#and i get it. it sucks working on your day off and you're entitled to a day off

[shocked-collar]

8 minutes before the worst shift of my life lol

[poppy-metal]

i want art to be mean to me 😔😩 that’s it, that’s all i have to say 🫠😔

takes a particular kind of attitude to get art to be mean to his baby but when he is.... aurrrrr he's cold. its like when you're feeling extra bratty and you say something like "you fucking suck." or "you hate me!" like just a plain untruth, ungratefullness when he's been nothing but giving and generous to you, and you want to be rude to him? in his house? he'll just work his jaw around, look at you blank faced, and say - "okay." clipped and cold. shuts you up immediately. sends you spiraling cause he doesn't pay attention to you after that, says hes busy. does that until you break and say sorry for being mean for no reason, for hurting his feelings and lashing out.

he does look at you then but he doesn't immediately fold you into his arms like you want him to. just raises a brow. "you're sorry? i thought i fucking sucked and you hated me." you're almost in tears as you say you take it back and didn't mean it and you love him and he's the best and - he holds a hand up - silencing you immediately. "stop."

is quiet for too long, too long to sit in your anxiousness. "im so-"

"no." he tells you. cracks his knuckles, something you know he does when hes pent up or irritated or overstimulated. "you're not. you meant it - you meant to be an entitled little bitch."

cant really argue with that. you had meant it, at the time. in the heat of the moment. "im sorry now."

"are you?"

you want to stomp your foot, some irritation coming back into you. you pout. "yes! what do i have to do to make you believe me."

he tilts his head. "not having an attitude would help."

well. you look down, at a loss. despondent.

he suddenly stands up, grabs his keys from the counter, does his ritual before he has to leave for practice time on the court. unwraps a stick of gum and pops it into his mouth, shouldering his bag. the sudden mundane task in the middle of your turmoil makes you gape at him as he turns to go.

"I'll think of something." he tells you when hes at the door, toeing on his sneakers.

you blink. "what?"

he smiles for the first time since you'd lashed out, a dimple appearing in his cheek. hes so pretty it makes you breathless. and then he says, "a way for you to make it up to me."

the click of the door shutting is loud. you swallow, hoping practice goes well. if hes happy.... maybe you can just make it up to him with sex, but. if practice irritates him.... you think back on the last time you'd pissed him off, how you hadn't been able to sit proper for days afterward because your ass stung so bad.

well.

[eddiernunson]

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways to Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Harrington!Fem!Reader | 18+ | PREVIEW

Part 1 is now Posted

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You're home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve's daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve's freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

(Unedited) Excerpt Here:

The smell of his Irish Spring soap hits the kitchen before he does, walking into the kitchen mid yawn and fresh from his shower. Eddie’s shirt clings to his lithe torso like a second skin, showing off just the hint of a tummy with his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. You allow yourself one second to gawk at him and the hairs that peek out of his shirt until you reshift your focus back to your toast, panicking when you notice the jam that has dripped on your hand. Oh, shit again?

“What’s with the fancy get up, dude?” Eddie asks, pouring himself a cup as well.  

“Before we get to that, Sunshine has put some toast in for you.” Steve gestures with his coffee cup.

Eddie’s brows lift, looking just the littlest bit delighted as he turns toward the toaster. “Oh, thanks!” He snaps his fingers into a gun with his thumb and pointer finger, sending a wink your way. You’re mid-‘clean-up’ on your hand, rushing to finish before you nod to acknowledge his thanks. 

“Alright. My partner called,” he means work partner, “he needs help to close this deal. He’s having a really hard time doing it himself.”

”Who did you send?” You ask, knowing a little bit of his work drama. 

Steve hisses, wincing as he says, “Warner.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as the toast pops out of the toaster. “Well no wonder!” 

Eddie has been watching this like a tennis match, completely out of the loop but entertained nonetheless. “What, what’s wrong with…Warren?” 

“Warner,” you correct him, cleaning up yet another spill of jam off your thumb. “The guy sucks. Why Warner, why not Tommy?” 

“Wait, why does he suck?” Eddie asks as he spreads butter on his toast, looking way too entertained about this.

“Because he’s a 22-year-old fuckwit that doesn’t know how to close and only got this job because his dad gave it to him when he retired,” you huff, not at all distracted by how Eddie is eating his toast; like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, savoring every bite. His tongue occasionally pokes out to lap at the butter on his lips, his eyes closed as he muffles sounds at the back of his throat. 

He makes eating toast look depraved.

“Sunshine, you’re 22,” Steve squints, lifting his cup towards you accusingly. 

You scoff. “Yeah but I’m not an entitled dickwad who thinks just because his daddy had a job ‘oh, that’s my job one day!’. He has no experience versus his father who was in the game for 25 years.” You’re very passionate about this, more so than you had even anticipated. “Seriously, why him?” 

“He’s the only one who didn’t take the Fourth of July weekend off because he’s a 22 year old fuckwit with no family.” He takes a large sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter. “Well in any case, you are right. He has no experience and we need this account, so I gotta help him out.” 

“When do you think you’ll be back?” Eddie asks, giving you a fresh whiff of his soap when he walks behind you to sit on the other side of the island. 

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the table, mentally preparing himself before he disappoints the two of you, “Not til Sunday.” 

“Shitty,” Eddie sighs sympathetically. 

“Dad I can only take one week off,” you sigh, having only gotten two days with him. “When you get back I’ll only have one more day.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He does genuinely sound remorseful. You know he’d stay if he had any other choice, but he doesn’t. 

“You know anyone else in town who could…” Eddie starts, obviously reminding your dad of something he forgot about. 

“Shit. Hmmm.” Steve’s eyes flicker to you, “Sunshine can do it.” 

You pause mid-bite in hearing your nickname. “Sunshine can do what?” 

“I don’t wanna bother her on her vacation.” Eddie states, dismissing Steve’s offer. 

Your dad saved him off, “I’m sure she’d be happy to help.” 

“What am I doing?” You ask more assertively, finally grabbing their attention. 

Eddie finally speaks first, “Oh, I asked your dad to help me pack up my uncles things. It’s a tedious process, I can get—“ 

“No, she’d be happy to help,” Steve offers again, looking at you and jerkily nodding his head towards Eddie. 

You’d be happy to help, you’re just thinking about the amount of time you’ll be alone with Eddie. Your plan was to keep a safe distance from him, allowing a free show in your best summer clothing while enjoying the hot weather. The close quarters your dad is sending you into sounds dangerous, butterflies erupting into your ribcage as you picture the deafening silence surrounding the two of you knee deep in his uncle’s things.   

“I’m happy to help,” you tell him, getting up to put your plate away. 

“I don’t want to force her into—“ 

“My dad can’t force me into doing shit,” you scoff, ignoring your dads own scoff. Now Eddie on the other hand could demand you to bark and you would. Down on the ground, on all fours. “Besides. You two wouldn’t have gotten any actual organization done.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie lifts his mug, giving you a wink. Your neck hair rises, scanning his arched nose and the rebelling stubble already growing in despite having freshly shaved. His aftershave is intoxicating, the sound of a glass mug clinking as it lands on the counter snapping you out of your daze.   

“When are you leaving?” You suddenly remembered your dad’s presence in the kitchen, funny how fast you forgot about him. 

“I should get going within the hour,” he states thoughtfully, grimacing apologetically when you give him sad eyes. You know it's not his fault, but you’re not the adult here, and the disappointment you feel can’t help but twist your features. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, petting them with his thumbs. “I do feel better knowing I’m not leaving you all alone in this big empty house.” 

You tense up, avoiding his gaze as you attempt to smile. Being left all alone with Eddie in the big empty house is precisely what is worrying you. Your dad’s constant presence alone is the thing that has prevented you from even being tempted into going any further than elongated stares and late night fantasies. 

“I’ve been alone in the house before,” you say, tilting your head. “You’re about to be alone for the rest of the month.” That sentence just makes you feel sad. 

He smirks, shaking his head playfully. “I meant at least if I’m ditching you for work, then at least I’m not leaving you all alone. I was trying to alleviate my own guilt.” 

“I’ve already forgiven you, old man,” you tell him. “Go, rescue those poor investors from Warner’s slippery hands.”

He pulls you in for a hug, his heartbeat familiar as he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. Your head is swung back abruptly as he pushes on your shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey, there are worse people to leave you alone than the man that was once on a poster on your wall, hey?” 

That poster was stared down many times, finally taken down when you were about to move away, kept only because of the autograph in the bottom corner.

Regardless, your dad is having too much fun with this. You wonder who would have more fun if Eddie ends up bending you over the couch like you kept envisioning. Said rockstar currently bending over the couch to grab something jolted you back to the present. 

“And who gave me that as a gift after introducing me to his music?” You shoot back, meeting those chocolate brown eyes across the living room. 

“My ears are burning,” Eddie grins, walking around the couch to plug in the amp. 

“Are your keys burning, because I need a ride to the airport.” Steve interjects, smirking at your widened eyes. 

Eddie sits on the couch, one foot resting on the coffee table as he starts playing his guitar absentmindedly. “I am your noble steed at your service, Harrington. Just tell me when.” 

Steve answers with something, probably somewhat sarcastic before climbing the stairs to finish packing. You probably would’ve heard it if it weren’t for how absentmindedly his fingers were moving, individually plucking the strings as his other hand shifts easily to each corresponding chord. 

He is delicate with the instrument, expertly working her and zoned out as the guitar’s gentle tune fills the house. His many years spent playing is evident through how easy he plays the melody, getting lost in the song with his hands working idly. If it weren’t for his eyes being shut for the whole time, you would’ve probably pretended to go on your phone. 

His effortlessness of plucking the strings sends a thrill down your spine, has your thighs squeezing tightly together as your mind starts to picture his fingers expertly working you apart. 

“Ow!” 

Eddie’s yelp snaps you out of it, making you jump as you hurriedly switch your glance back to your phone. He chuckles as he sucks his sore thumb, the very same one the guitar string snapped on. “Sorry, did I scare ya?” 

“No,” you answer, sounding not at all convincing to yourself. Eddie lifts his brow to you, his face comically twisted as he continues to tend to his wound. “Okay, maybe a little.” 

He chuckles, smirking as he adjusts the guitar on his lap again. “Poster in your room?” 

Fuck, you were hoping he didn’t hear that, despite him being in earshot. 

“Well it was signed and it just so happened to be one of my favorite albums.” Despite your nerves tickling the surface right under your skin, you do your best to seem unfazed by his magic fingers.  

His brows furrow, delicately playing a soft rock melody. At least, you think it's soft rock. “Which one?”

”Hell’s Angels,” you answer candidly. You do like the songs of Freak! More, but you specifically requested a poster of Hell’s Angels because of the dark look in Eddie’s eye while he’s looking directly in the listener. 

There may have been a night where you placed it perfectly on the wall so it appears he’s between your open legs to make it easier to picture him glancing up at you while he—

He tilts his head dismissively lifting one side of his upper lift in a sneer. “Not my best. If I had to pick a favorite, and don’t tell anyone I said this, it’d be Freak!” 

You blink in surprise, grinning to yourself as you listen to the gentle strum of his guitar. 

“I do remember sending that poster off though, Steve never mentioned who it was for, I just figured It would earn him some serious brownie points for a girl he was chasing.” It feels so weird to hear about your dad dating, even after all these years. 

“Nope,” you shrug. “Just his favorite daughter.” 

“Shit,” he laughs, a hiccup in his guitar play, “if you wanted an autograph you should’ve just asked. Only takes me two seconds.”

Your mind buzzes with the offer, probably a throwaway comment of his, but just the offer alone is enough to send you almost on a mental spiral. 

-

I'd add more but the first chapter is only at 5k or so

if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! (if you're on my taglist you will be tagged for the post)

I'm aiming to post at least once a week but that might be ambitious. Aesthetic pictures will be updated with each chapter!

[octuscle]

Hey I love to become Stereotypical blonde football player guy with amazing muscles and a hairy body

"Why don't you take this spring break too, darling?" "Why don't you relax after your first semester, you've been so hard-working, boy" You can't hear it anymore. After the exams, you would have loved to go to the mountains. Hiking. And explore the starry sky at night. But no, you gave in to pressure from your parents and set off for South Beach in your ancient VW Jetta. This is going to be endlessly embarrassing. You're pale, chubby, completely untrained. You're a virgin. No one has ever sucked your pathetic little cock. And you've never sucked anyone else. For your taste, it should have stayed that way. But now it's Florida. And you don't even drink alcohol.

Your father actually found a cassette entitled "Freshman's Guide to Spring Break". It's embarrassing enough that you only have a cassette player in the car. You listened to your beloved 12-tone music during the whole journey. Schönberg was a genius after your own heart. But now, just under an hour before your destination, you put the cassette in. Accompanied by hip-hop, someone speaks in a nasty slang. You can just imagine the guy Football-Jock. One of the guys who bullied you at college last year. "Yo, dude! let me tell you ha to get da hottest spring break. You'll have more sex n more fun dan you can imagine." You take a deep breath. This is going to be great… "You should start uh year in advance n get your muscles burning every day. An important motto of spring break is n remains 'sun's out, guns out'." Well bravo, then you can turn around right away. What kind of stupid advice is that an hour before you get out of the car? A little late, perhaps, to… Damn it! Your muscles are swelling. And in your head, a profound knowledge of the gym matures. Hey, the gym is your home. "Bruh, last haircut maximum three months before you go to da beach. Yes, your mommy will be sad about da messy look at christmas. But uh surfer's mane is best for da beach." You said it, dude. You think to yourself. Your hair is flapping in the wind. You love it. "N bruh, don't wash your hair two weeks before. You can smell da sweat from your football helmet in your hair." Hehehe, sure thing. Showering sucks, but washing your hair is for wimps. You love the look when you take your helmet off after the game and your sweaty hair lies wildly on your head. "My tip, dude, is that da last time you shave is two weeks before spring break. Nah one wants uh clean shaven guy on da beach. N while we're on da subject of shaving. You can shave your chest again four days before you get ta steppin. Da stubble on your mighty pecs looks hot." The traffic is getting heavier. More and more party-addicted students are clogging up the streets. You scratch your chest. Yes, the bruh with the podcast coming from the sick speakers of your powerful new car knows all about it.

"So dude, before you hit da road, one last workout. You'll have somethin other dan sport on your mind for da next few days. Nah more showers afta training n keep your training clothes on for da journey." It already smells a bit in the car. But it's the stench of youthful masculinity. Up ahead is the guesthouse where the others from your football team are staying. Some of them are already there. And obviously already drunk. The podcast said that the most important accessory in the car is the cool can of beer for the arrival. Hell yes! You park the car, get out, rip open the can, drink the beer on ex and crush the can between your forearm and biceps. Spring break is only once a year. Let the games begin!

[filmbyjy]

hiii

you may not recognize me and thats because im (kinda) new hehe.. anyway, i've been kinda stalking you- but that's besides the point. i loveee your workss!! keep up the good work <3 idk if asks are open, but if they are, could you write a fluffy fem!reader x bf!niki where the reader comes home from a long day, and niki comforts her?? and if you cant, its totally ok <3

have a nice day!

a/n: this has been in the drafts for a year now💀 so sorry, I am trying to clear the drafts but my schedule is shit and we all know I suck at keeping up with my schedule😍

WELCOME HOME

it was past 8pm when you had treaded through the front door of your apartment. your body sore from leaning over the tables and wiping it. normally, the cafe you work at was peaceful and was decently packed but after a viral video that practically wowed the internet.

there had been more and more people stopping by everyday. the cafe was decently sized but it was short staffed so sometimes you had to man the cashier, do the dishes, clean the tables and make the drinks. for normal days (before the surge of people), there was about 2 people working per shift, not including the 2 bakers in the kitchen as they were the behind the scenes staff that were required to be there.

with not that many staff per shift, it was hard for you and whoever was working that day to manage the cafe. that also meant more demands from the customers who think they are entitled to make a mess of the space as 'customers are always right'. curse, whoever made that quote.

you were mentally and physically drained. you just needed a good long rest for the rest of the week. however, you couldn't do that. not when your off-days were already used up for visiting your family back in your hometown. if only you could just...take a breather.

"welcome home, baby!" ni-ki slides into the hallway just as you walked towards the living room. you gave him a tired smile.

"hi riki, why aren't you at the dorm?" ni-ki gives you a playful pout.

"already kicking me out? baby, you wound me. i came to see you and you're already pushing me away." he says as he throws his (long) arms around you. "you weren't answering my calls so i assumed it was a long day at work and you didn't charge your phone."

you took out your phone and tried to turn it on but it was indeed dead. "sorry, today was a hectic day. couldn't even get a proper lunch break. there was so many people coming over for the past week."

"yeah, i heard about it. jake hyung talked about wanting to come over and buy some desserts. they did look good but since you know us being celebrities...we could get mobbed."

you hummed, "that's fair. it's a good thing you didn't go. seriously, have never seen such a long queue outside of the cafe in my whole years of working there."

"there was a queue?" he says as he pulls back from the hug.

"yeah, i felt like i was working at some fancy restaurant. oh god, speaking of there are so many karens trying to scam me and gaslight me into thinking i did something wrong when i did nothing wrong." you groaned and buried your head against ni-ki's chest.

he pats your head. "were you the shift manager?"

"usually i am whenever i am working that day."

"mmm, then you could've kicked them out and taught them a lesson."

"trust me, i wanted to but i can't i'll lose my job so i just sucked it up and patiently worked with them and even gave them a free bagel."

"not the free bagels, baby. they'll just come back again for more." ni-ki huffs.

"i know but what am i supposed to do." you sniffled as the tears that unknowingly appeared falls. you were just mad and exhausted. ni-ki obviously heard it so he pulls you back and cups your face.

"hey hey, don't cry. everything will be fine. why don't i run you a bath and then order some of your favourite food, okay?" he wipes the tears that were falling down.

"will cuddles be included?"

"of course. cuddles will be included. now, just lay in bed and i'll get the bath running." he pecks your forehead and goes to move to bedroom. however, you grabbed his wrist.

"carry me to my bedroom?" you pout. ni-ki smiles and scoops you up in his arms. he princess carries you over to your bed and places you gently onto the mattress before going over to the bathroom and getting ready the bathtub.

you had shut your eyes for a bit since you were tired but the exhaustion took a toll on you and you fell asleep for a little. ni-ki shakes you a little. "baby? the bath is ready. go enjoy it, i already placed an order so the food should be on the way soon."

you hummed and went over to the bathroom to remove your clothing and step into the bathtub. you laid your back against the edge of the tub and shut your eyes again. the candle light making everything moody and warm. you were enjoying the comfortable warmth and silence, much better than the bustling sounds at the cafe. this felt nice.

you had spent in the bathroom for about 20 minutes or so before deciding to get out of the tub. you didn't want to your fingers or toes to look like dried prunes so you decided to just get out of the water. you had grabbed the towel and dried yourself off. you could hear a knock at the door.

"baby, i have pyjamas with me. i forgot to leave them inside the bathroom." you opened the door to ni-ki. he had one hand out to hold the pyjama set and the other hand covering his eyes. a very gentleman thing of him to always do if you came out of the shower in just your towel.

you had noticed he too was wearing a pyjama set and it was similar to yours. of course, he loved matching things with you. you grabbed the pyjamas. "mmm, i think you forgot to grab my undergarments."

his ears quickly turned red in embarrassment. "ah, i knew i forget something. i-i'll just leave the room so you could change." and so ni-ki bolts out of the room and shuts the door. you shook your head, laughing a little since he was so adorable.

you changed into the pyjamas after putting on your undergarments and then went out to the living room. there ni-ki was, turning on the tv and searching up your favourite anime to watch together and setting up the food onto the coffee table. you had come up behind him and back hugged him.

"i have the best boyfriend in the world." you say. ni-ki smiles.

"well, let's not forget your boyfriend is one of a kind. where can you get another nishimura riki, member of boy band enhypen, in the world." he boasts. you playfully rolled your eyes and released him.

"that's very humble of you, riki." you playfully say.

"oh, i know. i'm just that hot." ni-ki smirks. you laughed.

"yeah, you are. now, will my hunk of a boyfriend please just cuddle and eat with me?"

"of course, i'll eat with my beautiful and amazing girlfriend any time." he steals a small peck to your lips and settles down on the couch. you gave him a playful gaze and settled right next to him.

after some time, you found yourself tangled with ni-ki. your legs and his long ones were somehow crossed in between in each other as you cuddled like cats laying together.

"oh, it's over?" you say.

"no, it can't be." ni-ki gasps.

a flash to the tv showed 'season 2 coming soon'. it made both you and ni-ki groan. "that's lame. we have to wait for the next season? that's going to take 1-2 years." ni-ki whines.

"they're going to pull another 'Spy Family' thing where there isn't going to have episodes in the next season, i can feel it." you complained.

"boooo. let's watch something else." ni-ki grumbles.

"yeah, let's watch-"

"let's watch, you. you're really pretty." ni-ki says as he stares down at you. ah, this playful and teasing ni-ki is appearing now.

"that wasn't that smooth, riki."

"well, to me it was. besides, this is a signal for you to reward me and i don't know give me a kiss or at least a peck? i am an amazing boyfriend, right?"

you snort, "yes, riki. you are but you're not getting that peck."

"what? why." he pouts.

"because..." you got closer to him and watches you with adorable doe eyes. before you unexpectedly peck him and ran away. ni-ki sits there confused, trying to analyse the situation properly. until he finally digested it.

"hey! get back here!" he yells as he tries to chase after you.

you could've not felt any better.

and being with ni-ki helped it.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I feel like I owe Kim Possible a minor apology. In a recent post, I used Kim and Ron's romance as an example of how the love square should have been written. I've also talked about how Ron's the perfect example of a male comedy sidekick who is more than just a comedy sidekick because he's treated as Kim's perfect partner. I've probably mentioned Kim Possible other times, too, because it's such a good match for what Miraculous is trying to do.

Because I keep singing Kim Possible's praises I decided that I should rewatch the show to make sure that my nostalgia goggles weren't blinding me to some major flaw. So far, they weren't. If anything, I've been underselling the show. This is where we get to that apology I mentioned at the start.

Prior to this rewatch, I would have told you that Ron's importance wasn't really discussed until the later seasons because the first season of a formulaic kids show is almost always a testing grounds to see what works, so things can be a little rough. Plus Ron's importance isn't exactly something that you need to dive into early on when you've got a two person team. No one is questioning Ron's importance right out of the gate. He's there to be the comedy sidekick. No explanation needed.

Imagine my surprise when the plot of episode six is all about Kim and Ron getting into a fight about Ron excelling at their part time job while Kim kinda sucks, leading to Kim going to fight alone while Ron keeps working. Kim fails, Ron gets a call that she's in trouble, and:

Wade: Not important. Kim's in trouble. She found Drakken at inside giant Cheese Wheel but I lost contact. She needs help. Your help. Ned: Well, well, well. Looks like you've got a choice to make, Stoppable! What's more important? Your sacred duty as assistant manager or your role as goofy sidekick? Ron: Well, that's no choice at all. I guess it's time to say buenos noches, Bueno Nacho.

Dude doesn't even hesitate. Doesn't matter if they're fighting or if he's feeling underappreciated, Kim needs his help? He's there. Their fight can wait until after Kim is safe. This is why I love Ron. Total dork, but you can't ask for a better partner.

Ron's rescue attempt initially goes south, but instead of getting mad, we get this genuinely sweet moment:

Ron: Guess that wasn't much of a plan. Kim: Not as great as your Bueno Nacho bathroom-break chart. Ron: I gooned on assistant-manager power. You were right. Kim: I did resent your superior burrito technique. You're entitled to excel. Forgive me? Ron: Duh! Forgive me? Kim: Totally.

Boy do I love these two! Their friendship was so genuine right from the start. This whole episode is just oozing how much they care for each other, it's great!

After this moment, they save the day with Ron playing a big part in Kim's plan because right from season one, season one, the writers understood that Kim could never be shown to win when Ron wasn't around.

As you may have guessed from the cheese wheel line, the plot of this episode is pretty absurd even for Kim Possible. That's been the case for all of the early episodes, but I think that the plots are going to improve as the seasons go on because I remember the later seasons having much stronger plots. We'll see if that proves true. Even if the plots stay kinda weak, I've still gotta give full credit to the writers for their early character work. They really understood Kim and Ron's relationship right from the start, didn't they? And in a show like this, that's the most important element to get right.

Don't worry, I'm not going to flood your dash with Kim Possible love, I just had to take a moment to appreciate how good the character work was here. They really did want Ron to feel like more than Kim's goofy sidekick and they pulled it off while sticking to the show's absurd writing and formulaic structure. As Miraculous has shown, that isn't something that just naturally happens. It takes effort, so I had to take a moment to gush because I don't get to gush about good character work often while running this blog. I hope this also makes it clear that, when it comes to writing, I'm not looking for perfection. I'm just looking for a good time. So far, that's what this rewatch is giving me.

[genericpuff]

You know what do you think of hanza cancelling her own comic that is the guy upstairs? Like for me,I really really hope she's okay. And I know blacklightjack(he make a video about this) and the line he says about artists need to grow a thicker skin is just. I'm sorry like,look I get what he's saying but hanza have to cancel the comic because of toxic shippers. Sure,you can just ignore them and pretend they don't exist but they will still still still annoy you and h*rass you to the point you can't take it anymore and have to cancel the comic because of the whole goddamn toxic fanbase.

(as a Malaysian myself,I need to say this,I really hope hanza is alright. And in my language saya harap dia dapat bantuan Dan menjaga kesihatan sendiri)

So...

sigh I feel like this isn't the answer or essay you expected but I hope you're open to at least hearing it out all the same.

I do not think Hanza handled the situation in a way that benefitted her as a creator or her audience of people who genuinely love her work.

I DO think she was justified to be pissed off with the people harassing her. Those people suck ass and they're the definition of "this is why we can't have nice things."

But like... the notion of "you need to grow thicker skin" is true in being a creator who puts their work out into the world for an audience. Hear me out, this does NOT mean "creators aren't allowed to have feelings". But it does mean that you have to find peace with the fact that there are gonna be weirdos and assholes who take shit too far within your community. You don't necessarily deserve that. But you can't give those people power over you by going scorched earth in the way that Hanza did, because who does it really benefit? Hanza is now out a job and she's soiled her own reputation with her audience by basically going "FINE, because of these few people who were shit, NO ONE gets to have a good time!" And that's just... not a productive or healthy way to deal with these issues because it's just doing what those trolls and shitheads likely wanted. They wanted a reaction out of her, and she delivered it to them on a silver platter.

Like, I think of the dumbasses complaining about Hanza "taking advantage of the dark romance community" (she didn't, she just made a horror thriller comic that they felt entitled to see romance in) and guess what? Now those dumbasses have power over here because she ended the comic and in their heads, I'm sure they're thinking "good riddance". By choosing to not only end her comic, but spoil it entirely for her fans who were there in good faith, Hanza gave power to the people who weren't even a part of her target audience to begin with.

I do think it's ironic if people assume I'd automatically boo the "grow thicker skin" mantra because like, y'all... many of my complaints here are literally about people like Rachel who behave badly with their audience and desperately needed to grow thicker skin. In a lot of ways she's not even reacting to direct harassers, she's reacting to people simply discussing her comic in their own spaces which aren't mean for her. If she spoiled the ending of LO for her fans and ended the comic prematurely, I would feel awful, but... it still would have been her decision at the end of the day that she'd have to stand by and take responsibility for.

I think, at best, if I were to give her any unsolicited advice, she should have just put the comic on hiatus, taken a break, focused on her mental health and given herself enough distance to ask herself if she wanted to continue TGU. Maybe it still would have ended the same way, but at least she would have given herself the time and space to heal and rationalize her choices.

Instead, by choosing the nuclear option of spoiling the series for her readers and axing the comic - just to backpedal and go back to "no no it's just an indefinite hiatus!" - she gave up her power to the people who were harassing her. She reacted in a way that gave them power over her, not herself over them.

And I say this as someone who's currently on an indefinite hiatus with their main project, which I still have not spoiled for the 5 readers I have, despite the fact that I have zero clue when I'll return or if I'll even be able to. Whether or not Cyra and co. break out of the Reaper Society is now a 2 year old question.

I say this all as someone who has been harassed and is still harassed for doing what I wanna do. My first ever webcomic website when I was like 17 used to get emails and comments from shitty classmates and other local yokels who knew of me and wanted to pick fights over a teenager's dumb lil' gag comics. I kept making those comics anyways for myself and for the people who did like reading them, until I was ready to drop the comic on my own terms and move onto my next project, which would be Reaper. Reaper also got a lot of nonsense complaints and harassment. As did my fanfiction projects, as did my digital art, as did everything that I've ever put out into the world through the Internet, because the Internet just sucks for everyone always and then you die 🤣

And now, 10+ years later, I get the occasional "you're a shitty talentless person who isn't gonna amount to anything and yaddayaddayadda" which, to be fair, is a reaction from the folks who are unhappy with my intentions to make a Lore Olympus rewrite comic!

But I'm not going to give them power over me by stopping. I have a story I want to tell and if I stopped telling that story due to the shitty things they had to say and do, then I would be punishing myself and punishing my audience for the actions of a few bad apples. I do not deserve to have those abusive actions targeted at me (though they surely do and that's on them) and I do not have to put up with it, but I genuinely would not be able to live with myself if I gave them power over me by reacting in such an explosive way that my bloody remains land on everyone around me, including the people who were supportive and loved my work along the way.

That said, I also don't know to what extent Hanza was harassed. I've seen people claim she was doxxed, but have yet to see any evidence of that. I have seen people claim she got death threats, but Hanza hasn't shown anything to back that up. I'm going to assume the best of her that the harassment must have gotten pretty fucking bad for her to want to quit, and again, that is justified, and I cannot in any way use my experiences as a way to diminish hers. Maybe she just flat out isn't interested in making TGU anymore which... I can definitely say I relate to that, too.

There's this sort of mindfulness technique in stress and emotional management where you have to recognize that other people's actions are NOT your responsibility, but your REACTION is, because your reaction is what you can control and have power over.

Rachel Smythe finished LO in spite of what wackjobs like me said (and still say) about her and she has power in that perseverance, power that wackjobs like me cannot and *should* not try to take away from her.

mongie decided Webtoons was not suited for her work and vision and decided to put the comic on hiatus until she could get her distribution rights back and continue Let's Play on another platform. She has power in that decision and integrity, power that Webtoons cannot take away from her.

Whether or not you like my work, whatever opinion you have of it that you're entitled to, I have power in knowing that I started a project that I now love dearly and can take pride in, and has brought closure to people like me who were left disappointed by LO. I have power in that stubbornness and refusal to let other people determine what I'm capable of.

Even if you remove the external influence of the audience from the picture, we all have power as creators that we need to harness and take ownership in.

By going nuclear and spoiling her comic for her audience and ending it entirely, Hanza may have gotten the short term satisfaction of turning the school bus around to go back home, but she still disrespected herself and robbed herself of her own power as a creator which will ultimately stick with her far more than it will the harassers who will inevitably move on to some other target and forget she even existed. And that's a decision that she has to live with.

The harassers got under Hanza's skin and gave her more than enough reason to feel frustrated. But they did not choose to spoil and end the comic. She did. And she is ultimately the only one who will have to live with the consequences of that.

I do hope she's okay and that she's getting the time and space she needs to heal from this. If this truly is the outcome that she feels gives her the most power and the ends justified the means for her, I hope she found strength in it, regardless of the opinions of people like myself that ultimately should not matter to her. I hope the people harassing her get what's coming for them whether it be actually getting called out or just the universe delivering karmic retribution on them. I hope Hanza can find joy and peace again either in TGU or whatever project she pursues next. But most importantly, I hope she finds the confidence and power she needs to stick to her guns and create what she wants to create, unapologetically.

"Growing thicker skin" doesn't mean we as creators have to be comfortable with abuse - it just means we need to do ourselves the honor and favor of making decisions that give ourselves power rather than giving it away to the abusers who do not have to live our lives at the end of it all.

And that is my very big bag of cents on that.

[loviestoki]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.” - Anais Nin

warnings: angst, toxic rls, prob poor grammar

gn!reader

To say you felt abandoned was an understatement. You felt utterly forsaken. The constant push and pull between you and your boyfriend, Beomgyu, was draining, to say the least. How could you blame him, though? His busy idol life hogged all of the potential time you two could have together. You knew this would happen before you agreed to make it official, and yet nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of pure betrayal every time Beomgyu doesn't reach out for days, sometimes even weeks, at a time because he's occupied with his idol-related schedules.

Because of this, you often find yourself in the position you're in now, laying on your bathroom floor with the warm water running from your tub—the steam causing the full-length mirror beside you to slightly fog up, causing a relieved sigh to be pulled from your lips silently thanking it for hindering the ability to see the state you're in. You clutched your phone tightly in your hand, sucking in a deep breath as you stared at your lock screen. "No recent notifications" was displayed proudly, as if to taunt you. It had been exactly one month since Beomgyu last texted or called you. Sure, you aren't entitled to his time off, but not even a "hi" or an "I love you" from the one person who's supposed to care?

You scoff, dropping your phone onto the tile floor below you, the tears you once held astray now boiling over and onto your cheeks, a familiar sting in the back of your throat as your brain replays all of your fond memories with Beomgyu... like the first winter you shared together, he had surprised you on your way home from work, lifting you off the ground in his arms tightly and spinning you around as the first snowfall of the year cascaded down on you both or the first kiss shared between the two of you that was cut short because you had accidentally bit his tongue, and of course you couldn't forget the pure embarrassment you felt afterwards, but it was okay, Beomgyu was there to hold you, to comfort you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, but now as you lay on your bathroom floor, and the steam makes it harder to breathe properly, you remember he isn't there.

He hasn't been there. Not because he couldn't be, but because he didn't want to be. A soft smile appears on your face, and it's a striking contrast to the hot tears still pouring down your cheeks. You're ready to let go and move on. As your shaking hands move towards your phone beside you to finally block his number, you hear a ding. Beomgyu messaged you, "Wyd?" It was barely even a proper message, yet overwhelmed by relief and adrenaline, all of those old feelings for him came flooding back. You instantly reply, lying that you're with your friends, and you sigh, just one last time you think. But you know it won't be. You know that every time you slip away from his grasp, you'll crawl back because that's how it always has been, but you didn't care; you loved him regardless. You'll love him always.

a/n: if ur rls is like ts pls pls pls get the support u need and leave it this is in no way glorifying a rls like ts.

[wordsandrobots]

Apropos of half-awake thoughts this morning, I've been considering the perennial subject of people coming into fan-works and making demands of the writer or artist in regards to their creative choices. You know, 'this is wrong', 'you should change this', 'make more!!!' etc. It's been quite some years since I had to deal with that kind of behaviour but I've seen it happen to other people and it always sucks. Today my brain has decided to connect it to Humphrey Smith.

Story time: the town I come from has three breweries. The reason for this is that the limestone we're built atop filters the local water, making it 1) good and hard and 2) easy to access. Technically we're a market town but brewing is the foundation of our modern economy.

Two of these breweries, John Smith's and Sam Smith's, are the remnants of the brewing empire started by John Smith, a Victorian gentleman endowed with truly spectacular mutton-chops and also money, who bought an existing brewery in the town before building a new, much more impressive one further up the street. After his death, the business was left to his brothers, one of whom would go on to leave the old brewery to his nephew Samuel. Thus, the empire split into two. Both halves are still operating and have been successful enough that the current owner of Sam Smith's -- Humphrey -- is the biggest land-owner in the town.

Here is where the problems begin. You see Humphrey is, to put it gently, crackers. He suffers from being exceptionally wealthy and, despite some motions towards investing in local amenities, largely exists on a moral crusade against the changing social mores of the 20th Century. He won't countenance any businesses that does not contribute to the atmosphere of a sleepy market town (read: basically anything), refuses to maintain or sell off his properties, leaving the place full of the rotting shells of buildings, and he's been at war with the town council so long, they're currently planning to build on a flood plane that does indeed routinely get swamped by the river just to have somewhere to put new houses.

The man is not well-liked, is what I'm saying. And among his 'charming eccentricities' are the strict requirements he enforces on the pubs he owns. Any Sam Smith's pub must be run by people of good moral character (preferably a married man and woman), there must be no music and no phones, no swearing, no motorcyclists, no kissing, etc, etc. Basically imagine the dourest stereotype of Yorkshire grimness and that's what he's actively aiming for (no I am not kidding, just check out the 'controversies' section of the Sam Smith's wikipedia page).

Anyway, the point of all this is that there's a lovely tale shared around the town about how, one day, our Humphrey walked into a local pub and said to the bar-tender something to the effect of, 'Switch off that music, throw those people out, take down those fixtures and fittings, this is not the Victorian traditionalism I pay you for.'

Only, the bar-tender leant over the bar and replied, 'well that's nice, Mr Smith, but this isn't one of your pubs.'

Should you find yourself in the position of having some dipstick with fixed opinions swan into your work and start telling you everything you've gotten wrong, I think you could do worse than bear this heroic chap's words in mind. Your work is not their pub. They have no claim on what you make and no grounds for enforcing their vision over yours. They aren't paying you, you aren't working for them, and frankly, they have profoundly misunderstood the situation if they think they're entitled to tell you want to do.

This is true even in the face of widely accepted fanon or when you're cutting against general expectations. In fandom, every piece of art is the result of our own personal reactions to a piece of media. We can decorate our individual pubs however we want and if other people don't like it, well, they can lump it. Go forth and do what you like, music and kissing and all!

[This post brought to you by the belated 11 year anniversary of that berk on dA who spent ages arguing with my attempt at redesigning the Quarks from Doctor Who. The *bloody Quarks*, man! Sheesh.]

[ivymarquis]

i know i'm late and i want to hear about all your wips tbh but i have to admit that "Boot Worship + Hate sex (COD/Konig x Reader)" got me going real 👀👀👀 (--direwombat)

Fun fact! This is the fic that totally derailed my kinktober! Both between the fact I was rapidly realizing that the word counts I was hitting with my entries was not sustainable with my schedule (3.2k before clothes even came off) and I hit a wall and was hating it (although looking back months later, it’s substantially better than I initially thought it was so maybe I’ll try to finish it. Surely no one will mind if I do kinktober in January/February baha)

Konig being an asshole, unhealthy work dynamics, boot worship, hint of puppy play under the cut

"My problem?" he intones. A man of his stature doesn't need to yell but God does she wish he would. Her skin fucking crawls at the smooth, level cadance of his voice. There's a fire in his eyes that she can see now that she's close enough to him (even if she has to crane her neck up).

He doesn't stop advancing with those slow, deliberate, heavy steps until her nerves finally get the best of her and a single foot lifts and steps back away from him.

"My problem is you are young and cocky and entitled. That for all your talent you don't know what to do with any of it and I'm not sure if you're more of a disappointment because you lack the discipline to hone that skill, or because your newfound independent streak one day will lead to one of your brothers being killed in the line of duty trying to cover your ass, when you are the one who has caused this entire problem to begin with."

For all your talent rings in her ears- it's the first compliment she can recall him ever giving, even if it's placed so nicely in front of the fact that he views her as a disappointment and a liability.

"You are fucking impossible to please, you know that? I have no idea why the hell you've been gunning for me since the day I stepped foot in here. I have tried so hard to prove myself to you that I know how to do my damn job correctly and all you can do is micromanage me to the point I have no choice but to fail because I'm not a damned mind reader and you keep moving the goal post. You're so damn difficult to work with and I just-" Her words cut off abruptly as he steps closer into her space. It's actually incredibly frustrating for her that even in the midst of what she is sure will turn into a knockdown, drag out, ground zero, "clear the air" fight- at the end of the day she knows why König's blatant disapproval bothers her so much.

She wants this man so badly that it makes her look stupid. She barely keeps the cognitive brain function to remember how to dot her I's and cross her Ts correctly when he's watching her. Tells herself it’s just frustration and the constant lowgrade anxiety he’s got her tizzied up in from the incessant disapproval as her fingers find their way below the hemline of her underwear at night.

"You want my approval?" The way he’s crowding her space shouldn’t be making her stomach flip like this. “Let’s start simple and see if you can follow simple fucking orders, hm? Kneel.”

This is out of line yet she complies immediately. It’s a hell of a dissonance, being so utterly pissed off beyond all belief at someone who she fantasizes about constantly.

She goes to the obvious line of thought- that he wants her to suck his dick.

She should be telling him to go to hell and booking it straight for Majka and Ridgeback.

Overachiever that she is, once she’s on the ground looking up at him- he has to crane his neck down just to look at her-, her hands moving up towards the buckle of his belt.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” Each word has more bite to it than the last and she flinches like he’s slapped her despite him not having made a move.

“I-” she stammers, “I thought-”

He cuts her off “That’s your fucking problem. You keep thinking. You are not paid to think, you are paid to follow fucking orders. I only told you to kneel. You. Don’t. Listen.”

God he is such a fucking asshole.

“You want to act like a puppy with no manners? That is fine. I know how to train a bitch to heel.”

Even for all the vitriol she has dealt with in her career, she's never quite been spoken to so callously. Of course he has no hesitation in doing so, however- why would he.

She should be shooting up to her feet and leaving his office, and yet she sits perfectly still as he takes a half step closer to her. The bulge of his groin- jesus he's not even hard, it doesn't look like he is at least- is at eye level with her before one of those giant hands of his reaches out and pushes at her shoulder- makes her sit on her heels with a featherweight touch as assuredly as if he'd put real effort into it.

She doesn't balk or shy from him even when one hand takes a fistful of her hair to hold her still.

She shouldn't be allowing this. This is humiliating and debasing and she has not spent the last years of her life becoming excellent at her job just to be treated as a living doll.

And yet she sits perfectly still even as he moves one of his massive feet between her legs. She doesn't sink down onto it nor lift up away from it, allowing him to place his boot where he deems fit.

"Don't think I don't know," he starts, and she stares at him with wide eyes. "You're not quite as subtle as you think you are." Oh that is not ideal by any stretch of the imagination.

"I think you lash out because you want my attention. You're so focused on it you aren't paying attention, and subsequently digging yourself deeper into the little hole you've made for yourself with me." he continues like he isn't holding her like a dog on a leash.

"So we're going to get a handle on this, because I'm not going to be as indulgent of your little temper tantrums going forward."

The boot scoots ever so slightly more snug underneath her and she tries to ignore the fact she hasn't had any male attention in quite a long time. She has her faults, sure but she is not about to hump his leg like the ill mannered puppy he wants to claim her to be.

"That's a good girl, Schatz, waiting for me like you are supposed to. Maybe you can be coachable after all. Now, you very clearly have some built up tension that needs an appropriate outlet,"

She bites back a snort. Not a single thing about this situation is appropriate.

"So we will start with releasing some of that pent up energy. So go ahead and use my boot like a good little puppy and we can get on with our day, hm?"

It is never too late to ask me about my WIPs!

[bellybiologist]

Oh yes, Laios is trending on Twitter. It doesn't help that people have calculated his BMI based on his official stats, and apparently he falls into the "overweight" category... And I would love to hear your "I hate Bakugou" rant if you ever have the time to write it down

I certainly imagine, with how Ryoko Kui draws him! (Also, since BMI is bupkiss and Laios is tall and muscular, it surprises me less, lol. Now if only I Could get off on BMI like other people could :P) and Gosh, it's been a while tbh! I can sum up my rants as these 3 points:

-Bakugou's entire friend-turned-bully-turned-classmate-he's-forced-to-DEAL-with relationship with Midoriya is fucked up and triggering to me personally. I don't see why the writer thought that was ANY attractive way to write a rivalry into a story. Like, imagine if a kid grew guns on his hands, is popular cuz of it, then threatens to kill you with them every day of middle school. Then keeps doing even after you worked hard to get your own guns because you're just destined to deal with his mental problems. Annoying and fucked up! -I went 3 whole seasons of the series watching him be annoying. People keep saying he gets better or stuff, but I've seen none of it onscreen so thats worthless and insufficient to me. He apparently gets better later, but by this point i had lost interest in BNHA after the STUPID rival fight season finale. -Bakugou's hair fucking SUCKs, and i HATE drawing it. (his biggest sin)

I honestly hoped he **SPOILERS** Stayed dead **/END SPOILERS but I already didnt respect the mangaka enough to commit to anything actually interesting (fridging him would've been the most interesting thing to me). It always almost seemed like he will, then doesn't, and this entitled blonde fuck really does just ruin my tolerance for the series and any character he regularly interacts with for me as a whole. 😏

[jungwnies]

partners ✰ 3 god, i hate you!

masterlist | next

"i should've called bullshit the moment i saw those 'jake being the sweetest idol' compilations on youtube." you say opening a drawer that revealed a poem.

"just because i'm not nice to you doesn't mean i'm rude to everyone else." jake laughs reading the poem besides you.

"you know when i heard i was mc-ing with you i did my research because i was so excited to interact with someone who i thought would be an absolutely sweetheart." you laugh, "instead i got you."

"it's not bullshit, you just happened to get the short end of the stick." jake tells you, putting the pieces of the poem together to solve something. "we could've grown to like each other if you just held your anger in and waited for me to warm up to you."

"oh so now i'm temperamental?" you argue stepping closer to him. "you're going to call me temperamental even when you're the root of my anger?"

"it's not that deep y/n, just suck it in." jake tells you rolling his eyes, "can you pass me that?"

you take a deep breath and walk away, "i'm out of here, i can do with no phone if it means i get to leave."

you go back to the entrance and exit the escape room making your way back to the van. "stupid, entitled, rude ass mother-" you begin before the vibration of your phone ringing in your pocket distracts you.

"hello?" you answer after clicking the green button to pick up.

"go back inside y/n." your manager tells you on the other end of the line.

you look at your manager inside the van who shows nothing but anger on his face. it's almost as if there are flames in his eyes and smoke is coming out of his ears.

you storm back inside the escape room to see jake still solving the puzzles, "look who's back, i guess you really can't live without your phone."

"jake, i'm going to give you 30 seconds to shut the fuck up because if you don't, i might end up in jail." you tell him, shoving him off the chair.

the two of you manage to work quietly and escape the room even though you left him alone in there a while ago.

"so, do we ever have to do this ever again?" you ask your manager as you leave the escape room.

"you guys are going to hang out every friday after music bank until the resentment for each other is completely gone." his manager tells you guys as he pulls out of the parking lot.

"hell no." jake barks angrily. "i am not wasting any more of my time just to hang out with her."

"what makes you think i would want to waste my time on someone like you either?" you argue, ready to rip each other's heads off.

"what are you guys? five?" your manager asks annoyed, "grow up and start treating each other with respect. people have eyes everywhere and one day you will not be able to hide how much you guys hate each other resulting in the downfall of not only you guys, but your groups as well."

the two of you look at each other and roll your eyes. "this is your fault." you mouth to the boy.

you open twitter on your phone to be greeted by fan edits of jake and you which makes you sick to your stomach resulting in you putting down your phone after exiting out the app. they might as well take away your phone if all you're going to see is edits of you and some guy you really, really hate.

eventually you reach your dorm and thank jake's manager for driving you back. the moment you step into the dorm the rest of the girls are in the living room watching something on the tv screen.

a member stands up and walks to you, "where've you been?" miya asks as you take off your jacket and hang it up.

"i'm being forced to hang out with jake every friday after music bank." you tell her as you now take off your shoes.

"it shouldn't be too bad, he's nice isn't he?" she asks, walking with you to the kitchen.

you put your cup against the fridge as water fills it up, you take a sip and look back at miya, "yeah sure, he's sweetheart." you lie. "i just would rather come straight back and relax, you know?"

miya nods, "i would prefer to come straight home too, at least he's not overbearing though."

though you wanted to laugh and tell her how wrong she was about him, you knew that keeping your relationship with him under wraps would be the safest route.

word count: 798 thanks for reading! 🩷

taglist: @whois-alexis , @hanienie , @reikofruitloops , @baldi-2 , @yelleloww , @aetzensvct , @moonshoon , @kimipxl , @shinsou-rii , @giraffeass , @ghostiiess , @ohbeomgyu [open - bolded could not be tagged]

2022 © jungwnies

[sesamestreep]

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 7

Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox (from this list) ➸ slight future fic in the west wing AU, set probably six months after part 4 which does not exist yet (🫠) so maybe consider it a preview of what’s to come eventually in the series?? corresponds to the beginning of season 3 of the west wing when everybody’s in Manchester for the campaign and based (loosely) on that scene where Toby sucks at pool. ♡ dedicated to my pal @aivley-reblogs who had the chance to influence me to make this fic less weird and horny and chose violence instead ♡

It's only after Foggy has managed to send Karen and most of the remaining staffers that were still holed up in the bar either working or blowing off steam back to their hotel rooms for the night that Matt finally reappears.

“Did I miss the end of the party?” Matt asks.

“We’re calling it a night,” Foggy replies, as he’s futzing with his wallet. He's waiting on the drink he just ordered with plans to close his tab after that. “The team’s picking back up with the speech in the morning. Hopefully, some rest will help.”

“I don’t know if one good night of sleep is enough to make everyone see eye to eye there.”

“Yeah, but it’s almost midnight and I think we’re all entitled to some delusion.”

Matt smiles at that, and says, “You’re heading out, then?”

Foggy leans back against the bar. “After this drink, yes.”

“I’d have another too, if you’re offering.”

“Yeah, alright,” Foggy says, at the exact same moment the bartender reappears with his drink. “Can I be a bother and add one more thing to my tab?”

The bartender gives Foggy the impression of someone who’s probably a school teacher by day and does this for extra cash because the educational system in this country is fundamentally broken. That’s a long way of saying she’s a different breed from the sleek, lithe employees of the downtown DC bars he usually frequents, most of whom could and likely do double as escorts to senators and ambassadors now and again. She’s also probably old enough to be his mother, which makes it charming and not weird when she nods curtly and turns to Matt with a, “Jameson, right, honey?”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt replies, with the sort of humble acquiescence of someone used to terms of endearment from the older ladies at church. Once she’s gone, Matt pokes Foggy’s wrist and says, “You play pool?”

“Not as well as Karen, but…”

Matt smiles, too brightly for the hour and for their current circumstances. “I see news of my humbling defeat has already reached you."

"As if there's a force on this earth that could actually humble you in any real way."

"True enough," Matt replies, his smile only growing. "It's clear to me now that I should have done my homework before challenging her, at least.”

"I hope you didn't put any money on it," Foggy says, casually.

"Nothing I couldn't afford to lose," Matt says, with a shrug. It's hard to tell in the subdued lighting of the bar, but he might also be blushing faintly. "If you're worried, I'll be generous with you. You can lose for free."

"Golly, thanks," Foggy says, drily, making Matt laugh.

"Sounds like a yes to me," he says, before nodding to the raised area in the back of the room where the pool table resides. “I’ll get it set up. Meet me there when you’re all set.”

“Sorry, am I buying and delivering your drinks now, Murdock?”

“Seems like it, yeah,” Matt replies, with a grin that threatens to overtake his face as he effortlessly walks back from the bar without turning away.

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” Foggy shouts after him.

“The pleasure of my company,” Matt fires back, and then disappears again.

Foggy can’t deny that that’s enough of a draw for him, but he doesn’t have to be stupid and admit it out loud. Instead, he gets Matt’s drink without further complaint, as well as his own, closes his tab, and heads over to the slightly enclosed area at the back of the bar where there’s a pool table with Matt Murdock leaning against it. He hands the drink off to him, and clinks their glasses together before Matt can pull his away.

“Cheers,” he says, for no real reason, and watches Matt’s throat move on a swallow just a little too closely. He feels fine and normal otherwise.

“You know how to play?” Matt asks, inclining his head towards the table as he stands and makes his way to the rack of pool cues.

There’s something loose and warm in the way he moves around the rounded corners of the table, like this is his neighborhood bar and he knows it by heart. Foggy attributes it to the few drinks he’s had over the course of the night and a certain natural grace that Matt seems to possess, but having an explanation for it doesn’t dampen the effect of it at all. Just like he was fascinated by Matt’s throat a moment ago, Foggy now feels like he can’t take his eyes off Matt’s hips, which is a real problem.

“I’m a man of a certain age, Matthew,” Foggy gripes, in the hopes of distracting from his obvious enamored state with sheer bad manners. “Of course I know how to play pool!”

"Good, then I won't go easy on you," Matt says.

"I have a feeling that was never an option," Foggy retorts. "What's a guy like you get out of pool, anyway?

"A guy like me? What's that supposed to mean?

Foggy rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that. It's a pretty visual game!"

"True enough. I was going to ask you to point me in the right direction, depending on whether I end up with stripes or solids."

"I could lie."

"Yeah, but you won't."

"I'm a politician, kiddo. Don't be so sure."

"'Kiddo'," Matt repeats, evidently delighted by it. "You're in a real mood, huh?"

"I'm fine," Foggy says, too sharply. "You want to break or shall I?"

"You go ahead," Matt offers, generously. "I want you to feel like you stood an actual chance, at least to start."

"You're kind of an asshole, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm aware. You can save the energy you're about to put into pretending you don't like it, by the way."

"I don't like it!"

"Sure."

"I really don't," Foggy says, even as he's trying to fight a smile. And winning, but still. "Not right now I don't, at least."

"Yes, you do," Matt replies, knowingly. "Right now, me being an asshole is the only thing stopping you from taking your frustrations out on someone who doesn't deserve it."

Foggy sighs, defeated. "You don't deserve it either."

"Give it fifteen, twenty minutes and see if you still feel that way," Matt says, lightly, and nudges him with his elbow.

Foggy steps up to take the first shot, breaking the neat little triangle of billiard balls that Matt has assembled in the center of the table with the white cue ball easily. Nothing goes into a pocket, of course, not that he really expected it. He's fine at pool, generally speaking, but not great. It's a feeling he's beginning to get used to (and increasingly tired of) in the rest of his life as well.

"Let's keep it simple," he says, as he stands up. "Whoever sinks the most shots wins."

"Easy enough," Matt says, coming to stand next to him. "Where's the cue ball?"

Foggy steps in close to Matt's side, until their arms brush. "Eleven o'clock."

Matt nods and sinks down into his stance. Foggy steps back, both to get out of his way and to admire his form. Matt’s got a nice ass, which is something Foggy noticed about him basically immediately, being gifted by God with both the power of sight and the blessing of bisexuality. He can normally control himself enough to conveniently avoid noticing it, except for right now when it’s late, he’s a little tipsy, and Matt’s suit is perfectly tailored to show it off. It is, quite frankly, a ridiculous situation he’s gotten himself into. Even the dim amber lighting of the bar is blending with the glow of several nearby neon signs—they serve Heineken and Pabst Blue Ribbon here, apparently—to cast Matt’s skin in the dreamiest light possible.

Matt sinks three balls without trouble before Foggy can manage to tear his gaze away from his ass, and even then, it’s only to get distracted by the lovely shape his fingers make around the cue. He misses his next shot by about three millimeters, a miracle that Foggy attributes either to the power of his overwhelming horniness creating some sort of palpable disturbance in the atmosphere or God punishing him for his lustful thoughts by contriving a scenario where Matt’s no longer bending over a pool table in his line of sight. Either way, it’s a reprieve.

“That’s you,” Matt says, still stalking around the table like a jungle cat. Foggy might need to get out more, is the thing.

“How are you this good at pool, anyway?” Foggy asks, as he lines up his shot and delicately avoids letting his hips come into contact with the table. He thinks unsensuous thoughts and doesn’t look over at Matt at all, because, with his luck, if he does, Matt will be innocently fellating the pool cue or some similar such nonsense. Better to avoid it altogether, he thinks.

“Practice,” Matt says, smugly. “And very, very dim vision, technically.”

“I didn’t know that,” Foggy says as he sinks a shot, finally. Even that, the sound of the ball finding the pocket, is kind of erotic to him now because his life is a farce.

“Yeah. Most blind people have some vision. Total blindness is fairly rare.”

“So, what I’m hearing is you totally just let me lead you around most of the time because you really just like walking arm in arm with me. Is that accurate?”

“You caught me,” Matt says, with a soft smile, and Foggy misses his next shot completely. “Not bad.”

“3 to 1,” Foggy replies, pushing himself up.

“You’re on the board,” Matt says, passing behind him closely enough that Foggy catches the scent of his cologne mixed with the Jameson left in his glass. He takes another drink and Foggy wonders what his mouth would taste like right now and also if there’s a historically significant, beautiful river nearby that he could potentially drown himself in. They’re in small town New Hampshire, after all. The chances that Benedict Arnold did something stupid near here back in 1776 and there's a scenic spot with a plaque commemorating it are pretty high. There are worse places to drown yourself, he figures.

“Don’t patronize me,” he grumbles, instead of saying any of that out loud.

“I wasn’t,” Matt says, grinning as he settles into his spot for his next shot.

“How much did Karen beat you by, again? I feel like it might be helpful, for me, to know.”

“It’s not fair,” Matt says in an exaggerated whine that’s in no way convincing. His smile doesn’t help either. “I’m blind and she tricked me!”

“I don’t think her being better at pool than you expected constitutes a trick on her part, Matt.”

“She let me explain the rules to her for like ten minutes!”

“And I bet she let you do that thing where you got real close and showed her how to handle the stick from behind too,” Foggy says, infusing his tone with mock pity.

“Oh, she dropped the ruse well before that point, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m not above that move,” Matt says, unrepentant, and sinks another shot. “But I can always do that for you if you need some pointers!”

“Sure,” Foggy says, sweetly. “Come on over, big boy.”

Matt misses his next shot because he’s too busy doubling over with laughter. “Jesus, Foggy!”

“Don’t put anything on the table you don’t want people to accept, Murdock.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt says. “Your turn.”

Foggy sighs as he gets into position. Matt comes to stand at his side and, after a quiet moment in which Foggy attempts to line up his shot, puts his hand on the small of Foggy’s back. It takes all of Foggy’s concentration not to jump away from the touch, but he manages to keep his cool, just barely. 

“Your stance does need work,” Matt says, mildly, and kicks him in the ankle before Foggy can make a smart comment about what his lower back has to do with his stance. “Bring this foot out a little.”

Foggy complies, because his brain can’t think of anything else to do in this moment. “Better?” he asks.

“Good,” Matt replies, and Foggy likes the tone in his voice a little too much for his own well being. “Take your shot.”

Foggy does, and scratches. The humiliation, at least, cuts through the arousal rather effectively. That’s something.

“Saboteur,” he mutters as he goes off in search of the lost cue ball.

“I can improve your stance, but your aim is your own problem.”

“A likely story,” Foggy says, as he returns. “I’m hip to your little mind games now, Murdock.”

He puts the cue ball into Matt’s outstretched hand. Matt is entitled, per the rules, to place it wherever he likes on the table to set up his next shot, but he stands there cradling it thoughtfully in his palm, testing its weight, instead, for a long moment, like a total sociopath, adding more force to the argument that Foggy is currently being punished by a mean-spirited and vengeful god.

“You know massaging that thing won’t help you score, right?”

Matt gives him a smile that indicates he either appreciates some good trash talk between men or that he’s seen through to the very heart of Foggy’s desires and found them trivial and amusing in the grand scheme of things. Either way, it’s a good look on him. 

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Matt asks, smugly, and places the cue ball before lining up his shot and sinking it in one practiced, elegant motion. “5 to 1, correct?”

“Yep,” Foggy says, leaning back to watch the show without guilt now, since he’s paying for it so dearly at the cost of his self-respect. Matt sinks another shot and Foggy doesn’t even care because he’s too transfixed by the way the fabric of Matt’s dress shirt bunches up around his bicep and spreads taught between his shoulder blades. Foggy takes a healthy sip of his drink because his mouth is suddenly so dry.

"You know," Matt says, casually, with his ass unceremoniously in the air because pool is the greatest game ever invented, in Foggy's not-entirely-sober opinion (even if he is losing spectacularly), "we are rapidly approaching the point in the game where you can't actually win."

"Yes, I'm aware. Believe it or not, I can do basic math. It's one of my very few skills."

"I don't agree with that assessment."

"You don't think I can do math?"

"I think you have lots of skills," Matt says, as he brings his score up to seven. "The gift of foresight, for one."

"What?"

Matt smiles. "You were smart to accept the offer not to play for money."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I thought—you're right. That was smart.

"What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, I—it's not important. I was just confused for a second there."

"Foggy..."

"Just take your next shot, Matt," Foggy interjects, harshly. "You're one point away from ensuring complete domination over me."

Without turning away from him, Matt reaches out to poke the cue ball with his cue, leaving it to roll hesitantly and without urgency into the bumpers around the edge of the table. "You're up," he says, with a helpless shrug, and comes to stand next to Foggy.

He sighs. "Matt, listen—”

"I didn't mean the tobacco thing," Matt says, ignoring him. All of the levity of a moment ago is gone. They're not cheerfully messing around anymore, it looks like. "That's not how I'd bring it up. You know that, right?"

"I do know that. You wouldn't—it's just that it's been on my mind. That's why I went there. It has nothing to do with you."

Matt nods, absently. "I hope so."

"It's the truth," Foggy says, grabbing him by the arm to emphasize his sincerity. "And you've been a real class act for not rubbing my nose in it. I deserved an 'I told you so' at the very least and you haven't given me one, so I should be more appreciative."

"You don't have to thank me for not kicking you when you're down."

"I went to you for advice on how to handle things with the Appropriations subcommittee and then blatantly ignored all of the very good advice you gave me. 'I told you so' would be getting off easy."

Matt smiles, reluctantly. "To be fair, I don't think you really went to me for advice. You knew what you wanted to do before you came to me."

"What was I looking for then?"

"Permission," Matt suggests. "Forgiveness. Maybe some mild fawning over your political acumen."

"All of the above, maybe," Foggy admits, warily, and rubs his face. "I'm sorry."

"For which part?"

"Ignoring your good advice, for one thing. And, well, if I made you feel like I was pulling rank on you, that's not good either."

Matt laughs. "You do outrank me, Foggy."

“Still,” Foggy says. “I like to think I’m not that guy, usually.”

“What guy?”

“The one who’s so far up his own ass that he can’t see anyone else’s point of view.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt says, thoughtfully. “You’re definitely not that guy.”

“I was to you.”

“Not really. It was one situation where you didn’t take my advice. That’s going to happen if we work together for any stretch of time. It’s going to happen again, I’d guess. I hate to think you’re going to beat yourself up this much every time.”

Foggy nudges Matt with his elbow ineffectively. “You’re being too nice to me.”

“And you’re being too hard on yourself,” Matt replies. “Someone’s got to be nice to you. Might as well be me.”

“I notice this vow of kindness doesn’t extend to letting me win at pool.”

“Even I have my limits of good grace, Foggy,” Matt says, with a smile. “Besides, I already lost once tonight. My ego barely survived it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says, earning a confused look from Matt. “Karen asked me to check on you before she left. She was worried about your fragile mental state, that maybe you were weeping over your humiliation alone in the bathroom.”

“No such luck,” Matt laughs.

“My theory was that we had you to thank for the back-to-back Shania Twain songs on the jukebox at the time.”

“Also not true, but only because Shania Twain isn’t exactly sulking music.”

“Speak for yourself,” Foggy says. “I could sulk to Shania.”

“Well, that’s why they pay you the big bucks, I guess,” Matt replies, absently leaning his weight onto the pool cue. “I didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”

Foggy pauses with his glass midway to his lips. “What?”

“When Karen and I finished our game,” Matt says, still brightly but with a strange edge, like he’s not sure mentioning this is the right thing to do. “I thought you were still outside with Jeri.”

“I was,” Foggy says, and then reconsiders. “I mean, I was for most of your game, I think. When I came back in, you two seemed to be finishing up.”

They also seemed to be laughing and touching a whole lot, which is why Foggy hadn’t come over. He’d slunk off to drink at a table with Marci and Ben and a few of the new people Jeri had hired to run the campaign while they went nine rounds over the wording of a single sentence in the speech for the President’s official announcement for the bid for re-election. The senior staff and the campaign staff were finding it difficult to mesh together so far and it meant that this important speech was stuck in limbo between them like a child of divorce in a nasty custody battle. Everyone, it seemed, was having a miserable time of it lately, which was especially inconvenient because there’d never been more scrutiny on the administration before this particular moment.

Matt was, technically, campaign staff but he’d been on the payroll longer than anyone else, because he’d been doing polling for them for a while now and they’d just decided to extend his contract and fold it into their re-election efforts. So far, he was keeping his head above water and wasn’t getting embroiled in the stupid little pissing matches happening elsewhere, which was impressive. He’d also been pitching in and helping with the announcement speech where he could, but there were a lot of egos to soothe or flatter in that area and it wasn’t what they were specifically paying him to do. Still, Foggy’s been pleased so far watching him navigate these tense situations and remain professional and undeterred in spite of them. It’s partly because Foggy had been the one to recommend Matt in the first place that he feels such obvious pride, but it’s hard to ignore that there’s another reason for it. He’s trying to make peace with the fact that he’s more than incidentally in love with Matt and constant proximity is not tempering it at all. In fact, seeing Matt every day now and watching him succeed at the thing he loves doing makes Foggy so absurdly happy, it’s almost like these professional victories are happening to him by proxy. Which means, in terms of ever getting past this unfortunate crush, Foggy is monumentally fucked.

“You should have come over,” Matt says, still talking about his game of pool with Karen, oblivious to Foggy’s inner torment. “She said you would, when you got back.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I’m bad company tonight,” Foggy says, spreading his arms out defensively.

“You’re never bad company, as far as I can tell.”

“What did I ever do to earn such loyalty from you? Just let me call myself an asshole, man.”

Matt sighs, disappointed. “You made one mistake, Foggy. You’ve got to—”

“I made a mistake that could cost us the election!”

“It could, but that doesn’t mean it will! It’s still early and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. And, more importantly, you got the Justice Department 30 million dollars to go after the tobacco industry! That’s what they asked you to do! That’s a victory! Why don’t you see that?”

“Because there was a larger victory that I left on the table in my need to get anything done in this fucking town,” Foggy says. “I mean, not this town. We’re in Bumblefuck, New Hampshire. But you know…”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I followed that,” Matt says, unimpressed. “And smaller victories are nothing to scoff at. I think you’ve been in this business so long you’ve lost sight of that. Small victories are how you build your way up to bigger ones. In fact, most big victories are comprised of smaller ones. You’re good at what you do, Foggy. You know all this!”

“I don’t feel good at this anymore.”

“Yeah, well, speaking as someone who grew up around professional boxers, I’ll tell you that the right time to ask a man about his next fight is not when he’s just been K.O.’d. You’ve still got the flashlight in your eyes checking for a concussion. I wouldn’t make any career judgments right now.”

“You think we’ve been K.O.’d?” Foggy asks.

“I think the administration’s on its ass right now, for sure,” Matt replies, with the steely calm of a real political operative and Foggy’s pride in him is not misplaced even a little, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t get back up. The numbers I’m seeing are better than expected and they’re built on all the good you’ve done for the last three years. People will remember why they voted for you guys in the first place soon enough.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“I am and I think that earns me the right to say something that might hurt your feelings a bit.”

Foggy takes a fortifying sip of his drink, bracing himself. “Go for it, then.”

“As great as you are, this election won’t be won or lost on your actions alone,” Matt says, gently. “I know it’s tempting to decide that what you personally do or don’t do is the most important thing in the universe, to take every setback as a condemnation of your efforts and proof that you need to double down and do more, but you’re a part of a team. It’s not up to you to win this election by yourself. And it won’t be your fault and only yours if we don’t.”

“Why would that hurt my feelings?” Foggy asks, far too casually. He doesn’t know who he thinks he’s trying to fool here.

“Because it would hurt mine,” Matt says, “if our situations were reversed.”

Foggy understands that for what it is: an offer of a hand up off the ground, an acknowledgement that he and Matt are the same in this regard. It’s not nothing and he’d be wise to take what’s being given to him here, but he’s not quite there yet.

“I could have done more, Matt.”

“And you’ll have plenty of chances to do so. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I think it’s always going to haunt me, the things we didn’t get through, the things we compromised on to appeal to our opposition. I think it’ll kill me, eventually.”

“You��ve done a lot of good too.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agrees, solemnly. “But enough? I’m not sure.”

Matt lets that sit, rather than trying to placate him with some sort of truism, which is nice. It’s meaningful to him that Matt knows this isn’t some empty question coming from him, that Foggy really means it when he asks it. He feels certain that this is something Matt worries about too, that this is a question Matt’s asked himself at the end of many days before. It’s dangerous, honestly, feeling this close to someone. This kind of intimacy isn’t something he feels capable of shaking off and pretending isn’t there, most of the time.

“You didn’t answer my question before, you know,” he says, eventually, even though it feels sacrilegious to break this particular silence.

“Which one?” Matt asks, shifting the cue back and forth between his hands in what could be a nervous tic or maybe he’s just bored with this conversation. It’s hard to tell.

“The one about what I did to earn such loyalty.”

Matt shrugs, staring into the middle distance. “You got me this job, didn’t you?”

“Not really,” Foggy says. “I remembered your name. That’s about it. Everything else was a result of your hard work.”

“Then, I guess it’s all for remembering my name.”

“That’s the real answer?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Matt replies, leaning into his side. “If you win this game, I’ll give you the real answer.”

“I’d need a miracle for that to happen,” Foggy grumbles. “Are you sure I can’t just bribe you?”

“Okay, final offer,” Matt answers, with a cryptic smile, “you get the eight ball into any pocket on this turn and you win.”

“That’s a stupid bet, Murdock. Where did you learn to gamble?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“You’re winning seven to one. Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just that confident that you won’t be able to make the shot.”

“Or maybe you just really want to tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

“My deepest, darkest secret has nothing to do with you, Foggy. You’re getting a shallow, well lit secret out of me in this bargain, if anything.”

“We’ll see,” Foggy replies, breezily, as he approaches the table to line up his shot. He doesn’t have Matt’s lithe sort of confidence or any kind of delusion that he’d paint a tempting picture right now even for someone who could see him, but he is stupidly determined, so he likes his odds in this situation just fine.

“Oh,” Matt interrupts, innocently, at the precise moment Foggy was going to pull his cue back and take the shot. “Since we’re now wagering on the outcome of this game, I should ask: what do I get?”

“What do you get?” Foggy repeats, irritated. He feels certain Matt timed that question to throw him off and he’s not pleased about it. “You’re going to beat me in the most humiliating way possible! What more do you need?”

“I’d like a secret too.”

“Fine, but you had better be satisfied with an equally shallow, well lit one from me too.”

“That kind of depends on what kind of secret you consider the answer to my question to be.”

“What question?”

“What made you remember my name?”

Foggy actually stands up to consider this fully. It’s hard to tell with Matt, if he’s aware of the way Foggy can’t help but flirt with him sometimes and how seriously he takes it. Matt gives as good as he gets, Foggy thinks, but whether he knows that Foggy would gladly make real on all the innuendo he throws at him is another matter. All of which just makes it that much more confusing why he’d make this request in the first place. Does he want flattery? Does he want some confirmation that the new opportunities in his career were gotten honestly? Or does he want Foggy to admit to something here? And why would he want that? To laugh at him? To clear the air? To prove his suspicions about why he got this job are true?

Foggy’s not prepared for any of those scenarios. Matt is maybe just joking around (though he certainly doesn’t look like it) but he’s asking for a bigger secret than he realizes. And Foggy will not be explaining that to him, because even that would be admitting too much. They’re going to be working together closely for a while yet and Foggy’s not going to ruin it now, not right out of the gate. He’s got more instinct for self-preservation than that.

“Fine,” he says, setting his sights on the eight ball again. “You have yourself a deal. Now, shut up and stop distracting me.”

Matt crosses his arms over his chest, looking self-satisfied and unconcerned. This expression changes into one of shock and disbelief at the sound of the eight ball landing in the middle pocket on the left side of the table.

“Like I said,” Foggy states, rounding the corner of the table, “that was a bad bet.”

“You cheated,” Matt exclaims.

“How?”

“I didn’t hear the cue touch the ball. Did you—did you just move the eight ball with your hand?!”

“Of course,” Foggy says, with a shrug. “You never said how I had to get the eight ball into the pocket, only that it had to happen on my next turn.”

Matt laughs in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous! And very clearly against the rules!”

“Not against the ones you set, though. Technically.”

“Yeah, technically, I guess,” Matt says. “But don’t you feel bad winning this way?”

“Of course not,” Foggy answers, gesturing widely with the cue still in his hands. “I’m a pathetic little man, Matthew.”

“Five minutes ago, I would have argued with that kind of negative self-talk, but I’m no longer feeling generous towards you at all.”

Foggy shrugs as he reaches past Matt for his drink. “I would totally understand if you didn’t want to uphold your end of the bargain, by the way. I mean, if our situations were reversed, I would still do it, but I’m a class act, through and through.”

“You’re a cheat is what you are,” Matt says, and it might be the inadequate lighting in here playing tricks on him, but Foggy thinks there might be color rising in Matt’s cheeks. “This is why no one trusts anyone in Washington, you know.”

“I know,” Foggy says, indulgently. “Like I said, it’s up to you. But you’ll also recall I warned you never to put something on the table that you don’t want your opponent to accept.”

“I didn’t mind the idea of you winning, I just didn’t think you’d cheat to get it!”

“Then you underestimated how baffled I am by your loyalty to me.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Matt says, leaning back to rest more fully against the table behind him. “I think it’s obvious why I’d…what makes me feel that way towards you.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Foggy replies, at the same moment he realizes Matt leaning back didn’t put that much space between them after all. He’d gotten pretty close to reach for his drink and, maybe, just to push this conversation from trash talk more firmly into flirting territory. For someone who doesn’t want to fuck things up, he’s really pushing his luck.

Matt exhales noisily, and Foggy can feel it on his neck, that’s how close they’re standing. They’re in a bar, of course, so they have their excuses. It’s noisy, with the patrons and the jukebox and the TVs. They could need privacy, given the jobs they have and the sensitive nature of the information they have access to as part of them. But that’s not why Foggy’s doing this and he suspects that, even if he’s just following Foggy’s lead, Matt doesn’t ultimately have a better reason.

“Why did you remember me?” Matt asks, quietly. “I mean, me, of all people? What made me stand out? What did I do right?”

Everything, Foggy wants to say. You do everything right. You’re smart and conscientious and charming and everyone likes you and everyone remembers you and you’ve got a mind and mouth that won’t quit and an ass to match. Remembering you wasn’t the hard part. Forgetting you someday will be. “Matthew Murdock,” Foggy says, carefully, appreciatively, like he’s really savoring every vowel and consonant. “Very alliterative. Extremely easy to remember.”

Matt’s answering smile is slow-dawning to the point of decadence and he tucks his chin to hide it. “My middle name is Michael, you know.”

“Goddammit,” Foggy groans, because he can’t say what he’s really thinking, which is, come back to my room and I’ll make sure you never want to leave. He’s so fucking in love, it’s honestly stupid.

“As for me,” Matt says, a moment later, after careful consideration, “and what you did—why I feel so—what you asked, I mean…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just that—”

A loud, chirping ringtone severs the tenuous connection of the moment. Foggy stares openly at Matt’s face as he doesn’t react to the interruption at all beyond stopping talking mid-sentence. After a few tense seconds, Foggy clears his throat and steps back.

“I think that’s you, Matt.”

Matt blinks, like he’s waking for a dream and he doesn’t know where he is. “Right,” he says, without confidence and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He holds it like he doesn’t remember owning such a thing in the first place for a long moment before he flips it open to answer it.

“Hello?” he asks, frowning in concentration. “Oh, Nadia, hi. Yeah, no, not too late, don’t worry. Can you give me one second?”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts his hand over the receiver before addressing Foggy. “We’re doing some polling of potential voters on the West Coast tonight, and they need to give me the early data.”

“Right.”

“The speech writing team is going to want this information tomorrow. It will impact the messaging.”

“Understood,” Foggy nods. “You, uh, need to take this, then.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Matt admits, looking apologetic.

“Don’t worry. Cell service is a little better outside, if that helps.”

Matt frowns briefly before his expression clears and he nods briskly. “Thanks. That might be a good idea.”

“I’ll, um, clean this up,” Foggy says, gesturing to the pool table. “You go ahead.”

“Alright,” Matt says, chewing his lip. “Will you head out after that?”

“I might. I could, I guess. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You want me to wait? Walk back to the hotel with you when you’re done?”

“You don’t have to,” Matt responds, looking awkward. It’s a nice out, and it would probably be better to put a little space between them—it’s just too tempting for Foggy to be around Matt like this, late at night, in casual environments, with alcohol and dumb wagers blurring the lines between them that should be crystal clear.

“I’ll wait,” he says, instead, hating the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t mind waiting.”

The worst part is that it’s the most honest thing he’s said all night.

[bitegore]

OC SMASH OR PASS: Haven!

What can I say in favor of Haven? Um, he's... tall... he's got a decent ass, not that he'll let you slap it or anything... um.... uhhhhh.........

This is Haven! He is an extremely old shapeshifter who can turn into a fuckmassive dragon! This would be cool if it were not for the fact that he is also deeply unpleasant! He has probably killed more people than are currently alive, either directly or indirectly, can mind-control people, and worst of all: he's a manager. At a business.

PROS:

ludicrously wealthy. will give you whatever you ask for, pretty much, as long as it's money or an object. will not even occur to him that this would be unusual.

good at taking initiative

will kill anyone who ever seriously hurt you

kinda hot I guess

CONS

His day job is essentially working as the ultimate meddler, accountant, manager, and logistics-handler for a company that he gets no breaks from, meaning he is constantly stressed and frustrated at weird hours and has occasional bouts of being completely impossible to get in touch with for weeks at a time

copes with the stress of said job by committing atrocities (murder, eating them, tax fraud, etc) against random people for fun

is extremely clingy, Will get attached to you after a one night stand

after which point he will demonstrate that he is the most entitled motherfucker on the actual planet and has never heard the word "no" before in his life

will probably show up outside your house at 2am to try and cajole you into getting into his car and going somewhere with no explanation and never returning

may try or succeed to kill your ex. if they're not your ex, well, they're your ex now

will also kill anyone who ever hurt you, but then make a whole show about how he's the only one capable of hurting you now, which should take the shine off it some

can also mind control people, but, like, not that well, at least, and he kind of considers it cheating, not that that'll stop him from using it to get what he wants if he thinks you're being unreasonable, which he thinks any time he doesn't get his way, ever

actively enjoys spreadsheets

is doing enormous amounts of embezzlement from his own company for fun because he wants to see how long it takes for someone to confront him to his face about it and thinks it's funny

constantly doing whatever the opposite of "indulging your kinks" is unless you manage to make them sound really interesting, at which point any scenes you do are probably ending up on a spreadsheet somewhere

psychologically injured in several unusual ways that generally only serve to make him worse interpersonally

prone to moping about how much his life sucks, as though he is not literally doing all of this constantly and is also not ludicrously wealthy. claims he wants to retire but starts going stir crazy after two days away from a spreadsheet and also not physically capable of making any retirement plans

As you can see he's a ... catch ...

[fullstcp]

The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits Sentence Starters

( dialogue prompts from the eleventh episode of the eleventh season of showtime's shameless. feel freed to edit and change as you see fit )

"How the hell'd you get in here?"

"Go look it up on goddamn Wikipedia."

"Hey, who's that?"

"I accidentally got a bartending job."

"I maybe got offered a job today."

"What the fuck are you gonna do?"

"Don't look so glum, kid."

"Everybody dies sooner or later."

"I lived a good life."

"I got to live it my way."

"Another round of appletinis, please."

"Give me your keys or at least call an Uber."

"Bars are closing."

"Let's go have an after party."

"Thought you moved out."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You stay up all night again?"

"I do, I wanna listen to you, but could we do it another time?"

"My brain can't switch gears right now."

"Can't wait to get kicked out soon."

"We still having this conversation?"

"I'll still be all alone."

"Then go find somebody to be with."

"I suck at relationships."

"I can't take care of you anymore."

"We're adults now, okay?"

"I'll be out of your hair soon enough, don't worry."

"You're just being dramatic."

"I'm hopelessly wandering in a world I don't recognize."

"It's just a bad morning for you."

"Let's have some fun."

"Either you run the day, or the day runs you."

"Just get in the shower."

"I'm glad we rented this place."

"Every time someone complains, we just apologize and it goes away?"

"I was out of line, and it won't happen again."

"Well, I hope we can all put this behind us."

"You're gonna let them get off that easily?"

"Did you actually just say that?"

"I was fine apologizing to your entitled ass to make all of this go away, but I can't play this game anymore."

"I'm not sure you'll have much of a choice at this point."

"So, with that being said, I take my apology back."

"I'll see you in court, dickwad."

"Hope I don't see you here again."

"I ain't never coming back to this shithole."

"Oh, fuck, please don't tell me that that picture with me in a turtleneck resurfaced on the Internet."

"Why is everybody leaving me?"

"Why do you guys have such a good relationship?"

"I can't even find a partner."

"What's wrong with me?"

"There is nothing wrong with you."

"Everybody I've ever dated has treated me like shit."

"That's because you treat yourself like shit."

"Promise me you'll go home now."

"Let's go spend some money."

"Your dog's wearing a diaper."

"If you're selling, we need to start dating other bars."

"We gotta find our new home."

"Wait, so that's it? You're just leaving us?"

"We need to slow down a little bit here."

"All of this is in our rearview mirror."

"I'm feeling a little unmoored here."

"This is kind of a lot for me to process right now."

"You guys aren't gonna be my neighbors anymore."

"You made the wrong choice."

"Kids are a pain in the ass."

"I want someone to share a life with."

"I mean, I wanna take care of someone."

"It's possible you might be alone for the rest of your life."

"I just mean that your parents were really shitty role models."

"Sounds like everything worked out okay in the romance department."

"I don't know about romance, but I'm still really good at fucking."

"I happen to have a very wild side."

"I didn't wanna leave and lose my spot."

"You ruined love for me!"

"The only way you'll ever have love is to find someone who's an even bigger loser than you are. Then they won't leave you."

"Guess we can scratch bar fight off the list."

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

"That's my new mission in life...fuck over the rich."

"Is that my baby?"

"We're gonna be rich tomorrow."

"You're adorable."

"There's a lot about me, though, that you probably aren't gonna like."

"Don't you want a better life?"

"It's too much fuckin' pressure, alright?"

"If you're not happy there, then we don't have to be there."

"You're doing the whole reverse fuckin' psychiatric whatever the fuck."

"You are such a fuckin' barbarian."

"I can't believe we're uprooting our entire life."

"I knew there was emotion in there."

[croik]

I finished my first ever playthrough of Dragon Age Inquisition + Inquisition a while ago! I logged about 90 hours so I can say that I liked it, lol. I didn't know anything about the series before hand. Made an elven mage, and because I did not realize the game would assign me a surname, he bears the unfortunate name of Iorallin Lavellan (orz). BUT in the end I was very happy with him and I had a fun time with the game.

I romanced Dorian, I made Leiliana pope despite my best efforts. I ultimate decided to keep the Inquisition but I wasn't happy that the epilogue was basically "and then everyone left you except for fuckin Cullen" so if I play Veilguard I'll probably change that, if it's a choice you get to make. I'd rather imagine my lil dude bopping around each team member's pad from time to time rather than the Chantry's toothless dog.

Ultimately though, I think what I enjoyed most about the game were all the things I simply made up for myself while playing.

I didn't know any of the world building going in, so I didn't realize that "elf mage" was a significant choice for this story, but I'm really glad it worked out that way. All my favorite things while playing had to do with the elvish history and significance (I'm a basic elf bitch, sue me). I really like the argument I had with Dorian at one point about elves in slavery vs those in the slums. The extra layer of "this is a bad idea" to their relationship spiced it up even more. I made Levallan's ears as big as I possibly could and then decided that they are super sensitive, so much so that his favorite thing is to suck Dorian off while they get fondled. Which led to the natural conclusion that other elves view ears as huge and rounded as his as being an indication of promiscuity >:D. Personality wise I made Levallan as mild-mannered as I could, but I decided that Dorian was basically how he coped with all the pressure of being the Inquisitor, to an almost unhealthy degree. And now they're SEPARATED ;_;

I almost lost Sera fairly early on because I was too uptight for her (and also an elf), so after that I made it my mission to keep her happy. Which wasn't easy! But I really liked the idea of what their relationship was like in and around the cutscenes, and the careful balance my Inquisitor had to keep between wanting to bond with her as an elf, wanting HER to want to bond as an elf, and respecting that she's entitled to all her own opinions. It was an interesting project.

I liked Cassandra, Josephine, Vivienne, and Varric well enough. Didn't particularly care for Bull, Blackwall, Cullen, or Cole. But then of course there is SOLAS.

Solas was a lot of fun. Again I was really glad to be playing an elf, because of the insulting hilarity of Solas, the elf, telling me, the DALISH elf, "wow I thought you people all sucked but you're really cool and I have to adjust my perspective!" Thanks you piece of shit! lol. But I really did enjoy their relationship, the power dynamic of my character thinking they're approaching Solas with more knowledge of elvish culture than him, and then knowing already how wrong he was. I even accidentally gave Lavellan the Mythall mark. The thought of Solas meeting this dalish elf, proudly wearing HER mark of all things, growing to respect him but not enough to confide in him, was good fun. I can see why people really ship it, but I think I prefer the platonic relationship if he's the big bad now.

Honestly... that part was very underwhelming for me. I thought Tresspasser did a really awful job of setting that up, ultimately. Rando Qunari says "btw Solas is a bad guy, did you know?" and immediately all your dialogue options include "FUCK that guy he is a TRAITOR FOREVER." It did not explain his intentions or his villainy well at all, even as someone who knew it was coming. But maybe I missed stuff.

I'm not sure yet if I'll be getting Veilguard day one. None of the new companions look that compelling to me, but I did, again, play 90 hours of this game, so I can be reasonably confident I'll at least like the next one...? I'm kinda spoiled though and I want to hear what the optimum race/class choice for Rook is though, hahaha. Qunari female sounds pretty tasty since it's Tevinter but I dunno yet. I'll have to read up.