#and if nothing else it’s gotten pretty widespread

[electricea]

possible Sims 1 and Sims 2 remasters?? don’t you dare play with my heart, EA.

[lady-z-writes]

Distraction

Billy Butcher x reader

In which Butcher returns in a rage and needs you to take his mind off it.

Cw: smut (18+), masturbation, fingering, sex, oral, hair pulling, choking.

You hadn't planned on staying so late, but you'd gotten caught up in a podcast, enjoyed the silence of the empty space between the words.

A loud slam startles you. You're instantly on high alert, popping an ear bud out, holding your breath, realizing - damn it - it's 6pm already. The setting sun peeking through the window blinding you momentarily as you rise, you hear more slamming.

As you glance toward the door, there's the familiar cussing of Butcher. You can't help but heave a relieved breath. At least it wasn't a supe.

It's stupid of you, really, but you approach. Tentative. Anxious.

You say nothing when he meets eyes with you.

"What're you still doin' 'ere? It's late." His voice is almost a growl.

"I know. Wasn't paying attention."

He shoots you a look. "See? That's a problem, luv. You're distracted." He seems to get more angry as he thinks about it.

Before he can say anything else, his phone is going off and he glances down to read a message.

Rage overtakes him again. You think he's going to toss his phone at the wall, but he pockets it and slams a file folder on the desk beside him.

He runs his hands down his face.

You step closer, wanting to fix it; you're always wanting to fix it.

"This ain't somethin' you can fix, dutches," he mutters quietly, instantly reading you.

"Let me try."

He's about to say something, but instead he shakes his head, his boots sounding as he closes the distance between you.

And then he's kissing you so suddenly, you can't help but gasp. Moments - mere moments and you're catching up, kissing him back, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hoists you in his arms.

The kissing turns into you pawing at each other on the couch, to you grinding against his thigh only to feel his phone there, the thing vibrating with a text again and you startling. Butcher lets out a, "don't go givin' me ideas" when he hears you moan.

And before you know it, you're on your knees before his widespread legs, his cock out, his big hand stroking it. He makes you beg before he lets you put your mouth on him.

"Mmm, 'at's a good girl, takin' all of me."

Fingers wrap in your hair, he pulls any time you deepthroat him. You're wet from this, soaking your panties - hoping he'll treat you to some part of him after this; his hands, his mouth, his fingers - you'd thank him for any.

The anger sheds from him; turns into need. You do a good job of distracting him from whatever it was.

Butcher isn't loud, but he lets you know what he likes. He's grabby; touching you anywhere he can. And he's chatty - the filthy things coming from his mouth make you heated.

One hand pumping his cock as you suck him off, your other hand trails between your legs. You're clothed so it's not providing any real relief on your clit, but it feels good.

When Butcher sees, he's taunting you. "Ohh such a sneaky thing you are. Those dainty fingers ain't got half the tricks I do. You thinkin' about them? Thinking of my meaty fucking hand cupped around your pretty fucking cunt?"

Another deep throat. He yanks your hair as you stroke his balls.

You linger there, down on his cock, tongue pressing against the underside of him, his vein pulsing, your hand gentle on his balls. As you come up for one more go, he's forcing you back down and you're almost choking. He cums without warning and you do your best to swallow him down.

Moments pass. He's got you sprawled across the desk in seconds.

When he undresses you, you're arching toward him, eager to kiss him again, but he's biting his way down your body, marking up your thighs in his travel to your center.

He's pocketed your panties. He would.

You're about to comment when his mouth finds your clit and he's sucking. You cry out, surprised when a finger plays with your wetness, slips inside of you, arches just right. You're saying his name like a hymn and he hasn't done anything yet, not really.

You want to ask for more, but he's way ahead of you: inserting another finger, working up the speed. You're blissed out already. He matches the pace with his mouth.

The groans he lets out shoot vibrations right through you and you're embarrassed at how fast you cum for him.

He keeps up pace, doesn't falter a second.

When you hear a, "fuuuuck you're fun," you're tempted to offer all of you to him - but he's way ahead of you.

You hear his pants hit the floor, feel his mouth leaving you.

"What say you, we have a bit of a go then?"

You pant out a, "please" and he's slipping his fingers out of you.

You pull him close before he's expecting it, kiss him harshly. Billy tries to push you back down, but you put up a fight, shoving his arms away so you can keep kissing him.

He lets out a growl when you bite his neck in the scuffle.

Of course, he ultimately wins and pins you against the desk. He wastes no time angling your hips and lining himself up with your entrance. A few strokes of his cock against your wetness and he's pushing inside of you.

He pauses until you're comfortable but that's the only kindness he gives you. His pace is unrelenting; you can feel his desperation. It doesn't stop his fingers from pressing against your clit and making you cum again.

"'At's right, cum on my cock, love. So good how you squeeze me."

He chokes you and you realize you like it. The feel of his big hand on your throat, holding you in a way that's between care and desperation. He knows what he's doing - knows just when to let go; like he's testing you.

You have no control. He's completely consuming you. It's freeing, almost.

Another orgasm later and you're pretty sure you're seeing stars. When he demands another, you tell him you can't; you've never.

"You will," he growls.

And he's right.

You cum again. He's so overwhelmed by the feel of you, he almost spills inside. A drop of cum plops on the floor before he's stroking himself over you, painting your belly with his cum.

It's filthy and arousing all at once.

You want more of him.

And he can read it all over your face.

"Ah, such a pretty fuckin sight you are; all painted up for me. Fucking gorgeous."

You almost assume he'll leave you like this, but as you lie there catching your breath, you feel a cloth wiping softly against your skin.

Hm. Billy and aftercare. Who knew?

"Come home with me, love?" It's quiet, the deep rumble of his voice.

And you're so damn eager to say yes but you catch your breath, nod up at him, feel the intimacy of this moment; feel raw and real for once in your time knowing Butcher.

You manage out, "Anything for you" and watch the emotion dance across his face.

[viviane-lefay]

Thank you so, so much for your kind words and support, @memoriesoftanalorr!

It is very much appreciated!

I'm really glad you like my take on him, Santari, as well as their relationship.

His backstory was really important to me, because it is such a crucial part of what made him the way he is, so I really put a lot of research and effort in creating it. (P.S.: I added some things to my headcanon posts in the meantime, perhaps you'd like that, too!?)

And thanks that you like his parents, as well as their names.

Since Star Wars has quite some aspects that are inspired by Indian culture (names among them - Santari, too), I thought I'd take a look there. But it had to have a nice ring to it, as well as an appropriate meaning on top, fitting for the character, as well as their traits and cultural background (btw, Medhani means "of intelligence" - which reflects Arkanian values, and Dhaval means "sparkling white", because of his snow white hair).

As for Santari - being so close to Dagan, of course she must have known all this about him - and from what is known about her, I think her reaction would be pretty much how I described.

Sad, that there isn't much about her in the canonical sources, either.

And no, it is absolutely not fair that Dagan was treated so poorly by the writers. So often, I stumble upon comments by people who express their disappointment regarding his character portrayal. It's quite a widespread sentiment, actually.

For many he's just a pretty face / the Sexy Guy™ - and, above all, the "TANALORR IS MINE!" dude, as if there is nothing else about him, and he has no other lines but to spout this phrase all the time, like Pikachu does his "pika pika".

But they do have a point - his dialogue wasn't the most well-written, either (bar some very few exceptions).

Ironically, even with the information that was already given about him, it was pretty clear there is so much more about him, so much depth and complexity, that was just waiting to be explored - but somehow, just wasn't.

Because the man was just a mere plot development tool for the writers to use for their main character - because that's what good writing is about ... NOT!

UGH!!!

It really angers me that the writers seem to be quite unapologetic about it, too - and yes, the two-dimensionality definitely was intentional on their part.

That he's an Arkanian offshoot was added later, after the game was finished, according to what I heard, so they were even lazy on that front.

But, then again, Star Wars just isn't the same, quality-wise, after Disney swallowed it up.

I guess I'll never get over that ... *exasperated sigh*

Absolutely, yes!

She is his one and only - the love of his life! 💕

I like the thought of Cal and Dagan becoming good friends, as well.

In my headcanon, they definitely will develop a close friendship at some point - especially because of Cal's kind and forgiving nature, and something he did for Dagan (something concerning Santari) that left a lasting impression on the latter.

Frankly, during the game, it always seemed to me that Cal felt compassion towards Dagan to some degree - be it in the way he talked to and about him, which was still quite respectful considering how he was treated in return, and also how he paid his last respect to him, honouring him as a warrior, after he killed him (although I still feel that Dagan absolutely should have gotten a proper funeral on Tanalorr - even Bode got one - and he actually betrayed Cal on a very personal level, plus is the one responsible for both Master Cordova's and Cere's death ... I know, I obviously rejected this part of the canon, i.e. Dagan's death, but it still bugs me.).

I think, he'd be one of the few people besides Santari who could actually manage to make him drop his defenses and penetrate the walls he built around himself.

[columboscreens]

Do you think Columbo is/was queer-coded? I do, and I will not elaborate.

lucky for you, i will!

let me preface this post with this: from what i've gathered, there's a pretty widespread notion today that columbo is some flavor of on-the-spectrum.

one, nothing wrong with me. two, nothing wrong with me. three...something wrong with me...

i doubt much of it was intentional, if at all. lots of old-timer fans will scowl at you if you suggest this sort of thing, but his hyperfixation, distractibility, various sensitivities, etc. all sort of compound in the eyes of today's sensibilities.

gee i wonder why

the science behind mental health is still very young and ever-changing. today, we call a presentation like this neurodivergence. tomorrow, perhaps something else.

but yesterday, very few people called it much of anything. at the risk of armchairing and perhaps pathologizing, i'll just say that some of what writers decades ago thought were quirks, some of what peter falk may have thought were just his own idiosyncrasies ("there's always a part of me that's on the moon"), could now be considered hallmarks of what some call ADHD and autism spectrum behaviors. incidentally, while ADHD and ASD manifest in countless different ways and in different capacities, a large corpus of study is beginning to compound showing the high comorbidity of the two.

well, that's all well and good ms. columboscreens, but surely you've belabored a moot point. we get it, columbo's Weird. what's that got to do with him flirting with the murderer?

a lot, apparently. shocker: research suggests that individuals on the spectrum are nearly 1.5x as likely to be queer.

now we've touched on an area of pertinence: if columbo is in fact "neurodivergent", specifically on the spectrum, then he is statistically more likely to not be completely straight. i've talked about his gender expression here and have been quoted in slate speaking to it. he's a masculine man who loves sports, beer, cars, women, and spaghetti westerns; he is confident, capable, protective, carries a knife, and embodies the highest virtues of stoicism.

yet he's also very gentle, nurturing, empathetic, and intuitive; he loves children, flowers, cooking, fashion, and shopping. columbo is a pillar of traditional western masculinity, but somehow also embodies many tenets of traditional femininity. he is mind and heart wed, recognizing that neither logic nor emotion is more important than the other, that both together are greater than the sum of their parts, and never solely ascribing either quality to either gender.

so for a man old enough to have perhaps gotten a WWII draft slip, he is very well-adjusted and in touch with himself. there is no doubt that he benefits from being a man, but defines that manlihood for himself, and he has very little of the pretensions typical of his generation. he transcends traditional gender roles, skillfully defuses conflict with black and queer people who anticipate brutality from him as a police officer, and takes a chivalrous yet distcintly egalitarian approach to the opposite sex.

when handling women, there are times when columbo will overstep his chivalry and act with benevolent sexism, most commonly by playing into notions of female vanity, emotionality, or fragility. however, keep in mind that these behaviors are almost always solely for the benefit of lulling his female suspects into a false sense of security--he never for a second considers them lesser or incapable, on the contrary. for an excellent breakdown of columbo's treatment of women (amongst other things!), see berzsenyi's columbo: a rhetorical inquiry with resistant responders.

point being, columbo is anomalous and anachronistic in so many ways that it's hard for me to not think of him as perhaps at least a little bit fruity.

happy pride, folks

now, people who don't even watch the show know that columbo loves his wife. he's obviously fond of women; it's well-known that peter falk loved practically every woman on this planet to a very real fault. and since falk and columbo are such intertwined entities, it's not an unreasonable assumption to make that columbo likes the ladies.

despite that, he has no problem getting handsy with men; he hugs, kisses, touches, cuddles with them. of course, male affection shouldn't be read as inherently homoerotic, and when this closeness isn't part of his plan to make the suspect uncomfortable, it simply demonstrates how self-assured columbo is.

xoxoxo~

in reality, most sensual of all is oddly enough the chase itself. i think there is really something to be said for the eye contact, the touch, the way columbo toys with his suspective men--particularly the ones with whom he builds a close rapport. it's not overtly romantic, but it is tangibly unique, suggestive, wrapped up in the games he plays. there is Subtext. the gotchas especially are often full of this sort of tension that seems to, at times, veer into this vaguely sexual realm. it's essentially a courtship, except instead of getting married at the end, he gets down on one knee and arrests you.

my god, i could write a whole post on just these two. watch this particular episode's final twenty minutes and tell me it isn't as close to sexual metaphor as columbo gets

tl;dr columbo as a middle-aged straight cis man is somehow better queer neurodivergent representation than what they churn out today. go figure

[evilwickedme]

I'm only just getting into the comics and haven't read much yet, but is Pit Madness an actual thing in canon or just widespread fanon? Bc yeah, I don't like it either but there's so much of it I assumed it was rooted in the text

I've never seen it in a Jason comic, although I don't exactly have an encyclopedic knowledge of his appearances (reminder that I'm doing my best, but I've only been reading DC comics for less than a year). I understand that it's mentioned in comics related to Ra's Al Ghul, but the Pit is used rarely both in and out of text and is one of those things that works however the writer wants it to work.

I can tell you that in the comics I've read that are pre-N52 Jason is extremely angry, but he's also calm and calculated about it, and in n52 comics that I've read he's extremely angry, but mostly reads as impulsive, not sadistic. I haven't gotten to post rebirth Jason comics yet except for a few panels here and there and the Robins: Being Robin comic which was pretty bad in general don't read it, but my impression is they haven't stopped trying to retcon him into "the angry robin" (which, uh, fuck that) but have leaned more into his emotional side as a core aspect of him in recent years, which I in general approve of. Either way, I have never seen a mention of pit rage, only of him being thrown in the Pit to heal his medically impossible walking coma (but this is comics and he gets healed by green goo, so let's not take medical accuracy too seriously).

I understand the appeal of pit madness in two ways: the first is that it makes for an easy motivator. You throw him in the pit, he gets Angry™, and you can use that to tell a pretty interesting story (Red Robin Hood likens it to an addiction, for example, which I found really interesting actually).

But the second is the one I suspect is more common. I think people are uncomfortable with liking a character who is genuinely unremorseful about killing. It directly negates their values. On the one hand, it's super badass when Jason throws that duffel bag of heads onto the table of drug lords in the beginning of under the red hood - on the other hand, gross, right? This is why so many pit rage stories focus on him "getting better". Whether that means being literally magically healed from the pit's effects or if that means learning that killing is wrong, actually, the pit's influence, by the end of the fic, is gone, and the batfam forgives him for all the murder because it wasn't REALLY Jason, it was the Pit!

But like... No it isn't? Like there is zero evidence of the Pit ever influencing any of Jason's actions. Like, if anything, one of my favorite things about UTRH as a story is the fact that Jason is calm, calculated, AND IN THE RIGHT. Not that Batman is necessarily wrong - I mean, I think his particular reasoning is stupid, it's not a fucking slippery slope for most of us, but I also think that murder is, you know, wrong. But Jason is also right - he came back to life to find that nothing had changed in the batfam and Gotham, or if it had, it had changed for the worse! The Joker has done nothing but become more and more threatening as a villain and Bruce has done nothing to amend his methods of dealing with the Joker at all.

Jason's solution is simple, elegant - kill the Joker, he can no longer hurt anyone else. And in a system like Gotham's where corruption makes both rehabilitation and straight up locking someone away for good impossibilities, the genuinely most logical solution is to kill the Joker. Not necessarily the most moral from your or my point of view. But one that makes sense when you look at it through Jason's eyes as a deeply traumatized victim.

I think that if the Pit really had influenced Jason, the best way to use it as a narrative device is as another source of trauma - something that I have seen extremely occasionally in fics. Not as something that influenced his actions, necessarily, but maybe as something that was forced upon him, a kind of loss of bodily autonomy.

But at the end of the day, most of the time the point of pit madness in Jason Todd/batfam fic is to excuse extreme abusive behavior and make it all okay in the end, and I think it's because so many of the people writing him don't understand why and how he uses extreme violence in the ways he does and who feel extremely uncomfortable being fans of someone who genuinely believes that some people deserve to die.

[aspd-culture]

ive seen people say not having emotions is an aspd thing, but what if i know i have emotions and just cant tell what they are? like... like theres a layer of "nothing" between me and my emotions yet the emotions still affect me. im also autistic so it could just be alexithymia but i genuinely cant tell how emotional i am because im so disconnected constantly. and ive been contemplating this for years- other people tend to figure out how im feeling faster than i do because it can affect my actions in ways i dont realize. im fairly certain i have both aspd and autism but im not sure what is from which

aspd-culture is

First things first, you were lied to. Not having emotions is not what ASPD is, but a lot of people who like to demonize us tell people that. I don't blame you for believing it, the myth is pretty widespread. But whilst some people with ASPD experience emotional blunting, not everyone does, and even the ones who do tend to have emotions they feel more or less. In fact, inability to tolerate boredom and anger is a major symptom of ASPD, which wouldn't be possible if we didn't have/feel emotions as intensely, sometimes moreso, as everyone else.

If you are having emotional blunting, it can cause you to feel very unsure of what your emotions are, which could cause the issue you're speaking about here. I cannot and do not advise others to try this, the only reason I do is bc my doctor suggested it after some bloodwork, but I do take a magnesium supplement to help the emotional blunting and it does help. Again, this is not medical advice; if you are interested in trying that please bring it up to a doctor as we only did that because my bloodwork said my magnesium was low.

I am also an autistic pwASPD so I actually can't tell you with certainty which disorder is causing which as I haven't gotten to that level of introspection with my autism yet. I know that autistic people frequently have trouble understanding and "connecting to" their own emotions and cues, so it could be from that, or from the blunting I talked about earlier.

Apologies that I couldn't be more helpful, I am still learning about my autism and what is related to that vs my other disorders.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Queen Bree HC please for dad Ethan and literally everyone drooling for him. And of course, Lilac, too.

Anon, thank you so much for this! I hope I did okay!

First Grade Field Trip (Headcanons)

It's ridiculous how many PTA parents and teachers try to persuade him to chaperone the field trip to the kids' museum

The morning of, Lilac teases him and tells him it's because he's too good looking for his own good

Ethan has gotten better about teasing her back throughout the years so he pulls her to him from behind and kisses her neck. Then, he tells her, "I'd ask you to go instead but some of those parents are just as crazy about you."

Lilac rolls her eyes and teases, "So you're taking the bullet for me? What a gentleman."

But little Dolores, nicknamed Lolly, is at the table, eating the pancakes her mother made (because her father is good at a lot of things but NOT making pancakes.) She hears her father suggest that her mom go to the field trip instead

And no offense to her mom but she prefers it so much better when her dad goes

"You have to come with us, Dad!" she protests. "No one explains the science displays better than you."

Lilac feigns offense but she gets it. Ethan used to take her on museum dates all the time and whenever she wasn't trying to distract him with very passionate make-out sessions, she did find his insight interesting.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Ethan assures her, ruffling her hair slightly. "If I'm not there to explain the difference in Upper Jurassic rock formations, then who? Noah's dad?"

Father and daughter snort at that ridiculous notion.

They spend the next fifteen minutes fixing and packing their lunch (brie cheese, baguetta, crackers, prosciutto, cashews, cucumbers, grapes, dried apricots, and chocolate-covered cherries. Ethan calls it a charcuterie to-go. Lilac calls it grown-up Lunchables.)

While Lilac drops the twins off at day care and heads into work, Ethan, Jonah, and Dolores set off to school.

The effect is immediate when they arrive.

Ethan rarely drops the kids off but when he does, he attracts attention.

Jonah is used to it and only sighs

Dolores wonders why everyone looks at her Dad with such interest.

Ethan is lasered focused on dropping his son off at his classroom before he meets Lolly's class by the buses.

Jonah's teacher actually chokes on her coffee when she sees Ethan. She recovers hastily, though her face is bright red and she stumbles on her words.

Lolly's teacher is much older, and as such, much subtler. Though Ethan has caught her quietly assessing him with approval.

They board the bus and Ethan is way too tall for it. He would have preferred to drive to the museum but his daughter insisted they go on the bus. And who can say no to the face?

Lolly sits with her friend, Charlotte, and Ethan has to find a seat nearby.

Several of the single moms look up hopefully.

One even makes her kid find a different seat.

Ethan finds an empty row and much to his relief, another parent (Noah's dad) comes to his rescue by sitting next to him. It turns out the guy is actually pretty decent.

But Ethan's worries are far from over.

The single moms follow him like vultures, feigning interest as he explains the Muscular System in the rock climbing section.

“It was awful nice of you to help us chaperone,” one of them says when she manages to get his attention at lunch.

Ethan doesn't smile, merely nods once. “My wife was busy today, otherwise it would have been her.”

The woman bristles slightly at the mention of his wife. Which is ridiculous because the gossip among the parents is widespread. Everyone knows Lilac and Ethan are happily married.

“There's nothing that comes before my children. I have to ensure their safety during field trips.”

Ethan doesn't miss the implication.

“I understand,” he returns dryly. “But then again, you're not a world renowned doctor who has to meet a deadline for her upcoming book.”

“Yeah,” Dolores adds cheerfully from a seat nearby. “Mommy is famous!”

The PTA mom, whose name Ethan did not bother to catch, gives them a forced, almost pained smile before getting lost.

Despite the speed at which gossip travels, some of his admirers are not deterred by the less than pleasant encounter.

One of them catches Ethan by surprise when she compliments his hair.

Ethan doesn't breathe a sigh of relief until later that day, when they're finally back at home recounting their day to Lilac.

“Oh!” Dolores adds as the excited conversation draws to a lull. “Jenny's mom told Daddy she liked his hair.”

Lilac raises an eyebrow. “Did she now?”

Ethan blushes.

“Yeah! She said it like you say it sometimes.”

Seductively. But Lolly is too young to know that.

Lilac lifts her gaze to meet Ethan's.

“And what did Daddy say?”

“He said 'thank you!'” Lolly supplies.

Ethan opens his mouth to explain under Lilac's expectant gaze.

“I was... not expecting that. It caught me off guard.”

Lilac's eyebrows only climb higher up her forehead.

Later when Lolly goes off to play with her siblings, Lilac says, “Jenny's mom is desperate.”

“It was—”

“And a liar.”

“Pardon?”

“Your hair is ridiculous.”

Ethan blinks.

Then he smirks.

He can tell she's joking, but despite the jest, she is still a tiny bit jealous. With a laugh, he pulls her close, her back against his chest. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“I say a lot of things when my mind is elsewhere.”

“Namely on my mouth and what it had the pleasure of doing.”

She turns in his embrace, finally joining in his laughter.

 He kisses her because she's crazy if she thinks there'd ever be anyone else

Notes: LMAO this might as well have been a fic. Oh well. I don’t know how to do HC and that this point I’m afraid to ask.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far!

___________________

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[tobi-smp]

I think those people are mixing up "unjust" with unrealistic

Context: [Link]

I did say "accidentally" to be fair, but also it's Genuinely extremely common to see c!dream apologists (and c!tommy antis ala youtube and reddit) insist that tommy Deserved exile (if not the abuse itself) because he griefed george's house. I've gotten into conversations with people who utterly Refused to acknowledge that there was nothing uniquely horrible about what tommy and ranboo did, that it was actually pretty tame as far as griefing on this server goes, because the narrative they Want to believe is that dream was Only trying to stem the chaos that tommy causes (and that everything that came after was somehow separate from dream pushing for his exile in the first place).

considering the general climate around tommy's character everywhere But tumblr it's not at all a stretch to assume that they said what they meant. but assuming that you're correct for a moment, it's just also besides the point.

it's not about realism, it's about motivation. is it Realistic that a person in a position of power would abuse a system they created and control to hurt someone lower on the food chain than them, causing a domino affect that eventually leads to widespread tragedy? Absolutely, I fully agree that that's Realistic. but people try to insist that dream's actions were noble or that tommy forced his hands because of politics when that simply is Provably not the case.

it's not a precedent before or after this. dream griefed tommy when tommy was the vice president without punishment. everyone on the damn server griefs eret all the time Including when she's the acting king (fundy in particular was in a prank war with her following the l'manberg war for independence, but tommy did it too when he was wilbur’s vice president) which dream has never stepped in for. dream griefed Multiple People trying to frame tommy on the 18th, including and Especially badboyhalo's base (who of course is the leader of the badlands faction). ranboo Fully Admitted to griefing george's house With Tommy in front of the l'manberg cabinet And Dream and nobody asked him to be punished at all in any way. ranboo should’ve been exiled too if it was just a consequence of the action and nothing else, instead he became the new l’manberg minutes man. sapnap set off tnt in george's rebuilt house immediately after tommy was exiled (which is what people often mistake for what tommy did, since tommy's grief was fixed in about 15 minutes while the damage sapnap did was never corrected), which fans and other server members don't even know Happened because so little fuss was made over it. quackity tried to frame eret for Murder after she was reinstated as king and dream didn’t deem it something worth involving himself in.

not only has griefing never been punished to the extent that this was, it's never been punished in a formal way at All. the idea that it happened because tommy was vice president (which he actively turned down) was a lie that dream made to justify his own actions.

the common reaction to griefing is either revenge (usually in the form of griefing back, but often in the form of skirmishes if pets are involved) or in stealing from someone else to get back what you lost regardless of if they took from you or not. and george Did grief tommy’s base in response. he didn’t even know about or Want tommy’s exile, dream took control of the situation without telling him what was going on. which there’s a lovely post detailing george’s perspective here: [Link]

what all of this comes out to is this not being a Real comparison. assassination in the real world leads to fighting and war outside of the context of world war 1, it's expected that Something was going to happen even if the people responsible couldn't have known the snowball effect it was going to have. there was no reason for tommy to suspect the reaction he was gonna get to setting up burning netherack dicks on george's lawn based on everything he’d ever seen on the server before then. it wasn’t a Realistic or Just outcome, it was targeted.

also like, a bit counterintuitive for c!dream apologists to willingly compare dream to world war 1 and north korea, just kinda in general? that is not going to make your meow meow seem more sympathetic or Correct.

[hercleverboy]

jealous

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer comes to terms with the fact that the reader will never love him the way he loves her.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ heartbreak, unrequited love.

word count ↠ 2.6k

“But I always thought you’d come back, tell me that all you found was heartbreak and misery.” — Jealous by Labrinth

‘I'm jealous of the rain

That falls upon your skin

It's closer than my hands have been

I'm jealous of the rain’

Spencer loved the rain. 

Well, not exactly. He loved to watch how it fell from the grey, angry clouds above as he sat warm and cosy in his apartment. He loved the rain if he was safe inside. He wouldn’tlike to get caught in a downpour, however. 

He watched contently as the droplets fell against the window, staining the glass and jarring his view of the street below. It made him feel peaceful, and he would argue that there was no better sound to read to than that of the rain. 

His focus dropped from the copy of ‘War and Peace’ in his hands, his mind focused on something else entirely. 

Not so much something but someone. 

Y/N had been Spencer’s closest friend for years at that point, having met him a few months after he’d started working at the BAU. 

They spent pretty much any moment they could together. Spencer took her to museum exhibits and art galleries and she would listen intently as he rambled. He’d always stop mid-sentence and blush, apologising for getting ahead of himself but she’d simply smile and shake her head. 

“You don’t ever have to apologise for sharing your wonderful knowledge with me, Spence. You know I could listen to you all day,” She’d say, “Keep going, please?”

He never could say no to her. 

If there was anyone in the world he felt most comfortable with, it was her. She never ridiculed him or babied him like the team had a habit of doing. If there was a case that ended poorly she never pushed for him to confide in her, giving him the time and space to disclose his feelings when he was ready (something he was incredibly grateful for.)

For a long while, things were strictly platonic for Spencer. One day she was his best friend, the person he felt the most himself around, and the next day it was something more. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which his feelings for her changed, or what had caused them too. Since when had her welcoming hugs begun feel so warm? At what point had her giggle caused the butterflies in his stomach that he’d only ever read of in great poetry or love stories?

He tried to push the feelings away, he really did, but ultimately his attempts to avoid his newfound affection for her were fruitless. Nothing could be done, he finally had to face the facts. He was in love with her. In love with every adorable quirk, every smile, and every part of her; even the parts she deemed unworthy and ugly, he loved them all the same. 

He wanted her to be his so badly. 

There was only one slight problem. 

Y/N wasn’t his to have. She had a boyfriend, a long term one at that. She was in a committed relationship with a man that wasn’t Spencer and he’d still allowed himself to fall in love with her. 

Nice one, Spencer. 

*

Spencer looked up at the clouds above him, frowning at the sight of the different shades of grey they were. He looked over at Y/N who walked alongside him. He’d gotten them tickets to a Russian Film festival, and he’d insisted she went with him so he could do a simultaneous whisper translation while they watched. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain.” He broke the comfortable silence between them, his voice wavering slightly. 

She looked up, a grin coming to her lips at the sight. “I hope it does, you know I like the rain.” 

He chuckled lightly at that. “I do too! But who wants to be caught in it and end up soaking wet?” 

She gasped in mock hurt. “I’m sorry Mr. 187, maybe I want to get caught in the rain, like a scene in some cheesy rom-com.”

He shook his head at her, his gaze dropping back down to look at the pavement beneath them.

Then the downpour started, just as Spencer had predicted. The rain was heavy and cold, essentially soaking them in seconds. 

Spencer ducked under nearby shelter, pulling his coat tighter around him. He looked back over at Y/N, surprised to find her stood out in the rain, her arms outstretched and a grin on her lips. 

“Y/N! What are you doing? You’re gonna get cold!” He shouted out, trying to make himself heard over the loud pelts of rain. 

“I’ll be fine!” She called back. 

“You know there’s a widespread myth that you lose the most body heat through your head. Studies have actually concluded that you only lose about ten percent of heat through your head.” Spencer shouted, and she turned to him with a smile, one that dismissed his facts. “You’re not even wearing a jacket, Y/N!”

“You know as well as I do, Doctor, that there’s no direct correlation between the rain and getting sick, so don’t even try that with me.” 

“You’re right, but there’s a very real chance of hypothermia. Actually, last year it was reported that approximately 700 people in the US died of hypothermia-”

“Spence!” She grinned, politely interrupting his statistics. “Come join me! Live a little!” 

He shook his head adamantly. “I’m okay, thank you. But you carry on.” 

He watched on in awe at the sight before him. He pushed all the statistics on the probability of her getting sick to the back of his head, focused on how she looked it that moment. Her body was lit only by pale moonlight and dim streetlamps, but Spencer thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

He should’ve told her, then. Should’ve told her how much he loved her, how he could give her everything she craved, more than her boyfriend ever could. He wondered how he would put into words that he’d find a way to give her the world if she asked for it. 

But he said nothing. 

He could envision himself saying it.

He allowed himself to dream of speaking the words, how her face would light up and he’d finally get to hold her the way he yearned to. He thought of how proud Garcia would be of him since she’d practically been begging him to make a move ever since she learned of the situation. (” It’s not that simple, Garcia. She has a boyfriend!” “That’s a minor detail, Reid!”)

He could picture himself saying the words. He could see how she’d look over at him with those adorably furrowed brows and stunning eyes. The rain would pour over them like in the scene from Pride and Prejudice, as he finally dared to say the words he’d held onto for so very long. 

‘I love you, most ardently.’

His very own Elizabeth Bennet.

But he said nothing.

Instead, when she came back over to him, her figure shivering as the cold finally set in, he simply offered her a cheeky grin. A simple look that said, ‘I told you so’. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, waving off her protests that he was going to get cold now.

As if that mattered, as long as she was warm.

*

Any attempt to sleep seemed useless. No matter how many poems he read to himself in his mind, sleep simply wasn’t coming. With a frustrated huff he moved to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling defeatedly. Although he wished it wouldn’t, his mind travelled to Y/N. His heart lurched and just the thought of her, accompanied by the newest of the plethora of emotions he was feeling- jealousy. He wondered if her boyfriend knew just how lucky he was to be lying next to her, to have the privilege of holding her close, of telling her he loved her. 

Spencer wasn’t a possessive man, he knew very well that Y/N didn’t belong to him, nor did she belong to anyone. She wasn’t an object to be had, and Spencer would never treat her as such. However, he found himself wishing to a being he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would be his. Perhaps it was selfish and wrong, to hope that she’d turn up heartbroken on his doorstep so that he could pick up the pieces of her broken by another man. It was definitely selfish to wish her so much heartache so that he could ultimately get what he wanted.  

He recognised that she didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t owe him her love in return for his. But that almost made it worse; that this situation was nobody’s fault. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault for not returning his affections, nor was it her boyfriends’. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault either, he knew that deep down. He knew that no matter how many times he wished he’d told her sooner, before another man had swept her away, it wouldn’t have changed her feelings for him. 

It almost brought him to tears. It’d be easier, he thought, easier if she did something that made me hate her. But he didn’t hate her, he didn’t think he ever could. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone or anything and there no words to describe the burning pain in his chest as the realisation that he was all alone dawned on him. 

Y/N didn’t love him. At least, not in the way he wanted her too. 

He could almost kid himself into thinking that she was going to knock on his door, tell him she’d left her boyfriend and confess her love for him. It was silly, and really doing him more damage than good to indulge in this self-serving fantasy he’d created, but it was the only thing that gave him enough peace to finally fall into slumber. 

*

He nearly said it one day.

It was a Friday evening, and they were sat together at his apartment, having just finished watching a bunch of films. Y/N was mid-tangent about an interesting fan theory she’d read up on, while Spencer sat next to her trying to clear his thoughts. 

His mind was screaming at him, this is it, it said, this is your chance. He knew it was selfish, quite possibly the most selfish thing he’d ever do. Especially when she was with someone else, the man she was building a life with- and Spencer was going to tear it all down with three simple words. 

The most selfish thing he’d ever do. 

And some part of him, some silly, hopelessly romantic part of him told him she wasn’t going to reject him. No, instead, she would admit she loved him too- and everything would be okay. Right? 

“Y/N I-“ He interrupted her, and she looked over surprised as she stopped talking. She took in his tone of voice; how pained it sounded. She watched at how he cringed for interrupting her, his trembling hands coming to clutch fistfuls of his beige coloured cardigan in a nervous attempt to calm himself.

He evidently had something he needed to get off his chest.

“Yeah, Spence?” She prodded when he didn’t speak.

“I- I have to tell you something, something I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He rushed out, his voice shaking. He knew he’d have to force himself to say the words. He told himself to stop thinking so hard and just say them, because he knew all too well that he wouldn’t get the opportunity again. 

“Okay. It’s okay, take your time. It’s just me.”

“I-I” He stuttered, trying to force the three simple words to leave his lips but he couldn’t seem to do it. He desperately wanted to, and it ached because he could feel them on the tip of his tongue.

Then his eyes met hers, and he stopped. His brain seemed to grant him a moment of clarity among the chaos and overwhelming thoughts. He tried to profile her, to use what he knew about human behaviour and how he’d read once that the eyes were the windows to the soul. He recalled how happy she always was when she spoke of her boyfriend, and Spencer couldn’t deny that from what he’d heard, he treated her well. Like she deserved. It shattered his heart all over again, but how could he sit there and tear away the happiness of the woman he loved? He knew what him confessing would do to her. She’d go into overdrive trying to compensate for not feeling the same, overexert herself trying to be the greatest friend she could be — and all the while she’d smile, as though the knowledge that she’d (unintentionally) hurt her best friend wasn’t killing her inside. 

He couldn’t do that to her. 

Not as he stared at her now, her worried eyes on him as she tried to figure out how to help him. 

He couldn’t hurt her like that. 

Spencer would hurt himself a hundred times over if it meant she was unharmed. He supposed that was what the meaning of love really was. Sacrificing yourself for the one you love. 

He gave a sad smile and shook his head. “Um, you know what? It’s nothing.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she scoffed. “Seriously? You’re gonna leave me hanging like that?” Her tone was amused although she feigned disappointment. 

“Guess so.” He forced a chuckle, and Y/N opened her mouth to speak before the sound of her phone ringing cut through the air. She looked over at it, a small smile reaching her features at the sight of the name that flashed across the screen. 

“Is that your boyfriend calling?” Spencer asked quietly. 

She nodded. “I’ll tell him to call back later.” She moved her hand to click decline but Spencer’s voice stopped her. 

“No. It’s okay. You should answer it now, it might be important.”

She seemed hesitant but nodded nonetheless, moving a few paces away from him before answering and talking softly into the phone. A few minutes later she hung up. 

“Everything okay?” Spencer questioned. 

She hummed. “Of course. He just wanted to know if I wanted to grab dinner with him, but I told him I’ve got plans with you-”

“No- no- you should go. With him.” Spencer breathed out.

“Are you sure? I thought we were gonna order in from that Chinese place you love?”

He gave her a small shrug. “We can take a rain check. You should go, I-I wouldn’t want you to be late for dinner.”

She frowned over at him, pocketing her phone as she moved closer to him. She clasped his shoulders in her hands and pulled her to him in a hug. He tensed at the initial contact, but eventually he relaxed into her hold and wrapped his arms around her. 

“You know you can tell me anything?” She promised, her voice soft, warm. 

“I know.” His voice broke, and his throat burned with the sob he was holding back.

She pulled back, concern on her features as she hesitantly let go of him. She promised she would give him a call later that evening before leaving the apartment.

Spencer stood for a moment; eyes fixated on the door as it closed behind her. 

He wondered how he was ever going to move on from her, from the dreams of a future that was so close but just barely out of reach.

Ultimately, he wasn’t jealous of the man who got to have her. 

He was jealous of the fact that she was happy because he could only wish that he was happy too.

‘It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way

You're happy without me’

permanant taglist; @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @ssa-m-187

[noonmutter]

Introductions

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 12: Ball/Gravestone

"It's gonna be a quiet meetin'. They're not...th' most talkative people, these days."

"No, I know, love, of course. I absolutely still want to do this. You're so brave for this and I'm so proud of you."

Leon couldn't hold in a chuckle at that. Valarin's open, whole-hearted support of him for what was, admittedly, a trip that Leon had made dozens of times by now was all but impossible to ignore. The reassurance wasn’t necessary, but he wasn’t about to ruin Val’s fun. He simply set a hand on his wee love's shoulder to momentarily silence him, and bent to kiss his forehead.

"Thank you, love. It's okay. I'm not gonna collapse, it's just...a li'l tense, sometimes. Bringin' somebody new..." He let himself trail off as he inspected the kit they'd brought with them. Valarin had brought the supplies for their lunch, and he'd brought a bag of gardening tools, along with a couple bouquets of marigolds at Val's insistence. Asking about the marigolds had opened up the floodgates, not that he minded; listening to Valarin get himself going about something he was passionate about was one of Leon’s favorite things.

"The marigolds are traditionally very important! You see, the land of the living can be confusing and difficult to navigate for spirits. We try to help them by providing strong sensory things to guide them. The marigolds have a strong smell, but I think their color is quite strong too! And the candles are a little lighthouse..."

The flowers had been a bit of a trick to avoid crushing once they'd left the road that would've led them across the border into Stranglethorn, but they'd managed. He still wasn't sure if mum and dad would actually like the marigolds, but he understood the importance of it being this specific kind of flower, now. It was both like and unlike the little ceremonies the Gilnean was familiar with.

"This is such a lovely area, too. I’m honestly so excited to see where your parents rest. I’ve not really seen many human gravesites. I’m interested to see how similar they are. I’d like to learn about Gilnean customs regarding it. I know that the Day of the Dead is more widespread now, so I’m sure your parents will enjoy the offerings all the same. And--Hey, are you doing okay? You’ve been a little quiet."

Leon paused, then gave a short shake of his head. "Just tryna make sure we don't get lost, hey?" It was a lame excuse for letting his mind wander, but Val let it pass, since they were tromping through an awful lot of dense foliage. Valarin was aware there was a moonwell not all that far from where they wandered, and though there was a ceasefire, it was still Alliance territory and he was still visibly not a night elf. The tension wasn't really there like it'd been during their trip to Aerie Peak, though; they were alone and nowhere near a proper settlement.

He almost asked another question before Leon stopped, pointed at a small cluster of bright purple blooms hugging the forest floor, and said, "We're 'ere." It was hard not to get excited all over again, but he wanted to be respectful of Leon's feelings, so he kept himself from squeaking and simply gave Leon his best 'I'm here for you' smile. Leon answered it with another kiss on his forehead. Val liked those kisses, even if they were usually Leon filling in a silence when he couldn't figure out what to say.

He watched Leon pull a ton of vines and push a ton of branches aside like a very sturdy set of curtains, and after a moment, rushed to assist. Together, they opened up a relatively worn footpath to a small clearing. Val couldn't help but gasp softly at the sight; it seemed like every square inch of the ground was covered in lilacs! Little purple flowers were everywhere, and the scent was almost overwhelming. Butterflies fluttered from blossom to blossom in every direction, and small clouds of them seemed to erupt every time he or Leon took a step. He found himself tiptoeing to try and avoid crushing anything almost immediately.

"Oh, Light, it's absolutely beautiful, Leon. You did this?" The thought was enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he tried not to let it, at least not yet. He knew he'd do plenty of crying before the day was out and he'd really rather not start again so soon. It was a little embarrassing, even if Leon said it wasn't. Just focus on not snagging your pants on anything, Valarin…

"Well, I mean, th' flowers did it on their own, mostly... flowers do tha'..." Leon looked sheepish as he deflected praise, "All I did was plant a couple an' leave 'em be. Lilacs 're 'ardy, easy thin's. Part o' why mum liked 'em so much." The Gilnean made his way carefully but quickly through the dense growth, well used to the path he took and not worrying overmuch about whether he was stomping flowers or butterflies; the flowers were going to be cut back anyway, and the butterflies were quicker than he was. Reaching the apparent edge of the clearing, Leon bent to set his hand on a particularly tall lilac bush, then abruptly tore away a few branches to reveal the carved wooden grave marker underneath it.

It was not a professional job, this marker, but it had definitely been a work of diligence and a high degree of effort. It was sanded down to a nearly glasslike smoothness, and it would probably shine like it once it was cleaned up. The uneven top edge of it suggested it had originally been a chunk of driftwood, but it’d been stained so dark that it was hard to be sure. Valarin was privately glad he’d gotten better at reading Common lettering; hand-carved stuff like this was a little tricky. “Bettany Marie Ambroce” caught a bit of light and practically glowed. 

“Right. ‘Ere we are, then.”

“Oh, Leon,” Valarin said, “This is so lovely. This is your mother?” He knelt down beside the wood and brushed his fingertips over the lettering. “Hello, Missus Ambroce. I’m happy to meet you.”

“Yeah.” Leon didn’t really know how else to answer, but felt like that was woefully insufficient. “This’s mum.” Okay that was almost less helpful. He brushed his fingers along the lettering in much the same way Valarin had, mulling over a few things before he settled on a simple, “...You r’member Val’rin, right? I’ve talked about ‘im b’fore…” He risked a glance at his little love, offering a weak smile. “Only th’ good stuff, though. Promise.”

“It better have been!” Val flashed a playful grin and tossed his hair. “I am a perfect angel, after all.”

Chuckling, Leon set down the bag of tools and took out a pair of hedge trimmers, offering them to Valarin. “I’ll take care o’ th’ bigger messes, you clear out th’ stuff all over th’ ground, okay?”

“Wait, are we doing this entire clearing?”

“Course. Otherwise th’ lilacs’ll grow way too far an’ get completely outta control. It’s already bad enough cuz I waited longer’n I should’ve, I norm’ly come by ev’ry month or so.”

Valarin looked out across the small expanse of purple with a tiny bit less wonderment than he had the first time. This was a bit more work than he’d realized, but, he had to admit to himself, Leon had warned him. And he was bound and determined to help, regardless, so! Nothing for it but to roll up his sleeves and get to work. Leon had to restrain himself from grinning at the look of almost militant determination that Val got before he started clipping away.

“Cheer up, at least y’ don’t ‘ave t’ make it look pretty, too, hey?” He waggled his own pair of much smaller clippers, and gestured toward the high-piled bushes covering the pair of markers. “I’ll prune these down an’ then we’ll both tackle th’ rest of ‘em. It only takes about an hour if there’s two of us.”

“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“‘Ow d’you mean?”

“Well I’m going to end up killing most of these by cutting them back all…all willy-nilly, aren’t I?”

“Sure, but tha’s kinna th’ point. They can’t all keep growin’ or they’ll overtake more’n th’ forest kin afford, see? S’why I come back an’ clean it up at all. Can’t just plant whatever, wherever, or it throws th’ ‘ole balance outta whack. I’d be a worse druid than I already am if I just planted a bush an’ left it.”

“You are not a bad druid!”

Laughing, Leon pruned away, and Valarin attacked the rest of the lilacs with gusto.

Once they were roughly halfway through the clearing as a whole, Leon mercifully called for a break. Valarin was not at all accustomed to Leon in work mode, at least not like this; he knew the man could get lost in his leatherwork for hours, but that wasn’t quite so physically demanding as this. It was impressive, if a bit exhausting to keep up with.

They both sat down with a satisfied sigh, and Leon stretched his legs in the much more visible grass by the cleaned-up gravestones. Once properly polished, the lettering on both gleamed like it had been painted with gold:

Bettany Marie Ambroce Beloved wife and mother I’ll take it from here

Graeme Iain Ambroce Beloved husband and father I’ve got this

“Dad would’ve liked you, y’know.”

“You think so?” 

“Yeah. Anybody ‘o kin keep up with an Ambroce’s bullshit is worth keepin’ an eye on, somethin’ like that.” Leon chuckled with a subdued smile, thinking back on various times when he’d heard that. Naturally, Graeme had been talking about his own wife, but still. It had merit. “‘Especially th’ wee ones.’ Mum was about yer ‘eight, I think.”

Valarin’s ears went back just a little. “I’m not that wee.” After a moment, though, he let himself chuckle, too. “Although I suppose it’s still a compliment. You said he was a mountain, anyway.”

That made Leon laugh, and he threw his arms out wide. “Oh yeah, an absolute fuckin’ behemoth, was dad. ‘E wrestled with steer at th’ yearly fairs, sometimes, an’...”

As much as Leon enjoyed listening to Valarin give impromptu dissertations, Valarin loved listening to Leon tell stories of his family and his home. Knowing that he’d never get to see either of them the way his boyfriend did, he clung to every word to try his best to imagine it, and let the farmboy ramble as long as he was willing to. He only dared to interrupt long enough to break out their picnic, which thankfully didn’t stop the flood at all.

Once they’d eaten and Leon had run out of tales to tell--some of which Valarin was sure had to be at least exaggerated, if not totally made up, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out which ones--they’d gotten back to work. It was almost agony to start over again, since they’d had enough time for their hands to start hurting. That only seemed to spur them to get done quicker so that they were able to put the tools away after what felt like no time at all.

While Leon was raking the detritus into a corner of the clearing, Valarin set to work by the markers.

First, Valarin set up a small collapsible bed tray in front of the markers themselves, and covered it with a white cloth. He set out a few candles and arranged the marigolds all around what would become their ofrenda. Upon the tray he left portions of the favored foods they had brought; raspberry tarts, beef pasties, fried taters, all sorts of things. Though they had no pictures of the deceased--Leon couldn’t bring himself to risk losing the only image he had of his entire family--it was the thought that counted for this.

Obviously, Leon wanted to help, but he also didn’t want to do things wrong (despite Valarin’s many and constant reminders that there was no wrong way to arrange an ofrenda), so he hung back until it was almost finished. At Valarin’s urging, Leon took up a long match, and they each lit a candle at the same time, one for each parent. Finally, a small bundle of marigold petals was pressed into Leon’s hands, and he awkwardly scattered them in a rough line from the ofrenda to the graves themselves. Valarin had already made one out of the clearing itself, and with Leon’s contribution, there was a complete path.

When he returned to Val’s side, Val immediately curled both arms around his waist and tugged him down till they were both seated in the grass before the ofrenda. There, Val could finally get the cuddles he so cherished. Leon smiled softly and dragged the insistent thing into his lap, the better to hug him close and rest his chin on top of Val’s head. 

“So… what ‘appens now?”

“Now, you tell me more stories about them, and cuddle me, and I’ll tell you stories about mine, and cuddle you.”

“All night?”

“All night.”

“I think I kin do tha’.”

Though they couldn’t leave everything behind, the next morning, a pair of marigold-and-lilac wreaths hung from the wooden gravestones.

( @daily-writing-challenge​ @valarin-sunstorm​ )

[the-last-teabender]

Meta.Company is weird.

Okay, I promised to show my work, but my work got longer and longer.

So from what I’ve discovered, Meta.Company is not a domain squatter — or if it is, this is one hell of a long game.

Before I begin, here’s a tl;dr:

I don’t believe MetaCompany/META LLC is losing their livelihood. I believe this is a person who just happened to have a URL that Facebook would like very much, and decided to ride the current controversy either for money or for eyeballs on a project. Maybe I’m wrong, but this is strange.

Considering there are people who really are fighting to keep their businesses afloat, I think it’s fair for us to have as much info as possible. Because I think we should all be allowed to know whether we are supporting a business in peril or someone with a handy URL shooting his shot. Fuck Facebook either way.

Okay, so here’s what I’ve confirmed. Links in line. Prepare for long.

A Nathaniel Skulic in Illinois did start META LLC in 2013. A domain was bought in 2014, and “MetaCompany” was trademarked by META LLC in 2016.

After that, the Wayback Machine turns up nothing for five years, save for a “404 not found” in 2018.

On October 31, the domain’s WhoIs info was changed. We don’t know in what way, but we do know that pretty much every piece of registrar information save for location (Ontario) is locked down.

Then we get their cease & desist. There is nothing else on the site, save for links to social media. Which are brand new. And only link back to the article.

Now, a few bits from the letter:

Firstly, the title includes the word “livelihood” - which we immediately react to. For some of us, it immediately summons up the image of a hardworking family about to be stripped of their last penny. Whether or not Skrulic is one of those people, I truly do not know. But it is the beginning of a statement that feels tailor made to grip you by the neck and make you feel, and I’m always wary of those. The truth is generally far less carefully shaped.

At least two law firms were involved: One in the USA that requested our trademark and domains (Kilpatrick, Townsend & Stockton), and the other in Europe aggressively contacting trying to get us to sell our domain registrations (Hogan Lovells).

[Both of these firms have represented Facebook, and both do work in IP claims. But they’re also both pretty easy to search up as they have multiple news articles linking them to FB. That said, this section has the highest potential for truth.]

On October 28th, 2021, Facebook decided to commit trademark infringement and call themselves “Meta”.

[Here’s one of my big problems with this whole scene. There are tons and tons and tons of “Meta” companies out there. We’ve been following this news and we know it’s a dumb and widespread issue. Acting like this is solely their issue feels... weird.]

They couldn’t buy us, so they tried to bury us by force of media. We shouldn't be surprised by these actions — from a company that continually says one thing and does another. Facebook and its operating officers are deceitful and acting in bad faith, not only towards us, but to all of humanity.

[The claim of “they tried to bury us” is really handy. Can’t find jack shit about them? FACEBOOK BURIED THEM! And yet this C&D has rocketed out into the world completely unchecked to the point that it’s headline news? If they could so effectively bury eight years of work, how is this taking off? Also, still no mention of other businesses affected. It’s all them.]

It's unfortunate to have been associated with a company so rooted in controversy and fixated on domination. We aim to be distinguished from Facebook's totalitarian view of the future. We hope the negative association with Facebook and its founder will be forgotten — but we won't ignore the damages done.

[Right here. ^^^^ Right here. “We’re on YOUR side. We’re willing to stand tall and call Facebook exactly what it is.” This is the fist-pump moment. They’ve already gotten your sympathy, they’ve already presented you with a believable scenario, now we’re cancelling the apocalypse. Regardless of feeling, regardless of truth, this is a statement written deliberately to whip up emotion.]

One more thing: Our new product launch just got delayed because of Facebook. We must deal with these matters. In the coming weeks, we will make an announcement earlier than we expected. We promise it will be good. Stay tuned.

[And here again, spackle for their absence. “But what have you done?” “Well, we were totally about to do something, but Facebook set us back.” It’s really convenient to just have a project ready to go within weeks of a controversy after almost a decade of silence.]

Media and press inquiries may be submitted to press@meta.company.

[Right, okay. Yep. That’s all I needed to see.]

---

So with all that laid out, what do I think is going on?

I think META LLC/MetaCompany were meant to be a legit startup, and it just didn’t go anywhere. I think Skrulic was sitting on it just in case, because it ain’t cost much to hang onto a domain these days - especially with an uncommon TLD extension. I think FB saw this domain being unused, figured it’d be an easy buy, and started hassling him for it.

And then what? Well, it’s hard to tell. Maybe he decided it was a good opportunity to go off on them (not realizing that every day is a good opportunity to go off on them). Maybe he thought he could crank up their offer by making himself look big. Maybe he has a pet project and feels like this is a good way to get eyeballs.

Personally, I don’t care if people want to kick Facebook like a money pinata right now. But I feel a little weird about what a showpiece it feels like, and I worry that people who are currently fighting for a fair settlement could get looped in with this and taken less seriously.

[thevindicativevordan]

Considering the fact that you've stated that the Hulk was your second favorite superhero, & that though you weren't as huge a fan of her as her cousin, still found She-Hulk to be a very cool and enjoyable character, I was surprised that you didn't delve into the character Rampage, otherwise known as Karen Lou 'Kitty' Faulkner, in your post about Metropolis' local heroes since she's one of DC's versions of the big green behemoth, the others being Damage & arguably Doomsday & Solomon Grundy.

Someone else asked about her and I figured I'd talk about her there. Damage is fine, but if I want the Hulk I'll read the Hulk, no need for the DC copycat. Do think there's a place for Damage but not as a solo character, put him on a team. Grundy I have no opinions on other than "he's cool". Which just leaves Doomsday.

Doomsday is the Venom of Superman's Rogues: cool design and being really important back in the 90s means he's basically sticking around forever. Unfortunately he peaked in his debut and now he has nowhere to go but down. How the hell are you supposed to one-up KILLING SUPERMAN by beating him to death no less? Kill him again? Doomsday is "important" enough that he can't ever go away, but how he's built as a character means he doesn't work as an ongoing threat. He's too powerful to be a "villain of the week", but he's also too simple to really drive more complex storylines. No goals or asperations, he's just a pure hate-filled animal who wants to kill everything he sees, especially Superman. A few times they've tried making him more intelligent or crafty, but those didn't stick.

Doesn't help that the backstory they've given him is rather dumb and disappointing. Doomsday worked best when there was an aura of mystery to him, we had no clue where the hell this guy came from, why he was imprisoned, how he was able to go toe to toe with Superman, and it should've stayed that way. Hint at his mysterious background if you like, but we never should have gotten concrete answers about how he came to be. At the very least why the hell was he tied to Krypton? Why does EVERYTHING have to tie back to Krypton? It makes the galaxy feel pretty goddamn small when survivors from Krypton keep landing on Earth and crossing Clark's path.

Alright rant over, so what can be done with Doomsday? Because he's never going to disappear permanently, he's probably Superman's 4th most popular villain as depressing as that is. Key to utilizing him efficiently is to use him as the muscle in addition to a mastermind villain who is manipulating the beast to their own ends. If Pak had gotten to write Doomed as an arc in Action instead of having to turn it into a crossover, I really do think it could've given Doomsday another perennial story aside from Death of Superman. Loads of interesting ideas were in that story: Doomsday's adaptability making it so that whoever kills him becomes the next Doomsday, making him a foe Clark now has to contend with mentally as well as physically. Brainiac actually has a history of using Doomsday as a cover for his more complex schemes with both Doomed and a Post-Crisis story that I think Jurgens wrote where Brainiac took control of Doomsday's body. Continue that, when Doomsday shows up it's because there's someone pulling his strings.

Adding on to that when Doomsday shows up, people need to die. Not heroes, none of them will stay dead, I mean civilians. Normal everyday people who just get slaughtered in the monster's wake. Doomsday is the Grim Reaper incarnate, he's the monster who bludgeoned the world's greatest hero to death with nothing besides raw force, but he can't ever top that with a single kill. None of the lesser heroes dying will have the same impact as Superman dying did, and none of the A-Listers will get killed by Doomsday. So instead write Doomsday showing up as the equivalent of a bomb being dropped. Mass deaths, widespread damage to property, he's a walking one-man war that causes mass panic at a sighting of him.

Obviously you can't do that too often without making Superman seem incompetent, so I'd only want to use him for "big stories". When Doomsday shows up you know that it's only the opening salvo in a larger story, the Superman equivalent to Joker using laughing gas on a building. Beating Doomsday should not be something Superman can achieve by using just his fists either, how come Doomsday isn't completely immune to that anyway? Isn't that how his powers work, becoming impervious to whatever killed him last time? When Superman punches Doomsday it should result in the equivalent of a regular guy punching Superman, now Clark is the weaker one who just shatters his bones against Doomsday's invulnerable skin. So he has to get smart and out think the creature, Doomsday is who Superman breaks out the toys in the Fortress for.

Character-wise there's a few simple ways Doomsday acts as a contrast to Superman. First and foremost, if Superman is a symbol of hope, Doomsday is an icon of terror. People shit themselves at the prospect he's going to show up because they know not even Superman will be able to save everyone from him. There's going to be casualties, only questions are "how many?" and "will it be my loved ones turn to get ripped to shreds?". Hate is also as central to what Doomsday is as Compassion is central to who Superman is. Doomsday is like the titular Alien or the Terminator, he can't be bargained with, he has no morality to appeal to. All he feels is hatred towards every other living thing, he wants to rip their guts out with his teeth and bathe in their blood. Other super powerful bad guys such as Zod, Darkseid, Mongul, or even Bizarro have intellect behind their brawn. It's possible you can strike a deal with them but that's not an option with Doomsday. As a character foil to Superman, Doomsday is a dark example of the importance of self-control. No inhibitions or restraint are present inside the monster's mind, he's a raging hurricane that is driven by wrath, something Superman has to take steps to check within himself as well.

Design-wise I like the New 52 giving him tusks, I'd like to retain those if possible. Also I want to see more done with Doomsday's "evolution", give him bodily appendages that act to counter threats rather than leaving him as Grey Hulk with spikes. Do more with the body horror of Doomsday's evolution. Also I really like the idea of Doomsday being "contagious" as a form of reproduction/survival. Make it so that he leaves "spores" behind that infect the few people who aren't lucky enough to get a quick death at his hands. Any lucky survivors may be infected with the Doomsday virus, which causes the afflicted to become bloodthirsty psychopaths utterly incapable of not acting on their worst impulses like the "zombies" of Crossed. Were Doomsday himself to ever get damaged beyond his body's ability to heal, one of those hosts would be transformed into the new Doomsday. Bad as Doomsday is by himself, the scars he leaves upon the environment and people he meets are ones that never truly heal.

Buried beneath the simple edge there's the potential for Doomsday to be a much more entertaining character than how he's been used post Superman's death. With a little luck, and a writer who can actually see and execute on that potential, Doomsday might one day be worthy of all the hype.

[empressxmachina]

Is THIS what will push me to make an AO3 account? (not clickbait) (surprising)

[See this journal in a better layout on my blog site or on DeviantArt.]

I’ve fallen so down abysmal for the Help, I Shrunk My… series – “…Teacher“, then “…Parents”, and finally (?) “…Friends” – especially the last movie and its scenes between peers, that I have such an uncharacteristic urge to write a fanfic.

Yep, fanfic. I did say uncharacteristic. But with the cuteness and quality, especially at certain scenes in “…Friends” like below, I don’t think you can blame me.

“Holy shit, I’m going to pass out/die/shit myself/etc.” -me, at nearly everything in this series

(Post?) Pubescent Pairings

A. The Classic Couple.

I’m already, because I’m a serial romantic that loves a good self-insert, thinking to name the whole story “Help, I Shrunk My Lover/Girlfriend” or something cheesy like that (maybe even in German?) for Felix and Ella to be stuck together and have to deal with (post?-) pubescent awkwardness. I mean, I feel so honey-dicked that we got cute shit like this and its amazing scene…

God, look at that FOV, the (lack of) focus, the size difference, the subtitle, that face… Fuck.

…but it had to be ruined because – SPOILER – the dumb, lusting teen boy couldn’t see what was literally right in front of him for years until the end of the third movie! Plus, being steps away from a married couple of hotheads, who knows what kind of fights or arguments they’d get into? Are you telling me you wouldn’t want a scene like this again?

That stick is actually way too big to really be a toothpick (or is it?), but I’m not mad. We stan a brave queen.

B. The Will-They/Won’t-They Duo

I’m thinking of making Mario and Melanie into each other, too, as irony based on how much they hated each other for most of the last movie. She stole his phone (and everything else) and then his heart. (lol, I’m so sorry.) Maybe she’d still have some fancies for Felix but then sees that Mario has redeeming qualities of his own, on top of a rich background (not that it matters, but money is cool). My main focus in mind was just for Ella to be shrunken, with Melanie being the supportive gal pal, but given she’s new and hasn’t yet been small herself, maybe this would be the time.

I think Mario would’ve totally gotten over the prepubescent power drive from the first movie by now and certainly no longer has even the slightest grudge over Melanie causing and/or catalyzing chaos that could be played with if he had to deal with a small her. Surely.

C. The Bros in the Back

Would it be too presumptive to make Chris and Robert maybe gay for each other… or even absolutely the opposite? I respect a strong friendship and/or bromance, and LGBTQ+ representation is always a win, too. But for either, I don’t want to do anything “just because” or because it’s “(not) woke;” it should add to the story and have meaning. After all, a situation like “Dude, I love you, and I’ll love you forever, but not like that” could be just as cute. We stan supportive introspection between men. Bros before hoes, you know?

Though, maybe they’re likely the great masterminds to figure out what/why the plot thickens. They seem like the most intelligent of the squad, even if they were only henchmen at the beginning.

D. The Elders

I guess it would only make sense for Schmitty or Felix’s parents to get shrunk again, as is tradition. Maybe the former would be due to considering retirement from teaching/being principal.

I’d do anything to get Hausmeister Michalsky protecting her with his hat again.

As for the parents, it’d likely be a wrong place, wrong time situation. I don’t know.

Unless Sandra and Peter were snooping again, I doubt Felix would willingly do this to them.

Overarching Themes

Aging for Innuendo

Regarding all this, I do know that I’d like to make the story time-skipped a bit, making the kids at least U.S.-adult-aged for my own sake. I am a fan of double entendre, cheekiness, and raw emotion, so I’d love to spill them all over a story or characterization if fitting. However, I couldn’t bear to see or write any kiddos explicitly going through with any entailed implications – that shit’s illegal, lmao. Plus, why even risk something like that when an age-up takes away all the trouble, thus not make any innuendos or ideas awkward?

In a fun way, small or not, wouldn’t seeing the gang party together with real man’s drinks or whatever be cool? What about someone getting turnt on a thimble’s worth or a gummy bear’s paw?

The cups have been used. That’s adorable. +10 points for realism.

In a trash way, if a greater trust was built between Felix and Ella to wear one would suggest taking a bath with the other, and a small Ella floating in the soap ocean bumps into something on her back, only to realize all of Felix’s (normal) limbs are out of distance, in view, and/or just not able to touch her yet he’s blushing, then what would that imply? (It could be nothing, but it could be something.)

Why, Though?

I just can’t figure out a supposedly new catalyst for the ultimate shrinking plot point, mostly due to the main chaos causers, aka the ancient magic users that tackled the school, being sent to the Shadow Realm in the last movie. I do have some ideas, but I’d always love to hear more.

*Oh, Hulda Stechbarth… Bless this crazy bitch, lol.

Throughout the series, people going to our wanting to go to America was frequently brought up. Maybe, like Ilvermorny is to Hogwarts, maybe there’s a (maybe American) (college?) counterpart to the Leonhard school that is interested in the kids. Could the sudden shrinking be a part of the admissions or entrance exam process, such as figuring out how to reverse it? I can’t imagine someone still wanting to go to a school that risked its prospective students’ lives, but who knows? Still, I’m sure the friends would debate whether going overseas for any school is the best idea, especially with the ridiculous costs. Could differing views cause tension?

What if one between Felix and Ella considered it, but the other didn’t, and a coincidentally timed dream for them to stay together – not unlike Minami-kun no Koibito, if you know it – made one of them small with no way for Felix to turn the affected back to normal (due to the tests)? What if people start believing that Felix is intentionally not transforming people back, despite not being at fault but trying his best the whole time?

I suppose another villain is cool, too, but what would be their spite? Would Felix getting all of Leonhard’s power be enough to spark something?

***

I want to do this, but I rarely finish anything now. I can’t even think of a proper plot! Maybe putting this out into the world will inspire myself or even someone else to give a fanfic a shot or at least expose this series to our fandom more (like when I found Dwarfina and blushed at every scene, despite not knowing a lick of Tagalog)!

The third movie pretty much just released, so I only see it (legally) able for streaming (via renting or buying) via Vudu and Amazon Prime Video (in the U.S.). It maybe more widespread in Germany where it was made. (Though, VPNs do exist…) But the first and second movies can be bought or rented from multiple sources, surely.

In any case, let me know what y’all think, and feel free to share your thoughts!

[xbunnybunz]

the devil is always cold [jimmy bae x reader x jack kang]

Summary: You and Jimmy used to be close, or at least, as close as the public eye would allow. After he is defeated by Ben Park, he grows distant. As you struggle to hold onto the last pieces of yourself and the fourth strongest member of the Union, Jack Kang reaches out to you. Loving the devil has never been easy.

Genre: Angst, Romance

Date: November 27, 2020

------

The act of loving goes far beyond things we hear from others.

Jimmy Bae is ferocious, people whisper. A person of violence, of destruction, of pride. He’s merciless, a real devil. Instead of a hot pitchfork, he saunters around Yoosun with a wicked grin and a balled fist. He punishes the good and the bad and everything in between.

Fire springs from the ground his feet have kissed, and making eye contact—even from a distance, has said to cause temporary loss of bladder control. (Noted from the Shuttle Patch itself.) His knuckles never fall dull upon any jaw, anonymous writers post. They say the crack can be heard resonating through the school lot, through the local park, through Yoosun alleyways.

He’s a dangerous man.

Jimmy Bae the fearsome, they say. Jimmy Bae the heartless.

And to some extent, you guess it’s true. You’ve seen the look in his eyes before, the life that sparks like an electrical fire right before the first swing—that look that completes Jimmy Bae’s desperate drive for adrenaline like a missing puzzle piece.

But to you, Jimmy Bae was none of those things. To your ever-expanding universe, he was the raging sun. He had a gravitational pull on you, managed to suck you in with nothing more than a look or a few words. A magnetizing man, a killer man, a lovely man.

You were no stranger to the rumors floating around Jimmy, but those words will always stay just words to you. After all, you’d seen firsthand how he cared for his closest friends. Cared for both you, and Jack Kang.

Jimmy knew of his reputation of course, and had a strange and lingering adoration for it. And so the affection that was dealt to both you and Jack was always subtle, always something that would appear like a wisp of smoke. There for one second and gone the next. It was always appreciated for the ephemeral moment it would show itself, and though Jack didn’t seem to mind the brevity, you always secretly yearned for something more.

At night alone in your room, you’d bundle yourself up nice and warm in blankets. Staring at the ceiling, thinking about Jimmy. Wondered if he did all this because he was fearful of losing claim to his title.

Jimmy Bae, fearful. Anyone else would’ve laughed at the incredulity, but you weren’t anyone else.

So you wondered more, pondered further. Wondered if he was afraid that he couldn’t convince himself he was a cold-blooded predator if he allowed himself to love, even just a bit. If he realized he hadn’t embodied the mask people had carved out for him, would everything he had been fighting for become a charade, gone up in smoke?

You both stir yourself from peace and lull yourself to sleep on these thoughts, in vain. Your concerns and curiosities did nothing to answer your questions. The most you can bring yourself to do is observe and understand.

So when he snarks you, feet propped on the table in the pools place for the third time that week, you do nothing but smile at him.

“What do you mean Jimmy?”

He groans and gets up, rolls his eyes like you’re a waste of his time and space.

“I told you I fucking hate coke. Pepsi, dumbass. Pepsi!” He taps the cold metal can on your head, but it doesn’t hurt and you’re not scared despite his looming height.

You’re sure he said exactly the opposite last time, but when you catch sight of Eunjang uniforms by the cue sticks, you swallow your words.

“Ah Jimmy, sorry about that. I totally suck, huh?” You laugh and let him keep pestering you with the can.

You glance at the Eunjang kids again and pause when you catch Jack’s gaze, eyes dark and hard like shining onyx stones. You recognize the look. It’s the shimmer he gets in his eyes when anyone talks shit about Jimmy, the twinkle that possesses him the moment his fingers itch to form a fist. Strangely, it’s been growing in him recently. Stranger yet, it seems to surface more frequently when Jimmy speaks.

Your eyes fall into a lock with his, and his brows are furrowed just slightly. Perhaps a bypassing detail for anyone else, but for the ever-reticent Jack Kang, this was a telltale sign of a temper quickly boiling over.

You soften your eyes and wink at him. This simple gesture is enough to derail him from his previous growing anger, simmering down to flickering embers. Jack turns away from the scene, but his fists are still balled.

It didn’t always used to be like this. You’ve found yourself reminiscing on the older days more than you care to say aloud. It was something you did in private, so you could pretend you didn’t notice Jimmy changing.

You recall when Jimmy used to loop his arm around your shoulders when the three of you strut down the street. His body was always pressed to yours, large and warm in the summer, arm weighing on you like a heavy blanket. The arm migrated to your back as the leaves turned crimson, then your waist when the wind blew harsher.

You would never say, but you ached for the feeling of his fingers on you again. It used to be so effortless, he was a casual man. A friendly pat here, and a loving ruffle of your hair there. It was addicting, he was a passionate man.

Once he had brushed his fingers along your jaw when examining a bruise you had gotten in the crossfire of a fight. Gossamer touch, but leaving searing skin in it’s wake. You remember the look on his face like it was singed into the back of your eyelids. A slight smirk, cocked head, eyes gleaming auburn—a kindling fire waiting for a forest to burn.

Jimmy Bae wanted you. You felt it with every aching fibre of your being, and you so desperately wanted him too. So you leaned in and let the flames consume you.

He reciprocated as much as he dared, which was enough to turn heads in public. Induce hushed voices asking who that was, standing so close to Jimmy Bae? The whispering was widespread, but no solid evidence of a relationship could be forged from any amount of blurry cellphone pictures, or firsthand accounts. This was, of course, because Jimmy Bae and you were stuck in the limbo between friendship and perhaps something more. Whenever you wanted to ask, your eyes meet his and there’s always a silent plead—sloppily hidden as a command—to never ask.

So you didn’t.

Somewhere between the brawl with Ben Park and Jimmy Bae, Jimmy had grown cold. Harsher on you, more secretive to Jack. Both of you asked, but he would say nothing worth noting. Always throwing red herrings, making shitty jokes. Brushing you off, brushing Jack Kang off, brushing you both off. Even smaller things, like his phone, would always be flipped upside down. Never answered when ringing. Never noticed when vibrating, at least, not around the both of you. A smile plastered on his lips like a dare to even fucking ask. Soon, all you and Jack had was each other.

You recall the week things shifted, even thinking about it left a creaking throb in your chest.

Jimmy had flaked out on Jack for a while and completely avoided you altogether. He’d be busy, he said. Union things, he muttered, before stalking away. He was always occupied now, always too focused on everything and anything but you and Jack. A month of diverted gazes, shifty feet and shitty grins later, he finally called you and Jack out again.

“How much of that shit are you gonna drink?”

You blink and look up at Jimmy, sitting across you with a sneer and some bruises on his pretty face.

“I’m sorry?”

He leans in and sucks his teeth audibly, almost obnoxiously. When he speaks, it’s slow like ridicule.

“I asked, when the fuck are you going to lay off on those sodas?” He scoffs and points at the drink in front of him, then at you. “You know how slow you’ve been getting?”

Jimmy laughs and elbows Jack, who sits stiffly beside him. “They think it ain’t shit enough that all they can do is run!” Jack does not utter a word. You can see his adam’s apple bob when he swallows, his jaw tense when he clenches his teeth. But he says nothing.

Jimmy doesn’t seem to mind. He turns to you again, gesturing in the air.

“Do us all a favor and get rid of that, will ya?”

All you can do is watch the words form and fall from his lips and nod. They descend deep into a cavern in your heart, which consumes it eagerly regardless of the sour feeling it leaves behind.

Jimmy was tenser. Meaner. More eager than ever to defend his title.

You forgave him, because he never seemed really happy about it. His eyes didn’t crinkle the way they used to when he made a jest, his teeth never flashed a smile quite the same. But the words that used to be just words still echoed in your mind.

Jimmy the wretched, Jimmy the heartless. Jimmy Bae, the real devil.

But not all was lost. Almost immediately, Jack caught onto your plight. He noticed the hurt in your eyes when you laughed at a particularly cruel joke Jimmy made about you, hears the drag in your tone when you’re asked to do another chore suit for a shuttle.

Jack Kang is a quiet one. He’s silent, but ever watchful. This makes him a hard opponent to read, a hard opponent to fight, and an even harder opponent to hide things from.

“It doesn’t bother me at all,” You say, picking at your fingers. “I hadn’t even noticed.”

You press your back into your bedroom wall, kicking your feet absentmindedly off the bed and hoping to recede into the cracks, away from his umber gaze.

He clicks his tongue and sighs, shoulders dropping, brown eyes piercing straight through you.

“’Doesn’t bother you?’ ‘Haven’t noticed?’” He sits beside you and the bed creaks under his weight, movie on the television long forgotten. He reaches out and places two hands, almost familiar, on your shoulders. “Tell me what’s going on. Doesn’t this…”

He hesitates, like he’s wondering if ‘hurt feelings’ is something he should talk about. Like he’s wondering about the implications between you and Jimmy, about the space he had to wriggle in between the both of you and ask. You hate that he figured you out. Hate that you even had feelings to be hurt in the first place. You despised that Jack and Jimmy were so hardened by the streets that even emotions were embarrassing to speak about in private, let alone display in public.

You place a hand on his wrist and feel his bone and tendons under your fingertips. Somewhere beyond that, there’s a faint pulse, quiet and steady, just like him.

“Jack, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You smile at him and hope it’s enough reassurance, but one look at him and you know otherwise.

Jack holds your stare. He’s calling out your bluff without speaking, and for some reason that hurts more than all the horrible things Jimmy has said to you. You never lied to Jack, because you never had a reason to. As close as he was to Jimmy, he was to you. He had unwavering loyalty to anyone he trusted, brutally honest and always genuine. You couldn’t ask for a better person to be by your side.

Jack hadn’t spoke much when you first met and that put you on edge. His gaze was too intense, eyebrows always set in a deep furrow. There was no way to read this man, and yet no way to read him wrong—don’t mess with him, and he won’t mess with you. You avoided him, much like everyone else does when they first meet Jack, until the day you watched him fight.

It was an accident. Your eyes were always on Jimmy, always following his bouncing feet, flying jabs and dirty mouth. Then Jack crossed your vision, and you were unable to look away.

He was fierce, hits landing hard, fast, and always right on target. Jack was like a machine, churning away at making the best hits with the fastest recovery times. Most shocking to you was, unlike Jimmy, he never lashed his tongue even once. He made no promises to take his opponent down, no taunts or mockery to discredit their fighting style. For what Jack lacked in banter, he made up for in actions.

It was then you noticed the way he purchased hot drinks for you after a cold day, how he offered you the spare motorbike helmet each and every time, opting to ride without one even if it destroyed his gelled hair. “I like the wind.” He’d say. But you knew he was lying the moment he looked in the first rear-view mirror you came across, re-styling stray pieces.

Even then, you hadn’t cared for him much. All your mind and body was dedicated to Jimmy, until one day you found Jack glancing over his shoulder in the middle of fights, something Jimmy never did, seeming to search for something in your direction.

It irritated you at first. Made you feel self-conscious, but then you realized he was checking to ensure you were safe from harm. He was sweet in a subtle way that was different from Jimmy, the sparseness in his care was due more to nativity than selectivity.

You learned to trust him, understand him through actions and not words. Jack always found the time to be with you. He’d listen to your doting on Jimmy, nodding along, pretending to be intrigued and only falling asleep once. From your time together, you had learned Jack was always honest, always straightforward, always speaking his mind.

You appreciated his commitment to tell the truth, which is why your inability to reciprocate was so painful now.

“Seriously.” You slide your hand from his wrist up his arm, the muscle rippling like a tide under his pressed white shirt. His eyes travel to the movement, stare weighing heavily between you two.

“I’m alright, Jack.” You try to pry him off you gently now that he was distracted.

“Confess to him.”

You stop short. “What?”

You look back up at Jack and he’s got those steely eyes trained on you again, pinning you to the spot.

“You like Jimmy, so confess to him.”

You falter for a split second, then create a diversion with raucous laughter. “Oh Jack, I thought you were being serious for a second. Geez dude!” You slap his chest lightly but he doesn’t budge an inch. “Confess? You already know how deep the Union’s got him.”

Jack remains unfaltering and you try your best to hide how it unnerves you, reminds you of when you knew so little about him.

“Do it. You have nothing to lose.” His words slice through you like a hot knife and it breaks your heart just a little bit more. Nothing to lose?

Jack’s lips are set in a straight line, like always. He’s always so monotonous, but when you speak it sounds like a squeak of the mattress springs, “Jack... Are you alright?”

He’s got a look in his eye you can’t understand. “He’s hurting you and I hate it. Tell him how you feel. If he likes you then it’ll stop.”

You almost want to laugh at how easy he makes it sound, how he just ignored years of your strife and struggle just to hold onto a piece of the ever-elusive Jimmy Bae. But when you look at Jack, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but shrink away.

“…I’m scared of what’ll happen after.” You say.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and like always, you feel so transparent around him, so naked and bared to the bone.

“Me too.” He says.

Before you can make anything of this, he pulls you into a hug. He’s much larger and envelopes you too easily, all the sharp edges of his bones and firmness of his muscles and the pounding of his heart boxed into one embrace.

Jack Kang was the turbulent one. The tricky one, calm on the surface and storming underneath.

You’ve seen him throttle men twice his size with no trouble at all, a fierce energy blazing through him thirsting for more bloodshed. His fists are iron, and he’s fast as a bullet. But in this moment, he holds you tenderly, carefully, as if you’d splinter and shatter under his callous touch.

“Jack…”   You return the hug and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pushing your face into his neck. He smells like motorcycle gas and hair mousse. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” You say.

He swallows a lump in his throat, you can feel him gulp against your shoulder. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “You didn’t.”

“Jack?” You knit your brows together, using your hands to pry him away so you can get a closer look at him. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

He holds on tight for a long second, constricting his arms around your torso like it was the last thing keeping him afloat on a storming ocean, trying to drag him deeper, deeper, deeper. But he pulls back eventually, and it’s so sudden your teeth click with the motion.

His hair is disheveled, falling across his forehead and brushing his dark brown lashes, close enough for you to count, so close you can see the pang of desire, of reservation in his eyes, shining like wet gems, feel every single warm breathy exhale on your lips.

“…Jack?”

He doesn’t reply, holds you there, just watching, oozing restraint. Despite his stiffness, you become aware of the soft duvet beneath you both, aware of the deepening orange sky across the horizon, bleeding past your curtains, washing over the room, and the chill that comes with it.

His grip on your arms tightens and then relaxes, tightens then relaxes, like he’s debating something. You watch him, entranced by the way the sunset put embers into his chocolate eyes.

“I…” He begins, voice low, lower than you’ve ever heard, almost a whisper. “I…”

He cups your face with his fingers, just barely daring to touch you. Everything he does is done with hesitation. The moment feels fragile, like glass. Like a pin dropping, or just a fragment of doubt would shatter it into a million pieces, but now, this second, he was here. Moving closer so slowly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes searching, breathing heavy and mingling with yours.

You were confused still, conflicted. Jack was so close, so warm, so enticing, and yet Jimmy lingered in the back of your mind, his auburn hair, chesire grin and cheeky personality burning a hole into your heart and shooting tremors through your hands. What would he say about this, about you, about Jack? And darker still, a thought slipped into the cracks of your heart: would he even care? Did you even mean anything to him anymore?

You knew Jack was thinking the same, knew he was keenly aware of his proximity, aware of how he was waltzing along the edge of no return—not just for himself, but you as well.

And this may have been what stopped him short. Pausing, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, each seeming longer than the last. Then he pulls away, the space between you put a cold ache in your chest.

Jack puts his face in his hands, twisting his body away from you, like he can’t bear to see you.

“I’m… Sorry.”

You still feel an icy tundra washing over your body, but couldn’t understand why if Jimmy was the one you were thinking of. Still, for whatever reasons Jack had, you wanted to be there for him. You reached out a hand, caressing his back.

“It’s alright,” You say. “We’ll always have each other.”

He says nothing, but you think he leans into your touch just a bit more.

After this moment, Jack makes it a point to sit beside you, much to Jimmy’s surprise.

“Picking favorites now are we?” Jimmy would joke, but his laughter was always hard around the edges. Like he knew he missed something vital. “How the tables turn.”

Jack wouldn’t respond to him, instead finding your hand under the table to give it a squeeze. Just a simple action, fingers interlocking with your own.

This was enough to keep you going for another month—the time it took for you to find Jimmy squatting behind the school, smoking a cigarette and palming at his eyes.

It was chilly out, almost nearing the end of the winter. A thin sheet of snow covered the floor, and though you were bundled up, Jimmy was wearing the same old Union jacket Na had assigned to the Yoosun district. You learned a lot about that jacket, learned to love how Jimmy beamed, wearing it for the first time back in middle school, learned to hate how Na used it as a chain to keep dragging Jimmy back into the dark. Those harrowing nights he’d return from always beat, bloodied, but never defeated.

“Jimmy,” You start, and flinch at how your voice echoed, louder than you’ve heard it in months. You clear your throat, adjusting your volume. “Jimmy, what are you doing out here?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Only exhales through his nose, something between a grunt and a gritty chuckle scraping past his lungs. He palms at his eyes for a few seconds more, turned away from you, spine curved into a lazy cove.

Then he looks up at you. His eyes are gleaming in the winter sun, bursting with something like adrenaline, anchored down by something so heavy, so deep in those spiraling fiery eyes.

His words make a puff of smoke in the air, mingling with the cold mist seeping from his lips, “The fuck do you want?”

You cringe at his tone and look away, sticking your hands into your pockets, swaying about.

“I was just…” You trail off, because you’re scared, that’s what you are. Scared of making him mad, scared of making things worse, scared of being pushed away. “…Wondering if you were cold.”

He gives you a look and shakes his head, turning back to face the furnace, gray smog exuding from the pipes.

“The fuck? Why would I be?”

You say nothing. His voice is clipped. Sharper than it usually is, and although you’re used to the pain, it cuts deep. You can tell he isn’t interested in speaking to you, that he’s telling you to leave in the subtle way Jimmy Bae always does, in the subtle way he used to hold you, touch you, worship you.

But you know what this means. You can feel the end creeping up on you like a shadow when dusk looms, rising from the grave you’ve dug so deep for it, hoping to never see it in the light of day again. If you leave now, you’ll never get the chance to speak to him again. He was closing you out, so slowly you hadn’t even recognized it at first. Looking back now, he had given you all the signs.

“Jimmy, I really—” Your voice flickers in and out like a dying flame. “I have something to tell you.”

He sighs. A deep, heavy, burdened sigh. You’ve never heard him sound like this before, you think he must be just as heartbroken as you, maybe, but then he flashes his teeth like he’s laughing at a joke.

“Listen. Babe.” He pivots himself, now facing you completely. He rests his elbows on his knees, propping an arm up and resting his chin on it. “Babe. You’re killing me here. People drift apart, you know that, don’tcha babe?”

He takes a drag from the cigarette, sucking so deep into his lungs you swear he’d turn purple. Pulls it away from his lips, chapped from the cold.

“I’m sure everyone else has noticed, catch my drift?” He cocks his head at you and suddenly you’re thrust back in time, back when he first looked at you like that under a spring sky. Eyes on fire, man on fire, Jimmy Bae and you, on fire. Then you’re back, standing frigid in the ice, snow dusting your lashes, your hands, your cheeks. Just you, in the cold.

“You’ve been pissing me off, babe. Clinging like a bitch. And I know ya know better than that, so I’m gonna ask you nicely, listen real fuckin' close.” He leans in like he’s telling you a secret, an eyebrow quirked up. “Give me some space, and I won’t take out your two front teeth.”

He takes another lengthy inhale of burning tobacco then drops it alongside the numerous other cigarette butts on the floor, crushing it underfoot his new sneakers.

Grins up at you. “Nothing personal though, right babe?”

You’re stupefied at first.

Jimmy bae, the fearsome.

So shocked and numbed that you can barely feel anything but your bursting heart.

Jimmy Bae, the heartless.

It itches like a fresh scab stretching across all the flesh of your insides, thrumming for the moment you reach the end of your rope, thrumming for release.

Jimmy Bae, the real devil.

You take the first faltering step backwards, and the spell he had over you is finally broken. Another shaking step, another, until you turn and run back towards the school, running past a blur of leafless trees and a halted figure, leaving Jimmy alone by the furnace.

Jack unsticks himself from the ground, wrenching around to watch your retreating figure, brows shooting upwards. “What the hell?” He spots Jimmy, a loose smile playing at the corners of his lips. “What did you…?”

Jimmy combs a hand through his hair and shrugs sluggishly.

“What? Don’t tell me you feel bad for them?”

Jack freezes, watching Jimmy. “Fuck,” He mutters, squeezing his eyes shut, harder and harder until he sees stars, sees your silhouette fading into the distance, sees himself telling you to confess. “Fuck!”

He opens then, shooting Jimmy a look that he’s never once in his life had the anger to muster. Jimmy hums, amused, as Jack takes off after you.

He hears the echoes of Jack calling you ringing in his head, ringing in that small enclosure, carrying long and far from the tiny alley leading to the school.

Only when he’s sure that both of you are long gone does he let out another exhale, body uncoiling and falling into itself, crumpling like paper. He pats his hair free of the snow and rubs at his reddened nose, snowflakes falling upon his face, melting instantly. Walking up to the furnace, he warms his hands and pulls the Union jacket closer to his body. Pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.

Click. Click. Click.

“Ah, forget it.”

He pockets the lighter and just lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, crossing his arms over his body, letting the frigid air slow his mind, his pulse.

Jimmy stands there for a long time, until the sun falls below the horizon, until the shadows cast by the trees consume him, all alone. He doesn’t mind. He conditioned himself to be alright with it last year, right before the fight with Ben Park. Right after he saw the way Jack looked back at you.

He takes out his phone, switches it on. The light is blinding for a second, like the sun, then his eyes adjust. About a dozen messages from Kingsley Kwan, a few from Phillip Kim.

Trash to him. Amber eyes search beyond that, swipes a finger to clear notifications.

Jimmy stands there, reveling in the image, basking in the light it sweeps over his face. The last bit of you he had to hold onto, a photo taken earlier last year. Just you, Jack and him sitting around a trashfire in the Yeongduengpo Local Park. Simpler days, easier days.

His eyes drift to your face, then to the arm he had wrapped around your waist. Hears the wind bellow, feels his fingers twitch, colder than ever.

“Hah, shit.”

He shoves the phone into his back pocket, shaking his head and speaking to no one in particular.

“I’m freezing my ass off here, you dense motherfuckers.”

[majesticbrownjawn]

Delicate Part Three

Part One

Part Two

They rode quietly back to their side of town, Violet in a contemplative state of awe the whole way.

How'd he know her name? Maybe it was a freaky, weird coincidence.

She was completely taken by E. How'd he will her to give herself to him so quickly? She hadn't done anything like since her 20's. Her entire being wanted to stay there in Oakland, which let her brain know she had to do the opposite.

She had to stay away from him.

"You have to stay away from him," Trina said as she was climbing out of Violet's car. It was like her best friend had heard her thoughts and repeated them to make sure your got the picture.

"What?"

"He's no good, Vi," she asserted.

"How would you know? You just met him yourself." Violet's tone was defensive and she didn't know why, but Trina was absolutely right.

"I-I just know his type...AND know he had you with your drawers hanging around your ankles when I found you," she answered with an air of satisfaction in her voice. "God knows how many other women he's had like looking that."

Violet's eyes bulged in horror. She was always the more level-headed of the two. Sensible and practical were her middle names. Her role in their relationship was the responsible one. Violet relished in being the wise friend who always seemed to have it together and just a few hours with E was already tarnishing her image.

"Did you see him though?" Violet was trying her best to appeal to Trina's weakness for attractive men. She couldn't pick a guy with character to save her life, but they were almost always fine, and Violet was an eyewitness to Trina's inventory of E when she introduced them at the party.

Trina huffed and folded her arms at Violet disapprovingly.

"Fine. I already decided I would stay away from him. That's why I ran out of there so fast."

****

Violet loved food.

It was no wonder, though. She didn't just magically wake up one day in her pillowy-soft body.

But she turned that love for food into a craft, and studied culinary arts in Paris. Chef V's years of experience working under the best chefs in Europe made her a shoe-in for one of the few Michelin-starred restaurants in the States. She was the only Black woman executive chef of a restaurant of this caliber, which was both an honor and a shame to her. She wanted nothing more than to help other Black women in the her industry come up, but found the balance of trying to stay on top of her game and making time to give back a challenge. Doing anything other than working was a challenge for her. Maybe that was why she was so easily swayed by someone like E.

Her thoughts briefly went back to that day, now two months in the past—and she shuttered a bit at the thought of him. She would have been lying if she said she was glad he never contacted her. But she knew not hearing from him was for the best.

The sound of clanking fine china and sizzling kobe beef buzzed around her as she stood in the center of an upscale kitchen barking out orders like Gordon Ramsey. This kind of power gave her a high that was as exhilarating as it was exhausting. Everyone looked to her for direction and approval, a position she was quite familiar with.

Her younger siblings looked to her for guidance after her parents' death as a teenager and from then on, people kind of just sensed the leader in her. She was forced into being this person at a young age—maybe too young – but eventually embraced it. The consequence was that she came off as a snobby, slightly controlling bitch who thought she was smarter than everyone else.

Almost everyone.

Violet ran a tight ship and mistakes were not tolerated, so when her sous chef Suzie ran into the kitchen with beet-red cheeks and a half-eaten plate, she was curious as to what the flustered woman would say.

"There's a man out there," Suzie whispered.

"Speak up, Suzie. I can barely hear you."

"He said his steak is undercooked."

A collective silence fell over the kitchen as everyone stopped to see what Chef V would do next. She jerked her head back and studied the steak on the returned plate.

It was cooked to perfection.

She smacked her teeth before heading to the kitchen doors to peer out of its circular windows. She scanned the restaurant briefly, trying to pick up on who she thought the picky customer might be. She usually had an eye for patrons who liked to complain in hopes of a free meal, but she couldn't quite figure it out tonight.

"Who sent it back?"

"Him...over there at table 46."

Table 46 was the best table in the house. You could see the entire city skyline from its positioning and it was purposefully tucked away for the sake of privacy. Violet had served numerous celebrities and wealthy diners at table 46. She didn't think to look over there initially. When she did, the silhouette of strong, broad shoulders caught her eye. She pushed the doors open with frustration, ready to take on this tasteless customer, but as she marched forward, more of the man's physique came into focus. And the man's physique was familiar.

His hair—locs – specifically, was finally what caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Suzie, following a bit too closely, crashed into Violet, sending the returned plate cascading to the floor. The commotion caused half the restaurant to look in their direction and had Violet not been so caught up in the man, she would have been embarrassed.

But she was caught up.

Violet audibly gasped when he turned to face her. But it wasn't him. It wasn't E. As she dismissed herself back to the kitchen, she felt a bit of sadness that the picky customer wasn't the man who so easily made her feel open enough to do things she'd never done, but always dreamed of doing—especially as it pertained to sex. Unfortunately, there was a side of her that she'd never explored. She'd never found the right person she felt safe enough to do those things with, so she fantasized about them instead. That is, until she met him.

"Just cook him another one," she flatly told Suzie, completely defeated. Her sous chef quickly got to work on a replacement steak, while Violet slipped away to her small office in the rear of the kitchen.

"You would work at a bougie ass place like this, wouldn’t you?”

His voice caused an immediate reaction from her body, though she refused to let him know it. Part of her was angry, seeing him after all this time, smiling smugly at her in her office. She stared at him sternly before speaking.

"How'd you get back here?"

"You thought that nigga was me, didn't you?"

"Ye—you didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine, babygirl." Her stomach fluttered at that name. Then she thought about him figuring out her real name.

"How'd you know my name?"

"Lucky guess," he smirked. "Your name is really Violet?" He said sarcastically.

She huffed and pointed to the embroidered script of her name and title on her chef coat.

"Lucky guess, my ass. How'd you get back here, E?"

He took a seat in front of her, as confident and fine as ever. The fitted turtleneck he wore had her feeling vulnerable. A bearded gentleman in a turtleneck was something she could hardly ever resist. So this man, though far from what she considered a gentleman, would certainly be a challenge to overcome. She'd already succumb to his charm once and she couldn't blame that time on piece of clothing.

She remained standing in between his obnoxiously widespread legs. He leaned back into the cushiony chair, totally relaxed.

And in control.

"One of my girls—" he cleared his throat unnecessarily. "I know one of the hostesses."

"Why are you here? Did you know I worked here?"

"Why you asking all these questions? You not happy to see me?" He leaned forward and rested an elbow to his knee.

"I don't have time for this. You come up in here playing games on the busiest night of the week. You can see yourself out, E."

She quickly side-stepped his legs on a mission to make it to the door, but he caught her hand just before she was out of reach.

"Where are you going, Violet." His question wasn't a question at all.

"What do you want from me?" She was sincere in her query. Why'd he show up here, two months later?

"I wanna fuck you, girl. Make them pretty ass eyes roll to the back of your head again."

Them eyes—her eyes, broke contact with his and drifted to his crotch. His dick print was visible on his inner thigh. She wanted to touch it so badly. She hadn't gotten the chance to the first time.

"You see it," he smirked.

It was hard to miss.

"Got me hard as fuck watching you do your thing, Chef V," he teased.

His hand led her back in front of him.

"Maybe I'll let you boss me around one day like you do these peons in yo kitchen."

She gulped loudly when he stood up, his physical presence looming over her making her feel small again, just how she liked.

E kissed her with enough power to topple her over, but the desk was there to catch her.

He didn't stop when her position suddenly lowered under him, he just readjusted and leaned down into her. She moaned shamefully when his tongue wiggled into her mouth and his hand groped her breast. The thick chambray material of her chef jacket was getting in the way of her feeling the full sensation of his hands and it frustrated her. The way his adept fingers teased her nipples the day they met was all she could think about when she moved his hand under her top.

"I guess you did miss me, Chef V."

"Shut up," she groaned. She didn't need him reminding her of the obvious. Reminding her what she was doing was uncharacteristic and stupid.

"I missed you."

Did he really just try that playa shit on her? I missed you? The sirens she heard when she met him at his house party had officially made their return.

"I said shut up."

"Aye," his voice was calm but his eyes were ablaze.

There was a passion in them that quickly reminded her of E choking her in his workroom. She was terrified at first, but when he realized it was her and his hands loosened around her neck, she realized she very much liked the way they felt. Warm and firm.

Invigorating.

"I said you could boss me around one day, not

TO-day."

His hands roughly gripped the back of her knees and pulled her closer. Their middles met and she couldn't help but grind up against his erection as he nibbled and sucked on her lips.

"You really just came here to fuck me, E?" She managed to get out.

"Yea."

Violet didn't expect such a direct answer. She kind of wished he'd lied to her. That he told her she was special and that he wanted to get to know her.

But who was she kidding?

She didn't really want to get to know him. He was dangerous and not the type of man she could settle down with. This was all they could ever have.

Good sex.

No—great, amazing, superb sex.

Top two, not two sex.

The best sex she'd ever had.

She prayed it wouldn't be the best she would ever have. But was fantastic sex worth the space he took up in her head the last few months?

E started kissing her again, successfully distracting her from overthinking. He'd started unbuttoning her jacket when a loud knock on the door startled her. She stared at him like she was looking for him to tell her what to do. He shrugged and kissed her again.

"They'll go away," he whispered.

Another knock.

"Hold on!" She yelled, trying her best to quickly button herself back up. E rolled his eyes as he watched her frantically try to gather herself.

"...Stay," he said, calmly unbuttoning each button right after she'd fasten them. He hoped a kiss to her temple would convince her to remain in his presence a while longer. She contemplated it until she saw the handle of her office door turning.

She yanked herself loose from his grasp and stormed out of her office. She didn't even look at the person who'd been knocking. All she saw was a blur of someone in black. Violet didn't even get mad that they'd opened her door without her permission. She was grateful in a way. Grateful for an escape. God knows how long and how loud they would have been in there hunching.

She took a moment to compose herself before returning to her duties. Violet was literally hot all over. She stealthily grabbed a cup of ice from a machine towards the back of the kitchen. There was a spot just past her office that was a hideaway for her when she didn't want to be found by the few people brave enough to knock on her door, which made her wonder who knocked on her door tonight. It wasn't someone from the kitchen. All of her staff wore white. The thoughts of what the mystery person had interrupted with E quickly flooded her thoughts.

The few top buttons of her jacket were still unfastened thanks to E. She slid a piece of ice up and down her neck and across the top of her chest. Her mind raced back to him. His hot hands grazing her flesh, inching closer to her breasts. Her mind was gone and her hands, with the ice in them, were making circles over her sensitive, hardened tips. She wanted to cum so badly. She focused on him. The way his turtleneck clung to his muscular arms, hinting at the wonder that was his scar-laden body. His scent was still on her from being so close moments ago.

Mahogany.

Coconut.

Cedar.

The way his tongue explored her mouth. The way he grabbed her like she belonged to him. The ice between her fingers soon melted and her digits quickly found their way into her panties, hungrily applying pressure to her clit. It didn't take much effort to make herself cum after being deprived of him for eight weeks. The thrill of seeing him was more than enough to excite her in ways she'd never felt before.

But why?

She chuckled to herself as she washed her hands before heading back to the main area of the kitchen. He had her acting totally different and part of her liked it.

The look of relief on her sous chef Suzie's face was comical as he drew close to her.

"Thank God you're back, Chef V."

"Everything okay?"

"Yea, I guess. You know I just get nervous without you here. I just don't want anything bad to happen when you leave me in charge."

Suzie was a young woman in her mid-twenties. Violet took her under her wing because she had great potential and because she was Black. Mentoring her was the least she could do to give back to the next generation, but sometimes Suzie was a worrywart and annoyed Violet to no end. She could already feel the high of her orgasm wearing off.

"Did you remake table 46's steak?"

"Yes. He loved it."

"Okay and did the kitchen catch on fire while I was gone?" She looked around in an extra manner for added effect.

Suzie shook her head no.

"See? Everything is fine. You need to relax."

Violet took her place back at the center of the kitchen, putting finishing touches on plates in the special way she's been gifted to, and even took moments to praise or constructively critique the work of her staff. She could see how pleased they were to have her working side-by-side with them and made a mental note to have more nights in the kitchen like tonight.

Minus the part with E.

And her private moment with the ice.

***

The restaurant was not only heralded for some of the best dishes in the world, but it was also home to one of the country's most expensive delicacies—a chocolate cake covered in gold leaves. It was rare someone ordered it, because despite the wealthy clientele they served, a $15,000 dessert wasn't something people ordered every day. When Suzie told Violet table 46 had ordered the expensive ass cake, she gave her an impressed look and headed for the refrigerated safe where they kept the golden flecks.

She made her way to the back of the kitchen, just past her office and private corner. As she strolled back by her office with the gold leaves in hand, she thought she heard something — a voice — on the other side of her office door. She brushed it off and kept walking, but then remembered she never saw him leave. But to be fair, she never saw his creepy ass enter the kitchen in the first place, so whatever she thought she heard had to be her mind playing with her.

Violet dropped the leaves off with her pastry chef and tried to busy herself with work that did nothing to keep her brain from thinking about who may or may not be still in her office. Finally frustrated enough with herself and him for making her crazy, she marched back to her office, her chest filled with air and ready to go off of need be.

She flung the door open but was quickly deflated by the sight in front of her. Her eyes immediately zeroed in on E standing in the corner of her office with a woman on her knees in front of him. His brows were knitted together tightly and the intense look of pleasure on his face made her pussy throb with want. E slowly brought his eyes to Violet standing at the door watching him getting his dick sucked. She knew that he knew she had been there a few moments before giving her his attention. It felt like he knew she'd arrive at the exact time she did. Just in time for his show.

Violet stood there frozen, mouth slightly agape in a mixture of shock, jealousy and desire.

The woman on her knees wore all black and was sporting hair extensions that trailed down her back. Violet concluded she was the woman who knocked on her office door earlier, likely the hostess E slipped up and called one of his "girls." Violet could see why she was. She could suck a mean dick. The woman's mouth slowly trailed up his shaft, saliva dripping down her chin. The chef looked in awe at his cock, seeing him fully hard from this vantage point had her wondering how she took him so easily. E's dick disappeared into the hostesses' throat and it was enough to make him groan.

"Yea. Just like that." He was staring at Violet when he said it, like she was the one on her knees in front of him. The hostesses moaned at his praise, but he wasn't talking to her.

Violet had quietly closed the door behind her and was palming her sensitive breasts. Her eyes closed as she listened to the sounds in the room.

His labored breathing.

The hostesses' lude slurping and gagging.

Her own barely audible mewls.

"Look at me."

Violet knew he was talking to her without opening her eyes. Somehow, the hostess was still unaware of a third party in the room with her and E, stealing his attention from the good work she was doing on his dick.

Violet's eyes remained closed.

"Open your eyes." His command was surprisingly sweet, but laced with urgency.

"Iljshfhro," the hostess garbled. Violet assumed the woman was trying to tell E was indeed looking at him, but the hot dick in her mouth was prohibiting her from being fully understood.

Violet's eyes opened involuntarily from quietly laughing at how ridiculous the woman on her knees sounded. E smirked at Violet, unable to control his smile as he looked at her amused expression.

"C'mere, baby."

The smile had widened across his face, making the caps on his bottom row gleam against the soft lighting in the office. Perhaps the warm smile he gave her was the trick to getting her close to him. He felt relieved when she took a step forward, he was growing impatient and was dangerously close to begging her to come to him. E's desire for her had ballooned over the course of eight weeks and was on the verge of exploding. After meeting and subsequently fucking her that day, his mind frequently revisited their dalliance, sometimes in the most inopportune moments, like when he was blowing the backs out of other women. The most recent time it happened, he went fully soft inside one of his favorites when he looked down and realized she wasn't Violet.

He thought not only of the way her ample backside bounced beautifully against his scarred flesh, but of her wit and bold personality. Then there was the way he naturally felt possessive of her. E's teeth gritted together when he thought of how his homeboy looked at her gripping onto his bannister as they had sex. He came to the conclusion that he had to have her again, despite the nagging voice in his head telling him otherwise. At the least, he hoped sexing her again would get her out of his system. But in the moments when he was honest with himself, he knew the opposite was a more likely outcome.The hostess' head shifted in the direction of the door, but E's voice stopped her before she saw Violet approaching them.

"Don't look at her," he told the woman. Her head snapped back to its original positioning. E said it like he wanted to protect Violet. Like he knew Violet wouldn't be ok with the thirsty hostess knowing she was just as parched and needy for him.

E looked back at V with more tender eyes than he'd just had with the other woman. Violet was unsure if she was okay with his tone with hostess, even if it was to her advantage. Nevertheless, she moved until she was standing in front of him, the hostess wedged between them on the floor and looking to E for permission to do anything.Violet was captivated once again by his masculine beauty. And she didn't know it, but he was just as taken by her. He licked his lips as he stared at her plump ones, longing to tug and taste them again. He broke eye contact with her to look down at the pitiful soul under him. Waiting for direction on what she should do next.

"Get back to sucking my dick. Now," he commanded.

He shoved the woman's head into his groin and she happily continued gagging on him. Violet stepped even closer to him. Close enough that her stance called for her to straddle each of her feet just outside the hostesses' legs. Ever the obedient sub, the woman never looked behind her to see the woman hovering over her. She only did want he wanted, and E wanted her servicing his dick at the moment.

E reached out to grab the back of Violet's neck and kissed her feverishly. Her hands instantly found a place on his pebbled chest. The sensation of his scars against her palms sent tingles throughout her body and she fleetingly wondered again just what they meant and how he got them. She watched as he painfully pulled himself away from her and took a long look at his dick making its way in and out of the hostesses' mouth. He watched it like he didn't recognize it as an extension of himself.

"You see how fat my shit is for you?"

Violet didn't answer. She only continued staring with her lip wedged between her teeth at the scene she'd now become a part of. Her eyes struggled to keep focus on just his dick, though. E was too entrancing just to focus on one thing, even if that thing was his long, thick and currently, sinfully shiny dick.

Violet watched the way his fingers massaged the hostess' scalp while she swallowed him, making his biceps flex in a way that made Violet want to snatch the other woman off of him and take her place on her knees—mouth open and tongue out.

"You wanna suck it, don't you?"

"Yes," Violet squeaked before she realized what she was doing. E really had her caught up. She covered her mouth in shame.

He shook his head at her, laughing at her slip up. "Not yet, babygirl. Sit your cute ass over there."

Violet quickly plopped down in an upholstered chair a few feet behind her.

"Pull them titties out for me. I want to see you play with them while I cum for you."

V felt an uncontrollable shiver come over her that literally rattled every muscle in her body. It felt eerily similar to the feeling she got right before she orgasmed. She unbuttoned her chef coat and just barely touched herself. The light passes over her nipples were sending her in a way that felt as intense as squeezing them normally would. The sight before him was too much for him to hold on to any longer. E's mouth curled into the shape of an 'O' before his eyes briefly fluttered shut.

"I'm bout to cuuum...Gotdamn, shit baby."

His eyes opened to look at Violet and he pulled himself out of the hostess' mouth, preferring to use his hand to finish himself off. He tugged at his dick while looking at her gently rolling her fingertips across her engorged nipples. The waitress knew him well enough to calculate the exact moment he would cum. She stuck her tongue out in excitement and anticipation of his seed, admittedly in love with the feeling of his hot cum plastered across her face and tits. It was always her reward for being a good girl for him.

But she wouldn't enjoy one of her favorite parts of sex with him today. Instead of painting her with his orgasm, E shot his cum over her shoulder and in the direction of the woman sitting in the chair behind her. It shot out of him like nothing Violet had ever seen, so much so that some of it landed on the hem of her top. She stared down at the creamy substance and licked her lips, tempted to taste it.

"Get out." E's voice was low and void of energy. That nut took a lot out of him.

Violet remained in place, fixated on the jizz on her jacket.

"Babygirl," he called again. Violet looked up at him. His eyelids were heavy, but the look was sexy on him. He tilted his head and looked at her for a moment before shifting his head in the direction of the door. "You should leave."

"But I—," she started. He shook his head at her, silently telling her not to speak. In this moment, Violet didn't care about the waitress knowing who she was. All she cared about was staying with him. She knew what eight weeks without him was like and the yearning she felt for a man she'd only been around for a few hours was agonizing. And pitiful. She stood her ground—silently–for a few moments, hoping he'd demand the other woman to leave instead.

"Go," he told Violet once more. This time she finally turned to make her way to the door, but not before giving him a pout that she was completely oblivious of. Her feet were going one way, but her head was turned and looking at E. He kept eye contact with her until the hostess tugged on him.

"Why didn't you give me your cum?" the woman whined. "Wasn't I good for you?"

E let out a sigh, but it didn't feel like a frustrated one.

"We need to talk," he told the hostess as Violet reluctantly left them alone in her office again.

————————

I low key have no idea where this is going lol. It was a supposed to be a one shot. We’ll see what happens. Thanks for all the love on this series so far🖤

Tags

@harleycativy @queenflaws @theogbadbitch @goddessofthundathighs @syndrlla97 @soufcakmistress @killmonger-fics

[cqlfeels]

Have you ever received anon hate or verbal attacks? How would you react? Sometimes I get really annoyed by people who just want to ruin your own enjoyment

Uh, this got long somehow, so under a cut it is.

For pretty much all fandoms I've ever been in, I've gotten things ranging from "This is a legitimate criticism because I'm not perfect, but wow, you sure worded that in a mean way" to "Yeah this is straight up cruel and uncalled for." I'm lucky because I haven't experienced any sort of sustained attempt to bring me down or anything, just your run of the mill spite. So my perspective is very limited.

A disclaimer before you go on: I'm speaking of people being kinda mean every now and then. Not cyberbullying, which is a much more serious problem, and which I'm most definitely not qualified to talk about! If you aren't sure which one is happening to you - please err on the side of caution and find someone to help you with this.

Alright?

Okay, moving on.

The way I see it any large enough gathering of people will have some folks who just enjoy the power trip of making someone else feel bad; the internet being the world's largest gathering of people, it's also necessarily the largest gathering of people with bad intentions. Add to that the impracticality of holding people accountable in online spaces, and I'm not surprised hate is widespread. (Though I'll also point out that people online are capable of incredible, unexplainable kindness, too - befriending people who'll never benefit them in any way, sharing works of art just for the sheer joy of it, donating money to strangers, etc.)

Now, how do I personally handle this kind of thing? (I say personally because I hardly think I'm mentor material lol So take of my approach what is useful to you and ignore what's not!) It honestly depends a lot on my energy levels.

I cannot turn off real life. Things like people being assholes when I need accommodations for my ADHD, or relatives who think being queer isn't valid - these aren't things I can walk away from. So the bulk of my energy I use offline. If someone decides to be rude to me online in a day when I've already used up my energy (or predict I will soon have to) - well, they get ignored. I can just close the app. I have pretty extreme social anxiety (on top of the entire rejection sensitive dysphoria thing that comes with ADHD), so it's not as easy as I'm making it sound (my heart will race. I'll have to focus on breathing for a while. Every cell in my body will tell me to go try to apologize to the other person even if they're wrong.) - but because I have social anxiety it's even more important that I protect myself and not give my attention to something that's likely to make me feel worse when I already am on a low-energy day. It's hard to walk away but it's even harder to deal with the aftermath of staying.

For days when I'm feeling alright and ready to conquer the world, though - I read what's being said really carefully. I try to remember that I can't convey tone (and, often, nuance) when I'm writing, and neither can the other person. Is it possible that they're reacting to the interpretation they've constructed in their head instead of to what I actually meant to say? Is it possible that I'm making things worse by assuming they're being rude when there's nothing objectively rude about what they've said? Most of the time, when I do that, I see that this is just a case of both of us assuming the worst of each other. Which doesn't make me wanna go be BFFs with the other person, but it does genuinely make me feel better. (Sometimes I think "Yeah, no this person is just a bully." In which case - blocking is an awesome tool to have!)

From there it sort of depends. If the person said something on their own blog - say, they reblogged something I wrote with a very passionate "You're wrong and I hate you" speech - I just... ignore it. (...maybe vent to a close friend in private.) Fandom is big. We don't need to get along. If they sent me a message/ask, I'm likelier to answer - in private. Arguing in public will just make people pick sides (because that's human nature) and it'll make both me and the other person miserable and help no one.

Anon hate is a whole different game. There are legitimate reasons to send anon asks to people, so I don't dismiss anyone just because they're on anon. But my rule of thumb is "If I cannot answer this person politely, I will not answer at all." By cannot, I mean in a reasonable way. I could theoretically be polite to anyone on earth, but will it impact my mental health? If so, that doesn't count. Or if I think I can handle answering them but then will be devastated if they answer back doubling down on what they said, then I also count as "I can't handle it, sorry." I don't know if this is the best way to handle things, but it's how I do it.

The hardest thing is, of course, to not let other people ruin what you like for you. This is.... difficult. Every now and then I do fall out of love with things because Ugh People Suck, but I try to just.... redirect my love to something else? If someone hates, say, Ship A, aggressively loving Ship A doesn't help me - focusing on Ship B or Subplot X helps much more, because then I'm not thinking "See, this thing is amazing, why doesn't That Hater like it, wtf" - I'm not even remembering That Hater exists. This is how my brain works, but I have the attention span of a goldfish, so maybe that wouldn't work for you.

I also wanna say that having a fun offline life is Very Important. Which I know is not an option for everyone, but if it is at all for you, do try it! I have lots of media I love but don't feel the need to discuss online. I'm always reading something or another, and I can pick up a book to escape into when everybody online seems to have lost their braincells. Irl friends are awesome to have even when your actual best friend lives on the other side of the world - just having some people to chill with, even if you're not having life-changing conversations on a weekly basis, is great. Working with your hands - anything at all, from doing the dishes to some kind of craft to gardening to single-player boardgames - is (according to my childhood therapist, but I second that!) almost guaranteed to make you forget pretty much all minor annoyances and some major ones too. So you know - have some back up plan for when you feel life is horrible and people are mean and you're not allowed to enjoy anything in peace. In my personal experience, even the meanest of anon hates seems honestly pretty trivial when I get some distance from it. I still get sick when I look at them - but then I know it's my social anxiety lying to me because I was Fine when I was doing I was organizing my bookshelf and nothing's changed since then, so I should take a deep breath, delete the anon in question and go take a walk or something.

At the end of the day, if you try to fight every person online who wants to fight you, you'll be exhausted and probably attract even more people looking for a fight. There are so many of them, but only one of you! It's definitely frustrating (and baffling) that people would choose to spend their time ruining your fun, but try to not do their job for them by ruining things for yourself through spending too much thinking about whatever it is that they've said this time! Be as kind as you can be, and when all else fails, delete and block without fear - nobody is entitled to hurt you, even if it's just a minor hurt. Also pick up offline hobbies - I can't stress this enough, I swear I've been saved so many times by something as simple as watering the plants I keep killing despite my best efforts. Walking away to calm down is almost always a good choice when fight-or-flight kicks in after reading something mean, and it's just so much easier to walk away when you have something to walk away to. If you can't think of anything else - teach yourself to play solitaire using an actual deck of cards. I swear you'll get angry at the deck and forget you're angry at That One Anon Who Thinks They Get To Police Your Opinions!