#and decades worth of sex to understand one another

[violentviolette]

some of u are telling on urselves in the reblogs of that somno poll and i have to keep reminding myself that as part of the minority species of tumblr users who actually fuck irl i need to leave the forever alone virgins to their hand wringing in peace

[jin0]

TENNIS SUCKS AND SO DO YOU [Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson]

Summary : You were better off without them, you said for a decade despite seeing them every fucking where, all the fucking time. You were better than them, you said as you did the same shit they did and enjoyed it all the same.

Pairing : Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x Tashi Duncan x Reader, Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig x Art Donaldson

Warning : +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !, angst, canon injury, canon conniving, cheating, manipulation, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, tennis mentioned, rude language, cussing, foursome kinda, slight ball worship, pussy worship, vaginal sex (p in v), sadness, rehab mentioned, homelessness, gaslighting, genuinely everyone sucks here, no one is mentally stable and should be trusted.

A/N : enjoy

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As it had turned out, it had been way easier for you to admit the sick pleasure you got out of witnessing the downfall of the people you had loved for so long. Being easy to admit did not make it any less painful if you were being honest. Loving them the way you did, the way only you could since your college days made the situation just as sad as it had been cathartic.

You witnessed from the sidelines how Patrick, Tashi and Art’s old ways returned even after eleven years to tear them apart the way it had initially years prior. You still remembered how you used to be, it wasn’t hard they hadn’t changed a bit. Not even the way they looked at each other.

Outsiders would speculate on the nature of the relationship which had sparked fire in the media, two old best friends meeting again at a random challenger while one’s ‘wife’ cheered louder than she had ever been seen cheering. Some would assume the worst out of Tashi while some would pity her for being the stand in to Art’s internalized homophobia. Maybe other’s would hit the nail right on the head and guess that the three might share deep feelings for each other but the would never go further in the guesses, ironically respectful of the privacy of the three people the would spend weeks speculating on, expecting some form of answer at some point.

In the midst if all of this, you would remain. Alone but never lonely, alone and changed for the better while they simmered in their own toxicity, pulling at each other’s strings to bring the worst out of each other in hopes to come out on top, come out the best at the game of honesty they played in a pathetic attempt at convincing the others that they were the ones to say the truth the two others refused to admit to, while simultaneously keeping a lifetime’s worth of secrets.

You would remain, forever in love with them, enough to leave without a goodbye or a look back while they grew like trees in soiled dirt, intertwined but resentful of one another.

You hadn’t been able to watch the end of the match, content with watching Patrick and Art hug for the first time in about a decade. It was funny to you, really. How they had managed to part for so long when Patrick had loved Art first, loved him the way you had loved Tashi first. You all ended up falling in love, you with Art next. Patrick was a little more difficult to like. He was a cunt. And truth be told, so were you. But in their psyche, you lived as kindness personified, because at the root, you were what they aspired to reach when claiming a false sense of honesty.

You were the good ripped out of them by a forceful departure they could not have done a thing about.

You were kind and overly intelligent, academically and emotionally, doubled with a talent that made you all the more terrifying. To understand you was a struggle because all you said could be taken as exactly what it was. In the world of pompous etiquette and manners, you lived above and below it all. Born in a lower class family, you never feared to admit that your goal had always been to climb you way up until you reached what you wanted to reach. It was unclear to you and to them for a while so coaxing it out of you was useless, you didn’t know much about what you wanted, or at least, verbalizing it would be difficult. You aimed to climb, all on your own, through your own power and possibilities. Fucking Tashi Duncan was just for fun.

She wasn’t meant to be a tool in your machine, and frankly, she would’ve been a useless one too, you weren’t a tennis player. Maybe that was what had made your deep friendship so difficult to understand. People speculated that you used her for her money and status, which would make sense if your natural predator wasn’t a tennis racket and a ball. You just couldn’t play tennis for shit. And at first she would call you an idiot for trying when you clearly sucked. A friendship had blossomed when you had responded by successfully hitting a ball right past her head. You sucked at tennis but you had great aim it seemed.

You had reached Stanford on a scholarship, and artistic scholarship funded by a bunch of wealthy families, counting the Zweig and Donaldson families. You danced ballet initially but the possibilities had evolved so you did more than ballet or than dancing. It didn’t really matter honestly why you were at Stanford, the point is that you were there with them and sometimes only for them.

Again, it had started with Tashi, simple stuff really, hugs here and there turning into hugs everywhere. And hand holding which had also turned into waist holding. And the sleepovers were you started from standing at opposite sides of the room to sitting on each other and sleeping with each other in the same bed. Everything just kept escalating. Came a time were it was normal for you both to be showering together or to kiss each other’s cheeks in public. You were best friends with a little bit more on the side.

The speculation were inevitable really, but then came Patrick and Art. Things had been complicated to explain or understand but it did make sense to you four at least.

The night she had been invited to their hotel room, they hadn’t expected her to bring a friend. You didn’t really understand what she had wanted to prove, if she had wanted to prove anything at all but you knew that you didn’t really mind. A public would never bother you.

You had always been pretty obedient to her words, even more when she had her fingers inside you. When she had called you to sit on her lap while they sat on the floor, you had obeyed, climbing on top of her and zipping down your compressor shirt. You could feel their eyes on you, burning through your skin in hopes to see your breast the way Tashi could. When you two had started to make out, you wanted to laugh, hearing Art’s little gasp loud and clear. He was way easier to get worked up than Patrick. But Patrick was a slut so it made sense.

You had stopped her, pulling away with your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you attempted to regain your composure before pointing at them.

“Shouldn’t they be participating ?” You had said, amusing Tashi who patted the space next to her for you to sit. Again, you obeyed but kept a hand between her thighs while she kissed your forehead. Art and Patrick had stared at each other before Patrick rushed to sit next to you and Art next to her.

The rest was history. A long, tedious and sometimes painful history which at started really, the moment Art asked you out. You expected him to go to Tashi, and he had before asking the two of you. It was easy to love Art, the same as you loved your girl. Patrick though, it had been lust for a long time, a very long time before you accepted that he loved you and that you loved him too. You two couldn’t stop taking shots at one another you at his pathetic love for Art and him at you for being poor. Those were easy and no amount of venom in your voices could ever male you say words you didn’t mean. He was bitter at you for having Art and you at him for having Tashi, you were the same really but you would always say you had bigger balls that him because at least you unequivocally had both in all senses while he struggled to even have one.

You remembered how in a drunken admission he confessed hating you for being the romantic failure to his success, something he couldn’t bear knowing that he wanted to fuck you with all the love and adoration you ignited in his soul. He was glad to have his wish granted, waking up the next morning with you on top of him, sleeping soundly, more silent than you had ever been in your life with him around.

Then began the greatest love story never told, fueled by unyielding passion and love that transcended. Maybe the end could’ve been predicted. You loved too much with too much honesty for three people who convinced themselves that tennis was their only true love. You were okay with that, you knew it was a cover-up, a protection from the unpredictability of human feelings and relationships. You didn’t feel like covering up anything, not when you simply loved.

To you it made sense, to them it was a little more difficult, and the difficulty kept increasing slowly as everything rapidly turned to shit. One day it was all four of you, the next, Art didn’t love you anymore, not enough to share Tashi but enough to still crave your very existence like air. He was done sharing with Patrick too, something about having to admit to himself that he did love the man more than a best friend didn’t work in his mind.

They had all began getting into each other’s minds planting seeds of jealousy and doubt in a vicious cycle where they all made each other worst than worst itself. Then Tashi got hurt, and Patrick wasn’t there but Art was so she blamed the brunette while the blond rejoiced as he finally reached the sense of normalcy he had craved through monogamy. And where were you in all of this ? Left behind. You didn’t play tennis but you loved them so you thought it would be enough, it wasn’t. You couldn’t understand, they said. Tashi would never play like she used to or as she was destined to ever. And since Art was there, he would be the talent that prevailed and lived. Patrick, he couldn’t care less about you when he was loosing the two people who really mattered to him.

You had been disposed of in a matter of weeks, a useless, bothersome artefact found in the dirt and throw back in the dirt when you had stopped being fun. You would’ve never understood what it felt like to lose the very thing that one thought of when thinking of Love, yet you could’ve tried, you would’ve tried for them, for her.

Patrick was the first who should’ve gone, almost forcefully thrown out of the apartment you had all started sharing, ironically owned by his family. He lost the home of his heart and chose to give away his house too. But Patrick being Patrick, he refused to leave, stubborn and smug, he opted to stay and keep trying. He knew tennis and Tashi’s love for tennis. He had felt that love for a certain blond boy he had lost too.

With his stay, he formed a side, his own, while Tashi and Art formed another. They fought, regularly, everyday almost, about the same things and a multitude of little other things that they had never voiced prior to the incident. Because they were too ‘kind’ to speak up, but mean enough to use it as ammunition in petty arguments.

They fought about almost anything frankly and you, you disappeared, left off in the background, dissipating like sand, washed away by the sea and forgotten. You didn’t need to get involved they said. Yet you did, because you loved all three and maybe it was selfish but you still held onto the hope that they loved you too, enough to support you in your own moments.

But that was before the Patrick you had learned to love forced you with the brutal reality of things.

You fell. During a rehearsal, you fell, badly enough to hurt you foot and possibly for a little while. It wasn’t broken nor was it permanently damaged, you would heal quickly, you just had to be taken to the hospital to be given the necessary information on how to recover. You would also need to be taken home, you physically couldn’t walk. You called and called and called, calling about a hundred times with no answer from any of them. You ended up staying at the hospital for two days before deciding that you didn’t want to stay more so you left, on foot, which you shouldn’t have done. You had crutches, you thought, so this would be fine. It was at the end, your foot was fine, your soul though, not so much.

After two days in the hospital, you had returned home to another fight between the three. You were tired so you stayed silent until they took notice of you, standing there in silence. Weirdly enough, that seemed to aggravate them further, leading to sighs of anger and looks of disgust, as if you were the cause of all of this, all their issues and frankly all the issues in the world. Unused the first and last fight you were apart of.

It was about you not being there, you always running when things got hard for Tashi, running away because you couldn’t be the center of attention anymore when Tashi would be the priority. You didn’t really process much if what was thrown your way, too busy trying to defend yourself in vain. It didn’t matter really, whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter not when for the first time in weeks both Fire and Ice agreed on something while Tashi looked at you with the kind of hatred you’d never seen in her eyes before. All three finally agreed on something and it seemed it was on how much they couldn’t stand you.

“It’s fucking pathetic how low you’d go to feel like you matter to us. Let me make this abundantly clear, your presence here is only because of Tashi. The interest we have in you is only because of Tashi. Any amount of interest we have in you is because of Tashi. You don’t even matter to yourself outside of her.” How said Patrick bitterly. He looked disgusted by the very sight of you and his words translated about just as much venom as his gaze.

He walked up to you, still standing at the same spot you had been in since you had entered the room to walk in on them fighting once again. You hadn’t moved and now you were paralyzed by humiliation, as if even breathing would be a stain on their glory. You were going through it again in a matter of seconds. Years of improvement on your self worth all going down the drain because of three people.

You watched him with teary eyes as he stepped up to you, entering your personal space so that you could see properly how much he meant his next words.

“We barely tolerate you without tennis, but how much do you think we’d like you if Tashi hadn’t pulled you in like a necessary condition for her presence around ?”

You said still, to ashamed to cry or to breath, almost heaving from the ball of air stuck in your throat. You said as stoic as you could all while keeping your tears at bay. He chuckled while staring at you, false amusement to hide how annoyed he was with your presence here. You tried to look towards Art, who looked away, face indifferent as he silently agreed to his ex best friend’s words while your own best friend stared blankly at you then at your foot before getting up and leaving.

You weren’t one to stay where you weren’t wanted, so when they left to chase after Tashi, you took that as an opportunity to pack your stuff and leave. All that was left behind were the stuff you wouldn’t outwardly need or could ask a friend, if you had any left, to help you get.

In that moment you felt your luckiest despite the circumstances, your lack of relationship to tennis making it easy to rely on someone who wouldn’t be asking thousands of questions on why you were now excluded from the little group who’d been ruling the minds and hearts of about every student on campus. For the rest of the semester, you moved in with a friend from your dance studio, friend who quickly became your greatest form of support, pushing you to get back up and become the best dancer you’d ever been.

For the first time, you felt what Tashi meant when she said tennis would be her greatest love, you understood her drive to not just be a player among the lot but the player who stood above the masses effortlessly yet with lots of efforts. The rumors quickly spread, your separation from the group raising questions that you were too busy to answer, spending about every second of every hour dancing and improving your artistic skill while slowly letting the three people you had loved turn into distant figures in your rearview mirror.

The longing glances in the lecture halls and silent please turned into quick looks in their direction, acknowledging their presences before going back to what you were doing, before soon, watching it turn into nothing. You stopped looking, feeling their eyes on your before shutting down the instinct which you had lead to you them in crowds of thousands so many times before. Before you knew it, you brushed passed them, your scent burning through their being like the softest of caress and the sharpest of slaps while you simply didn’t notice them. You had stopped trying to ignore them and made them presence part lf everyone, barely noticeable.

Your dancing got better, just like your heart and your other talent. You divested into other areas of artistic expression, soon stepping out of Stanford to be known all over the world for your incredible voice and the amazing performances that went with it. You filled concert halls like one would fill their lungs with air and sold albums like no other. Your passion and devotion for your craft quickly became known all over the world, impossible to miss as your face appeared on Billboards and your voice resonated through radios. You got busy with like and you weren’t the only one.

You knew about Tashi and Art’s wedding, catching wind of it from friends you had made in college. It didn’t surprise you much, she could handle Art better. What had surprised you was for Fire to Part from Ice and vice versa, both disappearing from each other’s life. It wasn’t news that neither really deeply like to share, ironic considering the circumstances. You had found out about their daughter too, Lily, cute name. Art had probably picked it. Tashi would’ve named her ‘Tennis Donaldson’ if she could. Tennis Duncan even. She loved tennis too much, it had started to exasperate you, but inly slightly. You understood. You lived dancing just the same. Just healthily. You could see through the mist, watching her live vicariously through her darling husband he played for her. He lost the passion he had for the sport, but he had lost more.

You didn’t know what had happened to Patrick, or at least you feigned ignorance. You didn’t give a fuck about that little bitch. But watching him die wouldn’t be fun. You knew about the heroin addiction and about the alcoholism. It was known before during college and it had stopped briefly while you dated, keeping only the smoking. He had drifted from them, too busy getting fucked up on whatever he could get his sticky fingers on while fucking whoever he could get to give him shelter for the night. Being a crackhead was expensive and even Patrick Zweig couldn’t afford it, it seemed. You knew he lived in his car and tried to revive his dead tennis career every chance he got. He was embarrassing to be frank, but you couldn’t turn your back on him when you knew he could pick up a handgun any day and write your name in big bold letters out of spite for the amount of time he called and you refused to answer before choosing to block his number. The junky ex boyfriend trope was getting tired and the sex was good back in the days but never enough to entertain his mess of a life. And to be frank, you had grown to be just as spiteful and petty as they were, the wound of the past still fresh in your heart despite the decade of separation.

Over the last years, you had crossed his path about five times and each time you found him in a outer body state, off on whatever he had gotten his hands on but definitely not water. Each time you crossed him, you remembered the words he had said to you, ears prior, noting the irony of how he had turned out now that he was alone. It was sad, honestly, Art had been a beacon to him, Tashi too. But both found mutual benefits in each other, Tashi getting to live through her husband while Art got to live through the fantasy that he didn’t regularly got of on his best friends cock rubbing against his.

You, you were just collateral, too easy to love yet too mysterious to understand. You were like the easiest puzzle never solved to them, an equation on love and lust all packed in one basic formula that was so easy that it felt like a trap. People relying on toxicity to feel alive sabotaged shit like that, the easy shit that wasn’t meant to be overly painful. You’d been too easy, so you could be disposed of ln on the basis of an argument where you just didn’t fit anymore when the truth is that you fit in way to easily with each without having to give anything tangible. You weren’t bringing shit to their worlds but yourself yet you were indispensable.

And being indispensable, surprisingly, wasn’t sufficient to them.

~

The first time Patrick saw you again after the separation was in the street. Which street he can’t say, he’s not even certain he saw you for real seeing as that night he was high on whatever had been sitting in his car and a 4 dollar bottle of vodka from the corner store. His car slash home wasn’t too far, less than ten steps away, yet he couldn’t reach it. First he couldn’t fucking find his keys and on top of that, he had felt in a cheery mood, deciding to down half the bottle right outside the store. He was in a mood to celebrate, the news of Tashi and Art’s divorce plaguing his mind like the sweetest of highs.

In his sick mind, the man still lived the fantasy that he and Art were the same or that they could be, true rivals from the same place, both drastically changed by their circumstances but still and forever Fire and Ice. He wanted to believe that well in his thirties he still had a shot. He could still do this, get to reach the same level of stardom and face off his best friend and lover once again. He was insane, and slightly pathetic like that but the news made the possibility even greater in his mind.

Tashi and Art had been a unit of destruction he could’ve never truly beat, not on his own, yet he still dreamt and rightfully so. Because now, both members of the unit were parting ways and what better way to conquer than to divide ? She had done it, years prior, Art fully participating despite his seemingly innocent demeanor.

In the midst of his celebration, he had, once again, forgotten to exercise restraint and had drunken enough to stumble into an alley all alone, falling face first in a puddle of water. In his inebriated state, even felt the weight of his exhaustion, weirdly falling down all at once on his shoulders.

He was so out of it, he hadn’t noticed your figure almost floating towards his body before seeing you crouched down next to him. You started at him just like he did you, both quiet for a second before he cut the silence with a chuckle, you, on the other hand were less than amused, stoic and silent face dark as you watched him, probably gloating to see him in such a state.

“Are you real ?” Was all he had said, waiting for a response which had never came.

It was almost vicious how he could barely make out the walls around him yet could perfectly distinguish the features of your face. It hadn’t changed, fuck you were so pretty.

The rest was a blur of soft touches and movements he could understand. All he knew was that you had spoken to him, telling him to not drink and to cut the heroin. He had nodded, obedient and shameful as a result of his words from the past.

When he had woken up the next day, he was surprised to be in a bed, comfy and warm covers. Parts of him dreamt it was her house. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t never be, not if she had a say on it at least.

You had driven him to rehab, leaving without a word or a note for him to understand. He didn’t know much other than the fact that you had paid for him to stay there for six months and then maybe he could leave. You had even paid more to make sure that the establishment accepted him despite her not being a relative or anything like that. Top quality facility that would have him bust his ass off trying to get clean, and not just off the drugs but also the alcohol.

He didn’t know anything, he just felt like it was you who had been the generous donator to pay for him to get clean. The lady at the front desks and the doctor in charge of him were only told one thing that had a seemingly smug but actually hopeful grin stretching his lips.

“I don’t want anything really, it’s more for him. Maybe, if he gets better in his head, he’ll actually get to be good at tennis again.”

It was mean, you were mean, mostly to him. But he knew better. You both had a habit of disagreeing so whenever he’d shit on himself, you’d join him and suddenly he was bathed in the confidence of the universe. Ironically, it never worked the other way around.

He stayed, all six months though, per the doctors and therapist, he wouldn’t need to. He could’ve left after the forth month. They had a tennis court to help him work a bit so he chose to stay. Even made friends. But he stayed, the whole time. Out of respect for you in some ways but also because he wanted to see how well he’d do. If he could really stick it out for the whole six months and then more. He did, and he would’ve loved to tell you, but that didn’t happen.

~

The next you saw was Art. If “seeing” was an appropriate term to use in this situation. After retiring, the man couldn’t find it in himself to ever really leave the tennis world, even after he and Tashi had divorced. He was still fully ingrained in the tennis world like the champion who would’ve lost it all, should’ve lost it all. His career been over if he had lost to Patrick that day. It would’ve destroyed him, you knew that. You didn’t need to be there to know, you always could read him. You could read all three down to the nastiest of details they were dirty rotten books passing fungus and parasites to everything they touched.

Art was the prettiest of parasites, seemingly clean and well behaved, but he fucked like a man starved for pussy, real pussy, raw and without conditions or expectations. You knew he hadn’t changed a bit when you saw him at an even for Uniqlo. Your career also had you around these circles and you like these events the best, with big brands but really niche, making it easy to not be overwhelmed as soon as you stepped in the room.

You’d been the center of attention the moment you entered and he was quick to catch you, you both engaging in a stare off that had lasted for about three seconds to you maybe, a lifetime to him. You couldn’t be here, not really, how could you ? He had dreamt of you, screamed your name and moaned it while balls deep in his wife. Ex wife. She’d moan your name too, it was pathetic, both were. He had pleaded the universe for you and yet nothing, but here you were, the one night he wasn’t thinking of you somehow. There you were, ever so beautiful and breathtaking. Like a ghost grappling at his brain.

It was pathetic, to not see you for a decade and yet to have his heart beat out of his chest as soon as he saw you and his cock springing to life like never before when you turned around, allowing him to gawk at the curve of your spine, from your nape to your ass. He was screwed.

For the rest of the night you both engaged in a cat and mouse game, him the cat and you the mouse, but here, you weren’t running from him. You were disappearing into the crowd as soon as he was freed from whatever pointless discussion was taking his time from you.

Then came the end of the night and Art was frantic, aimlessly searching for you, terrified like never before to miss you and this time lose you forever. He could reach you, he could go to one of your concerts and press tour for one of your movies. He could do that, but Art had always been somewhat of a pussy. Enjoying his position off in the shadow while the rest of the world took actions and spoke on their feelings.

That day, he took action, forgetting any sense of pride and decorum when he grabbed you by the jaw and pushed you into the elevator, hands reaching under your dress to hike your legs up around his waist. The elevator had barely opened, luckily leading directly into the suite he had been offered that he and his eager hands dragged your docile body to the nearest flat surface. When he had reached the dinner table, he had laid you up on it, so delicately, as if you were a figment of his imagination, potentially disturbed by any rough movement.

He was almost panicking, fiddling with your dress, torn between savoring the moment and your presence or making you feel the weight of your absence. He chose the later, ripping through the fabric of the expensive dress while you whined at the loss of such a beautiful piece to add to your collection.

You liked clothes, you always did and your mewls of pleasure mixed with the sound of your discontentment at the loss of your new favorite dress had him tensing in his pants, balls tight and full of love and memories from how happy and grateful you used to be when he gave you a present.

His lips dragged along the tense vein in your neck, occasionally biting down on your flesh to mark you in the most visible way possible. If you were to disappear again, you’d be marked, sworn as off limits to anyone else. You’d be his to worship.

You had matched his eagerness, sliding slander manicured fingers into his pants and boxers to stoke his cock, mouth watering at the idea lf having him in you again, girth taking up all the space in her throat and rutting into her hole desperately for even more.

You did, have him fuck your throat. Your saliva coating his balls shamelessly while you choked, almost suffocating on him but whining like the desperate girl you were whenever he even thought of pulling out. He had let you have your fun on him, nasty words to match the nasty rhythm of his hips slamming into your mouth. Plop. Plop. Plop, resonating into the room while he drilled his long cock into you with vigor. He had cum once, in your throat, only one, holding your face still as he pushed the tip of your nose into his nicely trimmed pubic hair. You inhaled his scent, eyes crossing in pleasure while you came untouched. What a good girl you’d always been, cumming at the idea of having him lay his semen in your throat.

He pulled out, holding your jaw still while admiring your fucked out face before kissing your cheeks tenderly like he always did to bring you back. You were easy to overwhelm so making you dumb on pleasure came easy too. But Art was a hard working man and he would never stop at that.

“Already so dumb for me…” He had muttered into your skin, lips dragging across your cheeks, jaw and chest, to finally reach your leaking mound. It was his turn to inhale your scent, mind hazy with pleasure and completely taken by you. No amount of thinking ever mattered, you mattered, all of you. Art had found an altar within the confine of your folds, ready to worship it like he had been deprived off for years.

His tongue had lapped at your juices for hours, pussy drunk after the first orgasm he had pulled out of you and ready to sink into his addiction. His messy tongue hadn’t left you since he had started, essentially hours ago, swallowing your taste, drinking in your pleasure and praying for more. He sucked on your clit messily, movements becoming just as erratic as he was. He wanted more of you, more of this, he needed to live in your skin forever. You were so warm and felt so good and he loved you and he had missed you so fucking much and this was too much, ruining him from the inside and melting him into a puddle of arousal and unexpressed love. He was made to love you and you weren’t there, you had left and he needed to love you now and forever.

“P-Please… Baby please…” He kept starting, to dumb on your pussy to be able to finish his sentence. But finish, that he did. Cumming untouched himself, cock rubbed raw against the fabric of the covers, a wet patch under him, marking the spot he’d been soaking with his pour sensitive cock for hours. He was twitching like never before, moans exiting his mouth because of the air touching his sensitive tip, so red it looked like a popsicle. Lucky him you couldn’t see, or you’d swallow him whole until he was to cum without anything coming out.

For now he rejoiced in the pleasure of having you in this bed, shaking nonstop and coherent words and phrases erases from your vocabulary by his desperate acts on your now swollen cunt. His hands had been gripping on your hips, holding you firmly and relying on your ass cheeks for more grip when his attacks on you became too much and you would attempt to squirm away. You were now but a body, a doll, aimlessly moved by him will. His tongue went deep inside you, so, so deep, almost grazing your most sensitive point but still preparing your walls for his raw dick and the abuse it would lay on your eager pussy. He moved your body back and forth, having you rut your hips into his face. His blue eyes, clouded by pleasure and insanity looked up, faced by your breasts bouncing while you cried and cried, the pleasure too much. He freed one of your ass cheeks to reach a large hand over your tits, grabbing it roughly and toying with your nipple while he sucked on your clit. He had heard the sound of the sheets ripping and wanted to be the next one to be torn into.

He was too much, to passionate on you, slurping and slobbering on your weeping cunt as if it was his last meal. He was entranced by you, feasting on you with all the fervor he had missed out on showing you. As he lapped away, you jerked particularly harshly, too sensitive to handle much more. Your fingers tried to pull him away from you, hair tightly gripped in your hands but he was quick to fight back, sending you a glare before going back to you.

In one desperate motion, strength fueled by your impending orgasm and his own, hip humping the air as his large cock stood tall beads of cum leaking in large drops out of his tip, he flipped you over, you on top of him, seating on his face while he laid under you. The weight of your ass on his chin and your cunt smashed against his face, he could die happy again. His hands found your ass again while yours grabbed onto his growing blond locks and the other holding onto the headboard. You road his tongue like never before, smearing your cum on his face while you cried for your release.

“A-Art ! Fuck, Art, baby ! S-So good !” was all you could say at the moment, the rest, incomprehensible cries of pleasure and babbling that signified how far gone you were.

Art watched your tits bounce again, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth and all over your center as he dreamt of sucking your nipples until the were swollen and sensitive. He made love to your cunt, moaning inside you like he could do so well, grunts and whines of pleasure going heard by the entire floor if his suit wasn’t the only one here. His own eyes filled with tears, balls releasing cum all over his stomach and your back.

You gripped his hair like a rope you held onto at the risk of falling. He admired with desperation and passion, your head thrown back in pleasure as you finally came, crying out his name while drenching his face in your cream. You could barely catch your breath that he had thrown you off of him and onto the mattress. He stood between your legs for a minute, staring.

That was the clearest memory you had of that night, other than the week long ache between your legs and the pulsating of your clit at the sound of his name. You, on the other hand, were etched into his mind like a picture carved in stone to be remembered forever. Everything he looked was a reminder of you, even his daughter, Lily, a great enjoyer of your movies, one where you had played a princess destined to save her kingdom. Ironic how both he and his daughter saw you the same, the princess and the savior.

He marked you into his mind, your hair splayed onto the bed, eyes lidded with pleasure, mouth parted as you stared at his cock. Every piece of you he memorized. In every position too. And, intertwined amongst the sounds of pleasure exiting his throat, muffled by his mouth almost fused to a piece of your skin, pressed to your cheek or to your forehead in one of the most intimate acts he had performed in the last five years, he cried out for you. Desperately crying out your and the anger he had suppressed towards you. Anger or sadness, sorrow so deep it almost felt like grief. His movement became harsher, almost mean but so full of love too. He loved you so much, present tense, he hadn’t stopped ever. He was still angry at you for leaving though, so he told you in a mix of incoherent and inaudible words all mushed together, he voiced his feelings for how you had abandoned him, left him heartbroken, grieving in silence.

“H-How…How could you d-do this to me, huh ?” He’d say angrily, before pleading. “I love you… F-Fuck… I l-love you… Please… I love you…”

Drilling his raw dick inside you felt like life itself, your walls tightly holding him in while he kissed your thoughts away. Open mouth kisses, all tongue and teeth, this was life, made and in the making. He was making life with you that night, creating like he had never before. When you rode his cock, balls slapping against your ass while his lips latched onto your breasts to suck on them, that was life. When you’d been thrown on all fours, taking the nastiest backshots known to man, pussy molded to take him and only him in, that was life. When he laid you on your side, one leg raised up by his muscly arm as you took another load of his cum from the back, that was life. When he fucked you with your thighs pressed to your chest and ankles around his head, his swollen lips kissing you tenderly in contrast with the force of his hips slamming into you, that was life.

Life hadn’t stopped until sunrise, where you had both fallen asleep, you taking in his ‘I love yous’ and your tongue tied with pleasure, the kind you hadn’t felt in decades, to speak up. With each new position came more cum and more words from him, poor Art, fucked dumb by his sweet girl that had finally returned. Years of guilt and love unexpressed had finally been told in loud moans and babbling about how much he loved you and was sorry.

It didn’t matter.

You had both fallen asleep with his cock nestled inside you, sheets tossed to the floor and arms holding your body close. He slept with his face nuzzling into your hair, a scent of vanilla and citrus he had missed like a man lost in the desert missed water. Your fingers held onto his forearm with your back pressed to his chest. You were both molded against one another, peaceful and quiet.

Reality hit the next morning, when he woke up to you getting dressed. You weren’t in a hurry but you weren’t staying, he couldn’t let you leave though.

He was quick to leap out of bed and in front of you, hands holding your cheeks to force you to look into his eyes.

“Please… Look at me, please baby…” He had begged, your empty eyes finding him. “Stay. Stay and let me apologize, make up for what I did-“

“You didn’t do anything Art.” You cut him off, swatting his hands away and going back to the pieces of your dress. “And there is nothing to make up for. You wanted Tashi, I can’t fault you. The sex was good, let’s stop there.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, desperation evident as he tried to hold you in his shaky hands.

He followed you around the bedroom and out of it when you were done, running after you while almost sobbing before dropping to his knees in front of you. You sighed, exhausted by the exchange while he sacrificed his dignity once again, for someone but never himself.

“Please baby, stay with me. Please, I love you.” He was erratic, breathing quickening while you looked around.

“Art…” Your eyes dropped to him, staring into his beautiful blue eyes and holding his face tenderly. “You don’t love me. You’re bored and you love having me in bed, that’s it.” You tried to walk away but he crawled after you, holding onto your leg desperately.

“No !” he exclaimed. “Don’t dismiss me or my feelings, please. I love you, with everything I have-“

“Ironically after Tashi left, thought.”

“I’m a fucking coward, fine ! But I can’t lose you again, not like this !” He was scared, that morning, truly. Even more than when Tashi announced she wanted a divorce.

“You don’t lose someone you don’t have. You can’t have someone you don’t want.”

“Fuck you ! I want you, I need you, baby, please !” He needed to know that you’d be there tomorrow and for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t lose you again, not again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”

You threw your head around, amused by his desperation and how brazen it made him sometimes. “You’re ruining this Art…”

“I can love you for the both of us if that’s the issue. I want to be yours, I want to marry you, live life with you, be everything you need from me !” He wasn’t listening, never.

Thinking back, it wouldn’t lead to anything, the pleading and all. He could see it now. Hindsight was 20/20. It would’ve been useless and even disrespectful to ask you to love him again after discarding you that way. But to get you back and lose you so quickly had killed him a little more that day. He had needed to hear it though, to understand. And understand he had.

“Art.” Your voice was firm, like a line of cement in the sand and a pause in time, freezing him and his tears in place. “I never needed you. None of you. I just wanted you, and was content with that. You were the ones who discarded me because you didn’t need me.”

He remained frozen in place, giving you the opportunity to leave, your eyes glued to his, his beautiful tearful face as he stared in silence. When the doors of the elevator closed, he collapsed, crying harder than ever before, crying like he should’ve years ago when he had found your stuff gone. He had lost you again. His pretty girl. The love of his life.

He might’ve doubted his love for Patrick or Tashi, but loving you was like breathing air. It was easy, it made sense, before and still now. And you’d been ripped out of his life forcefully. Even now, when his pride managed to supersede his love for Patrick and Tashi, nothing could come above the love he felt for you.

After that night, he had been floating aimlessly around life, drained out of life. You were somewhere, everywhere in his life, but near him and that was punishment, cruelty for choosing Tashi and ruining all four of you. He needed to see this and had refused, now he didn’t have the choice.

~

The next to see you was Tashi, or if you had to be precise, it was Lily, her daughter.

There was a park down your block, you often went there to write and skateboard. Tashi didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything. To know about you was to punish herself for about everything she had done in the recent years. Including getting married. She would never admit that though, to much pride would be sacrificed if after a decade she admitted that she missed you even after the way things had gone. It would also require for her to admit that maybe divorcing Art was not really a good idea. Not when a part of her still loved him, a part you had created, the part that accepted to love and be loved beyond tennis because love, as painful as it could be, was beautiful. Even in the most vile and painful moments.

You’d been sitting for about an hour, head thrown back as you let the spring breeze and the sound of birds communicating through the trees seep into your skin. Your week had been hectic and this was the first real moment of peace you could claim to benefit from, truly, a moment of peace where life let itself float around you while you took a pause.

Your pause, ended brutally, the sound of rushing footsteps and then a little yelp waking you up from your meditation. You opened one eye, looking down in the direction of the sound to find a little girl, laying on the floor with watery eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

Poor thing had probably tripped. You straightened yourself, leaping off the bench to kneel in front of the little girl. She was distraught, looking around and fiddling with her skirt.

“Don’t worry, there’s not that many people, no one saw.” You’d said to reassure her.

She looked at you timidly before nodding, accepting the assessment you’d made on the situation. You didn’t know if anyone really had seen or not, but you did know that the park was essentially empty at this hour of the day.

“Hurts…” She mumbled, still looking down shyly. You wanted to chuckle, she was adorable, but she could’ve thought that you were mocking her so you refrained.

“Do you mind ?” You asked, pointing at her knee that was visibly turning a little more red by the minute. She shook her head, holding onto your shoulders so that you could lift her up and sit her on the bench. She had grazed her knee, it was bleeding. You looked up at the little girl in silence, this would probably have her panic if you told her. She looked about seven years old max and seemed used to run around freely, she hadn’t called for a parent yet. Luckily, you had everything you needed in your bag. You’d learn to carry around a first aid kit because of how easily you got hurt and out of habit. It reassured Tashi, back in the days, to know that you were okay or at least had something to take care of yourself.

You chuckled, her memory would truly haunt you until death if it could. You’d see her face in a piece on bandaid if you let yourself.

Pulling out your essentials, you pulled out a bottle of water as well as cleaning alcohol. You saw the little girl tense but quickly regain her composure.

“You’re not scared ? That hurts sometimes you know…” That wasn’t the smartest thing to say to a kid, but you said it anyways.

“I-It’s okay… Mommy says bugs could grow in my boo-boo if not cleaned. I hate bugs.”

You grinned, amused by her rationality but also by her tight grip on your shoulders. She was scared, she just knew better.

“And what does your mommy say about you running around alone in a park ?”

She didn’t respond, too focused on your face. Like she’d seen it before, and frankly, looking at her, you felt like you had seen her before. The messy curls on top of her little head and the way her nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed when you dabbed the alcohol on her knee. You wanted to pay more attention, but the memories where ghosts that had to be ignored or they would ruin your life.

“I’ve seen you before…” She said. You hummed, quietly asking for precisions. “In the TV. You were really pretty. You had a sword and all… It was cool…”

She’d seen one of your movies, for children kinda. A little bit violent in some scenes but for children technically. With a princess who wielded the sword better than any knight.

“Did you like it ? I personally did. Loved the sword fights.” You asked, softly placing the bandaid on her leg and giving her a thumbs up.

“Me too, but I have to be careful because they’re dangerou-“

“Lily ?!”

You both were interrupted by a loud voice not too far, rushing quickly towards you. The little girl hopped off the bench with a smile, running in their direction after muttering a soft “mommy”.

You would’ve loved to turn around, but presently you were too annoyed to do so, angry to not have noticed her resemblance to the man you had seen a few weeks prior and the woman you hadn’t seen in years. You exhaled, seating back on the bench and watching as the little girl chatted away, explaining how “the princess from the TV healed her knee”. You watched Tashi search around until her gaze found yours and froze.

If you’d been in her head you would’ve seen it all, the fireworks, the crashing waves of a hurricane, the tornado, the screaming lady who resembled her but simply couldn’t be, Art and her’s wedding day, the fights you found yourself at the center of and all the times she’d have sex with him thinking of you but without feeling guilty because she knew he did too. You’d see that and about a thousand other things because she was going insane at the moment while you looked almost bored to see her.

She stood up, mouth slightly parted and her eyes never really leaving yours while her hands gripped on Lily’s smaller one, like she was afraid that she would run and disappear again, like she had previously done and like you did years ago.

For someone who was paid for her advices and known in the business for how easily she could get in someone’s head through words, Tashi was struggling a great deal at words right now. She was stuck between speechless and too angry to formulate clear words.

“Mommy ?” Was what brought her back. She looked to her daughter, plastering on a fake smile to appease the worried child and caressing her hair.

“How about you go play for a little while I go say thank you to the lady, okay ?” In any other circumstances she would’ve gone home, done with the whole outdoors thing and ready to get back to work but the situation was different with you present here.

When she assessed that Lily was far enough to not hear, she stomped towards you, angry eyes burning through you. She was ready to hand you a slap worthy of movies but was stopped by your less that amused eyes matching her expression. You were politely asking her to refrain with your eyes, an expression she’d almost never been on the receiving end of.

Tashi stood there, watching you attentively, like she expected you to disappear. She took the time to observe you, take you in. Your gaze was some distant point in front of you, possibly Lily, seeing how you smiled while she laughed loudly.

You hadn’t changed much in a decade, looking as young as when you were in college. They’d all felt the mark of time as it was engraved on their features, burnt with painful precision to signify the years of conniving, lies and deceit they’d been put through by each other to maintain the illusion that they were doing better than the next. You looked fine, they didn’t.

Even she, felt like she didn’t look good, worn out by the pretense of perfection of the wife and coach who only sought to bring out the best out of her husband, make him the best. Not that he could ever really become it, not when he was so busy trying to play for two. Ironically she did find respite in her motherly duty, finding bits of herself you had taken with you in her darling little girl. Ball of oxygen like she had never experienced before, the kind of fresh air tennis could bring her.

“She’s cute, your daughter. Looks so much like you, almost feels like Art didn’t have anything to do with it.” You said nonchalantly.

She could’ve carved your eyes out for that comment, slapped you with nasty words about your life and how bitter you were that it wasn’t you. She remembered how you four had planned it. You and Art were supposed to marry because you loved each other the healthy, reciprocated, committed way. Like a couple who wanted to grow old and have plenty of kids together did. Tashi, she loved you as much as she loved tennis, but tennis came first. Patrick loved Art as much as he loved tennis, but he loved Art more. They’d find mutual benefits being together, because they worked and loved each other in a way that worked. Loved each other like two pieces of one tennis driven soul. After one very long and celebration filled night where everyone had won something, you’d made a promise that reeked of love, the kind Tashi had never allowed herself to feel for anything that wasn’t tennis. She loved Patrick really, but you first and Art too. You all made her feel alive the way tennis did. Art wanted children, with you, and you wanted kids with him too. Patrick and Tashi, it was more of an eventuality for after retirement. Adoption maybe, or you. It didn’t matter, but it all worked out for all of you. That night, she felt like she was on top pf the world. She crashed a few months later when she fought with Patrick and Art had started his divisive bullshit. The fall of Tashi Duncan, the one who could’ve but never would again.

“She’s a good kid, more like him than you think. But you wouldn’t know, you’ve been busy.” She responded after a while, both to defend herself but also to spit out her anger towards you. It had to come out.

“Don’t expect me to stick around where I’m not wanted.”

“Oh fuck off !” Your nonchalance was getting to her, anger as evident as the sorrow in her voice. “The victim bullshit about how you weren’t wanted can work for the other two but I knew you first. No one in this world wanted you more than we did.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you treated me like shit.” Your tone wasn’t changing while hers shifted from assured to shaky.

“So what, you leave ? We scream at you once and you leave ?” You turned to her, looking into her eyes as if looking through her while she stared at you, awaiting a response. It was surprising really, how easily she lost her temper and composure when it came to you. You were like gasoline to her fire. She’d never show as much passion than in the moments that had to do with you.

She hated you in that moments, because you left her alone. She lost tennis, her mind then you. She couldn’t do this without you but she didn’t have the choice, she faked it until it felt real and suddenly you appeared again. On her screens, then billboards and then ad’s and commercials. Obviously she knew you shared some brand deals with Art, she’d done it on purpose so that she could feel bits of you in him. She smelled you all over him when he had returned from that trip for a brand she had forgotten. She only remembered the look in his eyes, like Life itself had been ripped out of him. They’d shared a look that day and it was all they had needed to know. She, who had started to doubt whether divorce really was the best choice, she now knew that it was. You hadn’t just been lingering around, you were the constant. The glue.

That night, Art had slept in the guest room, crying himself to sleep for her to listen through the walls as she cried quietly. They were pathetic truly. But at least they knew that they had to separate really. No more fight on his part to keep his family, no more doubt on hers to keep tennis. Neither could stand the other any longer nor could they stand the charade.

“You treated me like shit Tashi. You’re not the only one who knows the other and unlike you and your lapdog, I actually don’t mind the truth, even when it makes me look like shit. You treated me like shit, so I left. Or would you have preferred for me to be like your little white boy and stick around to get a taste of what the Tashi Duncan, never really Donaldson, bullshit, conditional love is ?”

You sounded more animated, brought alive by the commentary on a life you would never regret because you knew it brought you the peace they never could enjoy. She usually enjoyed getting a rise out of the other two, feeling like she was better for remaining collected when they didn’t.

Now, it didn’t feel like a testament of her success over you. She never wanted to win when it came to you, it wasn’t about that, it was simpler. You were like a drug she got addicted to, but the good kind. Like being addicted on life. You made her feel alive independently of tennis. With you around, she actually would’ve been okay losing tennis forever because with you around, the story about how tennis was a relationship where you owed it to someone else to entertain them, to build a relationship and whatnot, it just didn’t work.

She felt healthier, in her mind and body with you, like genuinely be alright no matter where life lead her. And one day it all started crashing. Slowly. She should’ve seen it coming, or at least she could’ve paid attention taken charge to fight this the right way. She didn’t. When things got bad for her she’d focus entirely on tennis and when things got bad between you four, tennis was all that mattered until it wasn’t there anymore. She wouldn’t be choosing tennis had she known that it would take you away.

She had lost tennis too at the end so frankly, it didn’t matter anymore but she refused to lose her right to be mad at you too, because that’s really all she had left of you. Her anger and a daughter who grew to emulate parts of you she didn’t know she had missed.

“She hates bugs.” She said. It surprised you, it was soft, a whisper. Almost like she wanted to hide. You could only chuckle because it made you laugh, thought it didn’t make much sense.

“Everyone should hate bugs.” You responded.

“No…” she sighed, annoyed that she had to clarify. “She hates bugs like you do. Has to take off her clothes to check that they’re not there and take off the invisible veil of their presence on her skin.”

“That’s the best way to free yourself from the bugs.” That was weird, and uncool. She looked at you like you were a freak and for a second she was taken back to college, where you were the cool mysterious girl who everyone wanted to fuck but were too scared to approach. You really were a weirdo who hated bugs and could throw up if a caterpillar crawled your way. You were so cool to everyone but her. Just like now.

If you could’ve described her expression, you could only associate it with the way she looked at Patrick usually. That was the look she gave him when he’d forget himself and talk to her like she was any kind of girl he picked up off the street at a bar to fuck. She looked at you like you had lost your senses and had about five seconds to find them which was funny because she was the one losing it.

She loved you a whole lot, which was insane.

She stood and looked at you from above with disdain and contempt.

“You’re a pussy who runs away at the slightest of issues. I loved you, I list tennis and you left me because I wouldn’t coddle you anymore.” She spat venomously, aiming to hurt.

You looked at her, indeed hurt but also surprised. You were more wounded by what her words meant than what she had said.

“Y-You… You think I left because you weren’t playing anymore ?”

“That’s exactly what you did.”

And for the first time you were affected. This was the first encounter that had really thrown you back in the past.

You felt tears well up on your eyes, the feeling of your eyes trying to soak up the tears to keep you composed, so overpowering your throat was stuck. You didn’t want to cry and she didn’t want to make you cry, but she also did, because then maybe you’d feel exactly like she had for weeks back in the days.

“If… If tennis really had been what had sealed the deal, I would’ve stayed for Art, fucked him and gotten pregnant, Tash…” You chuckled, trying to conceal the pain that came with understanding what her best friend felt. You finally saw her view, all because of a simple phrase from her. “I left… I left because I was useless to all of you, Tashi… Without tennis to make you happy, what good was I around other than to have sex and remind you of how disposable I am ?”

You had cried yourself to sleep countless times, begging for assurance that you were good enough, that you could be loved, that you deserved it and weren’t disposable. Patrick’s words had been etched into your skull like a scar that wouldn’t ever go away. And she didn’t seem to see it correctly because she looked disgusted but really she was angrier than before at you for speaking up after a decade and at everything that had a part to play in her loosing her best friend.

“I never said any of that crap to you, so why would you think that ?”

“Because you hadn’t said the opposite, Tashi. You sunk and pushed me away, made me feel like shit for trying when I could never understand but you wanted them. Even Patrick you wanted him around. I was the waste of air…”

And she would’ve screamed at you that no, you weren’t, she had loved you and still did and would burn herself raw to show it, because she loved passionately and her passion with Art depended on you now, kinda. She would’ve slapped Patrick’s jaw off and had him searching for you to apologize. She would’ve done this a thousand other ways and shown you the years of tear stains and sleepless nights where she could only fall asleep to your voice on the TV, singing your life away as if she didn’t exist and wasn’t watching you. She wanted you to hear it, all of her anger and hatred.

Instead, Lily returned, running happily while you whipped your tears. She could only hear the ‘mommy’ coming out of her daughter before tuning her out to watch you. You knelt, listening to her talk about her rocks and the other kids while she watched or admired. Before she knew it, you had rolled away on your skateboard leaving her again.

~

If you presently took time out of your day to think about your exes, it wasn’t because it felt good to think about them, but because they were all crumbling, Tashi included, the most put together one of them. Patrick, it made sense. But Tashi, it was a surprise, though not so much. After Art had unilaterally decided, to announce his retirement, most likely without consulting his wife and coach, you had expected a shift, a the divorce announcement which had followed a month later was part of that. But to catch the three of them together, yelling at each other in the middle of a school was even more a surprise.

You’d been riding your motorcycle downtown when you passed a school. Stopping at the red light, you almost fell off your vehicle when you heard three more than familiar voices in front of a school gate. You felt them themselves had noticed you when all three stopped to turn in your direction. You were remained still, staring straight at them through your helmet. Tashi, always in the middle would be staring into your eyes if she would and a part of you wished she was, to see how she would react. Didn’t matter though, a part of you knew she had recognized you first, her body shifting from anger to unprecedented sorrow, like seeing a ghost of the person you had lived the most in a stranger passing by. You knew they were gone yet you still saw them and felt all the love you had missed out on giving them.

Lily noticed you next, how, you didn’t know, but she did, waiving her arm so hard it could come off at any second. The rest you tried to ignore feeling slightly, but only slightly, humiliated that you’d been pulled so easily into an impromptu dinner at Art’s apartment where Lily stayed for the week because you had stupidly promised her to recount the tales of your movies and concert adventures all over the world. And obviously, after the dinner from hell where each mention you had made about your past and its relation to your current career was met with a snarky comment, mention about a more than private anecdote or a longing look that made you feel like you had passed away tragically, you had to deal with The Conversation. Years of work, years of you steering clear off these people, all gone down the drain because of one little girl that just so happens to be a little too curious.

You would’ve honestly chosen to have a bullet going through your forehead before you willingly accepted to be in a situation like this one. But you also hated being inconvenienced and Art’s look of desperation was enough of one without dealing with Tashi cussing you out again, so yeah you accepted. Patrick was pretty chill, actually really nice to be around when sober.

And then ensued the longest and lost quiet ten minutes of your life, with Art looking down at you like you could evaporate, Tashi looking at you like you spat in her face and Patrick looking at you with genuine happiness, almost glad that you were here. You, were looking elsewhere, everywhere, analyzing the space and checking for the nearest exit. You would’ve made a run for it if you weren’t so fucking lazy, really. Unlucky you, victim of her own lacks.

Patrick was the first to talk, hesitant but clearly not feeling guilty or ashamed of anything. Or maybe he was but had learned to deal.

“I’m really happy to see you. I get to thank you for rehab.” He said and you almost glared at him, which he noticed, grinning like he used to, the smug fuck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spat.

It made him chuckle really, how hard you tried to detach yourself from them but kept yourself in their orbit at almost all times. You were a brat and he was glad to see it hadn't changed.

“Right.” He nodded, complying with amusement. “Well, whoever is responsible in your team for my rehab as well as the apartment I got after, you’ll thank them for me.”

“They’re getting fired.”

You were stubborn, maybe more than him even, and he understood, definitely more than the other two who too busy hating you or loving you unconditionally.

Then began another five minutes of silence, broken once again by Patrick.

“Okay, I feel this is a waste of time.” He had barely started that you were already standing up to leave, quickly stopped by a frantic Art standing up in a hurry to stop you while Tashi’s head snapped in your direction coaxing you into sitting down with her eyes. Patrick enjoyed this greatly, how pathetic you made these two. “I mean, if we’re going to be here, we might as well talk. We need to, we haven’t in a while after all.”

Tashi’s anger changed focus to go to him, glaring at him with disdain.

“Since when did you become a fucking preacher of all things healthy and positive ?”

“Since someone nicely offered me a nice stay at a top tier rehab center that offered solo therapy sessions. The kind we all need.” Every word seemed to be pointed at you and you almost whished you’d left him to rot in the back of his car.

“I go to therapy, you ungrateful fuck, you won’t be teaching me shit about a healthy mental state.”

“Oh, what do you go for ? To learn to be less of a pussy and not run when things don’t go your way ?” Responded Tashi, more than annoyed by your condescension.

“No, I go to learn how to deal with nasty cold-hearted cunts who fail in life and take it out on everyone around them because they lost their lapdog husband to do that. Clearly it’s working because I’m here.”

“Oh look at her, she had a voice and a purpose now.”

“Don’t talk to her like that…” Muttered Art, finally losing it enough to speak up. It was cute, coming from a good intention and making shit worse.

“And look who finally grew a backbone ! Arthur Donaldson, standing up for someone, how nice. Of course it has to be for her, because if you won’t be fucking her behind my back and moaning her name while balls deep in me, you’ll be defending her.”

“Don’t start Tashi. You moaned her name more than I did, you’re mad that I got to see her and you didn’t, so let’s discuss that !” His voice increased in volume, meeting her as she stoop in to get in his face.

“Why the fuck would I need to see her ? She abandoned me ? She’s a fucking traitor !”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Tashi, because you drilled in my head that after your fucking knee gave up on you I didn’t serve any other purpose than a nice fuck to remind you that there was always someone more useless than you now !”

The voices were coming from everywhere, heated and hurt by the wounds of the past, the kind that couldn’t heal until they were acknowledged.

You were all breathing loudly, looking at each other in pure anger, the anger you had repressed for years, the nasty words and ideas that you had let fester in your minds, desperately trying to move on and to grow into better people. You were all bitter, and in a funny twist of things, the most insane one of you remained sat, smiling at the three of you, enjoying the show.

“Oh, sorry.” He raised his hand, waiving it nonchalantly. “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying this. Happy to see you communicate.”

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve punched their teeth in, but Patrick enjoyed this. Sober or not, he remained annoyingly toxic, thriving off of the chaos that follows him.

“You’re enjoying this ? Really ?” You sounded just as surprised as you were amused, balancing between two moods that had you going from hot to cold.

You watched him stand up and get closer to you, close enough for you to smell the mint body wash on his skin. Good Lord, he smelled so good you could fuck him right now.

His hands traveled from your forearms to your cheek, holding your jaw nicely while you tried to act utterly disgusted by his presence and his touch.

When he kissed you, all tongue and drool, it was a little more difficult to act, mostly when you pulled at his hair the way he like and when his hand moved to hold your throat softly.

“What do you need to drop this act ? You know you want us, sweetheart. You need us in your life and it’s really embarrassing that you’re still keeping up the bit after more than a decade.”

You would’ve been bewildered by his audacity had you not been almost fucked mercilessly into dealing with it. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy putting him in his place, which is what you did when you pulled him away from you by the hair before pushing him back into his chair but not pushing his hand away when it loved to you exposed hip bone.

“I don’t know what fucked up substances had been floating in your system that fried your brain, but you told me to fuck off and die Patrick.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He cut you off with a grin, enjoying the situation even more.

“If I remember correctly, you called me useless. That sounds pretty freaking clear to me. As a matter of facts, the two other’s didn’t even say shit to shut you up so you can choke for all I care. Because yes I left, but you gave me the only reason I needed to.”

And it was funny really, how anger made them all lose their memories because you had really been given a reason, but they still felt like victims.

“So you listen to what my bitch says now ?” Tashi chimed in, angering you further.

“I’m as much your bitch as he was so, yeah, if you’re not defending me, you’re agreeing with him.”

And the perspective wasn’t new to her. It just meant she was wrong all that long and that wasn’t something she could accept. She has thought for years that you’d looked for the exit, when in truth they had opened the doors for you.

And now, it was her turn to kiss you. Nasty and greedy, teeth knocking and pussies leaking as she cussed you out like never before. She wanted you and hated you for making yourself wanted after years. Wanted you so much she pushed you onto the table, swatting the teacups off the table to crash loudly. When her mouth traveled down your neck, biting along the way, as if she was attempting to catch up to years of not marking you as hers, you cried out her name all while pulling at her hair.

Maybe it was the use of the present tense that fucked with her brain on a cellular level. Or it was the way Patrick had kissed you as if he had rights over you when then knew she was the only one who had rights over you. And fuck, you looked so good when you were a bitch, that had her leaking out of her panties like never before.

She refused to take up responsibility but you also refused to admit that you had settled for less, accepting the apologizes hidden in her actions. Mouth mean and piercing when her touch was so soft, like an apology that wouldn’t come out.

When she slid your pants down along with your panties, you expected to get eaten out, instead confronted by a crying Tashi.

“What the fuck ?” You exclaimed, seating up and looking at her.

You tried to raise her hand but were pushed back down instead mouth stuffed with your panties while she hid between your thighs. You would’ve loved to get her tongue deep inside you but with her tears running down your inner thighs, it was hard to not be distracted. She sobbed louder, finally stopping before springing up and storming off.

Art was the one to stop her, worried for the woman he had seen cry maybe twice in his life. His eyes asked a thousand questions wonder and fear traveling through, powered by the fear of failing to rekindle the old flame that kept him alive.

“Why did you have to fuck her ?! Why do I have to deal with her again ?!”

It was harsh but you didn’t take it personally, never with her. She was a loyal person, ironically, and to lose the pillar that you were had killed her inside. Her finger pointed at you while she sobbed, letting go of years of resentment.

“You abandoned me ! You left me but you fucked him and you pay for the other to go to rehab ! He hurt you and you save his life when you should let him burn !”

The mask of assurance and anger was crumbling like a sand castle under a wave, traveling as fast as her tears. You wanted to reach and comfort your girl but now could be the wrong time.

“They get every piece of you, even from afar and I get nothing ! You give me nothing but fucking dust !”

This time you did reach out. Holding out your hands to her and letting her fall into your arms like she usually did. She never fought to reach you, she melted for you more than for anyone. Maybe that was why her marriage to Art had failed, because by default, you were the quickest route to her heart beyond the planning for the perfect tennis related life. You actually touched Tashi.

After a while she stopped crying and marched towards Patrick to slap him because he was a smug bitch and the source of all of this, but he was also a good sport and took it rather easily. He didn’t care about the slaps, not when they were a necessary step to getting you back into this circle, the correct universal order of things. And he was also pretty glad that she’d slapped him if it meant he could watch her lodge herself between your parted legs and stick two digits in your mouth to shut you up when you yelped at the coldness of her breath on you.

“You’re sick, you know that ?” She had chuckled when looking at you dripping center and rubbing her thumb on your clit. “I cry just a little and you actually get wetter. That’s fucked, even for you.”

Yeah you were weak to her tears and yeah it did make your insides throb but not because you liked to see her cry. It was because a very twisted part of you knew that only you could get her to act like that, only you could get her to lose that ego and be human for a second. And when she looked up at you with reddened eyes and lashes still a little covered in tears, you did moan because fuck she was hot. She was insane but she was hot and you’d missed having her tongue on you so you took it like the good girl she had trained you to be.

“See how easily things go when you stop being dramatic ?” Had scoffed Patrick, still grinning as he walked towards Art.

“Fuck y- Aah !” You couldn’t finish that sentence, nor when she sucked your clit in like she loved to do whenever you got mouthy. It trained you to be polite.

Patrick watched you slowly lose your resolve, twisted into a submissive little thing, the sweet girl he used to fuck into oblivion, not the egotistical pop star that refused to fucking talk to him.

While Tashi had her fun between your thighs, slid behind Art who evidently couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Oh, how he had missed you, all of you. To watch Tashi devour you like she did ignited a fire in him he hadn’t felt in about a decade, or six months if we went back to the last time he saw you. Here you were, laid on top of his kitchen like a godly offering meant for him to devour. He looked down at you core, watching your cunt throb in desire, never really satisfied until you were filled up properly.

He watched you with glossy eyes and a line of drool picking out of the corner of his mouth, he wanted his mouth of your tits, so nicely presented, bare under your top. Was that what you wanted ? For him to see you and think of your night together, like he had done for the last weeks ? Were you trying to get him to lose it ? He was going insane, more than usual. He could still see him jerk off in the shower, his bed or his TV whenever something about you came up in his head or his screen. He saw you and would cry at the loss of you all while cumming all over himself repeatedly.

“Look at this, pretty girl…” Muttered Patrick, running his nose down Art’s neck. “Look at your sweet boy, Art. Look at how hard you get him when you start acting nice with us ?”

His large hands slid under the blond man’s joggers, pushing the tiny briefs he wore to the side, to let his large cock be freed. You saw him sigh in relief, his long girth and thick balls finally freed from the piece of fabric barely covering them. You could salivate at the thought of him, how his pore dick just could never fully fit in the tiny underwear Tashi had him buy. He’d get aroused and need to push them to the side to breathe. Obviously, all that before you offered to get on your knees and relieve him from the itch.

And you were already getting crosseyed, losing your resolve quickly and forgetting why you were angry at them for all these years. You couldn’t remember, but you knew that you were ready to be used by every single one of them. Starting with your poor baby boy who tried his best not to jump you, respecting Tashi’s time with you all while leaking cum through his joggers. He tried to be so respectful that was the one to drop his pants and tug at his balls to give him a little friction.

A little always went a long way for Art, so when you saw him cum all over Patrick’s hand and not down your throat you were a little disappointed.

Tashi barely spared anyone a glance, to busy exploring your insides with her tongue. When your legs closed in around her, she knew you were close, enough to satiate a decade long thirst for your sweet juices. She sucked in your clit again and you tried to crawl away, too sensitive for the double sucking and penetration, her fingers sliding inside you to part you open properly.

You were so close, whining and moaning her name while rubbing your pussy on her face. But then she stood up, leaving you to cry out while you watched your orgasm die on her tongue.

“You really think I’d let you cum after you ghosted me for a fucking decade ?” She said, looking at you with a mix of disgust and amusement.

You wanted to scream and cuss her out for leaving you so high and letting you crash down, but you knew better and you knew she would do worst if you didn’t watch your mouth.

Patrick was the one to make a move, kissing forehead with another fucking grin. Was that the only thing he did ?

“Be nice to our girl, Tashi… She was certain that we hated her guts.”

“Yeah, well that’s not my problem. You fuck her if you want but she’s not cumming until I say she does.” Her gaze was decisive and you knew that was an order for the two men in the room as well as a threat to you.

You tried to plead with your eyes, pulling at her heartstrings to no avail, you’d need to make yourself be forgiven. But it was also easier to plead with Art who was still staring at you, desperately waiting for his moment. Patrick stared at you both, amused at your fickle attempt at restraint.

He'd always be the one to let himself be driven by his dick so really, he could salute Art for the attempt, had it been him, he would’ve fucked you stupid already. And he would, eventually, he wanted to, his throbbing cock a proof of that. But he wanted to deal with this shit first.

“How about we calm down and let all the anger go, huh Tash ? Look at our sweet girl, look how much she’s missed you ? How about we let her show us, huh ?”

For a few seconds, both looked into each other before she rolled her eyes, agreeing in silence. In mere seconds you were lifted up by Patrick, his hands holding onto your bare ass cheeks while toying with your pussy lips. His nose ran along your nose, inhaling your scent and the aroma of you on his tongue.

“You’ll get to put on a show for us, princess.” He said, nipping on your collarbone all the way down to your nipples. You closed your legs around his waist, throwing your head back in pleasure when his lips ran around your nipple, sucking it in vigorously.

He stopped in his track, turning towards a frozen Art, unmoving and red all over, from the tip of his ears to the tip of his cock. He watched the way you swallowed, eagerly waiting to get to suck him dry. He liked it, when you became just a little bit insane over Art’s cock, salivating at the idea of him drilling his cock down your throat.

Tashi had been watching you this whole time and the way you looked at the blond man. She liked how much you craved Art too, enjoyed watching you two fuck for hours, until you couldn’t think or form a coherent sentence. She stood up, walking in his direction and running a finger over the slit of his tip. He was shaking at the touch, almost ready to cum on the spot.

Tashi took his hand and followed after Patrick and you, dragging the man behind. She pushed him to the bed and Patrick threw you on top of him, Art’s arms wrapping around your waist protectively. He didn’t know what he was protecting you off but he wanted to be in his skin at the moment deep in every crevice of your being.

“Show us what you did together and I’ll forgive you.” She said, taking a seat right in from of the bed next to Patrick.

You could’ve refused, acted like you were better than that, had changed and grown out of that phase of your life and didn’t need her forgiveness. You could’ve been the mentally stable being you claimed to be, but you didn’t. Because you weren’t. You missed being used by all three of the people in the room, watched and admired as a vessel of their pleasure. You missed Tashi being mean to you in bed, so mean that you would cry for hours until she was done and cuddled you afterwards. You missed being used as a cum dumpster by Patrick and his disgusting ways of having sex, thick hairy balls rubbing over your face when he’d make you suck him off. And you missed Art taking you until you were left shaking in his arms, so roughly that neither of you could think a single rational, logical thought.

You missed the messiness of life with them, not prim proper and rational but genuinely sick and twisted, toxic filled bullshit that had you feeling passion like never before. You missed actually being better than them and rubbing it in their faces by always being the first to do the right thing.

You were just as twisted as them, calculated and conniving as the next. Birds of a feather, that was all you, all four of you insane and desperately in love, even if it hurt sometimes.

You didn’t talk shit out that night or the day after. You fucked all night, finally forgiven around 4AM, just in time for Tashi to sit on your face while Art and Patrick battled each other to eat the cum out of you. The weren’t sure whose it was but they wanted a taste. And that went along for the next day because while Patrick and Tashi could actually control themselves, Art never could, not with you. He kept going until his balls hurt and he’d been shooting blanks inside you.

Patrick wouldn’t apologize, not with words but with actions, because he was still an ego drive piece of shit and he refused to admit being wrong when it came to you. But he loved you so he became nicer and watched his words around you, because he refused to go insane again at the loss of you. Tashi would move on as if nothing happened, her girlfriend was back and she’d eventually get married with Patrick because she actually worked with Patrick and loved him the way she couldn’t Art, but never the way she loved you. Art would pamper you like you were heaven on Earth, worshipping the very ground you walked on and feeding off of your love for him just like you fed on his love for you, because you actually loved Art, loved him enough to get married and have that baby you talked about.

The dynamic was weird but it worked and it was all planned also. Nothing had really changed, except you, you became worse. Just as unstable as them.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Let's be very clear about what the Houses do.

When Gideon fantasises about leaving the Ninth, this is what she imagines:

Not for Gideon a security detail on one of the holding planets, either on a lonely outpost on an empty world or in some foreign city babysitting some Third governor. Gideon wanted a drop ship—first on the ground—a fat shiny medal saying INVASION FORCE ON WHATEVER, securing the initial bloom of thanergy without which the finest necromancer of the Nine Houses could not fight worth a damn. The front line of the Cohort facilitated glory. In her comic books, necromancers kissed the gloved palms of their front-liner comrades in blessed thanks for all that they did. In the comic books none of these adepts had heart disease, and a lot of them had necromantically uncharacteristic cleavage.

A drop ship of infantry. Armed with those infantry standard two-hander swords. Their job is to secure the initial bloom of thanergy. Which sounds like a very antiseptic way of saying that a House invasion starts with a suicide squad of teenagers whose job it is to cause as many casualties as possible, so that the necromancers have something to work with. Teenagers like Gideon, desperate serfs or just wanting to make something of themselves, sold a promise of sex and glory, economic assets of their far-flung Houses until their untimely deaths.

But how useful their deaths, and those they take with them are! To the necromanvers of the Second, who can drain your thalergy as you die screaming. The Third, who can draw energy from the corpses littering the battlefield. The Fourth, who can turn them into bombs...

Until the subdued planet can be flipped, a contract put in place, a profit exacted. That Third governor installed.

Later, John explains to Harrow how planets are flipped:

So back at the start we’d drop in a single Lyctor, unnoticed, to start the thanergy reaction. Not to flip the whole planet, you understand, just to get the juice flowing.” He made a hand gesture for get the juice flowing, which made your head hurt. “Then within an hour or two you could send down a team of adepts and be confident they’d have all the reserves they needed. Nowadays we can’t afford to use Lyctors, so the first strike falls to the men and women of the Cohort, and they do a magnificent job…but the old way was neater, and kinder too, I think.

And in NTN, Aim describes her own harrowing experience as a displaced victim of what happens after that invasion, after the long and exploitative economic contract, and after the planet finally succumbs to its flipping:

The usual. It had been under contract for a long time. I mean, we were the third settlement wave, they built the Crescent in the bones of two other cities, you couldn’t dig up anything without finding remnants of a people we’d never known. The microbial population didn’t show signs of serious decay until the moment before the sea went anaerobic. The things crawling out of there … they seemed to mutate all at once … The Houses pulled support, said they’d prep us for an early move, but they left minimal forces in the barracks. We dug up old caches of materiel and used them. On the mutants from the sea, on the animals as they changed, on one another, on the Houses when they saw what we’d got our hands on and came back to take control. Blood of Eden was there too, you know. And in the end the Houses won and most of us surrendered and we were moved. Two moves later, and I’m here. There’s still a facility on Lemuria, of course. A decade later the Houses made it safe for geopolymer refining. It must be desolate.

And so you get the "lonely outpost on an empty world", the assignment Gideon saw as so unglamorous.

[jess-the-vampire]

You know it's stuff like this why I partly can't join the owl house fandom. The fandom seems to persnickety about liking certain charactersand headcanons, especially as someone who has dealt with similar shit before in my other fandoms. Granted there are other reasons I hate the fandom, but this is the worst one. It kinda soured the show for me, granted I never cared for it, but they just worsening it for me.

At times like these, i think it's important to remember posts like this

Bigger fandoms, will always end up looking worse by comparison, it's inevitable unfortunately.

For me, this is also unfortunately nothing new, anyone whose been with me since the start knows that.

It was a decade ago, in another fandom, that i was harassed and accused of being homophobic, because i shipped some characters together that wasn't the popular same sex ship.

I shipped plenty of other same sex ships, heck, i considered the characters in question to be bisexual. But that did not stop me from being publicly mocked, harassed, and put on block lists.

I was underage at the time, this was my first fandom experience, and it also soured that fandom for me, even the show itself.

People go into these things, thinking they're protecting people, or helping others.

And on the surface, i could see how one would think that.

But you're really not, people are not that simple, and neither are what they enjoy or are drawn to.

I was a teenager having fun in my own little space, with a ship i knew was noncanon, and it wouldn't of taken much research to find out i had no issue with the lgbt community at all, but no, it was "You are erasing us, you only ship this because you hate gay people, you're a horrible human being and yada yada yada-"

now, a decade later, it's "You are ignoring the poc cast because you're racist, you only like this character and are invested in him because you believe in what he believes in, you're a racist and sexist being for enjoying him and yada yada-"

Look, people do this because they want to protect people who have been screwed for centuries, it's perfectly understandable to worry that people who think belos is a cool character could like him for the wrong reasons. But people who genuinely think this way are a minority, and will be way more outspoken about those beliefs, is the solution here really to go up to anyone who likes something you don't and ruin them without evidence? To accuse them all of horrible beliefs?

this entire belief system removes the possibility of many MANY other reasons people enjoy media, and is straight up jumping to conclusions that if someone doesn't fundamentally agree with what you think, they MUST be a bad person. No critical thinking, no trying to understand others, just straight up assuming things.

Which btw, ironically, is actually acting WAY more like belos then anything the artists doing wittober were actually doing. Even the idea people are making art about his childhood and therefore sympathizing with him falls apart because there have been just as much art about his crimes so far.

Belos is a villain in a cartoon, people have latched onto villain characters since the dawn of time, it's nothing new. If you're going to keep this train of thought going....is disney just bad for their villian brand? are people also horrible for similar reasons if they have a favorite disney villian?

This entire thought process can be applied anywhere if you try hard enough.

Which is the kinda thing that allows actual human beings to be genuinely hurt here.

like are people going to be hurt more because people make aus with belos, or are they going to be hurt more because people who make said aus are accused or being racist people worth scrutinizing?

This thought process also doesn't take into the account of the fact that the people who like belos, might also be lgbt or poc, which....a lot of them are from my experience.

You can't both preach the show's message of accepting people who are different from you, and then also try and justify harassing people because they fandom differently then you. Unless the wittebane people are actively spouting out racist and sexist stuff, they're not doing anything wrong by engaging in the parts of the fandom that interest them.

Not everyone will be drawn to the show for the same reasons, you always gotta remember that, everyone has different favorite characters, different ships, and different things that make them happy.

Fandom is meant to be fun, people make aus because they're fun, they want to play with the media they like and do new things with it.

I strongly doubt everyone who has made an au staring hunter, or belos, or who thinks the wittebanes are interesting, sat down and said "Man, i like this show, but there are too much minorities in it, i hate minorities, i should make an au removing them or draw the wittebanes because they are white".

as a fan of these characters myself, i like them, but don't care too deeply about the blights, other white popular characters. I feel that should imply my investment in them has a lot more to do with other aspects then race.

in fact this makes me wonder if the person complaining in the tags would have the same argument about aus staring eda or amity in the same vain, even though hunter eda and amity are all lgbt, and two are disabled.

If you are doing stuff like this, either don't engage with stuff that doesn't interest you, because it's really weird to be this obsessed with a part of the fandom you don't care about.

or maybe, actually try to understand why people like it, rather then assume it's for the wrong reasons.

just my thoughts.

[dfyltdy]

Armand Prefers the Rake Over the Lawnmower Again

Armand had to give up his relationship with journalist Daniel Molloy to maintain his familiar and understandable relationship with Louis de Pointe du Lac. He likely did this to better control Louis and prevent his suicide attempts following Claudia's death.

Armand was deprived of his coven, the routine, and the understanding of what to do each day when he was part of his theater. Over the decades, Louis became Armand's coven. He learned Louis's routine, thoughts, and could predict his steps. He knows what it is like to be with Louis. It is familiar and stable for him.

It became entirely normal for Armand to thwart Louis's suicide attempts, establishing a banal and predictable eternity. Daniel Molloy is a hurricane that bursts into their lives, exposing the raw wounds of each of them. Possible romantic relationships with Daniel would destroy the familiar routine that Armand had built. Given his need to monitor and control everything around him, this leads to the total collapse of the web he spun around Louis. In new, unclear, and completely unstable relationships with Daniel, Armand has no control over either Louis or Daniel. This frightens him, causing him to act rashly, choosing relationships where everything is familiar.

This is his coping mechanism: choosing the familiar, life with Louis.

Considering that Daniel was genuinely captivated by Armand, not finding him boring, whereas Louis had long been tired of life with him, as well as life in general.

In some sense, Armand replaced Claudia for Louis, not Lestat. Armand became a companion for Louis, just like Claudia, taking care of sustenance, routine, money, entertainment, and safety.

The tragedy in Paris forever deprived Louis and Armand of romantic thrill and sexuality. The erosion of the erotic aspect of their relationship, which no one managed to revive. Louis sought solace in young people, promiscuous sex, and blood mixed with drugs. Cleaning up after Louis became part of Armand's routine.

It is worth recalling that the dynamics of Louis and Claudia's relationship also changed several times. The first time it happened was when she asked to be called sister, and Louis stopped being a father to her, becoming an uncle, reflecting his inability to care for her as a parent. Such a role shift deeply angered Lestat. After all, you can't just change the dynamic he had built.

Most likely, this happened implicitly in Louis and Armand's relationship, as shown by the characters' behavior from the first season. If Claudia did things and helped Louis just because he was part of her family, Armand does it because he does not want and cannot be alone. Loneliness is a hostile environment for him. He does not know how to be alone and does not consider it normal for himself. It's a hostile environment filled with uncertainty.

Again, Armand has sacrificed too much in his relationship with Louis to let go of the reins of their cart. Yes, it's without a front wheel, but still on the move, sometimes falling into pits but then steering back on the right path. Reflecting this situation, one can recall the conversation on the bench where Louis asks Armand to leave the coven for his sake, but even the thought of it causes Armand pain. Louis asks him to abandon the familiar, built over hundreds of years. Armand disagrees, but Louis accepts dominance over him as a submission to his will.

Something new, unfamiliar, and unknown poses a huge threat to the fragile balance that Armand tries to protect. That is why he engages in masking, portraying himself as Rashid, fully dissolving into another personality, wrapping himself in it like a cocoon of safety. This way, he tries to protect himself from Daniel's keen mind and avoid his suspicions and attacks immediately. While Louis finds it amusing to engage in such a battle with Daniel, Armand needs time to build a fortress around himself and come up with a lie that would divert suspicions from him and not trigger unwanted memories in Louis and Daniel.

However, despite all Armand's efforts, Louis left him. Left alone, Armand turned Daniel into a vampire, hoping to find new support in him and maintain some semblance of stability in his life.

[maggstar]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+, mni DNI!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: here babes

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, public sex (at night, so it's chill), mutual touching, protected sex (cause we don't want any diseases!), reader is a virgin, lots of kissing and tongue action ;)

𝐖𝐂: 6.5k (holy shit?)

𝐀/𝐍: this is for my biker hee enthusiasts, hope yall like this :)

Please leave any sort of feedback: reblogging and commenting is the best for me, so let me know!!

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A peaceful Saturday night in the outskirts of town was scheduled to be disturbed in the following minutes as another biker season was about to take place. Bikers have gathered all across the city to attend a race, this time the possession for the winner being a brand new Breakout 117. 

Surprisingly, you weren't here for yourself, but for your friend, who couldn't miss this chance. Every month, he somehow managed to drag you along. Sometimes you truly questioned your decisions, especially given the circumstances. You weren't a significant other nor a fan, just a friend of a boy with whom you have known for decades. At this point, it became a tradition, as he claimed you were his lucky charm for victory. 

Sometimes it was worth the fun, especially when you got to witness your friend winning. He was a professional, not only skillful but also sensible, unlike some of the drivers. Whenever the two of you went on rides, he was extra careful. You simply trusted him, just like you did when you bet on him before the match, putting your money on the fool. 

You looked around the field, recognizing some of the contestants and their significant others, their style matching the rock and roll image their partners were carrying. You felt awkward standing there in your boring jeans and hoodie, finding your choice of clothing rather amusing. Yet again, that was you.

As you stared at the road again, your eye noticed a familiar figure approaching your friend, identifying them from miles away. He was taller and leaner than him, always wearing the same leather jacket during these events, lazily topping the outfit with some jeans. 

He had been fairly new in town, yet his performance proved everyone wrong, quickly stepping up the ladder. You didn't know much about him besides a few encounters, in which he surprisingly always found a smooth pickup line to make an impression. He never mentioned his name nor where he was from. There was a mysterious vibe surrounding him, which intrigued you more. 

As if he could sense your stare, he turned his head in your direction, eyes catching yours, passing a light smile, catching you off guard. You widened your eyes at the realization, quickly looking away even though it was late, slightly panicking inside. 

You didn't know why his presence made you feel this way. The first time he came to you, you felt your stomach hitting a wall, gaze focused on the boy's face. Saying he was just handsome would be an understatement because it was breathtaking. Maybe it was just the effect of the moonlight shining on his face or the wind casually blowing his hair into a messy one, prompting him to run his hands through it like he was in a TikTok edit.

Something about him gave you a tingling feeling, and you couldn't understand what it was. 

"Missed me?" you turned around at that voice, meeting him hovering over you with a smug grin, licking his lips teasingly. Fucker

"You wish," you crossed your arms, swinging your hair to appear unbothered at all costs, knowing damn well it wasn't working. 

"Hm, why were you eyeing me then?" his words landed on the tips of your ears, hearing his smirk as he leaned against the fence, trapping you in between. 

"Because you were talking to my friend?" you stepped back, hitting the fence with your back, trying to avoid the intense watch he was attempting to pull you in. He only reached closer, his nose brushing against your neck, smelling the soft jasmine scent. Your heart almost burst out at the random contact, grabbing the hem of your hoodie to hold in the gasp. If you weren't so sensitive, the hairs on your neck wouldn't have stood up at that little touch, proving to him just what effects he had on you. 

"Hm, your friend," he casually twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, clearly enjoying edging you, "the one you always bet on, huh?" 

You nodded, your cheeks burning up from the sudden attention, only exposing yourself to him more. It was too difficult to think straight when the distance between you was so slim you could almost hit your face in his chest, the powerful aroma of rosewood hitting your senses. Not only was it nice, but it was your favorite, the fragrance you would come back to in the perfume shop whenever you had the chance. What a coincidence that he had to be wearing it while seducing you. 

"Why don't you bet on me once? I wouldn't disappoint you," the quirkiness in the sentence punctured, tucking the strand of hair behind your ear. You knew he was good, so the confidence didn't surprise you. Still, it made you nervous, the unpredictableness of his actions tempting you.  

"Why should I?" you sighed, fighting yourself not to lose your composure after his fingertip traced over your jawline, visible due to your avoidance of eye contact. His touch did something to you, and you weren't sure if you were supposed to like it. Technically he was your friend's opponent, and getting close to him seemed like a form of betrayal. 

"Cause if you do, you'll win," he held your chin, pulling it back to face him, finally examining your flustered expression," and I'll take you on a ride through the city." You stared into his brown eyes, unable to read his intentions through them, doubting your reactions.

"That's it?" somehow your brain succeeded in forming a normal sentence, sensing his hand sliding into your back pocket, internally screaming at the scene. He acted as if it was a regular thing he did, not a visible effect of it. You, on the other hand, were losing your mind.

"Someone's greedy," he smiled, pulling away after what felt like an eternity of torture, giving you space to take a proper breath at last. You didn't want to appear dramatic, but seriously the tension that transferred seconds ago left your throat dry. 

"There is a race tomorrow downtown," he turned around, looking back from his shoulder, "be there. I might have something else planned too."

And with that, he took off, returning to his crew, leaving you thoughtless, dazzled, to be specific. He really left you hanging there, mind empty, heartbeat speeding up, and lungs begging to scream. 

For a moment, you forgot the contest was about to start, your friend waving at you before putting on his helmet and getting into the starting position alongside the others. You saw the newbie sitting on his motorcycle, shooting a wink, and taking off as soon as the starter commander waved the checkered flag, disappearing in the distance. 

He was serious when he said his luck was his secret weapon. Everyone seemed to have expected him to win another race, proudly taking home another trophy with a couple of ladies interested in spending some "quality time" together. He didn't mind, merely paying them attention because he was focused on someone else. He was focused on you.

However, you were busy comforting your friend, laughing and smiling at whatever he was saying, stinging his emotions. He expected you to congratulate him, a bit resentful by the outcome, tongue poking the inner side of his cheek. 

It was stupid for him to want you to notice him, especially when so many girls had their eyes on him. You wouldn't approach him like that. He had to be the one to make the first move to make progress. Taking that into consideration, he remembered there was still tomorrow, his last chance to prove he was worth your while, and he was ready to whatever it would take to win that race.

He didn't know you were aware of his stare, not giving in so easily to see what it would do with him. It wasn't like you were playing hard-to-get. You simply wanted to find out to what extent he was willing to go for you, even if that meant he had to chase after you.

You had already decided to come to see him the next day, not expecting to find a paper note in your back pocket once you had reached home. It had a phone number written on it with the time of the event, and reading the message in small cursives made you scoff.  

"P.S. You might want to keep this for later.

- your favourite biker ;) "

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn't surprise you when you came by as planned and witnessed the familiar faces hanging around, some of them even greeting you with a smile and a quick hi.

Nevertheless, you didn't expect to run into folks out of town, assuming this race was more important than the one yesterday. It wasn't common for bikers from other cities to partake in a contest, let alone in this town.

You wondered if your friend had a clue about this happening as he wasn't a part of the crowd, guilt rushing through at the lack of his presence beside you. 

You sat down on the nearest bench, eyes skimming for the boy who convinced you to come in the first place. He was in the front talking to his group of friends he had made in the past weeks, one of them tapping his shoulder at your sight. That was all he needed to turn around and distinguish you amongst the people, telling his friends he would return in a minute as he started walking towards you with a can of beer. 

"You came," he grinned, hiding the actual excitement inside, squatting in front of you to meet your gaze. You rolled your eyes at the statement in hopes of pushing away the same warmth you felt 24 hours ago. 

"So you want me to take you on a ride, huh?" the cocky smirk after that made you scoff, quickly taking it back when his elbows rested on your thighs, causing you to stare at him with a startled face. He brushed it off, smiling and handing you the liquid, nudging you to take a sip. You explained to his dorky ass you didn't drink, and he couldn't help but laugh at the information because it was even more amusing.  

"Can I ask you for something?" he broke the silence by voicing his question, watching you nod.

"Can you give me a kiss for good luck?" you almost choked on your breath at his calmness during the proposal, widening his eyes as if you were the one who had presented an inappropriate suggestion.

The boy wasn't messing around, and you understood that the minute he leaned in closer, face inches away from yours while his orbs lusciously studied your plump lips covered in pink lipgloss. 

"Just on the cheek, if you're too shy," his response only invoked you more, standing up after pushing him away. He gaped at you, fixing his posture amidst waiting for an explanation.

"What, was it too much? Did I embarrass you?" the cursed thumb brushed over your cheek, gently stroking it with a content laugh. He wasn't only teasing but relishing your flustered state, in which you asked yourself: "What the hell am I doing with my life?".

"You have to earn it first," you pulled away, crossing your arms, letting your brain break down and comprehend the impact your words would have on the playboy. 

"Sounds like an invitation," he sneered, taking a sip of the alcohol, sensing the thrill running down his body at the possible outcomes. It made everything better knowing you didn't calculate your reply, adding to the fever. 

Before you could perceive the situation, he returned to his buddies, smiling from ear to ear at the unexpected yet pleasant turn of events. 

Soon after, the motorcyclers repeated the typical preparation for the beginning of the night, their supporters encouraging them for the best results. You stood behind some of them, glimpsing at the tall boy out of the corner of your eye, who was already ready to cross that finish line and get you all to himself.

The race took off the minute the commander yelled go, the sounds of the engines storming off through the selected path, vanishing at a swift speed. It was a long one, including overlaps at some destinations, making it more challenging. This all appeared to be a higher level compared to the usual races you witnessed, curious to find out if the charming flirt actually had a chance on impressing you tonight. 

His demeanor was overall confusing, and honestly, you had no clue what to think or feel. It was pleasant when he gave you attention, and you couldn't act like his words didn't do something to you. You have never been in a relationship, having been too focused on school to make time for love, not seeing the queue of potential lovers. Thus, these chats left you with a new feeling, craving more.  

It would be a crime not to mention he was astonishingly attractive, the way he talked, moved, and most of all, looked at you. The captivating eye he would give whenever you appeared on his radar drove you crazy, followed by an assured smirk. It was enough to build a tiny crush on him without acknowledging it, not wanting to hurt your ego by admitting it aloud. 

You came to reality after everyone started loudly cheering, blowing whistles, and gathering around the winner, who got hidden behind the buffs. You stepped closer, taking a peek between the heads, coming face to face with him. After all, he kept his word.

"I told you you wouldn't regret it," he said as he put a helmet on you, patting the seat behind him, keen on leaving the place with you.

You were still taken aback by the pace of the situation, recalling the disappointed looks when the handsome one chose you instead of them.

Nevertheless, you were happy at the moment, joining him with a huge chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist without him having to ask, slightly taking him aback with the out-of-the-blue contact. 

He didn't say much after, calmly driving through the streets, checking you through the rearview mirror sometimes.

The ride felt different, unlike when he took his other flings somewhere, and he didn't understand the meaning. It was already unusual for him to feel nervous about someone's company, especially when this scenario had played out countless times before.

A part of him felt bad for taking advantage of the situation, especially given your innocence compared to his exes. He presumed you weren't aware of his relationship because otherwise, you probably wouldn't have agreed to this. 

Then again, this was the first time he worked so hard to impress someone, almost giving up during the race. However, during one of the laps, he saw you standing behind the railings, showing thumbs up with an irresistible smile, providing him the right energy to pull through.

That had never happened before, and he was aware of the seriousness of the news. It would mean it was the first time in many years a flirter like him would fall hard enough to like someone. 

The more you squeezed, the more he noticed the effects of it on his body, clenching his jaw to concentrate on the road and not the unwanted happiness.

He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to come to terms with the fact someone could give him butterflies. It simply didn't fit his image, and he never believed in the cute lovey-dovey stuff others experienced.

Now it all bit him back, showing him just how nice it could be if he let the walls he had built around down for a minute. After that one relationship he had, it was hard to find someone he could truly trust, and many had wronged him in the past, leading to his cautious state. It wasn't an excuse to be a playboy, but he used it to appear careless. This way, he wouldn't fall in love and hurt himself. 

He was curious about your past and if you had any nice affinities in which you were happy and content with yourself. He didn't want to harm you with his mentality and behavior, not ruin your image with his dirty games.

Now, he regretted taking you out because he was dangerous. Not in the usual way, but emotionally, he didn't want to leave an avoided scar. It was confusing, he was difficult for no reason.

He never cared about this because the girls he met up with had the same desires, some hoping for more but unfortunately ending up heartbroken. Whenever that happened, he skimmed through it, not giving a second thought to them.

Yet, he sat here entering the motorway after circling the city, disbelieving his decisions. It was touching to hear your little gasps and awes, telling him how beautiful the lights from the skyscrapers looked, pointing at the buildings. It warmed his cold heart, managing to satisfy someone with such small things. It was foreign. 

He didn't believe he pulled you off with his foolish tactics, earning your trust without having to tell much. Under normal circumstances, he would be against this idea because it was playing with fire. He felt this need to protect you ever since he had met you due to your pure personality, quirky lines, and profound smile. 

All of the desire to hook up perished away, and he only wanted to show you a better view of the city, driving up to a secluded place where he spent most of his time alone. It meant a lot to him, too special for anyone to know about, thus never having taken someone up there. You were the first and probably last person to visit it, the sound of it now appearing appealing to him. 

"Where are we going?" you shouted into the sky, the sound of the motorcycle so loud you could barely hear yourself. 

"It's a surprise, hold tight," he remarked back, glancing back at the road as the destination was getting closer, feet tensing at the information. You decided to trust him, pulling in closer to rest you heard on his back, a smile forming behind the helmet. It felt cozy to be so close, even if it was for a while.

You were so lost in your thoughts and feelings that you didn't register the satisfaction his existence gave you, unnecessarily disassembling the reason for the fervor your heart experienced. 

A few minutes later, the two of you finally reached the stop, parking beside the road to take you to the spot. You jumped down, letting him take off your helmet even though you knew how. He stared into your eyes once more, admiring your beauty while your hair was blowing in the wind, revealing your majestic looks. 

"You liked the night city so much," he uttered after putting away everything, joining you at the fence, "so I thought you should see the best of it." 

"It's," you were at a loss for words, marveling at the view ahead, having the vision of the whole city underneath. It was incredible, and you could only sigh in astonishment, joyful to be able to see it. 

"Beautiful," he completed the sentence, glancing at you with the hope you would catch on the little hint. You were too fascinated to uncover the message he had thrown at you, looking around with a big beam, letting out tiny noises of delight. He couldn't stop staring at you instead of the view, finding himself slightly grinning as well. 

"You know, you still haven't told me your name. You know mine, it would only be fair if I knew yours," you turned around, catching him swiftly turning around to face forward, holding in a giggle. 

"Heeseung," you raised your eyebrows at the reply, expecting a game in which you would have to guess or earn it. He said it without any thought, resting his hands on the bars. 

"Well, thank you, Heeseung."

"For what?" he glimpsed at you, studying the vivacious energy you carried, making him forget the tiredness he had held. 

"For bringing me to your secret place. It's lovely."

"Just like you," you gulped at the random compliment, mind going crazy while you attempted to hold yourself together. 

"They weren't kidding when they said you were a playboy," the sentence felt like a punch in the stomach, glancing at you to see the regret on your face, having expected this to happen regardless. 

"Why say that?" 

"You flirt with anyone naturally," the intonation of the comment asserted with a scoff. "You're just messing around, right? No feelings attached, just looking for someone to score."

"Y/N,"

"I'm not saying it's wrong, just-" you paused, brows furrowing at the lack of knowledge. You didn't know why it angered you so much, why it bothered you so much. Why was the thought of him alternating between women so frustrating? Why did you even care? It wasn't like he wanted to change it anytime soon. He enjoyed playing around because it was fun. Why would something suddenly change with you? Why the hell were you even thinking about that?

"Y/N,"

"It's stupid. I'm stupid. Stupid for foolishly believing it might be different. I don't even know why I thought about it. I don't understand why you make me so nervous when it's just a game, why I feel something when you say the compliments you used on other girls, why I came here in the first place, why my heart beats so fast when you look at me. Why-"

"Because I fucked it up!" he shouted, preventing you from rambling any longer, startling you at the shift in demeanor. His sharp gaze sliced through you, anger fuming in it. He wasn't mad at you. He was disappointed in himself.

"I wanted to hook up and have fun like you said. That's what I do because I'm a coward. I'm afraid of getting attached to someone," he panted, needing to take a breath after finally saying the truth out loud, shutting his eyelids to prevent tears. He wasn't letting that happen.

"I'm afraid of hurting again," his voice softened, biting his lip to prepare for what he was going to admit. It was already difficult to be in this position with you goggling at his words, processing the unforeseen amount of information thrown at you. 

"I avoided anything that could put me in that position until I met you," his hands clenched into a fist, wrath clambering in his bones, yelling at him for being such a coward. He was itching to kick something, punch an object to get it out before it could absorb him, fighting the need by engraving nail marks into his palm.

"Ever since I laid my eyes on you, there wasn't a day I stopped thinking about you. Your image was buried inside my head, and I couldn't get rid of it," he inhaled, chest feeling heavy at the weight his upcoming words carried, eyes meeting yours, the tension trapping your heart. 

"That damn smile of yours, Y/N. It ruined me in the best way possible."

...

...

...

The world around you two seemed to have stopped at that moment, staring at each other without saying anything, silence taking over after what was declared out loud, muscles tightening with each second the brain replayed the words, struggling to put the information into the database. It kept slipping out, checking if the content of it was correct and if there wasn't a mistake when it was collected. All the signs indicated the process had been performed successfully, thus leaving you with the truth, which was unthinkable.

Your heart had so much to say, but your mouth couldn't move, speechless to form a coherent response. You lost your thinking in his gaze, studying his aching expression, which desperately coveted an answer. He didn't care what it would be. He had to hear something before he would lose his mind because it was right around the corner waiting for him, and he could take off any second.

"I-" You hopelessly made an effort to say something, leaving the pronoun hanging in the air with your thinking, your emotions taking over your system. Before any of you could say something, your hands reached for the back of his neck, drawing him to your lips swiftly, gasping at the new sensation. 

Your heartbeat went up at the act, his only rapidly increasing whenever you pulled away to press on his lips again, nibbling on your bottom lip, smearing your lipgloss, and acquiring the faint taste of strawberry in his mouth.

He didn't expect this, the possibility of it not even entering. The ire for himself subsided, withering out every time your tender touch coated your lips with affection. The hatred faded into the darkness, leaving on ease. All the curses and insults reset, unplugging the tension in his joints, balance failing to cooperate. No part reported back their status, senses being the only department registering and functioning. 

"He-heeseung," your voice whispered, sighing as he put all of your hair on your other shoulder, having full access to your neck, on which he immediately left a soft kiss, barely pressing his lips on your warm skin. That was enough to give you the biggest goosebumps, going down to your legs, which floundered not to move.

You couldn't let out a protest or argue about his doing because you were tongue-tied, thunderstruck, or whatever other phrase that described your situation. His fingers grazed over yours with grace, poking the space in between to intertwine them, taking a whiff of your delectable perfume. 

"Can I touch you, Y/N?" his thumb gently stroked your hand, leaving tender smooches on your skin, lightly wrapping the other around your throat, lifting your chin to be able to see you. You only stared back in mesmerization, body, and mind entering numbness, stranding you with suspense. 

"I-I," the word stumbled, just like your brain did when he stepped closer, his body pressing against yours, your back hitting the railings. It happened again, trapping yourself in his ardor, eyes floundering to stay open, weakening because of him. At this point, you didn't want anything more than his touch, tippy-toeing to feel his lips on yours again, dissolving in his embrace.

His free hand slid under your shirt, caressing your stomach as he rested his forehead on yours to stare intensely into your eyes, completely emptying your worries and doubts. You whimpered at the move, causing him to pull away with a smirk, whereas you covered your face out of embarrassment. 

"It's ok," he moved it away, stroking it to conceal the chuckle that badly wanted to come out, "I want to know if I'm making you feel good."

The wave of heat ascending had you begging for more, pulling him by his chain, wrapping your arms, unleashing the oxytocin and dopamine out of your system. The serotonin circulating in your blood made you jump on him, luckily getting held and seated on the railings, smiling at your enthusiasm. You weren't comprehending your doings, incapable of reflecting. 

"Someone's eager to have me," he laughed, teasing you with his lip between your lips, sliding in at the moment his hand rested on your thigh, forcing you to gasp and give him the opportunity to show you another compelling experience. You weren't sure if it was supposed to be this luscious or if it was simply the swoon speaking. Either way, your panties started feeling uncomfortable at the stain of arousal they had to absorb, demanding some friction. 

"Spread your legs, princess," he tapped on your thigh, grinning at your immediate reaction, unzipping your jeans to slide them down your ankles. 

"Heeseung, what if someone sees us?" for a minute, rationality entered back, alongside shyness, legs clasping against each other at the cold wind bouncing between them.

"Don't be nervous. Nobody comes here at this time. It's dark anyway, so they wouldn't see us." 

That calmed you a bit, not imagining participating in something like this in public, at the edge of a railing. Risk-taking wasn't in your nature. Nonetheless, something about it was exciting and surprisingly made it more fun. If your past self saw you right now, she would have probably fainted. 

Heeseung was in his world, hand wandering lower out of impatience, drawing circles with his index finger on your inner thighs, the softness of your skin driving him crazy. There was nothing compared to craving someone so badly, and he wanted to cherish every second of your fragile whimpers, his name rolling on your tongue from imploring.

He had never felt this needy for someone, always having had one-night stands to blow off some steam. It wasn't memorable, none of them standing out, simply falling into the repeated cycle without a label, just a blunt recollection. Tonight, however, was going to be an unforgettable memory, and he couldn't stop thinking about it as he reached your clit, replacing his finger with his thumb, and pressing a little to carry out the motion. You bit your lip at the act, still holding on to his arm for support, burying your flushed face in it. 

"Does that feel good, angel?" he whispered in your ear, sucking on your helix, biting playfully to make you squirm underneath. You quietly murmured what sounded like an agreement, battling with the lewd noises your mouth desperately wanted to sound. It only worsened with him picking up the speed, drawing infinity symbols all over, sending your vision to the back of your head.

Without noticing, he brushed his crotch against your leg, softly moaning, provoking you to do the same. You moved your leg in his favor, making sure you weren't putting in too much, falling apart at his hushed moans. 

"Put your hand on it," he pointed, guiding it to his bulge, which was poking through his jeans, warming up in your palm. Your eyes almost fell out of their pockets at the advancement of the situation, practically losing it. 

"That's what you did just by kissing me," he panted, groaning instantly at you gripping it, releasing it gradually, propelling him to curse out loud. It was your curiosity and purity that pushed him over the edge, wondering how long he had before officially hitting the ground from how far he was falling for you. 

"I want to make you feel good too," you pleased, sliding into his pants to stroke his erection through his boxers, watching him soften under your spontaneous dominance.

"Are you sure? You don't have-" His words got cut off by an eager kiss, almost falling over due to the intensity of it, moaning into your mouth while your tongue met his, insides flipping over at the emanating smacks. 

There wasn't a better way to answer that question, his pants falling along his boxers after reaching for a wrapping in one of the pockets. Watching him put on a condom was another shocking discovery for you, learning how wrong your reading about him had been. 

"Here," he lifted you, taking off his leather jacket to place it over the fence before positioning you back on it, uncovering a hidden gentleman. Frankly, all of his actions tonight were new to him, from the way he handled you with care to his eagerness to have you, his member basically twitching at every contact you two shared. He was down bad, and he loved it. 

"Slow, please," you wrapped your arms around his neck, "it's my first time."

"Wait, really?" he held onto the bar for support, too stunned to speak after the revelation, anxiety rushing through his limbs. You nodded, worried it might change his mind about doing it with you. That wasn't his concern, though. It was more about if he should be the person to guide you through it. Not to mention, the place was already a horrible choice, reevaluating his measures. 

"Don't you want to lose it with someone else? You know, someone more special," the self-doubt peeked through, surprising you. 

"No, I want you," the reassurance soothed the tense one. "There's no one else I want to do it with more."

Heeseung stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. The straightforward answer was what he had wanted to hear for years. To be someone's first choice and not a pinch-hitter, to be selected from the various other options. To be wanted by someone, not just for their pleasure but for his as well. He realized at this moment how much it meant, the sudden need to kiss you taking over, aligning his shaft into your wet entrance.

"Is this ok?" 

"Yes, but it hurts a bit," you pulled on his collar, adjusting to the tugging thing between your legs. It was weird, and you weren't sure how much of it he had put already, stressing over how much you could take in. 

"It will soon pass. I'm sorry," he pulled you into another kiss, rubbing against your clit before pushing in again, this time going in a bit deeper, holding you with one arm. It was unpleasant, and you recalled your gynecologist examination, the same pain now ravaging through. You appreciated his effort at making it less painful, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"You're so sweet for a supposed bad boy, you know," you groaned, nails digging into his T-shirt, into his back, to be precise, leaving some marks. Heeseung couldn't wait to look at them in the mirror tomorrow, content as he left some lovely patterns all over your collarbones. 

"I think you have a special effect on me."

A cry parted at the deepening and sayings, walls trying to push out the unfamiliarity, leaving you with more discomfort than necessary, face scrunching up. 

The only thing that kept you going was his worried attentiveness lingering on you, checking in after a bit of kissing and rubbing, concentrating as hard as he could. Fortunately, his gentle manners relaxed you, easing a little the more you gave in, not paying attention to the pain any longer. 

"Is it at least a little better?"

"Yes," you beamed, "I think I can actually feel someth-" A whine cut you short, a weird ecstasy unlocking at his shaft moving, gasping at the feeling. 

"Hm, that's the spot, huh," he kissed your cheek, caressing your hair as he repeated the motion, pushing out the air in your lungs. 

"Oh fuck, is this supposed to feel this good?" you wailed, tugging to his collar for support, your life flashing ahead of you.

"Yes, sweetheart. It means you're doing great" another thrust, this time more powerful, shattering your G-spot. The combination of his voice and nickname made you see stars, wandering in the pleasure emanating.

The only thing you could think about was him, your hand in his big hand, stroking you with his thumb calmly as he sucked on your now puffy lips, placing one between his, perfectly sliding against each other. The slowness of it made your head spin, adding up with his tongue roaming around, transferring his warm saliva with yours, painting your mouth in it.

He roamed in you now since you gave him the green light, the lube on the condom enabling him to slip in easier, your walls sucking him in to keep him inside.

Neither of you had to say anything because your eyes spoke instead in between the passionate ravaging, reaching the depths of each other's soul, smoothing out all of the worries and fears it held on. The comfort you two passed on each other sent you in euphoria, eyes smarting from how good it felt, not believing it was possible. 

"I don't know what's happening, but you're doing things to me," your brows curved up, the pace of his thrusts picking up at the confession.

"If only you knew what you do to me."

"I mean that something is happening," you spoke, indicating to your stomach, "I can feel it building up."

"Oh, you're close?" he face-palmed himself from within, laughing at his awkwardness. 

"I think so," you pulled him closer, planting your nose into his shoulder to conceal your volume. 

"That's alright, cum for me, please," he pleaded, checking if his ears weren't deceiving him. He really begged for you to reach your high on his cock. 

"I think I'll fall in love with you if you keep this up," your fingers dipped in more, orgasm increasing in size with his cock bursting in your dripping hole, catching the wet sounds. 

"Hm, I think I'm one step ahead of you," his groan shoved out, biting on your neck to grant your climax, sensing his approaching hastily.

"I'm gonna cum if you keep talking like that."

"Then be a good girl and make me happy," he conveyed, your pussy immediately tightening up at the words, throbbing as it released your liquids, covering his member in it. 

"Kiss me," he appealed, welcoming your hands on his cheeks and lips on his, the intimacy of it emptying out his load into the condom, groaning into your mouth at the delight spreading all over his body, leaving him panting from the intensity of it.

You stared into his doe eyes while the two of you were catching on your breaths, beaming from the joy surrounding your hearts. He had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen, brushing your finger over his lips before drawing him into another kiss, a long one that showed your gratitude and happiness. 

"I'm so happy right now," you whispered against his lips, giggling at the funny feeling inside your chest. 

"You have no idea how happy I am," he smiled back, pulling you into a deep hug, firing the tears of joy onto your back.

"Why are you crying?" you quickly pushed him away to grab his face and scan for any type of pain, ending up with a big smile instead.

"Because I finally found happiness."

"You silly, you got me worried there for a second," you put his head back into your chest, playing with his hair to not make him see the huge grin growing on your face. 

"I should take you home," he mumbled, hands rubbing your back.

"No, take me to you."

"Wait, like to my house?" he escaped your touch, staring at you to check if he wasn't hearing things. 

"I want to cuddle tonight," you hopped off the fence, pulling back your clothes while he did the same, still looking at you to confirm he wasn't imagining stuff and you really said you wanted to spend the night with him, at his house, in his bed. 

And you were serious, settling it was time to let your heart make the decisions for a change and carry out the night in its favor.

"Let's go, pretty boy."

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Taglist: @end-hyphen, @hee-pster, @jakeswifeyy, @gegeetime, @heerated, @jayked, @forjongseong, @enhastolemyheart

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ^^

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@maggstar

[atombombkaytee]

Glory and Gore

Summary: Upon arriving at Nuka World, Sole is a little shocked by some of the raider’s furniture. Feral Ghouls as seats!? On one particularly drunken and chem-filled evening, Hancock and Sole find themselves alone and discussing this unusual choice. Hancock sees an excellent opportunity to really wind Sole up.

Pairings: John Hancock x Sole Survivor

Warnings: Smut. Rough sex. Unprotected sex.

“It is kinda cruel, isn’t it?” I whisper, sipping from my drink. My companion glances across at the chair opposite us. A feral has been tied to the frame of the chair by his hands, feet and neck with just a thin cushion placed over his shrivelled thighs so that he takes the user’s full weight upon them sitting down. Hancock shrugs. He has a bottle of whiskey in his hand and, now and then, he takes a huge gulp.

We had arrived in Nuka World only two days ago, and, in that time, I’ve somehow managed to become the Overboss and to befriend three groups of (somewhat difficult) raiders. Tonight we’ve decided to drink with a group called The Pack. Colourful folks, with a shared passion for showmanship and wasteland creatures.

“I mean, don’t you ever wonder if they still have any remnants of their human personalities?”

We’ve managed to escape the ruckus by means of a small shack where we are finally alone (except for the feral ghoul furniture). The light in here derives from a single light bulb attached to the steel roof, it’s dim and it flickers constantly. I feel drunk - the alcohol is different here, stronger. Hancock seems half-cut too; lolling in his seat with one of his legs draped over the arm of the chair and the whiskey bottle in his hand hanging so low that it almost touches the floorboards. We’ve been drinking for at least an hour, but Hancock has been taking his regular chems since this morning - he increased his usage once the celebrations started.

“Better him than me.” He chuckles, finishing off his bottle and immediately twisting the cap off another from the table beside him. Hancock has been a ghoul for less than a decade. Sometime in 2282, his love for getting high had gotten out of hand when he tried an experimental radioactive chem. To this day, he still says the high was worth it. It’s perfectly understandable. With the world like it is today, it's irresponsible to deny yourself any form of distraction that you can get your hands on.

He flicks the bottlecap over towards the feral and it smacks him just above the eye. The creature growls and struggles in his bound position, managing to shuffle the chair forward just a few inches. I can’t help but laugh a little. My mind is hazy from alcohol and mentats, and seeing a chair move is a pretty surreal event.

“Oh, you find that funny do you?” Hancock teases, leaning forward in his seat to catch my eye, “but, what about his feelings?” He mimics my voice, flashing a brazen smile at me before taking another gulp of Whiskey.

I lean over to jokingly hit him, but he curls his free hand around my wrist before I can reach him. I feel myself being gently tugged towards him until I’m on my knees at the foot of his armchair. He looks down at me with a smile twisting on his lips.

“Am I going to have to report you to the Ghoul Protection Society for unfair treatment?” His hand slides under my chin to hold my head in place. I grin up at him, swaying slightly from the alcohol in my system. He leans down to gently kiss me. His mouth feels rough and familiar, I close my eyes and take in his scent as he lingers on my lips, his grip still firm around my jaw.

He stands the whiskey bottle on the side table and unzips his slacks. I feel warmth travel from my groin up to my throat as I shuffle forward to admire his erection. It springs up from within his pants, pink and glistening. The skin is uneven like on the rest of his body, otherwise, he’s endowed just like anyone else.

“Be a good little soft skin, make up for your crimes against my race.” He groans, throwing his head against the cushioned back of the chair, awaiting my mouth. I happily oblige, lapping up his pre-cum with the flat of my tongue, a moan hums from the back of my throat as I taste him. Sweet and salty, ghoul cum tastes better than any human I’ve had. It must be the radiation.

Unable to hold back, I swallow his whole cock, lowering my head down until my bottom lip is brushing against the material of his slacks. I hold myself there for a moment, skilfully adjusting my position until I feel his cock glide perfectly into my throat. Drool streams from my lower lip, covering his pants and settling in a puddle on the leather chair beneath him. I begin to feel my eyes well up as I cough around him, struggling for breath. Pressure on the back of my head holds me in position and the tears begin to roll down my cheeks, black with mascara. I open my jaw wider, desperately attempting for air from around his thick cock, until he finally removes his hand.

I gasp for air, and then my mouth is back on him within seconds. Drenched with thick saliva, my lips now slip up and down his length expertly. I settle on his head, now and then, to circle my tongue around it. He pulsates with pleasure inside my mouth as I explore every groove on his cock. I taste more saltiness in the back of my throat, the arousal leaking from him only makes me want to satisfy him more. My wetness begins to soak into the cotton of my underwear. I can’t help but shuffle while I work on him, trying in vain to reach some kind of release.

I hear a loud thud, the whiskey bottle slips from his grip and begins spilling out its contents on to the floorboards. He bucks his hips, enjoying my hot mouth around his prick. I let him use me as he pleases. My eyes flick up to his; black eyes watching me as he fucks my throat until I’m spluttering again. My body heaving, I run the flat of my tongue up his length playfully. Plum-coloured veins pump blood to his erection, I watch with glossy eyes as it visibly throbs beneath me.

My hand sneaks under his shirt to feel his calloused skin and he takes the opportunity to lift me on to his lap. Still fully clothed, I frantically try to remove my jeans while he slips my shirt back over my shoulder and unclips my bra. My bare chest is just inches away from his face, glistening with sweat and quivering. He admires my breasts, breathing in my the scent of damp skin like it’s a drug to him. His tongue circles around my breast before ultimately taking my nipple between his lips, while I finally manage to kick my panties off from my ankles. I cry out, suddenly realising my own level of arousal. The frigid night air stings against my bare cunt. Silvery strands leak out from my folds, coating his hard manhood like the glaze on a doughnut.

“Please, I need you inside me...” I whimper. He manoeuvres his cock so that the tip is pressed against my slit. I can still feel him pulsating, cold in comparison to the heat deep within me. I hover obediently, chewing intently at my lip.

“Please...” I repeat, meeting my gaze with his. I’m almost in tears, I ache for him.

I jolt forward; clashing my mouth against his, sloppily exploring his mouth with my tongue. At the same time, he thrusts inside me aggressively. My mind melts away to nothing, only pleasure. He fills me perfectly, every ridge on his cock stimulating me as he slides in and out. I can’t breathe. I gasp and heave against his shoulder, letting him take complete control as he bucks his hips into me over and over again. My lip, swollen from my chewing, feels heavy as it bounces along with his strokes.

The heat building in my torso is so intense, the thought crosses my mind that I may throw up. It comes out as a scream. His cock feels like it’s in my belly, my clit brushes against his shirt. Before I know it, my whole body begins to vibrate, and my cunt contracts sending shockwaves arojnd his cock. The intensity of my orgasm sends everything into overdrive, I feel every strand of hair on my body fill up with electricity, my pussy convulses, my pulse thuds dully inside my skull. The evidence of my orgasm runs down over his thick cock, coating his balls.

Feeling me cum around him flicks a switch inside his brain. Despite my orgasming body now being slumped against him like a ragdoll, he fucks me even more furiously. The room around me becomes a blur; his unrelenting strokes send me dizzy in my intoxicated state. Animal-like grunts escape from his mouth, his hot ragged breath on my ear sends goosebumps littering my skin. I can feel his heart thumping through his chest.

His huge length pulses deeper inside me, hitting my cervix with force. Exhausted and desperate, he grabs fistfuls of my hips and moves me against him, until an inhuman sound escapes from deep within him. Still bucking his hips, I feel his seed spill out inside me. It fills my belly with warmth like a shot of brandy on a freezing cold night. His whole body twitches to an abrupt halt and, suddenly, all I can hear is the sound of our wearied breathing.

I knock back his hat slightly so that I can kiss his forehead, his sweat lingers on my upper lip mixing with my own. Twisting myself in the seat, I lay lengthways over him, using the arm of the chair as a headrest and dangling my legs over the other side. His body still trembles beneath me, but he kindly extends a hand to pass me my beer and brushes the sticky hair from my face. Content, I swig from the bottle and lie my head back, absently admiring the roof of the tiny shack while his hands stroke my thighs affectionately. Against my ‘soft’ skin they feel rough, but his touch is gentle and kind.

With the world like it is today, it really would be foolish to deny yourself any form of distraction that you can get your hands on. But maybe, just maybe, this could be something more.

[gabessquishytum]

We love fuck-or-die/swx pollen, right? I mean who doesn't.

But Dream is Endless. The man shaped entity has *stamina*. So while Hob absolutely offers to help put (what are friends for?) He doesn't entirely understand what he's signing up for.

It's amazing. Dream is intense and desperate and it's so so hot. And even when it starts getting to be too much (the spirit is willing, but the flesh is starting to chafe) all Hob has to do is say and he switches to fucking between his thighs or his tits or his mouth so it is overwhelming but in the best way and Dream is still trying to make it good while he gets what he needs.

And eventually no matter how good it is, Hob is going to tire out. But he assures Dream he doesn't need to stop. He can just keep going until he gets what he needs. And Dream makes sure his lover has the best, most relaxing and restful dreams while he absolutely just keeps railing every part of him in the waking world. So when Hob wakes up he's filled with and covered in cum, but he doesn't care.

Dream keeps him in the bedroom for a full week. Pulling food and drink from the Dreaming for Hob regularly and gently feeding him even while he's fucking him senseless.

Hob is sure he's going to be sore for a month after, but it was so worth it and if he ever figures out who got Dream like that he's going to punch them in the gob and then send them a gift basket.

Oh, I absolutely revel in the idea of this.

Imagine being one of Hob’s colleagues. He's called in sick for the week, but you're worried about him. Hob has never been sick in the decade you've known him, so it must be bad. You decide to be a good person and just knock on his door. Maybe bring him some nice takeaway comfort food.

When you get to the door there are... noises. From inside. Faint little thumps and squeaks. It's probably the TV, you decide. And you knock on the door. More thumping from inside, and a string of swear words. A sort of... growling noise. Silence, then shuffling footsteps. The door cracks open.

You can smell the sex. It isn't a bad smell, but it is a strong one. Fresh, hot, sweaty bodies. You take a step back on instinct. You can see a little of Hob’s face through the cracked open door - a very flushed cheek, a glassy brown eye.

You apologise. Profusely. Somewhere behind the door, there's another thump. Hob is apologising too, strained and out of breath. His words are almost being punched out of him. It occurs to you briefly that someone could be fucking him against the door but... surely not.

(Someone, something, is fucking him against the door. You'll never know for sure, but you see a shadow and a shock of wild, dark hair.)

You are feeling very warm. You smile, and leave the takeaway on your side of the door, and you - well, you don't run away. But there's something about Hob’s home and the vibrations that seem to pour out of it that make you hurry back to the safety of your own house or apartment.

You have very good dreams, that night. You'll never forget them. And Hob will never quite look you in the eye again.

[vwv-watching-boy]

I am not dropping this on A03 yet cause this is like mid fic. But here is the only complete chapter I have. (I may add more we'll see. This is at least the only complete scene I have.)

(It has not been beta read. Im just giving you an early look. Ignore grammar and spelling mistakes🙏) @i-used-to-be-a-spy

Happy (late) birthday 🥳

OCTOBER 21

I walk back to the loft, ready for Fiona and me to have a pleasant evening. It's the anniversary of when I first saw her file. When I met her again, I was given a new opportunity to give her a date of my birthday—something that mattered to me, but I'd never let other people know. 

I open the door to see Fiona, Jesse, and Sam. All with their arms crossed looking mad. 

"Hello, extra guest. What are you doing here." I saw with a smile. The most crucial part in not getting caught in a lie is not folding at the first sign of problems. 

"How long?" Jesse asks first.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I fear I have the full understanding of what they are talking about. 

Telling several lies to different people hinges solely on the fact they don't figure out you've told them separate things. Things get bad quickly when people can talk to each other.  

"Michael!" Fiona throws a pillow at me. "How long have you been lying to me.You even gave me a different date then your undercover mission"

"To be fair Fiona, he just reused that date on me." Jesse says from across the room. 

"For how long have I known you MIchael. Every year on your birthday, we hang out. Grab a scotch. and sit in peace. And we've been doing that on some random day." Sam voice is stern with anger.

"Not just some random day. The day I got the paper signed by my father. Well, I guess my mother. That ought to be worth celebrating."

"Not with the scotch I was giving you. I got you high class birthday scotch. Not daddy issues scotch."

Another pillow gets thrown at my face.

"How many years have we had birthday sex and its been a lie."

"Not counting the time in Ireland. Since we've remet."

Fiona mouth goes agap and she scoffs. She reaches fro a vase next. I duck down when she throws it. 

"Okay. Okay I figured this catch up with me eventually. Let me go grab my birth certificate. I keep it in the loft."

I have 2 birth certificates in my loft. The real one. And the fake one. Both hidden in hard to find but eay to get to places. I go for the fake one. 

"Here you go." I hand it to Fiona who then smiles and laughs. while shaking her head. She then hands it to Jesse followed by Sam who all do the same thing.

"Its never this easy with you is it?" Fiona says.

I shrug "Maybe today it is. Maybe I was tired of lying to my friends."

"You could have just told us." Sam says

"And admit I had been lying to you for over a decade. Ive been lying to Fiona for almost a decade. And when given the opportunity to tell the truth with Jesse I still lied. And then spent years mainlining that lie? No way. I was in too deep to come clean." 

They all pause to think for a moment. I continue on "Anyway. Even if I told you. Your reaction would stillbe this, I was delaying the inevitable."

They all nod in agreement.

"Fresh start guys. I promise you not to lie about my birthday. If you promise not to be over the top with it."

Fiona smiles a devious smile "Only if you arent lying."

I smile back " I promise I'm not.

[crguang]

Violinist AU: R and Kafka playing a duet together for the first time in years would be waay more intimate, exposed and personal than full blown sex is. All that tension released at once. That instinctive familiarity on a physical and emotional level, mixed with the newfound bumps, scars and ticks they discover about one another. ("You didn't use to do that", "Its been ten years, R/K"). That moment of vulnerability as they wait to be judged by the other ("Yeah, I haven't practiced for so long...", "They expect something...different at my level").

R especially might feel insecure. Kafka's been playing professionally for years while they...weren't. How could they possible match up with her?

Or worse, R simply doesn't play the way they did anymore. Kafka's idealised duet partner, the one she had pined so much for and pinned all her expectations on R is gone for good. Maybe R knows that, and is convinced that if they play, Kafka will realize that and finally lose interest in them. ("I'll never see her again. I'm not what she's looking for anymore.")

Maybe Kafka has to confront herself when faced with that stark reality. The R she knew is gone. What now? Can she reconcile with that loss? Will she try to manipulate R into recapturing it? Will she finally realise/acknowledge R beyond their "value" as a duet partner? Will she be honest with herself? Will she be honest to R, as they see the initial disappointment in Kafka's eyes and withdraws into themselves?

first of all.... you really get them. omg. like you are inside their HEADS, them playing together again after so long would give them this sort of unforgettable feeling that can only be described as two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. all of their longing and regrets would converge into this one piece and it'd leave them both strangely emotionally raw. them re-learning each other through their respective playing is a recurrent theme throughout the story, so for them to finally play together, as the adults they grew into yet who are no longer strangers... wow like idk how i would even write that. r would definitely be insecure as always lol, but by that point i think kafka would have done a good job at making them understand that she thinks they're amazing. it would take some time, because r responds best to words of affirmation while kafka's a woman of actions, but they'd get there.

as for r abandoning piano as a whole... you actually answered your own questions lmfao. "i'll never see her again" is quite right... see, this is what sev and i call the Evil Timeline for a few reasons: 1) they're essentially strangers now, 2) r has always been insecure about their playing, about not being able to keep up with her, and is very much the type to run away when said insecurities are reaffirmed (as proved by them moving away), 3) kafka's allergic to vulnerability, 4) she's spent a decade, over ten whole years, hung up on a person that doesnt exist anymore-- the key to her music, the one thing she cant separate her art from, just gone? she's getting tf out of there and FAST. and for r, it would just confirm their belief that kafka doesnt need them anymore. i do think kafka idealizes them as a pianist too much. it's something she has to work on since they dont play professionally anymore, but if she had that realization while they were still "strangers"... the blow would be too much. it would be like crushing a decade worth of hopes and dreams in an instant, and kafka's not one to stick around when she gets hurts like this. i don't think she'd try to manipulate them into playing again, imo she would give up on them. it's shitty and sad to say but like... not playing for a decade? they can't keep up with her. the violin is her life and this is kafka, she has high standards. they would both be miserableeee, it's one of those circumstances that could change the whole story imo

[justsomemusingsandthoughts]

Now about season 3 of Bridgerton....some thought from a Greys Anatomy fan of the first hour cause I need to get it off my chest :)

I was really excited to see Polins story unfold even though I didn't watch Bridgerton before or read the books but I was swept up by the excitement on tiktok and got invested in their story.

But as soon as I heard Shona was involved I was like okayyyyyy, I gotta keep my expectations in check cause the women is not one to write healthy and lasting relationships and reasonable men who communicate well😬

Looking at how the season played out, I completely understand why so many people are disappointed cause there was so much potential wasted, so many scenes that could have made clear to the viewer what was going on in Colins head. I think I filled in the gaps in my mind but there are still some moments, some things he said and did that were almost character destroying, specially the comment about the entrapment, cause dude, she didn't even know what sex was🙄 Also, not even trying to have a converation with her about why LW started and has such significance to her was not sth Colin would do.

And that's the crux of why I think for many die hard fans, the season was a let down. They didn't show any true discussions or enough moments of passion alongside the argument cause in truth, there was no time with all the unnecessary side plots and so few episodes. If you saw the season you know, I won't list them all but I will say they better put a proper Polin side story and spicy scene in Ben's season cause the amount of pointless threesomes I had to skip through is almost offensive, especially cause it should be clear people want intimate scenes of the main couple😮‍💨

But looking at all of it considering this show is part of Shondaland, I am not the least bit surprised. The number of downright character assasinations I watched on Grey's (and other shows of hers) after over a decade watching the development of some of them is kinda ridiculous. The number of ruined relationships and the horrible ways most of them were ruined (I almost cannot believe I'm saying this now but thank god they killed off Derek before completely undoing who he actually was and what Meredith meant to him😭).

Untimately, Shonda loves the drama and the angst and very clearly doesn't think there is much entertainment value in showing happy couples resolving their issues in a healthy way. If you watch a project she's involved in, you gotta be prepared for the couple to not make it and in that way, Bridgerton fans are rather lucky considering no matter how the seasons play out, it's gonna end with a happy couple that's not gonna split up again.

She also was never gonna just take books and keep to the narrative cause I don't believe that would be any fun to her. Especially this season, since she has said that Pen is her favorite character. I was immediately thinking Colin will be taking a back seat and have moments viewers will hate him for to have Pen in the forefront individually.

I guess I'm gonna take away and rewatch the beautiful moments, even some of the angsty ones and wait for what little side plots Polin will have in future seasons. I don't believe I will watch the entirety of future seasons cause I'm not interested to be disappointed by Shonda Rhimes' story telling anymore. Been there done that😂

But my little obsession with Polin was still worth it cause they're just an amazing fictional couple and I might just read their book now☺️

And I have definitely found a new actress to follow along for her future roles cause Nicola is just amazing as an actress and as a person🥰

(Also find it deeply offensive to make an audience wait for 2 years (!!!) for 8 episodes but that's for another day😅)

[fixated-on-something]

I think about the magicians too much so here are some of my favourite quotes

Silly ones

Julia and Quentin: DO WE NOT AMUUUUUSE?

Julia: We made up that dance and it was TERRIBLE!

Quentin: oh god

Julia: It was so.. white.. and BAD.

Penny: I like your sweater

Quentin: Are you saying that to be cruel?

Penny: No. I like your sweater, I saw no reason not to share

Quentin: Well then, shall we go fuck some shit up?

Penny: Yes.

Margo: Yes.

Eliot: Yes definitely. Definitely yes.

Penny: Agreed. Feelings are bullshit.

Alice: Is that a traveller thing?

Penny: It’s a hearing voices thing

Alice: Well at least it beats whatever you were snorting

Penny: Marginally.

Kady: Ok, Mindslut?

Quentin: I don’t know you EITHER, except that we just summoned a killer MOTHMAN from another WORLD!

Marina: Did you figure you wanted to learn magic at your blow dry last week?

Penny: You’re welcome. (Blows kiss)

Quentin: What does that mean????

Quentin: you really don’t have to try to make me feel better we basically just met

Eliot: Well, I bond fast. Time is an illusion…

Eliot: How about I find you, and I don’t say magic is real, but I do seduce you and so lift your spirits that life retains its sparkle for decades…

Quentin: …yeah that sounds nice thank you

Dream Alice: If you would shut up for 2 seconds this sex dream could pass the Bechtel test, Quentin

Eliot: Once one of them offered to blow me for a spell. It was barely worth it.

Quentin: Is someone being creepy on purpose?

Margo: that is…. Not super consistent with the books

Quentin (genuinely very distressed): no!!! It’s not!!!! And I find that devastating!!! ☹️

Quentin: You can’t possibly want to be a dick more than you want to live!

Eliot: Oh yes very pristine, it’s been taken over by a kiddy diddling mutant.

Penny: The hell are you drinking?

Alice: I don’t know- triple sec?

Penny: What did Quentin do.

Margo: So we are fucked without grease

Quentin: Sounds like us

Eliot: Must be a Monday. Onward to glory.

Penny: Whoa WHOA WE ARE NOT. NOT. Killing a U.S. senator. But we will commit a felony… almost as stupid.

Eliot: IHEREBYDECREE! Rulers… done gonna rumble.

Margo: Ps we still hate you, but it’s the 21st century it shouldn’t be this hard for a girl to get an evil demigod abortion.

Niffin Alice: what’s this bitch doing in my room?

Margo: By agreeing to marry a stranger on the spot?

Eliot: I did it!

Margo: That was different.

Eliot: You’re right. This would only really be equivalent if Ess was a girl, and you found pussy you know, interesting in a ‘sometimes you like Thai food’ kinda way and now it’s all Thai food forever TILL YOU DIE.

Eliot: Hooolyyy shit the walking plot twist returns

Penny: Hi I need something

Eliot: Shocker. Hey Fen look it’s Uncy Penny! That’s right, I knocked her up. No big deal.

Penny: Uh- congratulations?

Eliot: like I needed more people calling me daddy but yes, thanks, we’re… thrilled.

Eliot: I am in way over my head. I’m not even in control of which of my bodies is awake and my sexually aggressive wife- she could wake me up at any moment in Fillory and-

Fogg: There are certain student teacher boundaries which I prefer not to cross.

Penny: “Let’s go hunt the white lady?” People like me get SHOT for saying shit like that.

NOW THE HEART SHATTERING ONES

Eliot: Do you think it’s real?

Quentin: Some of the good parts have to be. At least I hope so.

Eliot: Things aren’t usually worth caring about

Margo: Eliot he’s gone. why are your torturing yourself?

Eliot: Because he’s gone. And it’s my fault. And of all the people in the world who don’t understand, somehow you top the list.

Quentin: Every book every movie… is about one special guy. The chosen. You know in real life, for every one guy there are a billion people who aren’t.

Margo: I'm a king. Not a goddamn princess. A king.

Julia: I think it’s because it happened. And there’s nothing… magic about it anymore.

Emily: I don’t blame myself. Except for when I first wake up… and when I go to bed, and all the time in between.

Then obviously any quite related to 3x05 and pretty much the entirety of The Mountain Of Ghosts

I missed a bunch and these are mostly season 1-2 because that’s when I was taking notes during my rewatch

[terabyteturtle]

correction, soulmate au with jun, lars, lee & kaz x reader who's secretly a persona user is poly rs, if you can write poly relationships!! if not, you can make it x lars since he's my boy hehe

I don't mind writing poly relationships at all! Hopefully, you enjoy this. There's a slight mention of sex at one point, but nothing blatantly NSFW.

- Oh boy. All four of them in a relationship with you at the same time? Good luck.

- Jun is fine, but the three brothers are gonna be difficult to deal with, at least for the first few months. There's a lot of animosity and unsettled business between them, so they're definitely going to fight A TON.

- You and Jun are gonna have your hands full trying to keep the peace between these three. Don't worry, they'll set aside their differences eventually, but in the meantime, you poor souls are the only forces stopping them from killing each other.

- The fact that you're physically linked only makes matters worse. The way your soulmate connection works is that you are connected to all four of them, and they are all connected to you, but they are not connected to each other. So if one brother gets too fired up and tries to harm another, you'll feel the pain too. It won't be as severe for you, considering you weren't the one actually receiving the injury, but you'll still feel a sharp sting for a few seconds.

- Again, as time passes and everyone grows used to the relationship, the fights will become less frequent. Initially, though, it requires a lot of patience and communication between all of you.

- Jun doesn't mind being in a poly relationship. It definitely takes her some getting used to, since she loves you and you only, but she always reminds herself that fate brought all of you here, which is proven by everyone's soulmarks. In the end, if everyone else is happy, then she is happy too.

- Lee doesn't mind it either. As long as he gets to have some time spent with you, he's over the moon. Some time is better than none at all, and you're worth everything to him.

- Lars is a little put-off at first. Every time he sees you giving affection to one of the others, it kind of hurts him a bit. However, as time goes on, he begins to understand poly relationships more, and those feelings slowly disappear.

- It's Kazuya who has the most difficult time adjusting to the relationship. He hates the idea of sharing you with anyone, let alone his brothers. He gets really defensive and angry whenever he sees them showing you affection, which often contributes to his fights with them. When it comes to Jun, he feels awkward. He hadn't seen her in decades, and now they're in love with the same person? Needless to say, all of this is going to take a while for Kazuya to get used to, so you'll need to show him as much patience as possible.

- If someone asks about their soulmark, they all have different reactions: Kazuya ignores the question entirely, Lee makes a joke about it, Lars passes it off as a scar, and Jun simply says it's a new tattoo. They're not embarrassed by their soulmarks---they're just worried about people potentially discovering your soulmate connection and using it against you.

- The great thing about everyone having a physical link to you is that whenever you get hurt, it acts as an alarm system to the others. They won't get the injury themselves, but they'll feel a quick flash of pain similar to yours. Within seconds, you already have four people ready and willing to take care of you. In the beginning, this causes them to worry about you a lot, but as time goes on, they'll learn the difference between a minor injury and something to be concerned about.

- Upon learning that you run your own bakery, Jun is more than happy to help you out! Out of the four of them, she'll probably be there the most. Not only does she love spending time with you, but she's also great in the kitchen. She's a fast learner too, so she'll be quick to pick up on all of the recipes you show her.

- Lars will show up occasionally to lend a hand whenever he's free. Growing up, he and his mother cooked a lot together, so he knows tons of recipes and will happily teach you some if you decide to add new options to the menu.

- Don't worry about all of the bills and taxes that come with owning the place—G Corporation has got you covered. Will Kazuya do something illegal while handling all of this? Maybe, but it's fine. Only he has to know.

- Violet Systems will frequently send you new appliances to test out. Many of them are highly innovative and increase productivity by a long shot. Thanks to Lee and his fancy tech, you've been able to crank out cupcakes faster than you can say, "Hey, Hachi." 

- Speaking of which, he wanted to give you his Heihachi Combot machine to assist you with certain things, but after seeing Kazuya's reaction to it, he decided against it.

- In terms of helping you run the business, you could not have a better team to work with. Jun and Lars help come up with fun, creative ideas for new recipes, which is great for getting public attention and increasing revenue. Meanwhile, on the business side of things, Kazuya and Lee handle advertising, setting quotas, and upgrading whatever necessary to keep the shop running smoothly. Rest assured, your bakery is in good hands with these guys.

- You always offer to give them free discounts, but they always decline and pay the full price just because they want to support your business (Lee almost took the offer once, but one glare from Kazuya and he paid just like the rest of them).

- When they find out you're a Persona user, it serves as a massive shock to them. 

- When they noticed you started coming home later than usual, they knew something was up.

- When they asked you what you were doing, you told them you were working extra shifts at the bakery. None of them truly bought it though; something felt off to them. You were so tired and worn-out, barely being able to walk through the front door some nights, which worried them tremendously.

- Eventually, you told them the truth about what you were doing and why. When you were finished explaining, everyone was super confused. Stealing people's hearts? Some dimension in which desires are materialized? How is that even possible? Not only were they dumbfounded by your tale, but they weren't too sure how they felt about it. Jun, having experienced extraordinary happenings herself, was the only one who actually believed you. The other three were skeptical.

- Lee and Lars both looked at each other, thinking you'd hit your head somehow (which would've been impossible without anybody having felt something), and Kazuya refused to believe it unless he saw it himself.

- It was a dangerous place, but you knew deep down that they could handle themselves, so you told them you would take them eventually if they promised to be careful.

- They'll still be worried about you whenever you head to the Metaverse, but they're willing to support you in whatever way they can. They'll provide you with plenty of supplies, as well as some snacks to munch on and restore your energy with.

- Lee will see you crafting stuff and then will just casually hand you some random gadget, saying something along the lines of "Here, use this instead. It'll work much better."

- All of you train and fight together outside. Initially, everyone was worried about hurting you, but you've proved yourself more than capable of sparring with them.

- Afterwards, all of you will take turns treating each others' wounds. Bandaging, providing heating pads and ice packs, giving massages---everyone, especially you and Jun, will take their time to alleviate as much pain as possible.

- It's not often that cuddling occurs, but when it does, there's always a specific order to it. Kazuya sits in the middle, with you and Jun on either side of him. Lars always sits next to you, and Lee always sits on the other side of Jun. That way, the brothers have some space between each other, and you and Jun are safely nestled in between them.

- When it comes to who you sleep with, that also happens in a very specific manner. You guys have worked out a schedule to decide which person you sleep with on certain days of the week. The brothers hate sleeping in the same bed, so trying to get two of them to hold you while you sleep is going to take a lot of convincing.

- When it comes to bedroom activities, no threesomes, foursomes, or fivesomes are allowed. It's just you and one other person only. Kazuya, Lee, Lars, and Jun all want to keep things just between the two of you. They want to be intimate with you and you alone, without the presence of anyone else.

- You, Jun, and Lars trade off in the kitchen---you make breakfast, Jun makes lunch, and Lars makes dinner. Lee and Kazuya don't know too much about cooking, so they don't often make anything. They'll only try their hand at something if it's for a special occasion.

- Speaking of special occasions, expect those to be booming with vibrant roses and generous gifts. The three brothers (mainly Lee and Kazuya) will definitely try to one-up each other to see who can give you the best stuff, with Jun lecturing them about how thoughtfulness shouldn't be a contest. They understand that it's childish, but they just can't help themselves. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to them, and they want to be the one to put a smile on your face.

- It's a chaotic relationship, especially at the start, but you guys make it work. Overall, they love you to bits and, although this relationship wasn't something they expected to be in, they wouldn't have it any other way.

[whitehotharlots]

Tara Reade, Christine Blassey Ford, and the bleak limitations of pettiness feminism

For what it’s worth, I found the accusations made by Tara Reade and Christine Blassey Ford both imminently plausible. I’ve never met Joe Biden or Brett Kavanaugh, but I’ve spent more than enough time around entitled white collar pricks to realize that things like non-consensual workplace groping and wacky frat house sex pranks are a part of their worlds. There was nothing about either story that struck me as obviously false or otherwise disqualifying. Both very well may have happened.

But I also believe that there’s a wide chasm between plausibility and proof–especially in criminal matters, and extra especially in regards to the sort of accusations that could result in yearslong jail sentences. Sexual assault cases are notoriously hard to prosecute in their immediacy. If we’re talking about something that happened years or decades earlier, there’s no reasonable way to prove the accusations in a manner that would warrant a formal, judicial response.

By 2020, this belief of mine was considered hopelessly out of date, borderline sacrilegious. The Trump era ushered in a new diligence in regards to how the public was supposed to understand and react to accusations of sexual misconduct: women should be believed, full stop. Accused men should be punished, full stop. The crisis of the moment meant that all the old notions regarding due process and the fixed standards of what is or is not a crime had to be thrown out.

Remember that “Shitty Media Men” list from 2017? God, seems like forever ago. The list was a wholly anonymous Google Docs spreadsheet containing the names of several dozen men in media and a brief description of their alleged crimes. It was written about in glowing terms by publications big and small, heralded as a bold and exciting new chapter of social justice, and the list’s creator–Moria Donegan–was eventually granted status as a star commentator.

Did you read the list? I did. About one in every 15 or so entries contained a very severe accusation–something along the lines of “he raped me in the dumpster behind Arby’s” or “he keeps tricking me into getting stuck in a dryer.” But the vast, vast majority of entries alleged nothing more than minor interpersonal conflict: “he doesn’t respect my work,” “he raised his voice at me one time in 2012,” and other stuff along those lines. One entry really stuck out: the accuser admitted that she had never met the man. “But,” she said, “he must be a creep… just look at the stuff he writes!”

No doubt, at least some of these men were/are grade-A jerks. But the bulk of them appear to have just been disliked by a colleague or acquaintance who felt the need to take advantage of a social justice movement to exact revenge. This is how human interaction works. No one is beloved by everybody; everyone will experience some instances in which they treat others with less courtesy than they probably should; and, well, sometimes two people who are otherwise completely decent despise one another for reasons that are inscrutable to everyone but God.

The malignancy of the Shitty Media Men list is that it caused readers to conceptually associate minor interpersonal conflicts–some of which admittedly did not happen, most others of the sort that would cause no reasonable person to find one party entirely at fault, let alone worthy of expulsion from polite society–with major violations such as rape and assault. This was the new era: every accusation is proof of guilt, and all guilt is of the same severity. It’s too hard to definitively prove that a rape happened, ergo we needed to dismiss the usual evidentiary standards of criminal proceedings in regards to rape. And, also, mildly upsetting a female colleague is now the same thing as rape.

Wonderful stuff. Fantastic stuff.

A year passed. The Notorious RBG ascended to the great rap battle in the sky, and it was up to the dastard President Drumpf to appoint her successor. He settled upon a youth-pastor-cum-jurist who resembled a crude caricature from a late 1800’s anti-Irish political comic. The man had a rap sheet a mile long: lackey to Ken Starr (himself quite the defender of rape), Yalie, anti-abortion, corporate puppet, helped rig the Florida vote in 2000, Federalist Society member, blah blah blah all the horrible shit you expect from a GOP nominee to the Supreme Court.

None of these facts mattered much within the liberal imaginary, however, as they weren’t that far afield from the activities of the sort of justices liberals find inoffensive. No, the #Resistance had an ace up their sleeve: a lady said he had sexually assaulted her 30 years prior, and she was willing to say so in front of congress.

He must have been toast after that, right? Because everyone had spent the last few years hashtagging #BelieveWomen, right? They’re not gonna say they believe women and not believe them, right? It can’t be that this precedent we just set up would only be used to ruin the lives of low-level middle manager type guys who did inconsequential stuff, right? Right?

No. Of course not. Republicans never even pretended to care about that shit.

In the non-conservative press, Blassey Ford was treated as a hero. Her effort was brave, and her failure served to validate the premise upon which it was founded: women are not believed enough, and men can get away with anything.

Another few years passed. Due to a confluence of events of that ranged between skullduggery and outright rigging, the Democratic presidential primary narrowed down to a less-corrupt-than-average politician who was called a “socialist” because he was to the left of Grover Norquist, and a credit card lobbyist who was once accidentally appointed vice president.

The credit card lobbyist should have been considered especially ignominious, considering the degree to which the #BelieveWomen mantra was prevalent on the left. Decades earlier, in a situation quite similar to that faced by Blassey Ford, he led the charge in aggressively dismissing the accusations of a woman who had accused a SCOTUS nominee of sexual misconduct. Surely that was the sort of thing MeToo would not abide, right? Right?

Again, no. The semi-socialist was repeatedly smeared as a racist and sexist for reasons that no one could ever quite articulate. Social media figures openly solicited false allegations of sexual misconduct against him. In spite of being a leftist Jewish man, in spite studies showing that his supporters were actually far less aggressive and hateful than those of Hillary Clinton, he was still the most toxic and evil presence to ever enter into Democrat politics. #BelieveWomen and #MeToo precedents were very effectively invoked: there doesn’t need to be proof, and there doesn’t need even be an accusation. He’s evil because we say he’s evil. His name is on the spreadsheet.

But the guy who got Clarence Thomas onto the Supreme Court? That was regrettable, sure. But it was a youthful transgression! He’s apologized! It doesn’t matter.

Then we got a late-primary curveball: a woman who verifiably worked with Biden claimed he had jammed his hand down her pants. The allegation was decades old and therefore unprovable in a legal sense, and suddenly that was an issue where it hadn’t been just a few months before. The MeToo movement’s purveyors worked to clarify that she was a lying, mentally unstable, and possibly Russian slut.

A year earlier, we were told that due process was a misogynist construct, and that expressing skepticism toward politically opportune allegations was an expression of patriarchy and privilege. Now, faced with allegations that would force them to choose between a semi-leftist or Donald Trump, the progressive vanguard suddenly decided that these old principles of Enlightened Liberalism weren’t so evil after all.

Blassey Ford is about to embark on a book tour, receiving near-unanimous praise (and ample financial compensation) for her bravery. She might not be a household name, but among those who do remember her, she is revered as a hero.

Reade, meanwhile, is a permanent disgrace who had to defect to Russia.

In a sad way, the disparity between how these two women were treated demonstrates the conditions that spawned MeToo: a woman who makes an accusation against an unpopular or hated man will be, at least, believed. She will not suffer negative consequences. She may even be rewarded, even if the man himself isn’t punished. But a woman who goes against a man who is too important, too well-connected? She won’t even get a chance to testify. She’s actually even worse than the abusers. Every aspect of her account and character will be placed under a microscope, and anything she cannot prove with 100% fidelity will be held up as proof of how horrible she is. She’s also on the spreadsheet.

And in an even sadder way, this disparity demonstrates why the MeToo and BelieveWomen stuff was horribly misguided from the start. Removing the structures that allow society to function will not magically result in a more just society manifesting from the wreckage of the old. You might–might–remove some of the most malignant shitheads. But in the process you will ruin the lives of many who are either innocent or marginally guilty, and you will entrench the utter empowerment of those who are, only in some small ways, the lesser evils. There’s no path forward, here. There is no hope here.

[dukeofankh]

I've noticed a really troubling trend in masculinity discourse recently which views the peak of nontoxic masculinity as being totally unreliant on others. It's coming from a harm-reduction place, as is pretty much always the case. The thought process seems to be: 1) Incel shit comes from men feeling entitled to status and possessing women 2) Incels are dangerous 3) To decrease that the number of incels and the corresponding danger, we should push for the concept of the ideal man as one being unconcerned with status and possessing women. An island unto himself, satisfied and confident. Independent from both the pressures of a full-blown systemic-ass issue and the natural internal desires to be accepted and admired by others.

And like...something can be a good short term plan without being a good long term plan, you know? There can be side effects.

Like, I'm gonna make a post at some point about how I feel like the causes of the Nice Guy tm tire fire were radically misunderstood, considering I feel like we're on the precipice of another crisis in exactly the same mold, but apart from that I'm also just kind of frustrated that the process of organizing against patriarchal masculinity is suddenly bogged down by a bunch of folks trying to get me to adopt a stoic/zen philosophy as a necessary facet of my gender identity, and naturally assuming that my distaste for that can't be because I've spent a decade unpacking this as a queer man and I disagree with their tactics, and must just be that I haven't seen Barbie yet.

Ultimately, I don't feel like the root of modern toxic masculinity is entitlement. I feel that it's American-style Hyperindividualism. Its the erosion of the supportive community that naturally acts in opposition to the narrative sold by masculine competitive hierarchies. Its the belief that individual men must force their will upon the world or else be starved out because higher status men have hoarded everything for themselves. It's the belief that women are the scorecard and trophy in a contest between men, yes, but also fundamentally that absent some semblance of performance within that contest, men will be abandoned, mocked, and ostracized by both women and their larger community. The patriarchal dividend in that toxic system is not just power and sex, it's a sort of gated community within which all right to inherent human worth for men is contained, entrance into which must be earned through defeating others also desperately trying to get in.

Given all of that, to me the antidote isn't more individualism. It's less. Its community. It's love. It's not about men realizing that they don't need other people, it's about men realizing that they will still be loved and accepted within their communities without the need to dominate and overpower. That they do not need to become a patriarch to be seen, to have worth and a home and acceptance and support and community. That the idea that those things are gated behind power and wealth and the ability to do violence isn't just untrue, but the opposite of what is the case.

Toxic Masculinity is a systemic issue. Seeing people uncritically and wholeheartedly telling me that it should be conquered by intentionally atomizing men into self-reliant islands of personal choice is also not just untrue, but the opposite of what I think is the case. But it's...easy. It doesn't require the community to negotiate a new understanding under which they can embrace and love men who take up the responsibilities of being part of--not in charge of-- that community. It allows men deeply invested in a self-appraisal of their value as being rooted in not asking for help and in hierarchical superiority over other men to simply do that even harder, with largely the same rubric, but a new rationale. It leaves no room for male weakness, for mens needs, because, frankly, we are socialized to punish those and we do not want to change.

[margridarnauds]

Hello Magrida,

I saw that you reblogged my post regarding the issues with Hallie Rubenhold’s book The Five and the toxicity associated with it. I absolutely agree with the hashtags you added to the post. Would you be able to elaborate or share further thoughts on this, please? They may be helpful in attempting to understand how Rubenhold reached her conclusions. They also may be helpful in deconstructing her claims about the Canonical Five Ripper victims.

Any help you can offer is appreciated.

Thank you.

Linotte

Of course! A lot of this is half remembered from the days when Hulu's Harlots was airing, so I'm going off of memory, because I was following a few sex workers at the time who REALLY hated...well. A lot of her views on sex work. I know that you know a lot of what I'm about to say, but I also know that, frankly, there has been so much muddying of the waters in the last decade that I KNOW people are going to think less of me for (1) Admitting an interest in the crimes in the first place and (2) not buying (most of) the revisionist argument.

(For the curious: The tags)

#rubenhold has a lot of baggage around lower class sex workers that she REALLY needs to unpack#‘they weren’t prostitutes! see look they were Worth Something!’#I don’t think she MEANS to do it but there’s this DEEP disdain for lower class sex workers that shines through her writing#that it somehow debases them#as opposed to society debasing sex work#and sex workers#(and this streak runs through her other work as well)

First, let's get this much out of the way: I consider myself to be a proud feminist. I won't claim to be a PERFECT one, but I do, at the end of the day, consider myself to be a feminist who uses a feminist lens when I'm looking at material from my field. I am not doing it for show or because it's trendy; I am often the *only person* at conferences talking about female characters.

I ALSO have had an interest in the study of Ripperology since I was 12 years old. I do not consider these things to be mutually exclusive. My approach has always been to center the victims, but I also think that people are often too hard on people, particularly women, who are interested in historic crimes or tragedies. (For modern true crime, where the families are still alive, I think it's a little more complicated, but I've also read some interesting like. Articles and book chapters on the appeal of serial killers in the 21st century.) And I think the Whitechapel murders are interesting in the sense that, beyond the Whodunnit angle...it is the prototype for so much of how we view serial killers and female victims in particular. It is a vital part of pop culture, even if I think that, in an ideal world, I'd have never had to have memorized the victims' names because they would have led perfectly normal lives and died of old age. I feel like people are inclined to mistake the study of the crimes with the monetization of the crimes, and while there is an overlap, of course, in that both of them stem from the Whitechapel Murders' prominence in pop culture, I think that people are inclined to apply a moral value to the former that is unnecessary. (I see people use the term "Ripperologists" so snottily and...you do realize who the people are who did the research you're using to dismiss them with, right?) Would I consider MYSELF a Ripperologist? Complicated, but I consider myself to have more in common with ripperologists than not, certainly, even if I always emphasize that my approach is victim-centric.

Every single year, on November 9, I think to myself that I've lived another year longer than Mary Kelly did...and I dread the year when I catch up with another one of the victims. And another. And another. When I first learned her name, she seemed so infinitely older than me, a Real Adult. I hadn't realized yet that I'd already lived nearly half the life that she was allowed to. That there was so much she should have been allowed to do and to live and she just. Wasn't allowed to. (There's something, additionally, to be said for the general romanticism around Mary as the youngest and most conventionally attractive of the victims, but that's for another day.)

Again, that was a lot to say a little, but I want to emphasize that my approach has MORE in common with Rubenhold's than not, and so I SHOULD be a fan, but I can't. Mainly because her feminism reads, to me, as being a specific brand of extremely middle class and white British feminism (And I also think that she tries TOO HARD to market herself as The #Feminist Historian while not really...PRACTICING intersectional feminism, but that might just be me.)

To begin with, I know that as of early last year, she was following notorious TERF Julie Bindel on her Twitter. When I checked it this evening, I didn't see it on her Twitter, but Twitter is also a fucking wreck now so I can't be sure. She does still follow this....lovely account. Overall, I would say that she has a more than incidental tie to the British radfem movement, which REALLY comes out when she talks about sex work.

In her book on the authorship of Harris' list, we get...some interesting descriptions. I think she defended her writing style somewhere, but frankly, a little Rubenhold goes a long way, so you might have to track that down.

For what it's worth, in the interest of nuance, I truly don't think that these are her ACTUAL thoughts on her subject, and elsewhere, she makes it clear how disgusted she was with 18th century men in general. That being said...I think that sometimes she lets rhetoric and descriptive writing take the wheel, as opposed to simply recounting the facts, and that gives the appearance of...whatever the fuck that is. (You would never catch me dead, in an allegedly non-fiction publication, referring to women as nymphs or whores, I'm sorry.) Do I think she's a BAD person? ...I don't know her. I don't have this parasocial relationship with her that people on both sides of the aisle seem to have, but on a professional level I'd appreciate it if she just did her job, because sometimes I think she lets her sources biases infect her writing. (And that she'd stick to writing historical fiction, since that's what she does when she's writing nonfiction anyway.)

This streak really comes out with Annie Chapman, with her quote that: "Annie needn’t have suffered. At every turn there had been a hand reaching to pull her from the abyss, but the counter-tug of addiction was more forceful, and the grip of shame just as strong. It was this that pulled her under, that had extinguished her hope and then her life many years earlier. What her murderer claimed on that night was simply all that remained of what drink had left behind."

Annie Chapman was a woman who suffered from an addiction and was murdered by a misogynist. He did not claim a "what", he murdered a person. In a brutal, dehumanizing way. Her body was picked apart, both in her very final moment and then, postmortem, for centuries. Her life had value. It's ASTONISHING to me that she thinks that the way to redeem the victims is to reject the claim that they were fallen women who had it coming...while demonizing addiction. That isn't feminism to me. It's meant to come off as empathetic but comes off as, frankly, really fucking condescending.

It also goes into how the book was marketed BY Rubenhold:

The stories of these women are each extraordinary and unique, and for nearly 130 years the media has over-simplified their true histories. The Five have always been regarded as society’s waste – filthy, ruined, pitiful drink-sodden whores, yet not one of them began life this way and none of them came from the East End. They were from Sweden, Wales, (she was IRISH and a religious minority in nineteenth century England, leave her name out of your fucking mouth) the Midlands. Their fathers and husbands were printers, carpenters, gentleman’s valets, coachmen, and soldiers in the Queen’s Life Guard. Their daughters attended fee-paying schools, their fathers-in-law were property developers. They glimpsed Queen Victoria and rubbed shoulders with Charles Dickens. The Five seeks to restore these women their humanity and reclaim the Jack the Ripper narrative in favour of his victims.

She and her followers have a particular love of using the word "whore", I've noticed. (Note: The framing of her as an innocent victim to evil male Ripperologists who SO BADLY want to victim blame the women, unlike our feminist saint.)

But also...what if they didn't? What if they didn't write ballads? Or rub shoulders with Charles Dickens? If their daughters didn't attend fee paying schools? Is their humanity less reclaimed if they didn't meet middle class standards of achievement? If they were just....women who were going through a tough time? Like plenty of other women did? The bare facts of the women's lives have been public domain for years now, uncovered by the same people she despises so much. It's all out there. So much of this grand, shiny evidence she's discovered is...well. Historical fiction.

Again, do I think she's a BAD person? What does it even mean to be a bad person? But I do think that there's a difference, in her writing, between lower class sex workers and upper class sex workers that does become a little apparent. Do I think she MEANS to do it? No. Do I think she was the right person to write this specific book and to have this specific thesis? Also no. And do I think it's surprising that a certain brand of self-proclaimed history nerd who will ask things like "okay, but what about the NON-GIRLBOSS women" will love her work? Also no, because it's very appealing if the Whitechapel victims were literally murdered while they were asleep and therefore as vulnerable and lacking in agency as possible, regardless of the known facts of the case. Mary Kelly might have invited a man to her room to have transactional sex. It didn't mean she deserved to be killed. ESPECIALLY in the brutal way she was murdered.

Again, a lot of this is half-remembered from the glory days of Harlots, but if you dig through some of the blogs that were popular then, you might have luck. I've seen your posts on other social media and I'm very interested in your project if it goes through.