathons.

And the sex... well, that was getting better too, if that was even possible. Something had shifted since her arrival this time. She was more open, more present, less guarded about showing how much she wanted him.

"¡Julio!" Lamine called, sending a cross his way. Jules controlled it perfectly, muscle memory taking over despite his wandering thoughts.

Between training sessions, he grabbed his water bottle and checked his phone. Senait had finally posted about Barcelona – a carousel of photos that made his heart do something stupid in his chest. The first was of her in that vintage shop, wrapped in various scarves, laughing at the camera. Then shots of various cafes, architecture, and finally – Jules grinned – Maurice in all his glory, mid-strut with the caption: "Met a very sophisticated gentleman."

He liked the post immediately, scrolling through the comments. The usual suspects were there – Zuri with a string of heart emojis, some of Senait's work friends, her cousin...

Then a comment made him pause: "Still looking good, Sen 🔥"

The username caught his eye: tymir__gants

Something in Jules' gut tightened. He clicked on the profile, finding himself looking at what had to be Senait's ex. Recent photos showed him with a baby, some pickup basketball shots at local courts, gym selfies.

Jules scrolled, a sick curiosity driving him deeper into the profile. Then he found it – buried at the bottom, probably forgotten to delete: Senait and Tymir together, her looking younger, softer somehow. The caption read: "My smart girl 📚❤️"

"Pedazo de mierda," Jules muttered, taking in Tymir's perfectly curated feed. The man had a whole new family, had hurt Senait in ways that still affected her, yet had the audacity to comment on her photos?

"¿Estás bien?" Pedri asked, passing by with his own water bottle. (“You good?”)

"Sí." Jules locked his phone, shoving it back in his bag. He wasn't mad at Senait – she'd probably delete the comment as soon as she saw it. But the nerve of this guy...

The rest of training was intense, but Jules' mind kept drifting back to that profile. The more he thought about it, the more things clicked into place – Senait's careful distance, her fear of getting too attached, the way she'd tense sometimes when he was too openly affectionate.

"Jules! Focus!" Flick called out as Jules misplaced a pass.

He shook his head, forcing himself back into the moment. The Sevilla match was crucial, and he needed his head in the game. But during water breaks, he found himself thinking about Senait's face when she'd mentioned seeing Tymir at Whole Foods, how small her voice had gotten.

My smart girl. The caption echoed in his head. Like she was some possession, some trophy to be claimed and discarded.

"You're thinking too loud," Lewandowski commented during their cool-down stretches. "Girl problems?"

Jules managed a small smile. "Not exactly."

But maybe it was. Because Senait was at his house right now, probably working on her laptop, wearing one of his shirts like she belonged there. And some piece of shit from her past thought he had the right to comment on her photos like he hadn't broken her trust in the worst way.

"Heard she's coming to the Sevilla match," Lewandowski added in, always up for some gossip. "First time watching you play, right?"

"Yeah." The thought warmed him despite his irritation. Senait had been adamant about not being a "football girlfriend" but had casually mentioned wanting to see him play. Progress.

After training, he showered and changed, but then Jules found himself scrolling through Tymir's profile again in his car. The guy played pickup basketball now, probably still dining out on his almost-went-pro story. His recent photos showed him at parks, at clubs, with his baby mama – living his life like he hadn't nearly destroyed someone else's.

His phone buzzed with a text from Senait: Your rooster is judging my lunch choices again.

Jules smiled despite himself. What are you eating?

S: Leftover pizza. J: No wonder he's judging.

There was a pause, then: Come home and feed me better then.

Home. She'd said it so casually, probably didn't even realize. But it made something warm unfurl in Jules' chest, temporarily displacing his anger about Tymir.

J: On my way, chérie.

As he drove, Jules thought about how different Senait was with him now – still sassy, still independent, but softer around the edges. More willing to let him take care of her, to lean into the comfort he offered.

His phone buzzed at a red light. A notification that Senait had deleted a comment on her post.

Good girl, he thought, satisfaction curling through him. She didn't need him to fight her battles. She was handling it herself, just as he'd known she would.

Still... the audacity of that man. To cheat on her repeatedly, get another woman pregnant, and then have the nerve to comment on her photos years later like he had any right to her attention.

Jules pulled into his driveway, cutting the engine. Through the car window, he could see Senait on his balcony, laptop open, Maurice strutting nearby. She had one of his hoodies on despite the Barcelona heat, her hair pulled back into a low bun.

This was what Tymir had thrown away. This brilliant, beautiful woman who could match Jules wit for wit, who challenged him even as she melted for him, who was slowly learning to trust him with her walls down.

His loss, Jules thought, heading inside and then upstairs to his room. My gain.

"Your rooster is a menace," Senait called as he approached. "He knocked over my water trying to get to my pizza crust."

"He was saving you from yourself." Jules bent to kiss her, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with his hoodie. "Pizza for lunch? Really?"

"I was working! And it was there."

"Clearly I need to come home for lunch more often."

She rolled her eyes but didn't protest when he pulled her up from her chair. "I have deadlines."

"You have ten minutes while I make you real food." His hands slid under the hoodie, finding warm skin. "Then maybe I'll let you get back to work."

"So bossy," she murmured, but she was already melting into him.

"You love it."

She didn't deny it, just hummed noncommittally. Progress.

As Jules went downstairs to prepare a proper lunch, he watched Senait return to her work at the counter. She belonged here, he realized.

And really, that was the best revenge on Tymir's audacity – Senait, happy and thriving, choosing her own path.

Choosing someone who saw her value, who wouldn't take her for granted.

Choosing him.

He smiled, plating their food. Let Tymir keep his Instagram comments and pickup games. Jules had the real prize – Senait, in his hoodie, on his balcony, building a strange friendship with his judgmental rooster.

And he wasn't letting go.

Sunday morning found Senait setting up her away messages with unusual determination. "Out of office until Wednesday - limited access to email," she typed, finger hovering over the send button before adding, "For urgent matters, please contact Kelly."

For once, she meant it. No sneaking peeks at work emails, no "quick responses" that turned into hours of crisis management. This was her time – to watch Jules play, to explore Barcelona, to figure out what this thing between them was becoming.

You're getting so fuckin' soft, Sen, her inner voice warned. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe she needed soft, needed balance, needed to stop treating her life like one endless PR emergency.

The Luís Companys Olympic Stadium loomed before her, Camp Nou's temporary replacement humming with pre-match energy. Jules had arranged everything – her ticket, instructions on where to meet after, and a security escort who spoke perfect English.

"First football match?" the escort, Maria, asked as they navigated the crowds.

"That obvious?"

Maria smiled. "You have that look. Don't worry - just follow the crowd's energy. They'll let you know when to cheer."

Her seat offered a perfect view of the pitch. Senait tried to absorb the atmosphere – the chants she couldn't quite understand, the sea of Barcelona colors, the electric anticipation in the air. This was Jules' world, she realized. So different from her Manhattan conference rooms and endless Zoom calls.

The match itself was… well, she mostly followed along. She recognized Jules instantly – his graceful movement distinct even from her elevated position. She found herself holding her breath when he had the ball, cheering with the crowd when Barcelona scored.

By the time they won 5-1, Senait's voice was hoarse from yelling. She followed Maria's lead to the designated waiting area, noticing immediately the small crowd of women already gathered there.

"Player chasers," Maria explained quietly. "Every club has them."

Senait watched the women, all perfectly made up, designer bags on display. They wore Barcelona jerseys like fashion statements, giggling and posing for social media.

This is why Jules keeps us quiet, she thought. Not because he was ashamed, but because he was protecting whatever this was between them from becoming public consumption.

When Jules emerged, freshly showered and changed, several phones raised to capture him. But he moved past the waiting fans and groupies with practiced ease, finding Senait with unerring accuracy.

"Ready?" he asked simply, hand finding its usual spot on her lower back.

They slipped out a back entrance, the night air cool on Senait's flushed cheeks. In his car, Jules finally relaxed fully.

"Hungry?" he asked, pulling into traffic. "I know a place."

The place turned out to be a hole-in-the-wall serving the best street food Senait had ever tasted. They sat at a tiny table, Jules explaining plays she'd missed while she tried not to moan over her patatas bravas.

"El Clásico's next Saturday," he mentioned casually. "In Madrid. You should come."

Senait paused mid-bite. "I leave Tuesday."

"You could extend your stay."

"Jules…"

"The project can wait."

She shook her head. "It really can't. And I've already used so much PTO—"

"When's the last time you took a real break?" His voice was gentle but firm. "Not working through vacation, not checking emails between meetings. Just… lived?"

The question hit harder than she expected. When had she last truly disconnected? Even this trip, she'd planned to work through it until something in her finally rebelled.

"I'll think about it," she offered finally.

Jules seemed to accept this, turning the conversation to lighter topics. But his question lingered in her mind as they drove back to his house, as they climbed the stairs to his bedroom, as he pressed her against his door.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured against her neck.

"Your fault. Making me question my life choices."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Good. Someone should."

Then his mouth found hers, and thinking became secondary to feeling. To the way he walked them backward toward his bed, to how his hands always knew exactly where to touch.

Home, some traitorous part of her mind whispered as they fell onto his ridiculously comfortable mattress. This feels like home.

But instead of panicking at the thought, Senait just pulled him closer, let herself sink into the sensation of his weight above her, his hands in her hair, his mouth trailing fire down her throat.

Maybe she would go to Madrid. Maybe she wouldn't.

But for now, she was here. Present. Living.

And that felt like progress.

_______________________________________________

Wednesday morning hit differently when you landed at LaGuardia at 2 AM. Senait stifled another yawn, staring at her laptop screen as the words blurred together. Her body was still on Barcelona time, still remembering Jules' goodbye kiss at the airport.

Her phone buzzed: Did you get any sleep?

Define sleep, she typed back to Jules.

That's a no. Take care of yourself, chérie.

Before she could respond, Kelly appeared at her cubicle, looking nervous. "Greg wants everyone in the conference room. Like, now."

Senait suppressed a groan. Greg Schultz, VP of Account Management and certified dickhead, was the last person she wanted to deal with on three hours of sleep.

The conference room was already half full when she arrived. She caught Maya's eye, her coworker subtly rolling her eyes. They'd spent enough happy hours commiserating about Greg's various microaggressions – like the time he'd told Maya her braids weren't "professional enough" for client meetings, or how he always seemed to question Senait's strategy decisions more harshly than her white colleagues'.

"Good morning, team!" Greg's fake enthusiasm filled the room. At forty-five, he embodied every corporate cliché – from his Brooks Brothers suits to his "work hard, play harder" mentality. "Big news about the Thompson account."

Senait's heart sank. Thompson meant overtime, meant endless revisions, meant—

"All hands on deck for this one," Greg continued, confirming her fears. "We're talking late nights, weekends, whatever it takes to make this launch perfect."

There goes Madrid, Senait thought, barely registering the rest of Greg's speech about dedication and career growth.

"Everyone but Senait can go," Greg announced as the meeting wrapped up. "Need a word."

Kelly shot her a sympathetic look as she filed out with the others. Senait stayed seated, already knowing where this was going.

"Senait," Greg settled into the chair across from her. "You're one of our best. But all this time off recently? Not a good look."

"One was a medical emergency," she started, careful to not mention how seeing Tymir had triggered an anxiety spiral that left her barely functional.

Greg waved his hand dismissively. "We all have personal stuff. But you want to make senior account executive? You better learn to sleep when you're dead."

Senait blinked, processing the casual disregard for her health.

"Look," he continued, "there's potential for promotion here. Small raise, bigger projects. But you need to get your head in the game. Drop everything else. The work needs you. Understand?"

She nodded automatically, mind already spinning.

"Good. That's all."

Senait left on autopilot, pausing only to tell a shocked Kelly, "Taking lunch."

"It's 11 AM!"

But Senait was already gone, her tote bag clutched like a lifeline as she headed for the elevator.

Three years. She'd given Precision PR three years of overtime, of cancelled plans, of rarely ever taking time off, of stress headaches and anxiety attacks. And for what? To be told her health didn't matter? That she should be grateful for the possibility of a "small raise"?

Her phone pinged – new Etsy notifications. Three orders:

Custom wedding signage and place cards: $2,500 (deposit paid)

Birthday signage and place cards: $1,600 (deposit paid)

Baby shower personalized 'welcome' signage: $500

Then, like the universe was trying to tell her something, an email from Raima Barcelona: "Re: Calligraphy Instructor Position - 32€/hour, Part-Time."

Senait looked up at the lobby ceiling. "Are you fucking with me?"

But maybe this wasn't a joke. Maybe this was permission.

She had savings – she'd always been careful with money, living well below her means even in New York. Her parents had made it clear their home was always open if things got tough. Zuri would help promote her work (though Senait would need to swallow her pride to accept). And Jules…

Jules, who'd offered support without pressure. Who saw her potential even when she doubted herself. Who'd probably book her a flight back to Barcelona right now if she asked.

"Fuck this job," she declared to no one in particular, heading to her favorite deli.

One Reuben sandwich and large coffee later, Senait sat at her desk, fingers hovering over her keyboard. The resignation letter was simple, professional:

"Dear Greg,

Please accept this letter as formal notification of my immediate resignation from my position as Junior Account Executive at Precision PR.

Thank you for the opportunities for growth over the past three years.

Best regards, Senait Kiros"

Her cursor hovered over "Send." Three years of stability, of knowing exactly what each day would bring, of comfortable misery – all balanced on one click.

But as she sat there, Senait noticed something: the constant tension in her shoulders, the one that had briefly disappeared in Barcelona, was already back. Not even 24 hours in New York and her body was already bracing for impact.

She hit send.

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur – clearing her personal items (fortunately few) from her desk, backing up relevant files, heading to HR with her laptop and badge.

"But… why?" the HR rep, Susan, stammered. "Was there an incident?"

Senait thought about Greg's dismissal of her health. About three years of racial undermining. About putting her job above everything else.

"It's just time," she said simply, turning in her company property. "Time for something new." And better….healthier. Time to live my life on my terms.

As she walked out of Precision PR's glass doors for the last time, Senait felt something she hadn't expected: peace.

Her phone buzzed – Jules again: Did you eat yet?

Senait smiled, stepping into the New York sunshine.

S: Actually, yes. And I have news.

J: Tell me.

She took a deep breath, typing: I just quit my job.

The three dots appeared immediately, then: Finally. When are you coming back to Barcelona?

Senait laughed out loud, startling a passing businessman. I JUST QUIT. Like, five minutes ago.

J: Perfect timing. El Clásico is Saturday. S: Jules… J: Book the flight, chérie. Maurice misses you. S: Just Maurice? J: And his very persistent owner.

Standing there on the sidewalk, free from Greg's toxicity and corporate expectations, Senait felt lighter than she had in years. Was she scared? Absolutely. But for once, the fear felt like excitement rather than dread.

Her phone buzzed again: I'll take care of you.

Three years ago, those words would have sent her running. Now, they felt like permission to fly.

Booking the flight now, she typed. But I'm paying for it myself.

J: Whatever you say, chérie. Just come back.

To Barcelona. To Jules. To a life she was finally brave enough to choose.

See you tomorrow, she sent, already pulling up flight options.

Sometimes the biggest risk was not taking one at all. But sometimes, Senait was learning, the biggest risk paid the biggest rewards.

And she was ready to collect.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[alex51324]

Pie Tips post for 2024!

This year I'm thinking of adding a new thing, which is Phyllo Tarts. These are nice because they look fancy as fuck, but are actually pretty straightforward. (Assuming you're using frozen phyllo dough; I have never tried to make it by hand and have no plans to do so.)

Also it's a bunch of individual ones and not one big pie, so I can eat one for breakfast before I take everything down to Big Thanksgiving.

The first thing you need is a package of frozen phyllo dough and some butter. You'll use about a stick of butter for each six or eight phyllo sheets, which makes about a sheet-pan's worth of tarts. Thaw the dough according to the directions on the package.

Next you need sugar, spices, and nuts. The recipe I started with says, for six phyllo sheets, use 2 Tablespoons brown sugar, 2 Tablespoons white sugar, 1/2 a teaspoon each of cinnamon and allspice, and 1/4 cup of chopped pecans. Obviously, you can adjust that with whatever nuts and baking spices make sense to you, and if you're short of one kind of sugar, just use what you have and make it add up to 1/4 cup. Mix all that stuff together and have it in a bowl with a spoon. (If you're doing 8 sheets of phyllo, you may want to add an extra tablespoon of sugar and chopped nuts.)

Then you need your fruit. The recipe I started with was for peaches, but I've done it with other things. For Thanksgiving I'm doing apples, and I'm thinking of trying an experimental apples-and-cheese concept that may or may not work. Wash and dry the fruit and slice it thinly, removing cores/pits/whatever other inedible parts it has.

Get out some baking sheets--one for each batch of 6 or 8 tarts--and line them with parchment. (Foil might work too; I haven't tried it. Foil and parchment are interchangeable in some applications but not in others.)

Anyway, you start by melting a stick of butter and getting out your six (or eight) sheets of phyllo. (The box the phyllo came in will discuss the proper phyllo-handling precautions. I thought for decades that it was a lot scarier than it actually is.)

First you're going to lay out a sheet of dough and brush it with melted butter. Then stack another sheet on top, and brush it with butter and sprinkle it with about two tablespoons' worth of the sugar-and-nuts mixture from your bowl with the spoon in it.

Stack on a third sheet, butter it, and then a fourth, which you will butter and sprinkle with sugar. Follow the same pattern for sheets 5 and 6, and 7 and 8 if you're using them.

Once you're done buttering and sprinkling, you should have enough butter and sugar mixture left for one more round.

Decide whether you want to make six tarts or eight. Cut the dough into that many pieces, and then top each piece with a reasonable amount of fruit--the recipe I started with said to use three peaches for six tarts, but my peaches were really big, so I used 1/4 peach per tart.

Arrange the fruit pieces so they look nice; for instance you can put peach or apple slices in a fan shape.

Brush on the last of the butter and sprinkle on the last of the sugar mixture.

Using a spatula, carefully transfer each tart to your parchment-covered baking sheet. (You could do the stacking-and-sprinkling steps on the baking sheet, but in my experience it's messier that way.)

Put them in the oven for 15 minutes (or so) at 375 F.

And that's it! It kind of sounds like a lot all written out, but it's more complicated to explain than it is to do. The only thing is that the dough is pretty delicate--it's sort of a tissue-paper consistency--and it may take some practice to be able to pick up a sheet and add it to the stack without it falling apart. But a package of phyllo contains enough to make about 6 batches of these tarts, so if you're making fewer than that, you have loads of room for error.

Useful Tips:  Pie Edition

I am my family’s Official Pie Provider for the Thanksgiving feast, and since I’ve seen several posts of Thanksgiving advice, I thought I’d share mine.  

If you’re going to Thanksgiving at someone else’s house, pie is a great contribution that won’t require oven/stove space or otherwise throw off the host’s prep schedule–and there are plenty of easy-mode options.

This advice is mainly for those baking for omnivores; however, my extended family includes one vegan and one gluten-free person in the usual Thanksgiving crowd, so I have tips for accommodating those dietary restrictions.  

1. There’s no shame in using purchased pie crust.  For a single-crust pie, like pumpkin or pecan, the frozen ones that come in a foil pan work well.  For a double-crust pie, like apple, the refrigerated kind that you put in your own pan work better.  They’re usually near the biscuits and rolls that come in a tube. 

2. If you decide on a from-scratch pie crust, I use Betty Crocker’s recipe.  Use vegetable shortening (like Crisco), all-purpose white flour (the basic stuff that comes in a 5-pound sack) and ice-cold water.  Pastry chemistry is  delicate, so unless you’re an expert, don’t experiment with substituting different fats or flours.  (The linked recipe is already vegan; for gluten-free I do a crustless option.  I can’t speak to any other dietary restrictions, other than to urge you to seek out a piecrust recipe designed and tested for that need, rather than attempting substitutions on a standard recipe.)  

3. The secret to tender, flaky pastry is to handle it as little as possible.  Once you put the water in, you’re mixing just enough to get it to hold together.  Do your best to get it rolled out and into the pie plate in one try.  If it tears when you pick it up, try to stick it back together in the pie plate rather than rolling it out again.  

4.  Pumpkin pie is one of the easiest pies you can make!  The recipe from the Libby’s can is what everyone likes & expects at Thanksgiving.   (Feel free to use store-brand canned pumpkin–they’re all the same–but get the recipe from the Libby’s website.)  There are two common beginner mistakes with it, but I’m about to tell you how to avoid both of them: 

 First, make sure you buy evaporated milk, not condensed.  (They are right next to each other; if you’re there in the store and you aren’t 100% sure you remember which you need, grab a can of Libby’s pumpkin from the shelf and look.) 

Second, read the baking instructions the whole way through.  (You have to start it at one temperature and then turn it down.)

5. Pecan pie is just about as easy as pumpkin.  Use the recipe from the Karo syrup bottle.  (Store-brand corn syrup is fine, just get the recipe from the Karo website.)  

6.  The classic apple pie is a little more time-consuming, since you have to peel and slice the apples, but it isn’t difficult.  I use the Betty Crocker recipe.   This one is the easiest of the Thanksgiving classics to make vegan–just leave out the butter, and make sure your pie crust doesn’t contain milk.  (They usually don’t, but check just in case.)

7.  Speaking of dietary restrictions, if anyone at your Thanksgiving table eats gluten-free, you can bake some of the pumpkin pie filling separately for them.  (If you’re using a purchased crust, the recipe from the Libby’s can will probably make a little more filling than will fit anyway.)  Just put it in an oven-safe dish and stick it in the oven with the pie.  (My cousin who eats gluten-free doesn’t require cross-contamination precautions, but if you aren’t sure about the person at your Thanksgiving table, ask them!)

8. Finally, here’s another easy fruit pie recipe.  This one uses a simple from-scratch shortcrust, that you mix up and then press into the pan, so it’s a good option if you aren’t confident with pastry but don’t want to buy a pre-made crust.  The recipe is for peach pie, but you can do it with apples or pears for more of a fall flavor if you want.  Just make sure you slice them thinly & check for tenderness at the end of the baking time–being a firmer fruit, they might need a few minutes longer than the recipe says.  

[ao3screenshotss]

why be heartbroken when you can just be hard?

- ao3 commenter

[gay-dorito-dust]

First ofi love your Jason fic's, they are really great and they made me think could you write for Damian as well?

What about Damian x reader (gn or male pls) where they are really great friends but the family thinks they are in a relationship? You know the typical teasing girls usually experience as soon as she talks about a boy "oh is that you boyfriend" the same thing happens too Damian, and now he dreads bringing the reader to his house because his family always had something to say (except Alfred he's cool like that) and it also makes the reader uncomfortable. And one day Damian snaps at them for their weird behavior, telling them that they are the reason why the reader won't visit anymore

I hope this makes sense, if you don't like this, just ignore it.

Have a great day

Damian hated when he brought you over to the Manor and it’s not for the reasons many might expect. It was more so to do with how Dick, Tim and Jason seemed to always have something to say whenever you two were in a room together, only ever doing mundane activities but to Dick, Tim and Jason, it was viewed under an annoyingly unnecessary romantic context.

They firmly believed that in due to you being able to withstand Damian’s presence for as long as you have, that there must be romantic undertones integrated in every interaction between the two of you. The classic trope of friends being in love with each other but not knowing how to cross that line without ruining everything that was pre established from your longstanding friendship; Which was factually incorrect for so many reasons.

You and Damian weren’t anything more than friends and you both were content with that conclusion. However that didn’t stop you from feeling uncomfortable whenever Dick, Tim or Jason said anything about your suspected secret relationship that you’ve been poorly keeping from them. Damian hated that you couldn’t come to the manor without wanting to leave within the first five minutes of being there, he didn’t want to either but knew that you needed him for support whenever it does happen; and it was unfortunately an reoccurring theme within the Wayne manor.

The first time this happened you and Damian were in the library, reading. Your head was innocently resting against his shoulder and all because of the lack of sleep you had from binge watching the midnight release of the latest season for your favourite show. Had you been anyone else Damian would’ve laid you out flat but since it was you, Damian didn’t seem to mind but he then choice to chastise you for your lack to keep to a healthy sleep schedule.

‘You’re helpless.’ He stats and you pouted at him. ‘But Damian it was the last season! I had to binge watch it before people start spoiling it all over social media!’ You defended yourself but it was obvious that your friend wasn’t buying it for a second. ‘Tch. So was our test today but due to your habit of binge watching, and yet you just barely managed to somewhat passable score.’ He replied, not once looking up from his book as you leaned more into him. ‘Rude.’

‘I’m merely stating the-‘

‘Spare some room for Jesus there lovebirds.’ Both you and Damian looked over to see that Jason had entered the library when you were unawares and had a wolfish grin spread across his face. You tensed up at the implication, wordlessly removed your head from Damian’s shoulder and shuffled to the far side of the couch that you were both sitting on. All the while avoiding eye contact either him or Jason.

The latter (Jason) believed that this was done out of the fact that you had gotten caught but to the former (Damian) it was because you had grown uncomfortable with the comment made towards the nature of your assumed relationship to him. So all he could do without making the situation worse for you was to glare daggers into Jason, who only took this as Damian being mad that he interrupted his quality time with you.

The second time this mistake happened was when you and Damian were in the kitchen taking a much needed break from constant studying for the upcoming test at school, replenishing your hunger by wolfing down on some snacks. ‘You’ll choke if you keep that up.’ Damian said between bites of his own snack.

‘No I won’t.’ You rebutted, swallowing down the remains before shoving another bit of food into your mouth hastily and allowing for some crumbs to cling onto you in the strangest places, though mainly your cheek. Damian sighs and reaches across the table to rub the crumbs off with a handkerchief, muttering about how much of a messy eater you are. ‘Can’t even eat properly, never less sleep the required amount needed for proper functionality.’ He mutters under his breath.

‘Will you never left me live that down?’ You asked.

‘No.’ Damian replied without hesitation and you wondered if the question was even worth asking when he answered them in such a confident and sure fire way. Before you could get a chance to speak, Dick’s voice from the doorway butted in. ‘Do my eyes deceive me or is Damian being a gentleman for his lovely partner? Has hell truly frozen over?’ Damian was quick to retract his hand but it was too late, Dick saw everything and much like Jason, took it out of complete context.

‘We should get back to studying now.’ You said uncharacteristically stiff as you pushed yourself out of your chair and walked out of the room without so much of a word, shoulders hunched and head down when you passed by Dick, who watched in slight confusion as to what just happened. Damian on the other hand was starting to reach his limit with his brothers constant teasing, for how could they not see that it was clearly making you uncomfortable even if some of the teasing wasn’t aimed at you directly.

You took it personally on his behalf and he hates that in due to this it made your eagerness to spend time at to the Wayne manor dwindle. You were his first true friend and he didn’t want his brothers to be the reason you decided that you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. Damian wouldn’t admit it but deep down he was scared that he’ll loose you because of it, and that the only way to save your friendship would one day be reliant on your interactions during school hours. Damian knew he wasn’t the easiest to get along but he had to applause your persistence in wanting to befriend him, so much so that he didn’t want you ever thinking that he didn’t bother fighting for your friendship, because he would fight for your friendship with everything he had and then some.

For you’ve become a large part of him that he doesn’t think he could ever imagine living without now that you were so deeply integrated into his very being.

The third and last time you visited the manor was what made Damian snap. All you were doing was have a slow day with the added company of Titus, who was resting his head in your lap as you petted him; The poor dog missed you and it showed with how he whined whenever you dared to stop the pets, it would be made even more difficult not to as he would then paw at you persistently on top of all that.

‘I swear one of these days Titus will follow me home.’ You joked as you reminisced about the times when Titus would try and follow after you as pup and always disregarding Damian in favour for you and your cuddles. ‘He almost did once when you had to go home after our sleepover.’ Even Damian smiled softly at the memory of seeing Titus’ little head pop out of your bag after almost tearing apart the manor for the little mischief maker. He reached over to scratch the dog behind the ear -just how he liked to be scratched- and watched as Titus kicked his back leg in response.

‘He obviously still loves me a lot to be using my lap like this despite being too big to doing it anymore.’ You chuckled, looking down at the big dog with so much love and affection. Damian scoffed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Titus only likes you because you pamper and baby him.’ You gasped, covering Titus ears. ‘Don’t say that! Titus is still a baby in my heart!’ You exclaimed. The fully grown Great Dane then sneezed in his sleep and you acted as though he said something meaningful before looking back towards Damian ‘see, Titus agrees.’

‘Tch. You’re such a pain.’ Was Damian’s response as he looked away from you, only to see Tim stood a few feet away, watching you both much like how Dick and Jason did and Damian knew what was about to come out of his mouth before he even said it.

And apparently so did you as you managed to stand up, waking Titus up in the process, who was trying to get his bearings back as you said sombrely to Damian. ‘I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah.’ Before walking back towards the manor with Titus at your heels.

Before Tim could ask Damian shot him a murderous glare. ‘Batcave. Two days from now. Make yourself useful and bring Todd and Grayson with you.’ Was all he said before storming off towards the manor himself, leaving an taken aback Tim. His limit has officially been reached.

‘Why are we here Damian? Are you going to tell us that you need help with your partner-‘

‘Stop. Just stop with this nonsense you, Drake and Todd seemed to be hung up on because this false narrative you’ve created about myself and y/n is entirely make belief. And we’re suffering from it.’ Damian cuts Dick off but Jason was quick to speak next.

‘Why? Are you lovebirds not together anymore?’

Damian clenched his jaw but couldn’t contain his anger and annoyance towards this entire situation, wanting nothing more than for it to come to an end. ‘WE NEVER WERE TOGETHER TODD!’ Damian exploded. ‘WE WERE ONLY EVER JUST FRIENDS BUT DUE TO YOURS, GRAYSON AND DRAKES’ SHARED STUPIDITY, YOU’RE MAKING THEM UNCOMFORTABLE INTO EVER VISITING ANYMORE!’

‘Why didn’t either of you say anything-‘ Tim tried to talk but was quickly silenced by Damian who still had a lot more to get off of his chest. ‘WE TRIED BUT YOU WE ALL TOO BUSY TEASING US FOR BEING SOMETHING WE NEVER WERE!’ Damian liked to think he wasn’t the type to be quick to anger and how it was such a foolish thing to do. However Dick, Tim and Jason overstepped one too many times for Damian not to speak up about it, making sure it gets into their thick skulls that their weird behaviour almost cost him his friendship with you.

Jason, Dick and Tim felt stupid now and a little ashamed that their teasing could’ve quite possibly drove you away. It wasn’t their intention to do so, but they guessed that they admittedly got slightly ahead of themselves that they didn’t take into consideration of how you felt about all this. Now they felt like right dickheads.

‘I believe they’ve got the message master Damian.’ Alfred said as he looked at Dick, Tim and Jason who looked like a bunch of kicked puppies. ‘How about we invite master Damian’s friend for dinner so that you may tell them you’re sorry for your recent transgressions?’

Dick smiled softly at the butler whom had became another father figure to them. ‘That’s sounds perfect Alfred but only if y/n is comfortable to come.’ He, Jason, Tim and Alfred then all looked towards Damian who had calmed down significantly from his earlier outburst. ‘Tch. I’ll ask but I’m not guaranteeing anything.’ He says to them as he took out his phone to text you, adding a picture of an impatient Titus sitting at the front door waiting for you to come back for added effect, knowing how you couldn’t resist him.

It didn’t take long for you to reply with; ‘fine. I’m willing to bury the hatchet but as long as Titus gets to lay in my lap. That’s my only condition.’

Yep everything was going to be alright.

[chiiroptereh]

[Please zoom in, there's a lot of detail! And a massive file size...ouch]

Hi guys, long time no post! Been working on Art Fight and life stuff, but I've got something kinda fun for you.

This is a compilation exploring how a mortal Bill may interact with our world if there were still some kinda Euclidean instincts buried in there. Y'know, before the Book of Bill ruins all my headcanons >:P (EDIT: IT HAS BEEN READ. YAHOOOOOO)

Also quite an experimental piece as you can probably tell. Lots of details on both said headcanons and the art stuff under the cut, but I invite you to study the colorful texture yourself beforehand and think about what it might be representative of, just for fun because I got some really cool answers from my friends when asked :]c

TL;DR: the headcanon is that Euclideans have exceptional eyes for geometry. They find things like symmetry, tessellating patterns, graphs and fractals very aesthetically pleasing. If pushed into our 3D world, they feel comforted by the familiarity flat objects/spaces bring, as well as high-contrast patterns. Shadows especially are a familiar dimensional reduction that may bring them much comfort.

Bill would surely not be happy about these inclinations, constant reminders of a past long gone, but I'm not sure he's even aware of them here :P I think his ego gets in the way to the point where he just views these interests as common sense, which, of course, us lame humans just don't understand because we aren't nearly as cool as him. Of course he likes perfectly symmetrical leaves and staring at the kitchen floor, it's called taste, look it up!

And yet, he can't seem to shake the strange sense of melancholy he gets from viewing his own shadow.

~ End of TL;DR, long version below! ~

🔺 Headcanon Development

So, the catalyst of this idea was in relation to my friend and I's AU ( @love-triangles-au ). TL;DR, Bill's brought back mortal, meets another triangle named Y.V. (it's his hand holding the paper in the piece, actually), at some point they fall in yaois together, you know how it is. And, in writing a pair of triangles (or, more broadly, writing from the perspective of a different species), something I've had to consider was that you really can't get much further removed from a human being than sentient geometry.

The anatomical aspect was mostly figured out (see my piece on Bill's eye-mouth), but I wanted to consider what psychological differences might be at play. I wanted them to be weirder, more alien, double-so for Bill. At first I explored these possibilities through the lens of Bill and Y.V.'s relationship, specifically the question "what might a triangle find appealing about another triangle?"

Well, really the only things that came to mind were straight lines and symmetry, anything related to the geometric form of such a creature. That's more-or-less where that ended until the thought struck me that there's no reason this aesthetic appreciation couldn't extend to the rest of the environment, and then further when I realized, "wait, this is a species that is designed to live in a 2D environment. Like, they should seriously be really weird. I need to push this like 200% more."

So...yeah! I did some thinking and brainstorming with others and came up with a pretty long list of things a Euclidean in our world may be inclined to enjoy or find some level of comfort in. It's worth noting again that in this piece specifically this is a mortal/powerless Bill, so he can't really escape this Earthly environment. IF he's aware of these instincts at all (and that's a big "if"; when have you last been cognizant of your own instincts let alone known where they were stemming from?) I think he'd have snuffed them out in immortality and/or purposefully gone against them; he doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

In order from left-to-right, top-to-bottom, here's an explanation for each!:

Flat objects such as paper are something he may find particularly engaging. It's basically 2D!

Tessellations are especially fascinating, and our world has them everywhere in the form of tile floors. Symmetry and such a predictable pattern...as the infinity of the starry sky might for us, the infinite potential of tessellations might invoke a similar sense of awe in him. Add on the maximum contrast of black on white kitchen tiles and the forms are only even better defined! A sensitivity to contrast would be very helpful for a 2D being navigating their environment.

Fields are flat and open, much like Euclydia itself. Laying flat may make him feel a little more at home.

More tessellation in the honeycomb of hymenopterans (bees, wasps and friends)! It helps that pain is hilarious.

The city is an absolute treasure trove. Rectangular buildings, precise architecture, square sidewalks and straight lines abound...he may as well be looking at a rainbow or an art gallery! I think a Euclidean's brain is very fine-tuned to mathematics, especially in regards to trigonometry. What may appear to be a straight painting might appear obnoxiously crooked to him.

Zebras are high-contrast :]

Another flat surface, another relaxing space <3

I think graphs are about as high as high art gets to most Euclideans.

I've touched on shadows before, and for good reason; truly they must be something borderline magical to the Euclidean and perhaps bitterly nostalgic.

This one kinda speaks for itself. Dweeb.

🎨 The Artsy Stuff

Lately I've been trying to find ways to fit more color into my work, as color is perhaps one of my favorite things in the world. My wardrobe is rather garish; my dad jokes that you could see me from space. My fursona is obnoxiously bright for a reason -- I feel my soul is a very colorful one!

I also realized recently that I don't actually know the exact style that speaks to me. I could talk about the phenomenon of the "style crisis" that many artists have all day, but in my mind the best cure for this feeling is to go against it entirely and begin stealing as much as possible.

So, I've tried to keep an eye out for more sources of inspiration everywhere I go, physical and digital. I've tried to train my mind into making a habit of considering, "can I do anything with this?" everywhere I go, and it recently paid off!

The glittery rainbowy texture you see plastered all over Billiam is this one, a photo-manipulated set of fruit stickers. I must confess I've been obsessed with this image for the past 72 hours, and this seemed like a good excuse to try it out!

I worried throughout the process if it might be so abstract that it loops back around to being horribly deliberate, if that makes sense -- like each sparkle was not a piece of a whole but rather an object in itself -- but it seems like that hasn't been a problem, so I'm grateful for that :Dc

I hope it can dazzle and delight you as it does me, but as long as you find it fascinating at the very least then I consider it a success! I really enjoyed hearing my friends' interpretations while workshopping it, and got tons of amazing answers from opal to kaleidoscope to fossilized bone marrow! I truly believe that the best art has some room for interpretation and it really excites me to be surrounded by that kind of creative energy that follows said pieces. That definitely adds to my pride in this work. It's weird, it's colorful, it's detailed and yet ambiguous. I'm feeling pretty autistic about it

Alright, I think that's about it. Thanks for listening!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi! im 15 with awfully heavy periods and my parents + doctors (gyno, therapist, etc) think its necessary for me to get a marina (hormone implants in your vagina i think, im too scared to look it up if im being honest.) the problem is that im really opposed to it because i dont want anyone touching me downstairs, and my auntie said it would really hurt.

do you think i should get it, probably be really distressed for a few weeks but be fine with my period for the next handful of years, or keep looking for less invasive options that might be more expensive and less effective?

thanks!

hello there! thank you for your question!

so, first off, I'm just going to say that your body is yours and you get to make the decisions about what happens with it. if you don't want a Mirena implant, that's your decision and you have every right to make that choice, end of.

I do think it's valuable to have a full sense of what exactly you're saying no to, so if it's okay I would like to do a little walkthrough of the information about the IUD that you've been avoiding looking into. I'm gonna do my best to make it unscary, I promise.

Mirena IUDs are placed in the uterus, hence the name; "IUD" stands for intrauterine device.

there it will decrease chances of pregnancy by releasing small amounts of levonorgestrel. this will cause thickening of the mucus in your cervix (the space between your vagina and uterus) to make it harder for sperm to ever reach and egg and thinning of the lining of your uterus to make it harder for any fertilized eggs to attach there and grow into a pregnancy.

menstruation happens when your body rids itself of unused uterine lining, which is why many people find their periods are lighter when they have an IUD - less lining ideally equals less blood, less cramping, and less pain overall.

usually, this decrease in period intensity happens after 3 months of having an IUD in place. some people with IUDs - about 20%, certainly not a majority but not an insignificant number - stop having a period entirely after a year or more.

once an IUD is put in place, it's good for up to eight years, although it can be taken out any time earlier than that if you want it removed sooner.

common side effects experienced by people with IUDs are similar to what many people experience on their periods: headaches, acne, sore breasts, cramping, and emotional irregularities. bleeding for the first few months is also common; many find that their bleeding will be worse before it gets better.

it's also uncommon, but not impossible, for your IUD to slip out of place. there are several risk factors that make this more likely, including youth (under the age of 20), having long and difficult periods, and if you've been pregnant.

in regards to your worry about pain during implantation, it's not unreasonable. very few people that I know of would describe the process as particularly comfortable, and it's very painful for some. while the trade off of brief discomfort for 8 years of instant birth control can certainly be worth it for some, it's ultimately a personal decision and up to you to weigh the pros and cons to decide what's best for you.

if you're interested in seeking out other forms of medical intervention for your periods, there are plenty of other forms of hormonal birth control to look at. a similar method worth comparing would be the hormonal implant that goes in your arm and lasts for three years; it's obviously not as long-lasting but can provide similar benefits without requiring anyone to touch your genitalia.

I hope this helps.

[azsazz]

Come Again?

Ruhn Danaan x Reader

Summary: One-liner request from @writingsbychlo: “do you have any idea how to use that? do you even know what you’re holding?!”

Also for the anons who requested: "Omg please write more for Ruhn, our crescent city men are so underrated in this fandom! I love the crescent city modern world! I would love to see Ruhn using a toy on the reader maybe?? I don’t know if that’s in your comfort zone and if it isn’t I’m sorry but it’s been giving me brain rot 😭 I absolutely love your writing!" and "Ik you said you didn’t have anymore ideas for Ruhn, but…..Rhun with a vibrator that’s all I’m gonna say"

Warnings: Smut, vibrator

Word Count: 1,974

Notes: Fulfilling lots of requests with this one. 😉

_________________________________________

“Do you have any idea how to use that?” You tease, not at all embarrassed at the sight of your mate holding the toy you’d left out from last night.  “Do you even know what you’re holding?!”

Ruhn examines the pink bullet in his hands curiously. It’s almost a mocking manner, how he twists it left and right, like he’s trying dramatically to make sense of the toy to pull a smile from you. It’s not even as long as one of his fingers, he notes, mouth flattening sourly. It means to him that you don’t get off on how large he is, if something this small can make you cum just as well as he can. 

What’s stopping you from leaving him, if you’re satisfied with this? 

“You don’t need me anymore, I see,” he bares his teeth a little, jealous of the vibrator he’s holding in his hand. While it nowhere near compares to the cock that’s lengthening in his pants,  he pictures instead you using the toy on yourself. Ruhn wonders if the things the vibrator does draws the same noises you do for him. 

You roll your eyes in response, stretching your body long across your bed, reveling in the feeling of your mate’s eyes tracing the lines of your body. Ruhn tongues at his piercing in a way he knows drives you mad, but his gaze returns to the toy, narrow-eyed as if it might actually be the thing you’re replacing him with.

“Well,” you drawl, teasing a hand up your front. You want him to use it on you, set it to the fastest speed and press it against your clit while he impales you with his large cock. You shiver, tracing a nipple with a finger as you continue. “If you let me move in, I wouldn’t have to use that on nights I get lonely.”

Ruhn’s nostrils flare, pupils growing wide as you spread your legs for him, teasing him even more. Your pretty eyes flick to the vibrator in his hand and back to his, and you watch his face brighten, the curve of his lips into a mischievous smirk that spells out at least four orgasms as he fully understands what you’re needing from him and your little toy.

He flips the toy on and it reverberates loudly, sending shockwaves up his tattooed arms. He can understand why this would be pleasurable, especially if it has your legs falling open so easily, conditioned by the pink toy’s noises. Ruhn clutches the vibrator in hand, crawling up onto the bed between your legs. He looks like a predator, majestic muscles underneath his tight t-shirt rippling with every movement. 

“If I let you move in with me,” he murmurs against your skin, his words hot and breathy against your thighs as he removes your pants and underwear in one go. Your breath catches in your throat as he drags the pulsing toy across your hip bone and your fingers find his hair, tangling in inky locks to try and pull him closer to your cunt that’s pulsing with need. “I would never get anything done.”

“Yes,” you hiss as he nips at the soft skin of your navel, working higher and higher, dragging your shirt up with him as he goes. “Because smoking with Dec and Flynn takes up so much of your time.”

Ruhn chuckles, pressing his body flat against yours. You don’t know when he shed himself of his own shirt but you don’t care, reveling in the way that his chest vibrates against yours and his contained cock settles against your wet and needy cunt.

The texture of his jeans brushes your core and you arch into the bed with a depraved sort of noise. Gods, he’s mouthing across your neck, sucking harshly as punishment for your snarkiness. Oh, he’ll get you back for that one. The toy in his hand will make sure of that. It’s about to become his new best friend.

“We’re busy boys, Deer. Having you around will only distract them further,” he says against your mouth, stealing a kiss as he gently presses the vibrator to the pulse in your throat. They’re nearly beating the same rate and it makes you shudder and mewl, canting your hips for some of the glorious friction the roughness of his jeans cause. “And I don’t like to share.”

“Ruhn,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into the sheets. You can’t bear it, the feeling of him sucking marks into your neck, branding you with his lips. His piercing drags cold against your pert nipple as he makes his way downward, but he’s going much too slow, sliding the vibrator between your breasts in a hot line. 

Excitement stirs in your gut as you jerk faster against him. He’s trying to pin you to the bed with his hips but it only makes everything dig deliciously into you—

Your mate senses this, pulling away from you, ignoring your frustrated cry.

“Please,” you beg, eyes flying wide. You hadn’t realized that they’d fallen shut in utter bliss, working hard for the orgasm tingling between your legs. Your clit throbs at the sight of your shirtless mate kneeling above you. He looks like a God, staring down at you with dark eyes and a wicked grin.

“Are you talking to me, Deer,” he asks, holding up the buzzing pink toy, “Or this?”

You growl, exasperated. Surging, you press up on your hands, aiming to reach out and grab him by the loopholes of his pants. If he won’t give you what you want you’ll finish yourself, but the way he’s clutching onto your vibrator…is that what you look like when you’re using it as well? 

“Be nice, Ruhn,” you pout when he doesn’t budge. His blue eyes sparkle. Ruhn loves keeping you on edge. But using your toy against you is purely tortuous. 

He tuts, one hand moving to the button of his pants while the one holding your vibrator presses gently to your shoulder, a soft motion telling you he wants you to lie back.

“Okay, Deer. I’ll stop teasing.” You huff, glaring up at him. You’re trying to ignore the incessant buzzing by your ear but it’s calling to you, wanting you to shove Ruhn out of your room and use it because it would never tease you like that. “Do you want me?”

His tone turns utterly soft with his question. Insecure, almost. But your brows pull tightly together as you assess your mate and his unclear question. He could mean anything by that. Do you want me to go down on you? Yes. Do you want me to use the vibrator on you until your bed is soaked through with your pleasure? Yes. Do you want me to stuff you full of my cock until you milk me of my cum? Yes. 

Upon seeing your confusion, he clarifies. “Do you want me to stay?”

A part of you melts. Of course, you want him to stay. You want him to stay forever, tangled up in the sheet with you until the end of time, but it’s not possible. Your cunt still throbs for him, and right now, all you really want is to cum.

“Of course, I want you,” you reach out a gentle hand and he meets you halfway, intertwining your fingers. “I love you so much, Ruhn. More than I have ever loved anything,” you trail off, taking his other hand, the one that’s clutching the vibrator, urging him slowly to your awaiting cunt. Your voice shudders with pleasure as it touches your sensitive clit, and Ruhn swallows thickly. “But what I’d really love is to cum, by you. Now. Please.” You add, an afterthought, writhing on the bed for him.

Ruhn curses low, watching the way your body reacts to the toy in his hands. Your fingers slacken, then fall from his wrist completely, letting him take over. His eyes blaze when you whimper and cry out when he slides the vibrator through your folds. Fuck, you’re soaking wet, thighs glistening, his fingers drenched as he slips the toy into your cunt and his thumb brushes across your clit.

“I can do that,” he answers breathlessly. You moan his name sinfully in response, and it shoves him into action. His cock is achingly hard, trapped in the confines of his pants. It’s a struggle to get out of them, but he refuses to remove a hand from the toy shoved deeply into your snatch, all too caught up in your keening responses to the little thing. 

It’s awkward to try and kick out of his underwear while he still pleases you, but you don’t seem to mind the slight shifting and cursing going on because your eyes are rolled into the back of your head with pleasure, hands tweaking your nipples. “Ruhn,” you pant, “Get on me, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate and you moan lewdly as his hot body presses against yours again, drowning you with desperate kisses. You push against him just as fervently, hands eagerly roaming the plains of his muscles as he moves against you. The thickness of his cock slides against your soaking cunt and the vibrator that has your body shaking, but you want more. You want him.

As if he’s reading your mind, Ruhn removes the vibrator and presses into you in one fell swoop, forcing the air from your lungs as his long length meets your womb. He directs the vibrator up slightly, pounding into you as he holds it to your clit, swallowing down your loud cry. You press your breasts into his chest, and the scrape of your nipples against his pectorals is utterly delicious and your back bows for more.

It’s almost too much, the vibrator pressed to your clit as Ruhn works his cock into you with an eagerness you haven’t seen in a while. Neither of you had ever mentioned the possibility of using toys in bed and now you’re sure you’d be questioning yourself why if you weren’t on the edge of the most bone-shaking orgasm.

“Ruhn,” you cry, clawing at your mate. He grunts in response, jackknifing into you faster. The pulsing from your toy makes you shake, and he can feel the reverberations in his own cock. He’s drowning in pleasure, with how utterly soaking you are for him, the way you’re clinging to him and begging him to fuck you. The way your cunt clenches around his cock, coaxing his orgasm from him and your body drinking it greedily. There’s no way he would’ve lasted with you like this, but he wants to take you over and over again, all night with the way you scream his name, cresting over your own edge.

Your mate sees you through your orgasm, but the buzzing doesn’t let up, even when you begin to squirm and plead for him to stop. He’s buried deep into your core, loving every second of the way you convulse around him. Ruhn keeps his cum pressed in deep, and his teeth are sharp as they scrape against your collarbone, working his way up to your ear. You cling to him, rutting your hips like a goddamn whore, begging.

“Please,” your voice is weak, quivering, his broad shoulders lined with red marks as you cling to him.

“Shh, Deer, it’s alright. Just give me one more, baby. One more and I’ll turn the vibrator off,” he grins smugly down at you. Your hair is strewn about the pillows, forehead beading with sweat. Your eyes are shut tightly, mouth agape in a desperate gasp for air. What you don’t see is the glint in his gaze, the one that tells you he might be turning off the vibrator but it will in no way be your last orgasm of the night.

[farfromsugafanfic]

Stray kids reaction to seeing surgery scars on their s/o

Anon 🐻‍❄️

SKZ Reaction To Seeing Surgery Scars On Their S/O

Genre: fluff, suggestions of smut

Warnings: mentions of surgery, body insecurity, cancer, mention of disease and injuries

A/N: My first anon 🥹 thank you so much and I hope you enjoy it. Also, thank you for 1,000 followers 🥺

Chan:

Chan knew about your appendectomy scar and how it was one of your complexes, but you'd always managed to keep it hidden from him. He tried to express that it was perfectly normal to have surgical scars and that it wouldn't change how he felt about you, but it still took you time to show it to him.

Pulling up your shirt, you winced as the keloid scar became visible. Chan stayed quiet before gently running the softest part of his fingertips over the rough scar.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Sometimes," you said. "But not too much anymore."

He nodded in understanding and reached down to intertwine your fingers.

Minho:

Minho understood why you were scared for him to see your scoliosis surgery scar because he too had a surgery scar that he felt self-conscious of. While he'd sometimes caught a small glimpse of it, you always tried to keep it hidden. Eventually, though, it became impossible to deny the intimacy growing between the two of you.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he said, trying to lighten the mood with some light sarcasm. It seemed to work since you laughed and some of the tension in your body. When you finally threw your shirt aside, his breath hitched at the long vertical scar down your spine. It lined up with the curves of your body linearly, making your body look like two butterfly wings sprouting from the scar.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous."

Changbin:

Changbin knew you had a tumor removed from your kidney as a kid, but it never crossed his mind that you might have a scar. While you sometimes even forget about it, there are times you get reminded. Someone looks a little too hard at your abdomen when wearing a crop top, or someone was bold enough to ask what happened.

You'd long put your childhood brush with cancer behind you, but when Changbin first noticed your scar, your body filled with dread. Would it be the last straw and he would finally find you completely unattractive and dump you?

However, Changbin didn't say a word and just placed his palm over it. He'd continue to do this, sometimes without even thinking about it, just reminding you that he loved every part of you, even the parts you sometimes wanted to hide.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin noticed that you always wore long sleeves. At first, he didn't think much about it, until there was an especially hot day when you refused to take off your long-sleeved shirt. When he questioned it, he saw the panicked look in your eyes and knew something was wrong.

After a bit of soft prodding, you eventually explained that you'd broken your arm as a kid and had had surgery, leaving you with a scar. Hyunjin was silent for a few moments.

"Is that all? You thought I would mind that?"

"Well, I mean, you're so gorgeous."

"I still have scars, babe." He chuckled and reached for your sleeve, gently pulling it up and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the scar. He didn't say anything else, but gently leaned down and kissed the scar.

Jisung:

When Jisung first met you, it was at a large event where you'd had your makeup professionally done. But, the next time he saw you, it was a late night at the convenience store where the scar from a skin graft surgery you'd had after getting a burn on one side of your face. Compared to what it could look like, it was relatively minor, but the scar was visible and you'd only just got used to doing small errands like this without covering it up.

Jisung can't lie and say it didn't catch him off guard, but it only made him more interested in you. He bought you a pudding and chatted with you, deciding not to mention anything unless you did. This surprised you because most people couldn't help but ask for the sob story of the car accident that resulted in major burns to your face.

Eventually, you did tell Jisung what happened though it took time and getting over some insecurities. But, Jisung's openness about his insecurities and your insistence that they didn't matter to him helped you come to realize how enamored he actually was with you.

Felix:

You and Felix were both very open about your insecurities and who you are. However, you could never get yourself to show your biopsy scar. The scar was small, but noticeable. So, you kept it covered. As you and Felix became more intimate, you knew he would eventually see your scar.

Felix was a sweetheart. You knew he wouldn’t care and that such a small flaw would not affect how he felt about you. Yet, still, there was a nagging worry. When Felix does see the scar and notice the way your body tenses when his eyes graze over it, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said, as if he were looking at you trying on a dress and not gazing at your scar. His hand brought yours to his cheek.

Seungmin:

On the outside, it wasn't obvious that you had lupus, but Seungmin had begun to notice that you never drank—not even beer or wine. He didn't mind but found it a bit curious since it was not something he was used to with people around his age. Still, he didn't ask questions. That was until he was staying the night at your apartment and caught a glimpse of the hockey stick shaped scar on the right side of your abdomen from having a kidney transplant.

His eyes widened as he began to put it all together. He didn't flip out but did ask if you were okay. After you explained, he felt better but also felt bad that you felt like you needed to hide such a major part of yourself from him. From then on, he would sometimes find himself absentmindedly running his fingers over the scar when you lie together.

Jeongin:

Jeongin knew you'd had knee surgery a few years ago after tearing your meniscus. But, he'd never seen the scar. Of course, he was never actively looking for it but realized that you never showed your knees at all. When asked about it, he could tell it was a touchy subject, but a few sweet words and reassuring touches calmed you.

Rolling up your pant leg, you showed him the scar. It was larger than most other similar scars because your injury had been extensive. The scar—at least in Jeongin's eyes—wasn't too visible, but he made sure to give you a cute peck on the nose and encourage you to wear what you wanted since surgery scars were nothing to be ashamed of.

[thatboreddrake]

Okay, bare with me on this one, because I am operating on a grand total of like, two lines of dialogue and a dream: a dream of finally getting a solid-ish number on the Elden Ring Timeline!

So, the first line of dialogue, which Ranni delivers during the cutscene for the Age of Stars ending:

Now cometh the age of the stars. A thousand year voyage under the wisdom of the Moon (emphasis added)

Fine, vague, poetic.

The second line, delivered by Miquella during the fight with Promised Consort Radahn if the player is hit by the grab attack:

"I promise you, a thousand-year voyage guided by compassion."

Now, once is vague, but twice just might mean something. Could it be metaphorical for "this is gonna be a long time"? PROBABLY BUT WHO CARES!

This brings me to my first main point: we have an official time-stamp on how often ages and gods cycle in the Lands Between, presumably. This means that this is a semi-regular phenomenon which could be looked for upon its arrival. Or perhaps, this time of transition is marked by visitors:

It is said that when Oracle Envoys appear playing their pipes, they do so to herald the arrival of a new god, or age.

Anyway, this allows me to slap together a somewhat coherent timeline of events for Elden Ring (effing finally):

The age we will start with is the Age of Dragons, led by Placidusax as Elden Lord (Remembrance of the Dragonlord) with Uhl, the Fire Giant, as the vessel of the Fell God and centered on the power of the Crucible (blatant speculation but its headcanon at this point). In the last few hundred years of the Age of the Crucible, the Hornsent begin to focus their efforts on producing a viable Empyrean to ascend to godhood for the next age. Side note, but this would also be when the denizens of the Eternal Cities were working on their project with the Lord of Night.

Anyway, through one way or another, Marika is chosen by the Fingers to serve as the Greater Will's vessel in the Lands Between after her village is butchered by the Potentates. This is also approximately when a proto-Radagon enters the scene through Empyrean mitosis (Marika severed her desire for order after the death of her family as per the Minor Erdtree incantation). For a time, Marika plays along with the Hornsent, if only to establish her base of power.

Her first stop is at the Eternal Cities, where she attempts to convince the Nox to join with her in the upcoming war against the Fire Giants. The Nox reject her upcoming divinity in favor of their Lord of Night, killing proto-Radagon with the Fingerslayer Blade as a symbol of their rejection. The Greater Will does not stand for this insolence, and sends the Malformed Star Astel to devour their sky and cast them beneath the earth.

Marika then allies with the berserker warlord Hoarah Loux and begins her assault on the Fire Giants of the Mountaintops. After all, their flame would be the one thing that could threaten the Erdtree during her reign. She manages to slay Uhl in battle, and shunts proto-Radagon's soul into his body, thus birthing Radagon as a proper Lord. However, at this point, Marika is diverted from her mission by the First War of the Dragons.

Emboldened by the defeat of Placidusax's god, Bayle the Dread leads his brood of drakes in a direct assault on Farum Azula. To counteract this threat, Placidusax sends the Ancient Dragon Florissax to instruct their erstwhile human allies in the practice of Dragon Communion. Among these, the greatest knight and leader of their order was Theodorix, a troll freed from the Fire Giants during Marika's initial assault. It is during this war that Marika and Radagon bear the kindling twins, Messmer and Melina.

Where Messmer fights on the front lines alongside Radagon and Godfrey, Melina instead takes up tutelage under Maliketh, Marika's Black Blade. After the war is over, and Placidusax has had three of his heads removed, he sees that the age of the dragons has come to a close and moves Farum Azula outside of time to await the return of his god.

Keeping their momentum, Marika and her forces carry on to complete their destruction of the Fire Giants, realize that the flame cannot be put out, and leave a nameless giant in charge of tending the forge. At this point, the time of ascension arrives, and Marika ascends to godhood using Radagon as her Lord catalyst. However, afraid of exposing Radagon's true nature to their followers, Marika instead takes Godfrey as the First Elden Lord, ushering in the Age of Plenty (Blessed Dew Talisman).

With her seat of power established, Marika dispatches her champions to complete their conquest of the Lands Between. Godfrey goes south to Limgrave to do battle with the Storm Lord and the inhabitants of the Weeping Peninsula. Radagon also goes south, but stops in the swamps of Liurnia to challenge the kingdom of sorcerers, who have been united under the rule of one calling herself the Full Moon Empyrean. Messmer, meanwhile, travels back to Belurat to exact vengeance against the Hornsent for their treatment of the shamans. It was this last expedition that was closest to Queen Marika's heart, and thus were they accorded the greatest share of golden grace of any of the Erdtree's armies.

In the ensuing 700 years or so, things proceed as normal. Messmer slaughters the Divine Beasts and burns the country to ashes. Godfrey's conquest of Limgrave nears its conclusion and he sets his eyes towards the Caelid Wilds. Radagon has fought two wars in Liurnia, finally forging an alliance with the House of Caria through his marriage to Rennala. Beneath all this, an old god conspires to put its own Empyrean on the throne.

Per Prince of Death canon (it is canon to me!), Melina is selected as an Empyrean vessel by the Deathbird who pushes her towards rebellion by exposing the injustices perpetrated under Marika's rule. Melina's breaking point is when Marika abandons her own children, the twin Omens Mohg and Morgott, for the sake of keeping up appearances (or so it seems). Taking the moniker of the Gloam-Eyed Queen, Melina marches to Leyndell to cast Marika down from her throne and slay the Elden Beast with black fire.

This rebellion is stopped by Maliketh's timely intervention. He bests his former pupil in combat and, under Marika's orders, seals the Destined Death which gives her flame its deadly bite. It is at this time that the Land of Shadow becomes Shadowed, as Marika fears how Messmer may respond when he discovers that his sister has "died" in a rebellion against their mother. However, Marika's heart is not of stone. She sees anew that which had driven her daughter to such desperate measures, and vows to reexamine the fundamental tenets of the Golden Order.

Remembering what happened to the last civilization to deny the Greater Will, however, Marika banishes Godfrey and his Tarnished warriors from the Lands Between. Should another star come to punish the land, she would not have her beloved caught in the blast zone. Thus ends the Age of Plenty; Marika plucks the very concept of true death from the Elden Ring and the blessings of the Erdtree slowly begin to dry up.

Here, the Ancient Dragon Gransseax sees an opportunity to restore the Ancient Dragons to primacy in the Lands Between and assaults the very walls of Leyndell itself. However, he did not account for the tenacity of humankind, nor the power of Godfrey's son, Godwyn. Godwyn leads Marika's order to victory in this Second War of the Dragons, forging an alliance with the Ancient Dragon Fortissax.

Seeking to keep Marika loyal, the Greater Will recalls Radagon to serve as Elden Lord in Leyndell, threatening his family with true death at the hand of the Black Blade should he refuse. Together, Marika and Radagon usher a new thousand years of history, an Age of Order.

Towards the final quarter of this new age (fully guestimating here), Marika sees that she is running out of time to find a solution to the cycling of ages and gods. Conspiring with her step-daughter Ranni, she plots to use a fragment of Destined Death to sever both herself and Radagon from the Greater Will's control, if only to free them both from the curse of immortality. However, plagued by internal conflict and mistrust, Ranni takes this opportunity to free herself from the machinations of Manus Celes, a Two Fingers serving its own god. Marika is distraught as, rather than severing her own fate, she is instead left to deal with the aftermath of the death of her beloved son, Godwyn.

In a final act of desperation, seeking to end the cycle once and for all, Marika takes up her hammer and shatters the Elden Ring, that which represents order itself. Aghast at her actions, Radagon joins her inside the Erdtree, sealing the entrance using an aberrant sorcery to create a barrier of impenetrable thorns. He sought to repair the damage done to the Elden Ring, but erecting the barrier bled him nearly dry. Seeking to protect its last hope of maintaining control, the Elden Beast fuses Marika and Radagon into one and stuffs the shattered fragments of the Elden Ring into the gaping wound in their side. There, the fused, fractured deity would hang for hundreds of years, until the time for ascension came again, and the envoys arrived once more to herald the arrival of a new lord.

[himluv]

Reunion

Just a little (incomplete) exercise in what I think Solas and Riallan's reunion in Veilguard might look like...

If you like this, read their entire story Inevitable on AO3.

“Solas.”

He flinched at her voice, even though he knew she would come. He knew the moment she entered the Crossroads, felt the echo of her footsteps the instant she set foot in the Lighthouse. And still, he could not bring himself to face her.

“Inquisit–”

Trembling arms wrapped around his torso, Riallan’s face pressed between his shoulder blades. A shuddering breath and then, “you’re safe?”

Solas gripped her wrist, not to remove her arm from his chest, but to anchor himself in her familiar warmth. He’d been such a fool, in so, so many respects.

“I am safe,” he promised, and it was the truth. While he might be frustratingly trapped in a prison of his own design, he was safe in this corner of the Beyond. Of course, as real as their shared dreams always were, Riallan was not there physically with him now.

She was safe with this Rook and their companions in the Lighthouse. The lancet of pain at the thought of Riallan in his home, perusing his books, eating at his once lonesome table brought a sting to his eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

She heaved another sob, her ribcage expanding against his back, but she nodded. “Me too.”

They stood like that for a long moment, Riallan crying against him and Solas holding her hand firm to his chest. Slowly, her breaths evened out and that familiar determination steeled her voice. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Solas turned to face her. “Vhenan–”

He had not looked upon her face in so long. Too long. Long enough that the creases at the corners of her eyes startled him. He stood dumbstruck by the evidence of their years apart etched on her face. The creases yes, but also the laugh lines around her mouth had deepened, promising years of smiles and laughter he would never know. But the most stunning change were the threads of silver in her hair, now long and curling, tamed in a thick braid down her back.

His hand shook as he cupped her cheek. “Ria.”

Fresh tears pooled in those emerald eyes and she gave him the softest little smile. “You haven’t changed,” she said.

He brushed a thumb under her eye, tracing her cheekbone to reacquaint his fingers with the feel of her skin. Still soft, but not as smooth as the last time he’d been permitted to touch her this way. He blinked, surprised by the wetness that spilled onto his cheek.

She shushed him, wiping away his tears. But somehow that only made it worse. Even after more than a decade in this world he could not comprehend the passing of time. He’d misjudged the weight of years on mortal bodies and with every reunion he felt the cost of his failures more acutely. First Varric, and now her? His heart?

“I’ve wasted so much time,” he whispered.

Riallan shook her head, though he knew she didn’t disagree with him. “That doesn’t matter now,” she said. “All that matters is that you’re safe and that we find a way to get you out of here.”

Solas’s stomach dropped, his jaw clenched, and it was enough for her to notice. Those emerald eyes bored into him, demanding answers once more. “Ria…”

“You can be released,” she said, as if simply claiming so would make it true. “If you can enter this cage then you can be released from it.”

“Yes,” he said, but there was no hope in his voice.

“Then, what?”

He swallowed against a fresh wave of emotion that swelled up from his chest. “The only way to release me back into the physical world–” he took a deep breath and looked her in the eye “–would be to destroy the Veil. Completely.”

[lady-harrowhark]

hello, can you explain to me in more clarity your “waxen” theory regarding Ianthe? I’m not picking up on what this implies but it’s making my brain itch.

Sort of! Totally fair question, I just don't have a lot of clarity myself in that I don't have a fully formed theory lol. There's definitely some links and parallels in verbiage that are pinging on my radar, so I do think something's funky, but I wouldn't say I'm fully on board with this yet. I'm just playing in the sandbox Tamsyn has provided us, tossing out ideas and thinking out loud. But I can go into some more detail, and add some more thoughts that have occurred to me since I posted that last night.

(Here's a link to the post in question, for context)

Anyway! So let's first lay out all the times we get someone described as some type of wax. At various points in HtN, we get the descriptions "a shoddy wax cast of some more beautiful sculpture," a "wax figure in a pink dolly dress," a "wax figure in pale purple chiffon," and "waxen face" for Ianthe. We also see that descriptor used a few other times for other people throughout the series. In GtN, Harrow's parents' bodies are called "waxy" and the first introduction of Protesilaus (as the beguiling corpse) says he was "waxen looking in the sunlight." In NtN, Kiriona's skin is said to have a "weird, waxy quality," then Naberius's skin is called "waxen" when they first meet up with Ianthe, and again a few pages later it again references the "waxen, handsome face". What I'm getting at here is that every time this sort of description is deployed, it's in reference to a dead body that's been preserved, manipulated, and is essentially masquerading as a living person... except for Ianthe.

We also know there are a multitude of times that she's described as looking like a poor copy of Coronabeth. There's that "shoddy wax cast of some more beautiful sculpture" line, her first introduction calls her a "starved shadow" of her sister ("or the first an illuminated reflection [of Ianthe]," and actually, off the top of my head I don't know that we ever see their descriptions framed that way again... I'd have to investigate this more later, but this might be the only time that Corona is described as a "better" version of Ianthe, rather than Ianthe being a "worse" version of Corona, which is interesting), there's a point where it says "The second twin was as though the first had been taken to pieces and put back together without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but on her it was a beautiful shroud on a mummy," etc etc etc. I know there's more, but I'm too lazy to go pull the rest of the quotes and you get the picture by this point I'm sure. So nearly all of these situate her, at least visually, as a copy or approximation of Coronabeth, and one that doesn't quite live up to original at that.

So now let's pick apart this snippet of conversation we overhear between Silas and Ianthe at Magnus and Abigail's dinner party a bit. Ianthe says she was born via "surgical means," which I'm assuming is referring to a C-section delivery (or whatever the necromantic equivalent is) and notes that Corona is a few minutes older. Silas seems surprised (or perhaps concerned?) that they "risked intervention" and Ianthe says Corona had "removed [her] source of oxygen". At this point Silas says, "A wasted opportunity, I'd think." I had always taken this for him just being a dick and implying he wished she'd died in the womb, but coming back to it with this new angle... well. She says "Corona's birth put my survivability somewhere around definite nil." And I'm wondering if that doesn't tie to Harrow's comment about infant deaths generating "enough thanergy to take out the entire planet." Basically, could Silas have been implying that the Tridentarii's parents wasted an opportunity to use the thanergy from baby Ianthe's death to power up Corona?

Harrow says that twins are an ill omen, but the text hasn't come back to that as of yet. Given the difficulty necromancers experience with pregnancy, I'd imagine twins would could be especially dangerous and that in and of itself could be considered an ill omen. Ianthe's comments certainly suggest that their mother carried the pregnancy, although I don't think we know for certain whether she was a necromancer. I am so intensely curious about the Tridentarii's childhood and their parents; we get so many gestures towards some really twisted family dynamics, but very little in the way of concrete explanations. Particularly relevant here, I'd love to know more about their father wanting a "matched set" and how that came about. Did they intentionally plan for twins from the start? Was it only once they knew they were having twins that that became a factor? What's the significance there?

Outside of those "waxy" descriptors, Ianthe tends to be described as much more sickly looking than even other necromancers. We know that necromancers on the whole tend towards a phenotype of physical weakness, but even still, there's an emphasis on this with Ianthe beyond that. This might be due in part to narrator bias (coughGideoncough) or the direct juxtaposition between her and Coronabeth's vivaciousness, but what really jumps out at me as contributing to this effect is how frequently she's described as being colorless, pale, washed out, bloodless, pallid, anemic, etc etc etc. It very much makes me think of the way the color drains away from Colum (and even the rest of the room and the others in it) when Silas is siphoning. Silas himself is also often described as colorless ("mayonnaise uncle," "milk man") but not so much in a way that implies frailty as much as I read it as implying a stark coldness, in line with the very black-and-white moral authority he presumes to wield, a purported "purity", much different than Ianthe's colorlessness. With Ianthe, you get a sense that her palette ought to have been or perhaps was closer to Corona's, but the color's been drained away; where Corona's hair is described as golden, Ianthe's is "canned butter", for example. Almost like the life's been siphoned out, one might say.

So to kind of circle back around, do I actually think Ianthe is dead or a corpse like the other "wax" figures we've seen? Nah. Between Harrow and Palamedes, and especially Palamedes's medical necromancy, I think we would have heard about it by now if that were the case. But I do think it's entirely plausible that she's had a bit of a brush with death and that perhaps she's never quite fully come back from, and I do think she's being intentionally positioned as somewhat adjacent to death. If their parents were wanting twins from the outset, perhaps they used necromantic means to encourage the conception. Or if the pregnancy was as high-risk as I suspect it was, perhaps she'd died or nearly died at birth and been resuscitated. Their parents may have gone to extremes to keep her alive, to maintain their matched set. Given the themes of this series, I do feel it's necessary to draw a distinction between "resuscitation" and "resurrection" although they are curiously adjacent to one another. For all the text has grappled with dying and staying dead, dying and coming back, dying and choosing whether or not to return... we haven't touched on what something like a "near death experience" would look like. I'd imagine having that sort of experience, even at an incredibly young age, might lead one to be fascinated with, to use Ianthe's own words, "the place between death and life... the place between release and disappearance."

[alicentsgf]

why are people so pressed about how Alicent ends up this season??? Like hotd hasn’t been good since s1 people also criticized everything back then but tbh Alicent from s1 was always headed to where she ends up?? I thought it was common knowledge that her last choice would always going to be duty vs love and s1 stated very well that Rhaenyra is that freedom for Alicent???? I absolutely hated the things they put Alicent through (alicole sex and for what? All of her sons being a dick to her??) her arc this season was badly executed but to blame and think that the writers are catering to rhaenicents? seems a bit stretch when the ship is hated by the majority of the show. We can argue in the journey of how Alicent get to the point she is now but it was clear for the beginning that the head of TG?? She would never be, sometimes I think that thanks to most of the general viewers didn’t understand Alicent as a character the writers thought if we put her in these humiliating scenes the viewers would understand that she is a victim of the patriarchy and the men who surround her, but I guess not even with that the GA and fandom as whole could ever understand her character and honestly im good with it, she’s a walking contradiction and i have read her character like that since the beginning, good riddance tho to the obnoxious people that kept bad talking Olivia for only doing her job (this is not a dig to you but the extended fandom that are attacking Olivia again for her character)

Why are we upset now? Because we dared to hope lmao. And now we're realising theres absolutely no coming back from this (it was already mostly ruined i know).

I think the issue is the choice between duty and love should have been made when she chose her children and grandchildren over viserys wish for rhaenyra to rule. Choosing love didnt have to and shouldnt have meant choosing rhaenyra. Like finally FINALLY she lets herself cast duty aside, because "what is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms", "you never love anything in the world the way you love your first child", "you imbecile (affectionate)", etc etc. That is what works in line with the original story AND the sympathetic sides of alicent we saw with in season 1. Sure motherhood shouldn't define women but this is a story abt a fucking lineage !! What do people expect. Of course its going to be about parents and children.

F&B might have been bare bones, but it at least had a strong political backbone to it thats been completely removed this season. That direction would have offered more oppertunities for alicent to be explored as a multifacted character. The problem is that because they angled this as a story primarily about misogyny rather than a story about the inevitability of the targaryen line imploding, they maybe thought they couldnt do that without making alicent look like an unsympathetic agent of patriarchy. (Most of the audience read her that way anyway so they did a pretty crappy job avoiding it). Rhaenyra represented a certain freedom for alicent in the story, sure, im not against that at all, but for the writers to suggest literally being with Rhaenyra is what alicent needs to do to achieve freedom from duty? To free herself from the shackles or patriarchy?? (🙄) Its so laughable. Alicents little grandson had to have his head sown back on for his funeral and Rhaenyras faction sent the assassin. Her daughter was traumatised. You dont just fucking come back from that. Really we should have known when viserys died how this was gonna go and I think in some ways we did because a big number of us were upset with the misunderstanding then, we just didnt want to believe what this signaled about where they were taking alicent. People are upset now because alicents character has become totally unrectifiable. We just never believed they'd diverge so much from the known plot points of fire and blood.

As for this bit you said:

" I think that thanks to most of the general viewers didn’t understand Alicent as a character the writers thought if we put her in these humiliating scenes the viewers would understand that she is a victim of the patriarchy and the men who surround her, but I guess not even with that the GA and fandom as whole could ever understand her character and honestly im good with it, she’s a walking contradiction and i have read her character like that since the beginning."

I have thought this myself and unfortunately I think you're right. In an effort to make alicent sympathetic they have created the most convoluted character i've ever laid my eyes on. Towards the end of season 1 we were already saying her being so forgiving after driftmark made no sense, but i was compelled enough by her because of olivias performance of that scene with the knife to be willing to wait to see where they took her this season. And its been an exercise in more of the same stupid shit. The issues in season 1 have just been amplified by the realisation that season 2 is just the same thing again and again and again for alicent. Shes just a punching bag and im sure thats in an attempt to get the audience to feel bad for her, because i cant see any other reason for it, but its just so badly written that shes no longer compelling or interesting or likeable really at all. Theres nothing to root for when you dont know who someone is. I have so little to say about her this season and that hurts honestly. Olivias performances deserved much better writing.

[sonicjustbecause]

The Sonic 3 Trailer lacks of both spoiler and context, and that is about how a trailer should be. We already know what it is about. We only needed to see few scenes to make sure it might look good (or bad, it depends on what we except).

Now, I've seen a couple of crazy theories I've read and I believe both of them won't happen. I'll explain

Tom getting killed

Won't happens anything different to Tom that didn't happen before. he will be at worst knock out/neutralized and go off screen. Like in Sonic 1 (punched by Eggman) and Sonic 2 (encircled by flames)

Such happening would be the complete Shadow's assasination as character. We as fan won't forgive him and also this would push Shadow in the villains realm.

The past characterization.

Original Shadow (Adventure/Heroes/06) was very tame. There is a video on YT that analyze how Shadow behaves toward the world and underline the lack of destruction and violence in SA2, as opposite as we see in Sonic X and ShtH05.

in Sonic-X they changed slightly Shadow's personality, removing his intellectual and contemplative nature and replacing it with a more brash and violent personality. But even there, they prevented Shadow from killing Cosmo, making him acting like a cat who plays with his prey instead of being efficient (slow pace, talking, missing aim despite the short distance and when the thing failed just giving up on that). Shadow could have act smartly simply killing Cosmo in her sleep. As I say, I think they wanted to save his reputation.

In Sonic Force he indeed killed Infinite's squad. His first kill, most likely. Small fries, while leaving the boss alive, evil and stupid considering the aftermath. They saved Shadow's reputation by making Infinite lame and obnoxious and by not showing his gang at all (so we don't get attachted and we still cheer for Shadow). Sort of telling without actually showing anything.

Similar cases and why those characters have been tamed out.

Lupin III had a super rough star. His author got inspired by underground Western comics of the '60s and the original Lupin III was not a thief and a cheerful anti-hero. Lupin was originally a real godfather, a mafia boss, and despite he was mostly accompanied by Jigen and Goemon (who weren't really characterized back then) he had all underdogs, picciottos and so on under his rule. He did steal, but also he killed innocents, he raped women (includin Fujiko) and did several other hideous things.

Evil protagonists don't last long. They either get overhauled or they die like Light Yagami.

For this Lupin had to be tamed. Lupin killed less and less and more and more only with a reason and was more and more gentle with the innocents, including his main foe. And lastly he just virtually stopped to kill.

He's not the only one, many protagonists were born as unremedable villain and then they have been turned into antiheroes... or even heroes. Villanous protagonists never last long.

Shadow is beloved mostly because of his original personality. I noticed in most fan work, he is characterized the way he was in Sonic Adventure 2/Heroes/06 or Prime. Sometimes like in Sonic X and Shadow 05. Rarely like modern Shadow.

Back to Shadow

"What did you do?"

"What I had to!"

Those lines may be related to anything and everything. They might be related to Shadow's attempt to destroy the world like in SA2.

"I had to keep my promise!"

"What I had to do" suggest me something Shadow did not because he wanted to but for an external obiective. It might be world safety, keeping a promise, preventing the Sun going red giant, anything. Maybe even destroying Metal Sonic (if he appears like some rumor suggest) after Sonic convinced him to join the good side. Shadow has a long story dealing with living weapons.

Shadow stealing Stone's bike

Simply impossible. I already said Shadow's size is comparable to the size of a five years old child, about 1m tall. Stone is a 1,78m tall adult.

How Shadow would look on Stone's bike. It would be good material for the memes. And even if he would be able to ride an adult designed bike, he would be unable to do the Akira thing.

[v-era-18]

Red Licorice

Chapter 10: Old Tapes and Melted Ice Cream

Scream - Soundtrack - School's Out - By The Last Hard Men -

“Everyone is a suspect until proven innocent. (Y/n), don't let your mind be fogged by a dream that might not be reality.”- Randy Meeks 

10

Today Randy Meeks was officially (Y/n)’s hero. Not only did she get to hang out with him in the Blockbuster listening to him rant about the sucky horror movies he had to recommend to the elderly, but he had also treated her to ice cream. She was currently sitting on the counter watching the boy work at a steady pace moving the cart filled with old movie tapes in every direction to fill up the counters. There was a rush crowd recently much to her dismay. The murders and attacks from the past three days have led people in a frenzy to grasp anything in regards to scary movies or horror possible. She was especially surprised with the many students she had seen this evening tonight as well. 

It wasn't too long ago school was let out early due to the alleged attack of Sidney yet again in the girls bathroom on the second floor. Upon hearing this she did grow in hysterics for her friend, but was glad there were enough eyewitnesses in the courtyard to determine her innocence. After that fight with Gale she had every right to look guilty in every way possible, but many of the students did agree that Weathers went too far with publishing a dead girl's diary and providing it to the press without a warrant. The icing on the cake was Gale being arrested not too long after (Y/n) had assaulted her, apparently Autumn had called the police and said the reporter was causing the students emotional distress and wanted her removed. 

It was funny, she had always thought the girl had hated her to some degree but it turns out she had the wrong idea about Jonah and her. They saw each other as brother and sister; there were no romantic feelings in sight. It took the girl losing Casey for the other to see it. 

So much has happened over the past few days and it was all weighing down on her shoulders heavily. It really did feel good to let off some steam in the light of things. Like eating butterscotch ice cream. The last time she had some was last summer with Stu—.

Oh right. Stu.

The girl was still having a hard time coming to terms with what was said in Casey’s dairy. Even if he was drunk and rambling as he had said, what would provoke him to even think such a thing or especially say it out loud in confidence. And the fact when it was published for the entire town to know his first instinct was to keep it from her instead of just apologizing. (Y/n) can deal with a lot of things concerning her best friends, but this hit the nail on the head. She honestly didn't know how or if it was possible to forgive Stu after this. 

She loved him, wanted him. But she wasn't going to let him come back into her life that easily. That boy was going to have to crawl to get to the finish line of her forgiveness. 

She looked up to see Randy helping another group of girls with their selection, one of them was laughing a bit too loud for whatever the boy said to cause such a sound. (Y/n) frowned, licking the ice cream with her eyes glinting with a foreign emotion. It wasn't but a minute before the boy looked over seeing the way she was staring at them, and man it left chills down his spine. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Randy cut the customer off, “Is there anything else you need, I-its really busy and I and to get back to-,” He looked back over to (Y/n), paying attention to how her tongue took a long lick again of her ice cream before plump lips closed over in smooth motions. He gulped nervously, “Someone.”

The girls followed his line of gaze, seeing the Afro haired girl reading from one of the movie tapes in the pile on the front counter. They just so happened to see the girl with her ice cream as well making their skin crawl with envy. 

The brunette that was flirting with Randy frowned, “Isn’t she busy enough with trying to come to terms with her and Stu Machers new relationship?” 

The boy wiped his head over to the girl in shock. 

“She has Stu Macher already. I heard that their relationship was a long time coming sort of thing and that Tatum and Casey simply got in the way.” 

Her other friend nodded in agreement, “there are speculation that is Casey had confessed sooner that they would’ve been-”

“Is there anything else you need?” Randy’s voice was short and curt this time. 

He of course couldn’t yell or tell them to shut their damn mouths, but boy was he not going to let them have the satisfaction of making fun of his friend. The girl didn’t deserve the backlash and rumors that were being caused by that Dairy, and he was sure if Casey knew about what would happen after her death the girl wouldn’t have trusted her secrets to the words on the page.  

The girls huffed, snatching the tape he recommended out of his hands before quickly leaving to their own devices at the other end of the store.

It was a good thing he recommended a shitty horror flick. What's the point of watching horror if you didn't want it ‘too scary’. The point was to feel the thrill of jumping back in your seat, the adrenalin of not knowing that it was going to be you next, or the person beside you munching on popcorn. 

“What's up with them?” (Y/n) asked smoothly. 

Randy placed the cart beside her with a grimace on his face, “Just some girls who don't have manners.” 

The girl cocked her head to the side, not seeming convinced, “ Just some girls? One seemed really interested in whatever jokes you had to offer her a few minutes ago. I'm sorry but I refuse to believe her hyena laughs were real.”

  The boy snorted at the girl's tone, “Keep that up and I'll start believing that you're jealous (N/n).” 

The girl bit her lips nervously, “What if I am?” 

(Y/n) watched as Randy paused his action with stacking the tapes on the cart. Her heart thumped widely in agitation in response. Shit. She really wasn't thinking when the question presented itself.  Was it being too forward? Maybe being at work wasn't the space to-. 

The girl's thoughts were cut off from a hand being placed along her thigh. Looking up the girl could see the boy's face flushed in red, however his eyes swirled with an emotion she so craved notoriously. 

“Well to answer your question,” The male smoothly took the girl's ice cream from her hand before giving a quick long lick on the left side-eyes never leaving hers, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

(Y/n) quickly closed her thigh together to get the thrum of her area to cease, that look the male had given her sent her hormones into overdrive. 

“Randy do you—” 

The girl's question was cut off with the sound of the store's bell going off at the front. Looking over the two teens' hearts stopped in shock from Stu Macher and Billy Loomis making their way inside the store. Randy scowled slightly, not in the mood to deal with two males whose heads were too big for their own doing. 

“Won’t cha look at that. Devil spawns knockin at my door,” Randy sneered. 

(Y/n) pursed her lips anxiously before taking a sloppy lick of her ice cream. It was a shame, things were going so well so far between her and Randy. Did Stu and Billy just have to pop up now? 

The two watched as the boys made conversations here and there with a few people, probably discussing what went on in the courtyard this morning. Seeing them so carfree sent chills down her spine. How could they possibly laugh and joke around at a time like this? One was exposed for affairs with a victim and the other was accused of being a murderer. Seemed like a time to lay low rather than to draw attention to one’s self. 

“Now that's in poor taste,” Randy huffed in agitation. 

“What's not?” (Y/n) asked. The male pointed off in the two directions, specifically the horror genre. Her eyes narrowed in on Billy who was now being flirted with by two girls, making something within her stir haphazardly. It didn't feel right. 

“If you were a suspect in a senseless bloodbath, would you be standing in the horror section?” 

“Randy we've been over this,” The girl shivered slightly, “I was there with the killer ....the bathroom was down the hall from Sid's room. Directly contradicting the theory of him being the killer, it was a misunderstanding.” 

Meeks looked over at the girl as if she had grown two heads, “Are you serious? He's got killer written all over his forehead! Are you forgetting his paper last year on how ‘Micheal Myers Could've Gotten Away With It?’” 

The girl nodded in remembrance. She was there helping the boy with the paper last spring, apparently he wanted to leave the teacher frustrated and intrigued with his paper and needed help. Billy was known for being bad at English so he relied heavily on (Y/n) for her feedback. She was there reading back to back on the first details of getting rid of body parts to planting evidence on unsuspecting victims. She asked him to tone it down-for obvious reasons. 

“Yes I remember, I was the one who proofread the entire thing.” Randy scoffed in response, making the girl tense slightly, “ Okay D, if he really attacked us that night then why did the police let him go?” 

“Because, obviously they don't watch enough horror movies,” Randy starts to make his way to reshelf some of the tapes making the girl hop off the counter to follow, “This is standard horror movie stuff. PROM NIGHT revisited.” 

(Y/n) thought about the movie for a moment. It was true, the simplest things can lead to a murder, but she couldn't help but ask, “Why would he want to kill his own girlfriend?”  

Randy laughed lightly looking at the girl sincerely. He honestly didn't wanna head down this road with the conversation about her childhood friend- especially after everything that happened this morning. But he couldn't sit there and let her intelligence be thwarted over guys who thought more with their dick than their own brain. “You know there's always the simplest bullshit (N/n). Especially when it comes to murdering your girlfriend. You know that's the beauty of it all, Simplicity. If it's too complicated you lose your target audience.” 

The girl pursed her lips taking it in, “So what would be Billy’s reason.” 

Meeks paused mouth open before closing it, looking away. His stomach was in knots, he didn't want to say what he actually thought at the moment. 

“What? What were you about to say?” 

“Maybe…”

“Maybe?” 

The male sighed, “Maybe Sidney wouldn't have sex with him.” 

(Y/n) turned her nose in distaste. “Randy what the fuck-”

“I'm not shaming Sid, (Y/n)! I'm not! That would be shaming you as well for being virgins, but when you look at the way he's been acting not to mention the rumors about him cheating on her. I mean come on! You know he hasn't been really faithful!” 

The girl leaned against the cart, her eyes glazed over, “No I didn't, I guess I really don't know either of them after all.”

Randy hesitated for a moment before placing his hand on (Y/n)’s cheek wiping the tear away before it could roll down her soft skin. “Listen (N/n), I mean it when I say that the world isn't perfect. And you can't blame yourself when people start acting differently either. “ He sat down an old tape before using his other hand to place it on the other side, he was cradling her face now. “Everyone is a suspect until proven innocent. (Y/n), don't let your mind be fogged by a dream that might not be reality”.She couldn't help her cheeks warming up from the intense gaze the boy was giving her, and for a moment her heart accelerated when she saw a flash of blonde with a huge pink smile. He was warm, warm like Casey. 

“Randy I—” 

“What are you two dorks doing?” 

Randy and (Y/n) gasped and separated from their position at the voice. Stu looked at the two with a clear strained smile upon his face.

The girl's cheeks heated upon seeing Stu stand there leaning against one of the shelves filled with movies. His eyes were scanning her face looking for reactions. But she didn't give him any, he simply did not deserve the satisfaction of a simple glance from her. The memory of Casey’s diary was still burning in her consciousness, and it was so hard to overlook the male in front of her and everything he did during the summer behind her back. 

To her, that strike to the back of his head simply wasn't enough. He needed to hurt like she was hurting at the current moment. 

“Having a moment,” Randy confessed, rolling his eyes, “Something you clearly interrupted.” 

Stu snapped his eyes towards his friend, “Oh really now?”

“Yes, now what do you want? Haven't you done enough today?” 

Macher looked back at (Y/n) taking her in. She was currently pretending to look at the movie tapes on the cart finishing off the icecream cone in hand. It was a sight he rarely got to see anymore with her enjoying sweet treats-and here she was, only the dork beside him was the one who gave it to her in the first place. A bitter swell started at the bottom of his stomach. He should've been treating her out to ice cream—but that bitch Casey had to go and mess everything up. 

Billy’s plan had backfired on him. He was supposed to be asking her to the party now, but how could he get over what he had just seen occur? They were about to fucking kiss from christ sake. His precious kissing someone he thought of being a good friend. Keyword , thought. 

“Came over to ask you guys something about this afternoon, but you guys are now acting like me and Billy shot your dog.” 

“Well maybe it's because our own friend has a murderer written across his forehead lollygagging in the horror section with two girls-while his girlfriend is freaking terrified of him.” Randy snorted. 

A look of disbelief ran across Stus face, “What? It was just a misunderstanding. He didn't do anything.” 

“You're such a little lap dog!” He retorted, “You really want to believe anything that comes out of that killer's mouth?” 

“Oh-kay,” Stu mocked, waving his hands around. 

“You know, I honestly don't think it's Billy. “Stu muttered watching how (Y/n) shifted back and forth on her feet. “You know, I think it's her dad. Why can't they find her pops, man?” 

“Because he's probably dead. His body will come popping out in the last reel somewhere! eyes gouged out, fingers cut off, teeths knocked out! See, the police are always off track with this shit. Come on, man!  Just like I told (N/n), if the police had watched PROM NIGHT they'd save time.” Randy huffed pushing the cart in another direction, “ There's a formula to it- a very simple one. Everybody’s a suspect!”

(Y/n) neared the two boys slowly taking in the crowd watching them overhearing the conversation., It was getting heated a little two fast for her liking. “Would you two keep it down...we're attracting unwanted attention.”

Randy nodded, cheeks a bit red before continuing-a lot softer this time, “I’m telling you, the dads a red herring. It's Billy. There's too many positions —the father, the principal, the town derelict..”

“Which is you.” Stu smiled. 

 Randy rolled his eyes, “The point is, while they're off investigating a dead end, Billy who has been written off as a suspect is busy planning his next hunting expedition.” 

(Y/n) puffed out her cheeks thinking for a moment recalling the actions of the killer that night, the one memory that she couldn't shake was the bathroom incident. Billy had never made any moves on her before-it would add up to her. “It wouldn't make sense from my experience D…..in the bathroom..” 

Meeks noticed the change of tone looking back over to the girl, “What do you mean?” He searched her face for a moment before the gears started to turn. “(Y/n)...is there something about the case you didn't tell the police?” 

The girl bit her lip hard looking anywhere other than the boy's eyes for the moment. She could feel Stus eyes on her, just yesterday she told the boys about lying to the police about what the killer did to her. They're her childhood friends so it was a lot easier. But could she really tell Randy about what happened?

“(Y/n),” Randy whispered gently, “Did you lie-”

“Buzz off,” Stu stepped in between them, glaring at Randy slightly, “She obviously doesn't want to talk about it.” 

(Y/n)’s eyes widened slightly at Stu’s protection, she almost expected the male to throw her underneath the bus from how she was treating him. But here he was, stepping forward and telling Randy to let go of the possibility she lied to the police about what happened in the bathroom with the killer. A part of her was fearful of how Randy would look at her after-hell she was still concerned if Billy and Stu were being truthful with no judgment being tossed her way. Afterall, so many secrets have been brought to light the past few days. How much could she really take?

Randy stiffed slightly, shifting wide eyes back and forth between the two of them letting it sink in. The male felt a bit guilty from how his tone sounded a bit ago, he didn't mean to come off as judgy. He was only looking out for her best interest.  

Meeks held up his hands, giving the best soft look he could muster in the girls direction, “Hey. No judgment here. If you weren't ready to say anything then dont. But I will say that we can't run away from something that can put a possible serial killer behind bars.” 

“How do we know that you're not the killer?”

Randy’s body shook before turning around into Stu seeing Billy laying against one of the carts  he was previously working on. Of course Billy was listening in on the conversation closely from afar and only decided now to jump in. Meeks had taken it too far by questioning his girl about that night. What right did he have to know? Afterall, Stu wouldn't want a trip down memory lane with the mistake he had made with her. 

“Oh…, hi Billy.” Randy shifted uncomfortably. Even if the awkward boy showed to be uncomfortable, the two other males could tell he was still pissed at them from this morning. 

“Maybe your movie freaked mind lost its reality button?” Billy suggested coily, “Huh? Huh, ever think of that?”

Randy laughed, shaking it off, “You're absolutely right. I'm the first to admit it! if this were a scary movie, I would be the prime suspect.”

Stu cocked his head to the side, curious, “What would be your motive?” 

Randy looked behind Stu to (Y/n) again who was gently directing two girls to the other side of the store towards the rom-com or history section he couldn't tell. Maybe he would have nailed it on the head if he wasn't so distracted . Her jeans lowered on her waist a bit more, showing a bit of the black lace peeking out subtly. She finished the last of the sweet treat of a cone, giving a wave goodbye to the girls as they headed off in the direction. A slow smile etched its way onto his face. 

“Its nineteen ninety five-motives are incidental,but,” He licked his lips as the girl pulled up her jeans-the lace disappearing underneath, “I promise my goal wouldn't have been to kill Sid, or Casey , or Steve-” He looked back at Stu and Billy whose eyes seemed to darken from the moment his eyes shifted over, “It would be to take revenge on whoever did her wrong.”

Stu suddenly became red in the face, forgetting where he was he was quick to step forward-.

“I'm Back! Is there something you guys really need?” (Y/n) chirped from behind.

Randy watched Stu’s expression carefully. The taller male taking a deep breath-rolling his shoulders back-exhaling then putting on his playboy award winning smile. To the average eye they wouldn't have noticed the pissed off expression a second ago, But Meeks saw it. And boy did he want to fucking run. 

What the honest fuck was that?

Stu turned around to the girl, taking a movie tape from one of the shelves and messing with the spin to distract himself from the previous threat Randy had given him. “Well (N/n) in honor of school being let out early due to the killer on school grounds-” 

“In honor-?”

“I'm throwing a good ole get together at my place this afternoon.” His eye twitched as her eyes shifted over to Randy instead of completely focusing on him. He would have to fix that later. Patience, Patience was the key right now. “I need two horror fanatics great at movies to set the mood….and you and Randy are perfect for the job.” 

“What?” Randy squeaked.

Billy chuckled behind the boy amused with his fear, “What's the matter? Can't handle the thought of being around so many girls at once.” The male shifted his attention back over to (Y/n) hoping to get a rise out of her about Randy. She couldn't possibly think that Meeks was just the perfect one of the group. It was taking everything out of him to not simply throw it in her face that he liked Sidney first and simply moved on once Billy started dating her. He knew she couldn't handle it, that's why he refrained from saying anything about it, but the way her eyes shifted to in a familiar way he was too quick to catch-every bit of patience and sympathy started leaving him. 

She was fucking jealous of the though of females around fucking Randy Meeks. When did they fucking miss this obstacle so clearly?

“He won't have to worry about that.” (Y/n) chirped lightly, she smiled at Randy placing her hands on her hips, “So what time are you picking me up?”

Randy blink, once twice, then cocked his head to the side, “What?” 

She giggled, likening his nervous reaction, “What time are you picking me up? I need time to get ready, just give me an easement so I can get everything ready.”   

Randy went to answer only for his left arm to be gripped tightly out of view. It honestly fucking hurt and would be likely to bruise from the overwhelming pressure and force. He knew why Billy was doing this, he wanted him to reject her. To let one of them drive her to Macher place instead. But unfortunately for Billy, Randy was sick and tired of their mind games and them getting whatever they wanted.

“Be ready by seven. I'll close up shop here and pick you up shortly after,” He smiled through the grip tightening, “Do I have to greet Miss Gia?”

“No, she'll be at work by then!” The boys watched as the girl gathered her backpack by the front counter before heading to the exit of the shop, “I'll see you at seven, don't be late! And don't forget the horror movie we discussed earlier!”

“Of course! I won't!” 

With that the girl left out of the Blockbuster quickly and headed home. 

Once he was sure the girl was fully down the block, Randy yanked his arm out of Billy’s hold. 

“What the actual fuck is your problem?” Randy hissed, “Both of you?” 

Billy simply rolled his eyes, cracking his neck, “I don't know what you're talking about?”

Randy rolled up his arm displaying the red mark that was most definitely doing to bruise his pale skin. He couldn't believe Loomis had that much strength within him to have a grip that tight on his arm. And what mental capacity gave that psychopath the green light to even place hands on him in a public place no less. 

“You were trying to stop me from taking (Y/n) to the party,” Randy accused, “If you wanted her so badly you would've just just asked her out instead of going out with Sid-.” 

The boy cut off once more being yanked forward by his sweatshirt and held still under a venomous glare. Billy smiled at him ruefully taking in the fearful expression as if he could eat it alive through everything he did. It was moments like this that he really revel in the power being feared could give. 

Stu leaned on Randy's shoulder taking in the sight of his boyfriends dominance taking effect, hopefully this time Randy would finally get the message. 

“Dont get so fucking cocky with me!” Billy spat, “We’re letting you have this one thing with her-but if you push it we won't be apologizing for what happens next.”

“Huh?” Randy shuddered, “I don't understand. You have Sid? What does it matter to me or (Y/n)?” 

Stu scoffed, losing the goofy persona for a second, “It dosen’t fucking matter. It's more important that you listen carefully instead. You're picking her up from her house and bringing her to mine. No debtors, no longing glances, and most definitely no touching like whatever the fuck you were two were doing earlier.” 

“We see or hear that any of that-things will get ugly. Do we make ourselves clear?” Billy snarled. The other male was slow to respond making Loomis shake him in place once more, “I said, ‘do we make ourselves clear?’”

“Yeah, Yeah, got it.” Randy uttered solemnly.

Billy smiled, smacking the boy on the face two times, pleased. “Good Kid.”

[rosary-pearls]

Wyll NSFW Thoughts/Headcanons Part 2

These are a little more specific than the previous ones so hopefully you all enjoy these as well

These are mostly top/dom focused & gender neutral (18+ Obvi)

•Wyll is a dancer and a fighter so he has excellent control over his body. The roll of his hips are precise & intentional; always seeking to draw out the most pleasure for both of you. Only gets sloppy when he's about to come or has been overstimulated •Wyll's default is to be gentle & doting with you, but he'll handle you however you like to be handled. You wish to be treated gently? His touch will feel akin to a rose petal. You wish for something rougher? He’ll pin you down, spank, and maybe even choke you as much as you'd like. He just wants you to feel good & enjoy your time together 

•Concerning rough sex, he has limits for what he's willing to do. He wouldn't be comfortable slapping you in the face, making you bleed, using tools for impact play, or anything overly humiliating. There is also a limit to how much strength he's willing to use if you want to be handled roughly - some bruises and hickies are fine, enticing even. But your body looking freshly beaten? A huge turnoff for him

•I can't imagine Wyll enjoying being on the receiving end of rough sex, I think he wants to feel loved. Be nice to him!!

•Definitely into wax/candle play. He loves seeing you tense as you anxiously wait for the hot wax to hit your skin. He’s particular about the wax color, he’ll choose something that compliments your skin tone so you look like a piece of art. He’d blindfold you for the full experience, and when he's ready to move on he'd remove the blindfold and drip one last time, telling you to watch how beautifully the wax melts and runs along the contours of your body. Yum 

•I know this is said all the time but PLEASE grab him by horns. Especially when he's going down on you - he loves it when you show him exactly what you want. When you're kissing, or being playful give them a peck, trace the grooves with your fingers. Remind Wyll they're just as loved as the rest of him, poor guy

•Praise this man - tell him he's making you feel good, tell him he's beautiful & sexy (he still gets self-conscious about his newfound fiend body), tell him you love and need him. During and not during sex

•Wyll can be a tease - because of his heroic & kindhearted nature I think ppl forget Wyll is a lil shit & instigator at times (complimentary)

•He’s never mean-spirited when he teases you, but he’ll get the faintest quirk of the lip, the slightest self-satisfied glaze in his eyes that tells you how amused he is. He never allows his teasing or denial to get to the point where it's humiliating for you - his purpose in doing these things is to make the reward all the sweeter, not an act of subjugation

•WYLL READS SMUT!!!!! And man does this play out in some fun ways. He talks about it in past tense sure, but once he gets to live the soft life again I bet he'd pick it back up. Especially since you, who is reading this, most likely read smut too

•100% down to read them together. He's good at reading aloud, his voice is smooth & he doesn't tend to make mistakes or fumble lines. It becomes a pleasant pastime in the evening, with you resting your head on his lap as he reads for the two of you

•If you read a particularly spicy scene he'd suggest you try & reenact it. aka this man is into roleplay (bard tavs rejoice)

•Yes he loves his rose petals on the bed and sensual baths, but he also enjoys being silly and goofy in bed. He attempts to do a voice for the part he’s playing & it sounds utterly ridiculous & you both break out into laughter and giggling while you're trying to kiss. He's got such a beautiful grin how could you not melt? The silliness just brings you closer & makes the sex all the more special 

•Cockwarming? Cockwarming. Loves just staying inside you to feel close while holding you from behind. Might ask you to read from one of your dirty books out loud while he fondles you, letting you feel his cock gradually harden and lengthen in you. Also likes doing it after he’s come inside you 

•More naughty reading stuff because I love this concept for him. He'd have you read your book aloud while he gently fucks you & wouldn’t let you come until you finish x amount of pages. If you stop, he stops - might even pull out. If you're incoherent, he goes excruciatingly slow until you can enunciate properly

Let me know what you think! Or if any of them should be a fic of their own

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Hi, i remeber you said that you liked the idea of doing genderbent concepts, but wasn't sure about them. Well, i think the best way to make up your mind is by doing one and see how you feel about it. What do you say? Willing to do a concept for male Juno from Beastars? The genderbent name could be Juro. Also, you said tagging could be a problem, but maybe if you add the tags #Genderbent, #Notfemale or #Maleversion, it might work.

Actually, I have now thought of a tagging convention and I also thought of ideas for the character soooo you win, enjoy!

J.uro pretends to sweep the floor, watching as the other drama club members leave one after another. His gaze lingers as he watches L.egoshi walk out, unable to look away from the fellow wolf. J.uro lets out a wistful sigh. Being gray wolves, he knows the two of them are destined to be together. He just has to get L.egoshi to see that. The only issue is…the distraction.

J.uro looks over to see L.ouis getting on stage. As expected, the deer is going to be practicing his part even while the others leave. L.egoshi spends so much time with L.ouis, he doesn’t even notice J.uro standing right there, waiting for him! A low growl emanates from the wolf’s stomach. Distractions deserve to be removed.

Once the last of the club members have left the room, J.uro sets the broom against the wall and makes his way to the stage. L.ouis is reciting some lines but J.uro isn’t listening. He slinks around the edge of the stage, keeping to the curtains to stay out of sight. He waits until L.ouis turns to face him…and pounces.

L.ouis grunts as he’s suddenly knocked to the floor and pinned. J.uro is on top of him, stranding his hips while his arms pin his wrists down. The deer squirms slightly, but he can’t get away. He does his best to keep his fear from showing. “J-J.uro? Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

J.uro leans in closer, his nose inches from L.ouis’s. “I’m just taking what’s mine,” he says calmly, staring down the deer. “L.egoshi and I are meant to be, and I’m not going to let you get in my way. He belongs to me. And you’re confusing him too much.”

L.ouis swallows nervously, trying to pull him from J.uro again. “What…What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?! Get off of me now or else—“ L.ouis’s cut off by a thick wolf tongue slurping over his face. He sputters and shakes his head around, trying and failing to get away from the assaulting muscle.

J.uro slurps over his lips, his stomach letting out a low gurgle. “You forget, L.ouis. I’m a wolf…you’re a deer. I’m doing what’s natural. It’s L.egoshi that’s acting strange. But once you’re gone…I know he’ll come to his senses.” J.uro leans in again, opening his drooling maw wide. “So just let it happen. You can’t resist anyway.”

L.ouis’s eyes widen, his brave face finally crumbling as he stares into the dark, drooling gullet of the wolf. His scream is muffled by his muzzle slotting perfectly into J.uro’s mouth, the wolf’s jaws closing between his antlers and under his jaw. J.uro holds onto L.ouis’s wrists with one hand, using the other to crack off the deer’s antlers one after the other. Once he’s tossed those aside, he gulps hard and sucks the rest of L.ouis’s head into his gullet.

A muffled scream escapes the bulge in J.uro’s gullet. L.ouis begins to struggle and thrash around on the floor, legs kicking and scraping against the ground while his arms jerk around. J.uro changes his grip, pinning the deer’s arms to his sides while holding his wrists. He gulps thickly, surging down past the deer’s shoulders and to his chest. The wolf’s tail is wagging behind him. This meat is delicious…

Another thick gulp rings out in the empty auditorium. J.uro is starting to sit up more, his jaws tensing around L.ouis’s stomach. It feels so delicate against his teeth and when he gives a slight chew, it makes L.ouis kick around even harder. It’s an exhilarating sensation. This is what wolves are meant to do. This is what prey are for.

J.uro gets to his feet now, holding onto L.ouis’s knees as he works with the unfamiliar weight. He’s slurping over the deer’s waist now, starting to work the man’s ass into his maw. By now, the wolf’s stomach is finally starting to fill, L.ouis’s head starting it out with a muffled shriek.

J.uro’s hands slide down L.ouis’s legs to grip his ankles. He tilts his head up, fighting against L.ouis’s kicking with little issue. He starts to slurp and push slowly, sending the deer’s legs down. Every inch he takes pushes another inch into his stomach. It’s a slow and steady fill, and J.uro is grinning wide around his catch. It feels amazing…

J.uro’s shirt begins to give out, though. It stretches and shifts, untucks itself from his pants, and the buttons begin to pop off as his furry belly swells out with the bulges of deer meat. Once J.uro’s up to L.ouis’s knees, his belly really starts to stretch and bulge. It makes him stumble across the stage slightly before getting his balance. The deer’s arms are finally crammed into his stomach and they’re shoving around in a panic.

L.ouis is experiencing the deepest panic he’s had in quite a while as he’s being shoveled into the tight and slick stomach. The smell is repulsive to his prey senses, but notably lacks the rotten smell of meat or blood he instinctively expected. He’s the first prey of this predator. His first hunt. First kill. The space gets tighter and tougher as he’s being crammed inside, his legs slowly disappearing down the hatch as he’s being sent into the deadly pit made just for animals like him.

At the end, J.uro hesitates slightly. Not because he’s suddenly having a change of heart, but because he’s trying to decide if he should leave anymore evidence behind or not. But he decides to peel off the deer’s shoes before snapping his jaws shut over L.ouis’s feet. Keeping his head tipped up, he gulps wetly and feels the last of his prey sink down his gullet. A deep, sated sigh escapes him after and he drops L.ouis’s shoes, letting them clap against the ground as they land by the broken antlers. “De…licious…” J.uro pants.

There’s a beat of silence as the last of L.ouis squeezes down into J.uro’s stomach. The organ lets out a warbling groan, bulging forward obscenely and hanging down to the wolf’s knees. Then the muffled screaming continues and L.ouis goes back to struggling in his full force. Kicking and shoving and writhing around, making J.uro’s gut bounce and slosh wildly in every direction. It makes a guttural “BWWWEEEEEELLLLLLLLLCCCH!!!!” puff out of the wolf’s maw, followed soon after by a lewd mix of a pleased moan and a whine of discomfort.

It takes J.uro a moment to get his balance again after L.ouis nearly knocked him over. His tail is wagging like crazy as he presses his hands into his stomach, mashing down on some of those bulges and forcing L.ouis tighter into place. He feels so powerful.

“Consider this your last performance,” J.uro says to his stomach. “Once you’re gone…L.egoshi will be so sad. And I can swoop him up in my arms to comfort him. A wolf should be with a wolf…” He presses down on his gut hard, making L.ouis scream inside. “…and a deer should be in a wolf.”

J.uro sits down on the stage, letting his gut sit in his lap as he slowly rubs the bulges. No one will bother them. He’ll leave the antlers and shoes somewhere else—somewhere they’ll be spotted—and slip back to his room once it’s late. By then, the deer should be on his way to living out his true purpose in life: fueling a carnivore.

And then…L.egoshi will be all his. No more distractions.