#and it’s just… why wasn’t I included in that? why was I left out?

[cowboyschumi]

HEARTLESS

Summary: Lando Norris has entered his heartless era with no intention of leaving it anytime soon. Now he’s hunting for prey on Raya, and that’s where he stumbles upon you.

Author’s note: Y'all really thirst over Mister Norris, my god. English is not my first language. Enjoy the reading lovelies, interactions are much appreciated.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, cheating mention, cursing ig. Tried to be inclusive, reader's gender is not specified.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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Luisa was the best Lando ever had, everyone knew it including him, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. The only ones cheering over their breakup were jealous, parasocial thirteen-year-olds.

But that was long ago. He moved on pretty quickly, not exactly beating the cheating allegations. Russian model this, Brazilian actress that… and it was all true. There was no denying. He was really enjoying his singleness, having a blast every heated Sunday. But beyond that? Nothing. He got scared easily by commitment or brushed off any trace of a slight chance of dating someone seriously.

He didn’t know why, this tendency to avoid and escape. Deep down, he knew he was hurt. Not hurt by someone else, though. He did it all by himself, ruining the only real thing he ever had. Fans who cared pointed it out: 'His spark is missing,' 'We miss silly old Lando!'

And after claiming he didn’t want to mature because he was happy where he was, he finally matured. Or at least, he pretended to, showing himself as nonchalant and bold. Expressiveness and cameras were just a performance, because in his daily life, he still acted like a teenage boy, eager to get laid

Anyone with an average experience on dating apps knew they were the worst—a way to boost egos based on looks, only to end up rejected and discarded. Raya seemed different, more polite, you guessed. You weren’t the dating type, but curiosity got the best of you. You wanted to know what the hype was about.

Lando, on the other hand, spent most of his day on that app. Every girl swiped right on him, but he rarely matched with someone he actually liked. He wasn’t too strict about looks, he was more of a 'the bigger, the better' type of guy.

Raya wasn’t Tinder. Access was limited, and confidentiality was a must. That’s why you were really surprised when you got in after an exhausting approval process. Your friends freaked out, screamed, and practically climbed the walls of your apartment—the excitement was real. Maybe even a little more than yours.

"Hand me the phone." I don’t even know all these people you’re swiping left and right on." Your patience was limited, and your friends knew exactly how to test it. They kept using your Raya like it was theirs while you minded your own business, eating ice cream. You had no intention of swiping, and the girls knew it, that’s why they took matters into their own hands.

"Oh. My. God. Shut up."

"That’s Lando Norris!" One of them immediately snatched the phone from your friend’s hands.

"Who’s Lando Norris?"

They looked at you like you had just committed a crime, or like they’d seen a ghost behind you. You weren’t sure if your question was out of place or if it was the fact that you had just spoken with a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth

"You’re kidding, right?" Finally, one of them spoke after a long, awkward silence.

FOMO—a word used by chronically online people to describe the fear of missing out, not knowing what’s going on, feeling excluded. That was exactly how you felt for not knowing who Lando Norris was.

"Formula One driver?" Now the phone was in your hands. You were reading his description with the screen practically glued to your face, like a mom who can’t see a thing unless it’s that close.

"That guy beat Verstappen a few times, right?" That was the only thing you could come up with, just from scrolling through Twitter and catching bits of the news. You didn’t know a single thing about the sport.

And sometimes, famous people liked that: their love interests not knowing anything about them, their jobs, the rumors, or the creepy facts.

Your Raya profile didn’t have anything special, aside from your picture-perfect photos. Celebrities didn’t actually care about you deep down—only if you fit their beauty standards. Being active and checking profiles wasn’t on your to-do list. It was just pure curiosity.

But somehow, you two matched. May the universe know under what circumstances and why.

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"When will I have the chance to meet you?"

His text was blunt, like you already knew each other. Maybe even a little desperate.

"What happened to 'Hello, how are you, my name is…'?"

You answered sarcastically, but truthfully. Not introducing yourselves was kind of rude. But you got the point, Lando didn’t care about who you were or what you had to say. The quicker you ended up in his bed, the better.

He laughed at your text, you had the kind of sense of humor he’d fall for. He wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed how obsessed girls were with him and how quickly the dirty talk escalated with just one message. But to his surprise, you weren’t that easy to win over.

"Haha, sorry. Is dinner fine with you?"

Wow, he was really a bad texter. The driest you’d ever seen, dare you say. Was it a guy thing or just a wannabe mysterious famous person thing? You hoped the conversation would be better in person because, damn, it’d be a shame if his pretty face had nothing to say.

"Send me the addy. I don’t need an F1 driver picking me up, I’d rather pass."

Your fear of speed was a thing.

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Lando was attractive. You weren’t exactly interested, but nervousness ran through your veins. Dates always did this over you—stuttering, sweaty palms, and way too much overthinking. You even considered canceling, but your friends wouldn’t let you.

You were a fashion design student, meaning you had some knowledge of trends and what suited your silhouette. Lately, silky long attires were your go-to for night fits; simple, elegant. You dressed for yourself, for comfort, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention and the flattering compliments on your fashion sense.

Monaco was small. Getting anywhere was a short drive, so the Uber didn’t take long. But as you stepped out of the car, your stomach twisted. The restaurant in front of you was huge, glowing with warm lights, yet no people coming in or out. The classic internet trap flashed through your mind—what if there was no Lando Norris waiting for you at all?

“Y/N?”

His voice sounded unsure. He was glued to his phone, shamelessly checking if you actually looked like the pictures he’d been thirsting over on that awful app.

You turned around slowly, mentally cursing yourself, and then your friends. And there he was.

He really screamed Formula One driver. The expensive car gave him away immediately. You had boots on, and he was wearing sneakers, making him not nearly as tall as you expected. You bit your cheek, trying not to laugh at the fact that you were practically the same height.

How were you supposed to act on a date with someone worldwide famous?

Lando leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you instinctively extended your hand for a handshake instead. The night hadn’t even started, and you already wanted the earth to swallow you.

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm, effortlessly charming. Gentleman, innit?

You hesitated before looping your arm through his, still not saying a word. But as you stepped into the restaurant, your stomach dropped.

The place was empty. No other customers. Just you and him.

Your face went pale because there was only one explanation.

He did not…

“Mister Norris!”

A well-dressed waiter greeted him with familiarity. They knew each other. With a simple hand gesture, he led you both to your table. The level of formality made you feel like royalty.

Dim lighting, soft music. A candle flickered in the center of the round table, it had the scent of chocolate, if your nostrils weren’t failing you. The ambiance was undeniably beautiful.

He really outdid himself.

You sat down, eyes narrowing at him. "You did not rent out this whole place just for us."

"Yeah, I did."

Lando chuckled, his smile boyish—like a kid caught red-handed. You playfully shoved his shoulder, you hated surprises and gifts in any format.

Your face burned red, so you instinctively hid behind the menu. Of course, he noticed. He found it adorable.

His foot lightly tapped yours under the table, trying to get your attention. "Are we playing hide and seek now?"

You sighed, setting the menu down just so he could see you roll your eyes. "What are you ordering?" you asked in a hushed tone, like it was some kind of secret, despite the fact that no one else was around.

Your elbows rested on the table as you leaned slightly toward him. He did the same. The tiny candle was the only thing between you.

There was no need for flirtation or innuendos—the tension was already there.

For you two, banter was enough.

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"So, fashion designer, huh?" He asked, cutting his food, trying to throw the conversation toward you.

"So, Formula One driver, huh?" You mocked him, mimicking his tone—because, seriously, that was the most basic question ever. Your background was more than obvious; it was explicitly written on Raya. But you got it—he was just as nervous as you were.

One thing Lando was sure of: you weren’t like his other dates. My god, you were hard to get. An hour in, and there had been no physical contact at all—just chatter, chatter. Not that he was complaining. You were an interesting and undecipherable human being.

"How many girls have you brought here?"

You loved making people uncomfortable with your questions, especially when you already knew the answer—you just wanted to see their reaction. Lando practically choked on his food at your out-of-the-blue assumption.

"W-what?"

It was hilarious how fast he grabbed his water, like he couldn’t believe how unfiltered you were. You repeated the question, and he had no choice but to answer.

"I don’t know… two or three?"

At least he was honest. Or tried to be.

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Dinner happened, to your surprise, quickly—because time moved fast when you were really enjoying yourself, losing track of it completely. Luckily, the Formula One driver caught up with your jokes, knowing exactly how to turn them back on you. Like an Uno reverse card. For you, there was nothing more intimate than teasing each other mutually and just the right amount. Some people couldn’t take a joke, and that was such a turn-off. But Lando simply got you.

Now, you were exiting the glamorous restaurant, shoulders covered by his huge coat. Your laughter was loud, and in just two hours, you had already built inside jokes between the two of you.

"Looking forward to seeing your replacement next Sunday if you catch a cold."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing your pretty face again."

He ended all the joking with a cheeky, flirtatious remark—he knew exactly how to make a girl’s legs weak using nothing but his natural charisma.

"You never shut up, do you?"

And then you did the unthinkable.

Without thinking twice, you pulled him in, your lips merging into one. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, finally releasing all the tension and need that had been weighing on you.

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The car you once eyed as luxurious was now the place where you were making out frenetically. The kissing was obscene, neither of you knew where all that passion came from, but it was addictive.

His firm hands gripped the fabric of your branded clothing, holding your hips in place, not wanting you to make any movement against his lap. It’d be the death of him—he was already suffering a nightmare between his legs.

Your fingers instantly got lost in his curls, tangling and pulling them mid-kiss. Lando’s mouth was practically fighting against yours, turning it into the sloppiest mess. Heaven had never felt this chaotic. You took your time exploring every corner of his mouth with your tongue, while his hands traveled deliberately across your body, wishing there was no fabric separating you two. His fingertips traced you as if you were as fragile as a sculpture, slow and delicate. You melted under his touch, squirming on top of him at the barest touch. It was inoffensive, yet he knew exactly how to caress all the right places.

A shiver ran down your spine as your body suddenly felt colder than seconds ago—a thin breeze brushed against your right thigh. He was sliding up your outfit, eager to go further.

"Easy, driver." A whisper escaped your lips, breathy from all the intense air-exchanging. Your lips brushed against each other, expectant but unmoving. "I know you like adrenaline and fast things, but not tonight."

Fucking on the first date wasn’t your thing, you had at least some dignity. This wasn’t just a hook-up; a few butterflies were already flying around in your stomach, and you despised it.

With half-lidded eyes, he looked up at you, locking gazes. His puppy-blue eyes were now dark with lust. His swollen, glossy lips formed a slight pout. If you kept staring at him—at his pathetic, needy, almost convincing face—you’d be stripping down quicker than lightning.

Trying to put an end to his little show, you placed a hand over his face and shoved him away, cutting off all dangerous eye contact.

"Not tonight gives me a free pass for a second date, according to my understanding." He contradicted you, attempting to sound smart with a cocky grin spread across his face.

"You really are something else, Lando Norris." You did your thing to keep him quiet, preventing any cringey pick-up line from escaping his lips, and restarted the make-out session.

He was relieved that you’d shut him up quickly, because the longer it went on, the more he felt like verbalizing the flying feelings in his stomach.

[juyeoz]

˙ㅤ۪ 𓂋⠀FOR THE PLOT — AN 02z SMAU

026 ┆i’m sorry (1.0k words)

The time on your phone read 7:00 p.m. which signalled that Arts night had begun 10 minutes ago. You were exhausted from your date yesterday and school today, that you accidentally got swooped into dream land.

Hopefully, Yena’s performance hadn’t passed yet.

You felt terrible in your mother’s car while anxiously checking the time every so often. 

It was 7:15 p.m. when you arrived. Luckily, the ride over wasn’t as long as taking the bus. After thanking your mom, you left the car in haste and rushed over to the entrance. 

One issue was the fact Yena wasn’t there to guide you to the designated room. You had no clue how to get around at Western Academy. Hopefully, there were guides to help you get around.

At the foyer, there was a desk surrounded with people dressed in black as they all conversed with one another. A sign stood beside the table and read the entry fee which was one ticket.

The one ticket you did not have. How were you going to get in?

You backed away from the table and stood against a wall, pulling out your phone in panic. You hoped Yena was able to check her phone at such a time. 

Her messages were spammed with blue ones that were just her name in all caps. There were moments where you included the world ‘help’ but nothing got you a response. 

It was silent on her end.

There was no other way for you to get in at this point. You could have just waited it out until the performances were over. She couldn’t get mad at you for it, right? At least, hopefully she didn’t.

“Hey, are you okay?” A voice called from in front of you. You froze in response, not wanting to look up. What if they kicked you out? Then you would have wasted your mother’s time.

Hesitatingly, you looked up to where the voice came from, but to your luck, you were met with a familiar face—Park Jay.

You sighed softly, the feeling of relief washing over you. Even if your past wasn’t the best, at least it was someone you knew.

“Why are you just standing here?” He added.

“I didn’t want to get kicked out.” You answered, leaving the poor boy confused.

“What?” 

“I don’t have a ticket and Yena wanted me to come watch her performance.” You explained while shoving your phone into your pocket.

“What about you?” You asked, not sure what else you should have said.

“Volunteering. Unfortunately.” He said while pointing at the table behind him. The students were still talking amongst each other, not noticing your presence once.

“It’s quite boring despite it being the first Arts night I’ve attended.” He sighed and looked over at the students. He had no clue how to join their conversation either. 

“Hey, I have an idea.” Jay whispered, leaving you confused and worried. 

Did you really want to see what idea he had planned? Not really.

Suddenly, he took your wrist and walked up the ramp that led to the doors of the auditorium.

“I wonder what they’re performing.” He said once you two passed the table of volunteers, hoping that would deter their attention away from you. 

Luckily, with such little effort, it worked. You were surprised. His stupid plan worked.

You both entered the dark auditorium and he began to look for an empty seat from the top.

“Jay,” you began, gaining a ‘yes’ in response, but he didn’t look over at you.

“Your hand…” You said, hoping he would do something about it. 

It still held onto your wrist with a gentle grip. 

“Right, I'm sorry.” He said and let go, but it wasn’t fast enough to let your arm fall on its own. It was more like a guide.

You mumbled an ‘it’s okay’ while awkwardly slipping your hands into your back pockets as he continued to search.

“Follow me,” he said and you did as you were told.

He brought you to an empty seat with a good view of the stage, leaving you satisfied. You could definitely see Yena at this point.

“The band doesn’t come on until after this performance. I guess you were on time.” Jay said while taking a seat beside you. You hummed in response and watched the performance on stage.

During the showcase, due to the small space and single arm rest between you two, both your arms and hands grazed against each other many times. The atmosphere felt awkward the more it happened. It was obvious you both noticed it too, flinching whenever it happened.

Jay wanted to apologize for the past terribly. The urge was almost eating him whole. However, many thoughts clouded his head stopping him from doing so. Would you even care if he were to apologize? What if you forgot about the past and he had only embarrassed himself in return.

It could either go terribly right or terribly wrong. So, he did it. 

“(Name),” he began, his eyes never leaving the stage. You looked over at him in silence. This was the second time you heard him call your name after six years ever since the bake sale. 

However, this time, he said it with more certainty. He was sure it was you.

“I’m sorry.” 

You were confused by his words. Was he apologizing for the times your hands touched each other? Or was he apologizing for grabbing your wrist without hesitation earlier? 

Which one was it?

“For what?” You asked. You wanted to accept his apology on its own, but you wouldn’t have known what you were forgiving him for.

“The past. From kindergarten to eighth grade and the awkward tension between us throughout the years. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable and embarrassed in my presence, so I distanced myself from you, creating the said tension.” 

Oh, well, nothing could have prepared you for that.

You were unsure about what to say. You had no clue this was how he felt throughout both elementary and middle school. The only response you could get out wasn’t the best option after all he had said, but it was the only option you had.

“It’s okay, I forgot about it anyways.”

Yeah, you could have definitely done better than that.

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© JUYEOZ

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 23

Here we are, the penultimate chapter. And the second sex scene. So definitely be forewarned there. This is the chapter where they talk and Steve explains the title. Well, they both do really.

I'm sad to see this story end, but I've got so many good stories waiting in the wings so it's a good thing, too.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

~

Steve was waiting up in the foray of the hotel lobby reading the newspaper when Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin got in.

He looked up at the sound of the chains and jewelry jingling above the hushed whispers. They all looked happy and excited. Which meant their day with Mike went well. Which was good.

Eddie spotted Steve first and stopped in his tracks, as around him the boys rough housed. Then one by one they too spotted Steve. They took in what he was wearing and teased Eddie before they left him standing there, staring at Steve, frozen in place.

Steve was wearing a white suit with a sheer white mesh top, so that it neatly showed off his hairy chest and happy trail. His hair was artfully styled and the whole outfit was topped off with black designer boots. In other words he sat there looking like sex on legs.

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair as he placed the other hand on his hip. “Damn, little Canary, you look good enough to eat.”

Steve smirked, licking his upper lip. He put away the newspaper carefully and deliberately. Then he stood up and Eddie was able to take in the full effect including that delicious show of the outline of Steve’s cock.

Eddie crooked his finger and Steve came willingly. Eddie tugged on the golden chain around Steve’s neck and pulled out the gold and citrine canary necklace that Eddie had given to Steve that first day at the hotel.

“Are you mine, baby?” he purred. “Have you decided that you’ll take everything I have to offer. But especially me?”

Steve nodded looking into his eyes. “Everyone kept calling me a kept man or sugar baby to your sugar daddy. But both of those things imply that I’m accepting everything you gave in exchange for sex. But we’ve only ever had sex the once.”

Eddie smiled softly. “That’s right, little Canary. You’re not either of those things. So what are you then?”

“I’m a caged bird,” Steve replied with a soft smile. “The price for a roof over my head and all my needs met is a cage. On that is open for me to fly out at any time, but why would I want to? Not when I have you to take care of me.”

“The caged bird still sings,” Eddie said, his smile growing, “because it is loved and cared for, is that it?”

Steve’s smile transformed into a grin. “Yeah.”

“I like the metaphor, little Canary,” Eddie breathed and then pressed his lips to Steve’s, his fingers still wrapped around the necklace, keeping Steve tethered to him.

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck and leaned into the kiss. Eddie’s free hand slid under the jacket of the suit and to the small of Steve’s back, pressing them even further together.

“You look too pretty to just take you up to your room and rip those delicious clothes off,” Eddie murmured. “So let me at least buy you a drink in the hotel bar and chat you up a bit first.”

Steve giggled and nuzzled their noses together. “I think that sounds like a great idea, Eddie.”

Eddie shivered at the sheer desire in Steve’s voice. It took everything in his power to take that step back, and slide his hand into Steve’s. Then he led the way to the bar and ordered them both a drink.

“So what made you decide you wanted this with me, darlin’?” Eddie purred as he swirled around the whiskey in his hand.

Steve cocked his head to side as he sincerely thought about it. “I think the first step was bitching out Chrissy for her ideas about us. I wasn’t going to let her chose the narrative of someone she had only met once in a dimly lit bar. I may have been a queen bitch in high school, but trust me, I won’t stand for people talking shit about me behind my back if I can help it.”

“That was an impressive speech you gave, little Canary,” Eddie murmured, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

“Like before you came back,” Steve murmured, running his fingers through his hair nervously, “I had even wondered if the only reason I wasn’t your sugar baby was because you were on tour. But then you came home and were so respectful, it kind of pushed those thoughts out of my head.”

Eddie smiled gently and took Steve’s hand to give it a squeeze. “That was what I was hoping I was doing.”

“Congrats, it really worked,” Steve replied with a chuckle. “Then when I met your uncle and saw his home and the life you had given him.” He shook his head fondly. “Then you said that me marrying you for buy me a house was an incentive and not a deterrent...I–”

“And you wanted that too,” Eddie finished for him. “Make no mistake, little Canary, I will buy you a house with everything you’ve every wanted in a home and make it ours.

Steve blushed and then got this far away look in his eyes and sighed wistfully. “Then when you got out of your car to pick up Mike, it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen and I wanted all of it. I want to be your little Canary, I want to sing for you in all the ways I know how. So Robin helped me pick out the outfit to seduce you in.”

“Consider me seduced,” Eddie purred. “I wasn’t lying when I said you looked good enough to eat.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head. He looked up at Eddie through his lashes. “I can’t wait for you to take care of me.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and his nostrils flared as his desire ramped up. “Damn, little Canary, I’m going to make you feel so good, you’ll think you rocketed to the moon with all the stars you’ll be seeing.”

Steve through back his head and laughed. “I wasn’t aiming for an innuendo, but I really still should have seen that one coming–” He stopped to snort at his own joke. “Wrong word! God!”

Eddie burst out laughing too. “Someone’s got sex on the brain today,” he smirked, wagging his eyebrows.

“Have you looked in the mirror, babe?” Steve purred. “I’m pretty sure you short-circuited poor Mike’s brain when you stepped out of that sports car. It took everything I had not jump you right there in front of the thirteen year old.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about what I was wearing today,” Eddie said with a huff of laughter. He took a sip of his whiskey, his other hand never leaving Steve’s. “I just threw on what was clean and that I would be comfortable recording in.”

Steve smiled. “Well it worked on me.”

Eddie hummed his agreement.

They talked and had a couple of drinks, just reveling in each other’s company. Like they were slotted into each other’s lives like they had always been right there.

Then Eddie stood up and gently led Steve up the elevator to Eddie’s room. It was almost identical to Steve’s, but minus all the bird paraphernalia and instead covered with guitars and band merch.

His hands came up and slowly slid Steve’s suit jacket off his shoulders and on to the floor. Steve smirked, but allowed Eddie to undress him. Eddie untucked the shirt and got his fingertips on the happy trail that had been tantalizing him all night.

Steve let out a little gasp of pleasure as Eddie’s thumbs caught in his belt loops, pulling them closer together. Then the shirt came off and Eddie sank to his knees, pulling on the belt to undo it. He unbottoned and unzipped the pants.

Eddie licked his lips at the sight before him. “Naughty boy, going commando in those tight pants. You must be a sin.”

“I thought I was your angel,” Steve breathed, burying his hands into his own hair, back arching from the sheer want rolling off Eddie in waves. “I’m pretty sure you called me heaven sent at the very least.”

Eddie’s head rocked back and looked up from the tasty, teasing morsel in front of him. “You remember that?”

Steve grinned. “I don’t remember a lot about what happened that, but yeah. I called you sin and you called me heaven sent.”

“Well, I take it back, baby,” Eddie said, returning his attention back on the bounty in front of him. “You’re sin and I’m the sinner.” He slid Steve’s pants down his legs and then gently removed each boot until Steve was standing in front of him stark naked and looking good enough to eat.

“I’m going to feast tonight,” he murmured and then slowly stood back up. He kissed Steve deeply as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, his hands going for that gorgeous ass. He swept Steve off his feet and carried him laughingly to the bed.

He gently laid Steve on the bed and then began to strip himself. Steve propped himself up on his elbows as he watched Eddie uncover more and more of his skin. And that’s when he spotted it; a new tattoo.

Right where the torso met the leg was a little yellow canary.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Eddie said lasciviously. He crawled on the bed and straddled Steve’s thighs.

Steve flopped back onto the pillows and his thumb rubbed the tattoo. Then he looked up adoringly at Eddie. “When did you get that?”

“You like that?” Eddie teased and then kissed him on the lips. He whispered into Steve’s ear, “I got that in Indy the day after I met you, baby.”

Steve moaned, throwing his head back. “It took me four months to realize I was in love with you, but here you are going out and getting a tattoo about me the next day! I thought I was unhinged.”

“Sorry, Stevie,” Eddie cackled, “but you had me hooked since day one.”

He grabbed the lube from his nightstand and pressed a kiss to Steve’s neck. “I’ve spent so much time jerking off to that first time because it was all I could think about.”

Steve’s body shuddered with desire and lust. “I’ve come thinking about you, too. Your voice has the power to turn me on like nothing else.”

“You like my voice, baby?” Eddie purred as ground down, causing Steve to gasp. “You like it when I talk to you?” Steve nodded, biting on his lip.

“The things I’m going to do to you, pretty boy,” he continued, his free hand tracing the lines of Steve’s torso, going low.

Steve grabbed Eddie’s thighs for dear life as Eddie kept grinding their cocks together.

“I’m going to lube you up,” Eddie purred. “I’m going spread those pretty thighs, so deliciously thick.” He slithered down the bed to bite Steve’s left thigh, causing Steve’s back to arch off the bed.

Eddie spread his legs, kissing and biting where he could. “Then I’m going to start with one finger all nice and slick from the lube.”

Action followed his words and he pressed one finger into Steve’s hole.

“Oh god!” Steve breathed. “It feels so good.”

Eddie continued to work at Steve’s hole, pushing in and out as his other hand wandered over his thighs, his stomach, his sides, everywhere but his cock.

“Then I’m going to add a second finger,” Eddie purred. “Really work you open.”

He must have hit a really good spot because Steve shuddered and moaned. “Look at you, little Canary. Singing for me.”

Steve’s sounds got louder and more enthusiastic with that little encouragement.

Eddie kept describing what he was going to do and then doing until Steve was on the edge and was as open as Eddie could comfortably get him.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, lining up his cock.

“Yes, Eddie,” Steve begged. “I need you fuck me so good. I need it.”

As Eddie slid in he leaned over to kiss Steve filthily on the mouth. “And whatever you need I’m here to give it to you.”

Steve whimpered. “You’re so good to me.”

“It is my honest pleasure.”

Eddie began thrusting deep inside him, Steve continuing to make the most delicious sounds as they fucked.

“Touch me, Eddie,” Steve murmured. “Let me come. I want to come, please. I need it, so much.”

“”You’ve got it, Stevie,” he said softly. “I want us to come together, do you think you can hold off just a little more?”

Steve’s eyes were wide and blown with desire. “I’ll try. For you.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “I know. You’re so good to me.”

He gently took Steve’s cock in hand and began to slide up and down in time with his thrusts.

Soon Steve was arching off the bed. “Please, Eddie!”

“Go ahead, baby,” Eddie moaned. “Come for me.”

He jerked his hips one more time and was coming in Steve as he spurted out ribbon after ribbon of cum all over his chest.

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut as he finished. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that Steve was completely blissed out underneath him.

He pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s jaw and then got up to clean them off. When he came back with a wet hand towel, he had to stop and stare at the sight before him.

Steve had one arm thrown behind his head and the other hand was pressed into the cooling cum on his stomach, panting for breath.

“Did I wear you out, little Canary?” Eddie teased as he loped over to the bed.

“Fuck, Eddie,” he murmured. “If this how sex is going to be all the time, I don’t think I’ll ever get out of bed ever again.”

Eddie chuckled and then got to work cleaning up his newly minted boyfriend. Then he tucked them into the large bed.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered into Steve’s ear as they curled up together.

Steve pecked his lips. “I love you too, Eddie. So much.”

Then they drifted off to sleep together.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[randomfoggytiger]

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (My Struggle II), Part VIII

TLDR: Mulder's passenger princess episode.

AGENDA GOING IN

Okay. 

We’re back.  

It’s been awhile (five months) since the last update-- how time flies~. 

My thoughts going in: please, enjoy my suffering. Know that these are the rantings of a mad man and don't take anything to heart. Come, let us all gather to loathe (with snacks, of course) this bloated behemoth that chased its own tail right up into its internal organs.

**Note**: All previous parts can be found under the Revival Reviler's first-time watch through and A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try tags; and all my previously documented react projects are easily accessible under the React tag. 

MY STRUGGLE II

Welp, it’s time to press play. 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII didn’t miss this. At all. 

Oh, thanks for the succinct summary of My Struggle I-- you forgot to include the fact that Mulder hadn’t had a breakdown or disconnect from reality, that Scully left him fearing he would, and that she waited in the wings waiting for him to have a breakdown for x amount of months or years. And that she’s jealous of a young blonde woman who she effectively stabbed with a medical instrument when that woman as A. in her care and B. afraid for her life and trying to prove her innocence. And that Mulder already knew the world wouldn’t end right before or right after Colonization… so his breakdown (which he didn’t have) wasn’t connected to Colonization not happening. 

And also that he and Scully are and aren’t and will and won’t get together. 

And that she was nearly seduced by an Alex Jones type figure. 

Just wanted to remind myself of aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall the garbage I had to weed through in a previous post here. Sigh. 

LET CSM DIE. 

You can’t just have Scully start narrating-- well, CC can because My Struggle I was Mulder’s Struggle, and My Struggle II is Scully’s, as he said-- and show me all these cool moments and then… bring us back to present. 

Why would you do this to my poor, woe-be-gone soul? 

Also… most of the pictures we're shown make no sense because those were from private, no-camera-in-sight interludes between Mulder and Scully. Were there no pictures from interviews, or before Congress, or from identification photos, or on crime scenes (i.e. the one from The End) for the writers to grab, or…? YES this is a nitpick, yes I’m petty, yes this is only 2 minutes in. 

I will say: this is the most recognizable "Scully" voice yet-- Gillian is tapping into that dreamlike, detached, floating accent that her character of yore used to narrate with. …And to know the camera is going to switch over to her off-brand Scully hair and off-brand X-Files story is… not great. 

“Abducted from my home by unknown assailants--” MA’AM, even the FLASHBACK PHOTOS show Duane Barry. YOU KNEW HE WAS THE ONE KIDNAPPING YOU AT THE TIME, NOT THAT THE GOVERNMENT WAS BEHIND IT. PLEASE, I’m barely three minutes in, spare me. 

“Tests [that she was subjected to] that I now suspect are part of a larger conspiracy--” MA’AM. Only now?Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase. 

“Questions remain… about their motives and final objectives.” Um… for a secret cabal focused on “consolidating” power “at home” and “across the globe”... I think, don’t quote me on this, but I think YOU GOT YOUR MOTIVE RIGHT THERE.

...Yeah. Um. Guess alien blinks sound like camera shutters.

THIS IS THE END says the title card. 'Kay.

Oh, so we're focusing on Scully this episode. Mulder's not in the basement (or will be found? in the basement?) ...Does this parallel My Struggle III when Mulder finds Scully in a coma on the basement floor? Is that in MSIII?

That's it, I'm putting this on 1.75 speed.

Okay, six weeks have passed since My Struggle I. ...You know, what is a reasonable timeline? What is canon? What is anything, really?

Go AWAY Tad O'Malley. "What may seem like science fiction is now scientific facts" UGH.

...What's with the strange up-close, snap out, and float in dramatic angles? ...I know it's for the updated show, but sometimes it's too... it's too.... Goofy. There, I said it. It's goofy. They're wasted on inconsequential moments to build artificial tension. Those effects should be saved for times when it matters, not "Character A walks in, sits down, listens to under 30 seconds of alien DNA stuff, ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM, SWOOSH, WHOOSH, PHONE CALL, floooooooooat iiiiiiiiiin."

Ugh.

FURTHER PROOF THAT SEASON 10 HAD THE WORST MAKEUP:

This, this, THIS is Gillian's up-close shot? THIS?? Crust between her eyebrows creating an almost unibrow??? Cracking under her right eye???? Green poking through her concealer????? Cakey, pasty vinyl on her cheeks?????? Is she molting?????????

Compare to Milagro and you'll see that OH, WOW, the above is bad.

This plot is so mind-numbingly convenient:

Scully shows up at the office, Mulder's not there.

Scully sits down because Mulder's device is playing Tad out loud.

Just as she reaches the pertinent part, Tad calls (not because he's a weirdo who was waiting for his show to reach that beat, noooooo, just because he needed to call her, of course.)

Tad needs to talk.

Scully drives to Mulder's house where Tad is: her partner's missing: he had a meeting with Tad there and never showed.

Convenient. Just soooooooo convenient. And this one minute of drama all conveniently comes together six weeks after the Revival's first episode. Despite other cases she and Mulder investigated that would require a ton of time to solve and catalog. Uh huh.

This is definitely, absolutely, 100% realistic. Definitely.

Tad talking sense into Scully. Nope, don't like that.

1.75x is the perfect speed for this, it really highlights how random and nonsensical all these actions and passing conveniences are.

Scully doesn't listen, calls police to find Mulder.

Skinner and Einstein are in the office? And she's consulting them? Idon'tcaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare.

"I'm afraid he fears my judgment," says Scully about Mulder not leaving a note. "That I might think he's crazy or not."

...

......

.........

..............

You can't hear it, but I'm sighing away Deep Throat and the Season 4 Max two-parter and Folie a Deux....

Scully.

Writers.

Don't insult me.

Bumping this up to 2x.

"No one has the right or the ability to tamper with your DNA," insists Einstein.

"Unless we gave them that ability."

...What. (Note from the future: That line still doesn't make sense.)

IWTB hospital and first wave of patients (unbeknownst to Scully and Einstein.) Sigh.

Mulder lookin' not too good in his car. Sigh.

I wish I had a 3x opinion.

WHY are we looking at characters through IVF pols and etc. while they deliver (rehashed) important dialogue (again)? Because it's artsy? It's stupid.

I'm not even 10 minutes in.

"The science that we were taught takes us but a distance towards the truth."

Setting that statement aside-- because it contradicts many high and noble monologues from the original series that Scully HERSELF spoke-- Einstein talks with "ums" and snappy, modern lingo while Scully still speaks as she did in the original run: a touch flowery, a touch otherworldly, a touch pastiche or purple prose.

This not only distracts but frustrates because the Revival dialogue flip flops on this distinction constantly: Mulder and Scully sounding like themselves (sometimes too young and too purple-prosy) one second then "updated", modern mouthpieces-- using words like "homey" and "the internet" unironically-- the next.

I'm so... look. Okay, yes, we're going there.

Actually, no, I need to go outside for a bit first, then we're going there.

...I'm back.

So. Let's be super, super honest here: Chris Carter is trying to appeal to a (then) mass, general perspective of his intelligence. He wants to be seen as the smartest genius TM when it comes to discerning "the truth" and seeing through "the lies." He did this more deftly with characters such as Deep Throat, Max Fenig (who Morgan and Wong created, actually), and other like-minded tie-ins to a greater conspiracy. Fox Mulder was the epitome of how to do this concept right: Mulder routinely fought to separate his message from the pencil pushers and the quacks-- those who implied he was "in on it" because he was a Fed (and therefore, a Jew) and those who went too far in their conspiracies while on an earnest hunt to expose the truth (the fringe radicals or not-so-radicals.) Carter even played with conspiracy theorist nuts well with The Lone Gunmen (who were also created by Morgan and Wong), three dudes who felt betrayed by the government but could also trip up over the strip of metallic paper in their $20.

Why did all the aforementioned examples work whereas Tad O'Malley does not? It's not because conspiracy theories were on the rise in 2015-- that just removes any excuse from the writers, who could have studied and cleverly built up on that "phenomenon." And no, it's not because CC secretly likes or encourages those fringe or peripheral thought experiments-- his bent leans the opposite way, which makes this situation even more irritating.)

You cannot have a conspiracy theorist be right about everything. Not only does it hinder your message, it then promotes that vein of thinking: that all counter-culture is probably correct because it chooses to explore what others are too afraid to (Scully) or what the government is suppressing for their own interests. And why is this so... for lack of a better word, idiotic?

Conspiracy theorists are just people like you and me: they're human, and they're often wrong. Their motives might come from a universal place, and they can be right about a few things (broken clock is right twice a day, etc.), but that doesn't mean they're infallible, either.

Tad O'Malley, meanwhile, is proven right over Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Fox Mulder. And Dana Scully. Again and again.

What the writers were trying to do is point out our own perception bias and highlight our own ignorance, ala Max Fenig. Why they succeeded then-- Max was right enough and wrong enough-- is why they failed now: Tad is right, always, because the plot needed him to be. His irrationality-- believing in chemtrail and microwaves and etc.-- still serves as a truth machine to the people; and he is still painted as a heroic figure bringing hope to the masses in times of crisis.

I know the writers' point: truth and hope can come from the unlikeliest places because we're all human and we all want each other to survive. That's nice. Put it in the script next time.

In short: it's because Carter and his writers, all of them, were lazy. In trying to subvert the new norm-- the rising growth in conspiracy theorists like QAnon or Alex Jones-- and trying to prove how they could take an established trope most of the public disliked and invert it (as he did with UFOs in the 90s), CC fell into an obvious trap: he forgot to make it make sense-- or, worse, didn't see the value in doing so and, thus, didn't care.

And why does this boil down to laziness? Because CC has the next goal to reach, the next car to explode, the next up close shot and lens flare to chase!!!!! HE doesn't have TIME for piddly quibbles!!!! He doesn't have TIME to flesh out what should remain a mystery!!!!!!!! He has to chase the mystery, guys, don't you get it, guys, there's ALIENS out there, guys, but it's NOT aliens it's THE GOVERNMENT, GUYS!!!!!! Aren't I so clever??? YOU THOUGHT IT WAS ALIENS THIS WHOLE TIME BUT IT WAS THE GOVERNMENT, HAHA!!! YOU THOUGHT SCULLY WOULD STAND BY MULDER EVEN IF SHE THOUGHT HE WAS CRAZY, HAHA!!!!! YOU THOUGHT TAD O'MALLEY WAS LIKE ALEX JONES, HAHA!!!!! I FOOLED YOU ALL!!!!!!!!!!!

Laziness. Absolute laziness.

Also: Tad's show is called SQUAD. He and his squad'. I just... wanna die.

Also also: Tad's show sure is getting a lot of press. And do you know why he's getting a lot of press? Because in canon, his show was forcibly shut down by the government.

Hm. Now wouldn't that be a more honest and interesting plot line if the writers wanted to set the show in current-day politics (a show that wasn't about politics to begin with, but I digress)? That Tad might be so wrong that his program became dangerous; and that the government then overstepped their power to suppress those claims and, in effect, gave him a microphone because of that unlawful suppression? And wouldn't it be more complicated if Tad got his hands on valuable information right before everyone became ill, and the public then began to buy into his message because he "predicted" what would happen while the government was divided into two camps: those who were ignorant and those who were effecting global change (i.e. the Syndicate remnant)? Like Kersh and CSM, for example? Y'know, the threads that were established and dropped previously? Wouldn't that fit The X-Files in the modern age, that the government can't get away with outright suppression like it used to? That even those who try to do good can effect evil if they handle it wrongly? Wouldn't that also prove to the audience that Mulder is in a different class than regular conspiracy theory nuts; and that Scully was intelligent enough to clock that he was being duped and save him from swallowing the lie?

Again, absolute laziness.

Also also also, the vaccines are attacking these peoples' immune systems because they've effectively been immunocompromised.

And while that's all maybe scientifically fine and dandy, you've gotta PROVE THAT, CC. Instead, Scully sees one patient-- who she doesn't know is a military vet-- and just. A. assumes he's a vet, B. that he's had a mandatory anthrax vaccine, and C. that it's the vaccine that's killing him because it's suppressing the veterans' immune systems....

Oh by the way, we're TOLD all that because it would be too much work to devote any time to building up to or even proving that assertion, claim, or theory. ...WE HAD A BLUE PRINT IN F. EMASCULATA, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, IT SHOULDN'T BE THIS DIFFICULT.

Scully jumps on a global contagion theory... because... Tad's guest said it would happen. And she jumps on that because... Mulder's gone and also because.... she trusts that he's figured out a similar conspiracy theory. And she jumps on this before waiting for Einstein's DNA results because... there's not enough time (despite doing two time-consuming medical tests later on.)

The writers' intent: to show off Scully's intelligence, to prove she trusts Mulder's instincts and her gut despite her scientific brain shooting those instincts down as conspiracy.

The reality.... she just jumped on a random theory to keep the plot rolling. ...WHY.

Scully... never checked... Mulder's computer... to track... his phone....

And Miller just stumbled across it on Mulder's OPEN LAPTOP.

I'm.

I'm.

LAZINESS. Lazy, lazy, LAZY.

I hate the dialogue in this episode so much:

Characters flip ideas on a whim, seemingly at random because the writers needed to stall the episode's progress.

Characters announce themselves not by name but by, "I was there for you when you needed help [last time]" because the writers needed a "who's that????" for commercials.

Other ugh-ery factors. >:///////

"Agent Scully."

"Agent Reyes. Monica."

Thanks for the unnecessary exposition.

"I wish this were in better circumstances. I wish a lot of things were different here today."

"You have something to tell me?"

"Something you need to know."

...Shut up. This dialogue....

"How long have you been at the FBI?"

SCULLY THIS ISN'T IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW.

Firstly, literally the stupidest explanation for CSM's return.

Secondly, I don't care about this scene or this reintroduced character because Monica goes full-on villain arc later. Here, Gish plays her as someone strong-armed into compromises for the greater good... but since that doesn't last....

Pffffffft, I don't care.

WHY. ARE. THERE. SO. MANY. UP-CLOSE SHOTS. OF. THEIR. FACES. FOR. NO. REASON.

Wait, ALIENS ARE BACK ON THE MENU, BOYS. But they were never evil, oh noooooooooooooo, definitely not. We just used their incredible science for evil and blamed THEM. (Despite those innocents abducting and cutting Mulder open. And turning the Requiem population into super soldiers-- yeah, remember those? You're right-- I don't either. )The truest shame the human race ever did. Tragic.

So, Monica compromised because she wanted to be "one of the chosen"/"one of the elites" to survive.... But tries to frame it as she did it to help? Scully? Who was already "one of the chosen" because her genome was already tampered with during her first ever abduction?

So.

Monica effected nothing, is bound to he CSM forever, and will live.

And... how does that help anyone, exactly?

Honestly. What's her plot. she's just a coward. She did nothing and achieved nothing except get "sealed" and serve CSM smokes.

Lot of unnecessary lingerings on CSM smoking, btw. Could have cut that down so the episode doesn't feel so rough-shod.

"He loves Mulder," blabs Monica. "He sent a man to him to offer him a deal."

Mulder fight montage. ...Okay, fine, nice, you got your punches in, that's okay, fine. But there had BETTER be a reason for this sequence.

I'm waiting--

WAIT, THE GUY'S TRYING TO KILL HIM OR CHOKE HIM OUT, WHAT. CSM SENT HIM OVER TO SAVE MULDER BUT, BUT, WHAT--

Okay, now the fight's becoming too long and silly.

GUN'S OUT??? How is this supposed to SAVE Mulder, again??

More fighting, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh, I just know this is going to end with a "Wait, wait, I'm here because--" moment....

Even worse: Mulder gets the upper hand, asks, "Who sent you?", and goes to CSM anyway.

THAT WAS A WASTE OF TIME.

I hate, hate, hate the dialogue. "I've always won badminton"/"You never won, I controlled the game in your and my favor before you were born"/"I don't believe my beloved badminton is rigged"/"You don't want to believe."

Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking.

Pause for smoking again.

Do you know that every word on a script's page is calculated for time spent to film, down to a second's worth? That not only do the writers'plot out sequences, but someone else they hire cuts through and marks their writing with that timetable, leaving very little flexibility for too many add-ons or add-libs (unless succinct, quick, and carefully slotted in?)

And the writers plotted for how many neck-smoking sequences?

Wow.

Mulder smacking CSM's cig away would have been nice if it hadn't been squandered by the up-close DID YOU CATCH IT shots back and forth. And the fact we had a better moment from a better era (Talitha Cumi) that did this, too. SEE, FANS, YOU CAN DO PARALLEL GIFS NOW-- aren't you happy?????

CSM sounds so Canadian. Guess WBD didn't watch out for his vowels anymore? I guess?

At this point, just.... Is there any reason why Mulder doesn't pull the trigger? YES, I KNOW real Mulder wouldn't. But this is Earth 2 Mulder. This is Clone!Mulder. This is... what did I call him in my Weremonster review (post here)? Oh, yeah: this is Ken; and he'd leave a slug in CSM's head for his Barbie. Why not? For me, do it for meeeeeeeeee.

We're back to this: Tad O'Malley 's characterization is, perhaps, THE PEAK EXAMPLE of lazy writing. (That or Scully's continued butchery....)

"The mainstream media doesn't cover" etc. etc. Well guess what? Both sides don't cover what's not advantageous to their narrative; but further, WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULDN'T COVER THIS NEWS STORY? We haven't established in canon if the media is or isn't in pocket with the Syndicate. Regardless, they'd be scrambling with 24/7 coverage for answers or an attempt at a cover up. What should have happened instead was that the media wasn't following the story to public's satisfaction and Tad filled that void, which would reveal a selfish, megalomaniacal streak to his nature-- the classic tale of drunk on power and corrupt with unchecked influence. INSTEAD, he's right.

And Chris Carter, by proxy, turns himself and his writing and his analytical prowess into a mere, perfunctory jape. (I'm not the type to hate, despise, or even dislike CC. I'm really not. But this is a stretch too far; and his later dogged insistence that we didn't get it is an even further, even more insulting stretch.)

I think? Chris tried to inject nuance-- that Tad was wrong because he deduced the cause of the virus to CHEMTRAILS, of all things-- but... the episode hasn't said it's not chemtrails, NOW HAS IT. You can't have one thing be held up as possible proof without debunking it or, I don't know, at least addressing how stupid that is.

Wait, did they even explain how everyone got sick? Or why was the military hit first? Or why there weren't huge swatches of the immuno-compromised population that came down with the virus first?

DON'T ASK, JUST CONSUME PRODUCT.

I'm only half-way through.

Spartan virus.

Oh, so Monica Reyes told her about the virus. Off-screen. ...So Monica's scene was still a waste because it established nothing important in two or three minutes, then kept necessary information off-screen so Scully could relay it later on x2 speed. ...Got it.

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy. And stupid.

Stupid.

"I'm on the king's throne, it's soft like the king"/"On the contrary--" ARE WE IN MIDDLE-SCHOOL??? "MY INSULT IS BETTER THAN YOURS"? "I'M CLEVERER THAN YOU BECAUSE I USED THE SAME WORD BUT TWISTED IT A DIFFERENT WAY"?????? WHAT IS THIS.

CC's trying to have his Grand Inquisitor Talitha Cumi moment but forgot it was David Duchovny, not himself, that managed to pull off those concepts... because they were DD's ideas and interests. And because he was, I dunno, not cringe about it.

Welp, we've skipped past Dostoevsky and gone straight to Leroux. Or more likely Webber, since he popularized Phantom of the Opera.

I'm so.

My Struggle II isn't even angering because all of it is rehashed Wattpad: early elementary and middle school creative writing exercises. At least something's HAPPENING. It's just... eye roll worthy.

CSM's still lustin' after Scully?????? Bro just won't let it go.

Okay, I'm gonna say it: CC's setting this guy up to be a virile patriarchal figurehead-- as in, be fruitful and multiply. Mulder's become his Cain son (cursed by God) and he intends to build a new legacy through Seth, i.e. Jackson, I presume; or a second miraculous baby from Scully. BECAUSE THAT'S THE IMPLICATION, btw.

Scully's alien DNA's gone. It just comes and goes when the plot needs it to, huh?

Tad's back. Microwave radiation as far as Europe. Cute.

The lights go out. Scully remarks they're already in the dark. The lights come back on. Scully has a ground-breaking idea. Subtle.

Einstein's up-close makeup is also crusty and gross. Sigh.

THEIR SAMPLE OF SCULLY'S ALIEN DNA WAS TOO SMALL??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? THEY DIDN'T FACTOR IN THE POSSIBILITY OF NEEDING ENOUGH TO TEST ON/WITH AND TAKE A LARGER SAMPLE FROM THE GET-GO OR SOMETHING????????????

Oh, Mulder didn't even bother to leave CSM's place?? (In South Carolina, btw. That's a callback for us Earth 2 theorists, as the writers referred to us fans via TLG and Mulder in Blood.) Mulder just gave up and laid back on CSM's comfy chair to die?????

MULDER DIDN''T LIMP BACK TO SCULLY'S SIDE TO DIE WHEN HE KNEW CSM WAS IMPLYING HE WOULD SCOOP HER UP-- NOT EVEN TO WARN SCULLY, AND JUST DECIDED TO LIE BACK AND DIE???????????????????????????????????????? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS "GET UP AND FIGHT" REALIZATION in AMOR FATI?????? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM ALWAYS GOING BACK TO HER BECAUSE SHE MAKES HIM A WHOLE PERSON????? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM DOING THE IMPOSSIBLE TO WARN HER SHE'S IN DANGER????????????????????????????????? WHERE IS MULDER, AND CAN SOMEONE PLEASE GET A REFUND FOR EARTH 2 MULDER AND SCULLY?

Miller found him. Just. Peachy.

Why did I just get a flashback to Bill Mulder's death? Probably because Mulder Lite is saving older gen Mulder. UGH.

Little Mulder Lite has more grits and guts than his predecessor. That's... that.

CSM-- who was just chillin' as Mulder lay fully consumed by the majesty of impending death on a comfy cushion-- lets 'em go, I guess.

The scientists are just rehashing dialogue. That's all they do this episode, unfortunately.

CSM literally waddled out after them to see Mulder off and tell Mulder Lite to say "Goodbye" from him.

...

.....

........

How far The X-Files have fallen.

That's a fancy car. Guess Miller, too, has a stack of cash we Earth 2 theorists can headcanon that his parents left him after some tragic fate. Whatevs.

Look at the pathetic mew mew-- the absolute wet, sopping beast-- in the passenger seat. Glad it's not Mulder-- that would be demoralizing, ha ha ha....

Only about 7 minutes left.

Wait.

WAIT.

WAIT, WAIT, WAIT.

Scully's giving everyone alien DNA. How's that gonna--

And also: they already have alien DNA. They were all born with it. It's junk DNA in their system. We learned this from the ORIGINAL SERIES.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Tad, I do not CARE.

Scully just stops someone from causing havoc and chaos because she... begs them? To go to the hospital? And promises them help is on the way?

Lady, they don't know who you are. And if these are disaffected rioters and looters, they're not gonna listen to, let alone believe, you.

WAIT.

THEY HAVE A VACCINE?????? JUST LIKE THAT??????? IN A MATTER OF HOURS???????????????????????

Also, Tad O'Malley just got a text and that's how everyone found out? Who texted him? Miller? How did Miller know? Did Scully tell him? What? What, what what, WHAT.

...Is the hospital using Scully's DNA now to make more vaccines? Is that why she's free to run around the city? Free to meet Mulder and Miller and help them? UM.

UM.

Are there even any reported deaths? Legitimately asking that.

It's all so illogical I'm not going to try to parcel it out.

This episode is brought to you by a man who believes only six weeks have elapsed since My Struggle I. More knucklehead comedy after the break.

Scully meets up with them at the bridge.

Mulder says... Mulder says: "He saved your life. Old Smokey. I suppose I should thank him."

...Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Yes, it's a quip. At least it's supposed to be one: Mulder, irreverent to the last. EXCEPT HE MIGHT BELIEVE IT BECAUSE THE WRITING'S SO LAZY WE'RE NOT SHOWN WHAT HE ACTUALLY THINKS OR FEELS.

SCULLY takes ONE look at him and thinks, "Ah, snap, he needs more than what I brought, snap. A vaccine might not save him, snap." HELLO, how do you know that, ma'am. How does she know that, writers? IS ANYONE AWAKE IN THE WRITING ROOM?

PLEASE GIVE ME A SHOW OF HANDS BY WAVING YOUR HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMAS.

Embarrassingly lazy.

OH, SUDDENLY SCULLY NEED TO FIND WILLIAM. Not because she has guilt for him, not because she wants to atone and make things right, not because she wants closure.... but BECAUSE MULDER NEEDS HIS STEM CELLS, PROBABLY. WHAT???????????????

EVEN IF YOU DO, SUDDENLY, FIND WILLIAM ASAP,

MULDER WILL BE DEAD

BY THEN.

Oh, look: lens flares. Because that's what's important.

UFO's here, I guess.

Uh.

Also.

Um.

Wouldn't it be funny if that was William and he was riding down to join his parents after the aliens reclaimed him at some point, like Gonzo's alien family in one of the Muppet movies? I wouldn't put it past the show in all honesty.

What a ghastly but whimsical mess. Aspirational child's first major writing project. It's kind of sweet through that lens.

And then you remember who wrote this and die a little inside.

Let's consolidate this madness:

The Syndicate gained alien technology from the aliens (it's in the name) in the 50s. The aliens were peaceful creatures, I guess, who didn't really want to cause anyone problems.

Colonization didn't happen in 2012 because the aliens weren't going to colonize because humans were going to destroy the planet through global warming.

Mulder knew Colonization wouldn't happen before 2012, which means his depression didn't stem from that. He just got uber depressed (and diagnosed with the wrong depression, ahem ahem) and... yep.

Scully left before Mulder's depression got really bad. There is no mention in canon how bad it got, ONLY that she feared it would be worse and left. The best explanation we're given (in S11) is that she had to work on herself, too.... So, I guess that means leave your depressed-but-not-really-but-maybe-but-not(?) partner without giving us, the audience, a plausible explanation for that break.

Scully is surprised she has alien DNA... despite her knowing she had alien DNA since the original run; and despite she and Mulder knowing everyone has junk alien DNA in their system.

Mulder has alien DNA, so he shouldn't have gotten sick here. Everyone has alien DNA, so they shouldn't have gotten sick here.

Monica Reyes joined CSM to survive and tells Scully about the Spartan virus and... dips? Her scene served no purpose other than to show us formerly-exploded CSM. The meaty information necessary to the episode was given off-screen.

Scully jumps from wild conspiracy to other wild conspiracy without proof.

CSM sends a guy to save Mulder and that guy... tries to kill Mulder? Such a stupid tv/movie trope.

Mulder never disconnects/turns off his phone while driving to get vengeance on CSM... and Scully never thinks to check if his phone location was on.

Mulder drives to CSM's just to collapse on his couch and give up.

The writers wanted a parallel to Amor Fati where Mulder lies "dying" with "the devil" outside his door, and tried to recreate that motif (or straight up rip it off) when Miller arrived: CSM was literally on the other side of the door from where Mulder was dying, again.

CSM just lets Mulder and Miller leave despite wanting to see Mulder die. 'Kay.

Scully manufactures a vaccine in a matter of hours...? From her DNA?

Scully takes one look at Mulder and assesses he's too far gone and thinks she needs to find their son to use his stem cells on Mulder to save him. ...How would Scully know this, given her particular practice, current vocation, and lack of expertise?

While Scully flails and loses her mind (and core character traits) in My Struggle I, Mulder slumps over and gives up in My Struggle II. It's not out of character for him to do so in extreme situations (ala Little Green Men-ish and 3 and One Breath and One Son) but it has to be JUSTIFIED.

Also: the conspiracy theorist is ultimately right all along. He's just mistaken about his chemtrail theory-- it was the government weaponizing vaccines instead. Yippee.

CONCLUSION

Nancy Yi Fan wrote a better and more engaging story at 11-years-old than Chris Carter (and Glen Morgan-- he signed off on this) did in his 50s or 60s.

Lazy.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[jeonscatalyst]

Why is that you jokers are so obsessed with Taekook? Always on here talking shit, as if it was Tkkrs who went to search for the restaurant to bring a story on the TL! We didn’t have to fake a beauty salon meet up or lie about them going to a restaurant and leaving autographs. Honestly, idk why you people are so pressed about a ship that you claim isn’t real.

“Why is that you jokers are so obsessed with Taekook?”

Says a Taekooker. Are you trying to tell me that if I go into Taekook spaces right now, I wouldn’t, within the first few seconds, see multiple blogs talking about Jikook and Jokers? Anon, don’t be a hypocrite. You cannot say Jokers are obsessed with Taekook when just one look into Taekook spaces would reveal who the real obsessed ones are.

“ Always on here talking shit, as if it was Tkkrs who went to search for the restaurant to bring a story on the TL! "

First of all, I would talk as much shit as I want about anyone I want to talk shit about. If you don’t like it, come and beat me.

Second, are you honestly sitting here in good conscience trying to blame the restaurant for you and your breed looking like idiots right now? I guess every mention of Jungkook and V in one sentence automatically means “date” to you morons, doesn’t it? Because why else are you claiming that the restaurant brought a story to your TLs? The restaurant said this…

Mind showing me where they said Taekook went on dates to their restaurant or where they even said Taekook went together. Show me, please, maybe I’m missing something. If you and your breed had any sense, you would have left it as speculation..which is not weird at all…(we all do it) but of course you had to go writing Wattpad stories because you are never satisfied with what you have. (Maybe because what you have doesn’t potray Taekook as anything but good friends) And now that you’ve fallen flat on your faces, you’re looking for someone to blame. Blame yourselves for being the world’s biggest morons.

“We didn’t have to fake a beauty salon meet up or lie about them going to a restaurant and leaving autographs. "

You see, Anon, unlike most of you Taekookers, many jokers can admit that every ship has problematic shippers who lie and make shit up because they are more interested in ship wars and one upping rival shippers than actually supporting the two people they ship….But do you know the difference between this case and yours?

Jikookers didn’t see Jimin and Jungkook’s autographs at a hair salon and run with a story. Someone actually put the story out there that Jimin and Jungkook visited the salon together to get haircuts and they had autographs to “prove” it. Add Jungkook talking about getting his hair done immediately after leaving for his break during his live in December last year, and it made perfect sense. We later heard different stories from different people….(including Jimin solos who hate Jikook) some claiming Jimin wasn’t there, but Jungkook was, others claiming that neither of them were there. Till date, we still don’t know for sure what really happened because we have heard multiple stories.

But….notice how we’ve all decided to take the information with a grain of salt? Notice how no Jikooker is going around claiming that the company is threatening restaurants or hair salons to lie about Jikook or bring down their autographs like your breed here…

That is the difference between Taekookers and Jikookers. Jokers are ready and willing to change their minds when presented with new information. But that is not something you or your breed know how to do. Even now, you still refuse to hold yourselves accountable for intentionally twisting information and instead, choosing to blame the restaurant.

That is why Jokers will always be better than you and your cult, Anon. We are not the ones who have within one week harassed Umi, BT21, Iheart radio and now that restaurant.

“Honestly, idk why you people are so pressed about a ship that you claim isn’t real. "

Lol. No sane joker is pressed about Taekook. Jokers and basically the entire world know they are just friends (only your breed is still clinging onto straws). We just dislike you and your breed and find you extremely ridiculous. Don’t mistake the two.

Taekook doesn’t equal taekookers. That is a distinction many sane jokers are able to make. You and your cult should try it sometime.

[maybejj]

read gossip girl here

if you haven’t read gossip girl part 40 do not read below the line. contains a huge spoiler!

read below to find out who was almost gossip girl ↓

kie

i almost made her super jealous of jj/readers relationship because she wanted jj to herself. therefore she would’ve been gossip girl and done everything she could have to sabotage their relationship but i quickly changed my mind because they did kiara wrong in the show (at least i think) by passing her around all the guys. i also wanted kie to be friends with reader and i didn’t want to make her bitter. i also couldn’t hurt my pogues like that. could we imagine the betrayal? 😭

topper

our poor sarah obsessed boy was literally this close to being gossip girl. like the first 3/4 parts of this story i was dead set on him being gossip girl solely for the fact that this man is so nosy and wants to know everything the pogues are doing because sarah is apart of the group. but i had to get rid of that idea because he’s obsessed with sarah and not reader so he was out of the running.

wheezie

the youngest cameron was a tiny little thought in my head for gossip girl because i see her as being left out and being upset that no one ever includes her in anything so she took it upon herself to be involved with everything. but i threw the idea out for two reasons. 1. i needed gossip girl to eventually go off the walls crazy, i.e, the fire, posting readers pictures, posting pictures of people half undressed, etc. 2. wheezie is underage. i can’t see her starting a fire or running around on the cut stalking the pogues.

rafe

this was also a very close choice for gossip girl. he hates adam, he hates the pogues, wants them to suffer. and he’s just so petty i could see him doing some of the stuff gossip girl ended up doing. but i also love rafe with every fiber in my being and i didn’t want to make him the villain again when he already is in the main show. he’s not perfect by any means in this story but i didn’t want to make him the main villain. also, i couldn’t come up with a reason for him to hate reader & jj’s relationship so much to the point he basically stalked them without having rafe have feelings for reader and i didn’t want to do that. (i hate love triangles lol)

adam

i briefly thought about making adam gossip girl because duh, it’s adam and gossip girl very much targeted jj and readers relationship which makes sense for adam to be behind the account. i changed my mind bc it would have been very obvious for him to be gossip girl and a lot of people thought it was him. another reason he didn’t end up being gossip girl was because he wasn’t even in OBX for months. and that’s how i decided to make barry gossip girl!

i have a post in my drafts explaining in detail why barry is gossip girl if anyone would be interested in reading it! i’m sure everyone has some questions and while a few will be answered in the last few parts of gossip girl, i still felt obligated to make a post outlining why he did what he did. let me know below if you’d like to see it posted ↓

also tagging my gossip girl peeps in case they wanted to see this as well 🫶🏻

taglist: @hopelesssheaven @annasturn0lo @sheisntyou @onelonelybitch @marleymarleymarleymarley @awurtzx06 @scaroooos @pr3tty-pink @freyawhitexxx1 @aesthetic-lyss @voidangxls @kathryn-maraudersversion @hotvampdragon @jaydaaasworld @sunflouer04 @coriiiioooooo @xdbug-bob @rafe-cameronswife @idiotussupremus @grapejuice32 @dr3wstarkey @ineedtherapy1 @moustacherryismyhusband @davinashifts333 @barnesboo1967 @bee-43 @maybanksgirl69 @mirellef2001 @lillell467 @spenceatiny18 @obxshift @rafeysworldim19 @justsomerandompersonintheworld @thepopcultureaddict @rafeysworldim19 @justdamnpeachy @masongetinmybed @acidfeens @starsval @cali-888 @vivian-555 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @moonywhisp3rs

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[chirpsythismorning]

El being *12 hours earlier* than the Cali timeline when she arrives at Nina. Will saying ‘it’s been 9 hrs’ in the scene following his monologue in the van.

We know that at some point their timelines merged when they arrived to save her…

But we don’t know when exactly those alignments took place when they were still apart… which just makes you wonder…

[ciderjacks]

Everyday I curse vivziepops name for making alastor Creole to justify her weird vudu thing, thus giving way to the most insufferable discourse by people who arent even remotely Creole, have no education on Creole history or culture, and refuse to do any research on it besides maybe the most basic 5 second google search. And I cant do anything about because that would involve me reblogging hazbin hotel discourse which no one wants.

[teamfortresstwo]

tbh I think Minthe and Hades was the most interesting dynamic in LO

[roseofcards90]

I think definitely one of the things I want to keep in mind for next year is that I don’t want to have FOMO bother me so much 😭😭😭

[shawtuzi]

here’s a random best friend!eren drabble bc im bored

cw include: black coded reader, some drug usage (weed), unprotected sex, backshots, sex standing up, sex onna floorrr, lots of dirty talk, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, some choking [ inspo vids: 1 2 3 ]

“you sure about this y/n? i don’t want things to get weird . . .” eren mumbled, his hands fidgeting with the loops on his jeans—something he always did when he was nervous. you just giggled, your mind too cloudy and in a horny daze to care that your about to fuck your childhood best friend.

you were sitting at the edge of your bed with eren standing right in front of you, his large frame towering over yours. his breath hitched when you grabbed onto the hem on his jeans, your chin now resting on his lower stomach. you looked at him through your freshly done lashes, your eyes low n’ red from the blunt you previously smoked together.

“i jus’ wanna see what’s got those girls all crazy about you ren,” you practically purred, smirking when you saw his teeth clamp onto his bottom lip. you could feel the firm bulge in his jeans, your manicured nails trailing up and down the length of it.

“oooo s-shit, f-fuck okay yeah get on all fours.”

sometime later….

“o-oh my goddd, f-fuck erennnn!” your arms flailed behind you to push as eren’s stomach, but him being the dickhead he is, just grabbed your wrists and held you still. he had you bent over the bed, your feet pushing up to your tippy toes to keep up with his brutal thrusts.

“no no don’t run mama—fuck, jus’ take it. cmon fuck me back, fuck renny back,” you pitifully shook your head, salty tears seeping into your comforter.

in all the years you’ve known eren you weren’t aware of the fact that he had such a dirty mouth. filthy praises and promises were flying past his kiss swollen lips left and right, so much so it was making you even more dizzy than you already were.

“who knew my best friend had such a pretty lil’ pussy,” eren breathlessly chuckled, his tongue swiping against his bottom lip as he admired the milky white ring of your essence coating the base of his cock. “n-no eren, too fuckin’ deep s-shit!” you cried, legs trembling as eren pushed all of his weight into your backside. he swiveled his hips, determined to reach that special spot deep inside you.

“heh, now y’see why those girls w-won’t leave me alone, dick is too fuckin’ good ain’t it mama,” eren groaned, smacking your ass harshly. eren wasn’t the best at a lot of things, not that he even really tried to be, but one thing he knew he was good at was beating up some lucky girls guts. sure he wasn’t slanging nine inches, but don’t get it twisted he knew how to use his six and a half inches very, very well. after all it’s not about the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean or whatever the fuck.

he pulled you up by the neck, keeping you still against his chest. your legs trembled, your hands pushing back softly against eren’s thighs to steady yourself. “this is my favorite way to fuck, it’s so fun watching girls try to run just for me to fuck them to the floor,” he finished off his sentence by licking the shell of your ear, grinning when he felt your body shiver.

“you’re—hah! you’re s-sick ren.”

“shittt say that again baby,” eren groaned, sliding halfway out before slamming back inside. his free hand found purchase on your breast, the other hand squeezing lightly at your neck. “you’re *thrust* so fucking *thrust* s-sick eren!” you gasped out, your hands flinging behind you to tug at eren’s disheveled bun.

all a sudden black dots clouded your vision and your ears began to ring—well this was definitely new. “fuck, you squirtin’ mama?” eren was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, his other hand still securely wrapped around your throat. he fucked you through your orgasm, hearts forming at how soaked his thighs were now. he’s never had a squirter before, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to leave this life after you two were done!

“i *hiccup* didn’t even k-know i could do that,” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back when eren started up a steady rhythm. your pussy felt so sensitive, yet each time he pulled out you wanted him back inside that instant. your legs felt like jello and you knew any moment they were bound to give up.

you took a shaky step towards your bed but eren just followed, his lips upturning into a smirk. now comes his favorite part.

“r-ren okay! okay i get ittt,” you sobbed out, gasping as your knees met the plushness of your carpet. eren remained inside you the entire time, wasting no time as he pushed your face into the carpet until your back with positioned into the perfect arch. as crazy as it sounded each slap of his balls against your clit felt like electricity shooting through your veins, causing nothing but moans and babbles to slip past your drooling lips.

“fuck m’gonna cum mama, get ready,” with four final thrusts eren emptied himself inside you, coating your walls in his sticky warmth. your body slumped more into the carpet, your eyes fluttering shut. eren pulled out slowly, laughing when your lower half fell with a dull thud.

“i *sniffle* see your point,” you whimpered, your back arching when your clit rubbed against the carpet. eren grinned, sitting back on his knees before gently turning your body over. he tapped your thigh softly, “push it out . . . please.”

you rolled your eyes, not looking forward the even bigger mess it would make, but you did as you were told. eren let out a long breath through his nose as he watch he cum drip out of you in thick globs. he peered at you through his lashes—

“we should, um, do this again sometime.”

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[dykepuffs]

How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?

(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")

You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.

(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)

Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”

And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.

Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.

So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.

Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)

It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.

So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.

First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?

If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)

How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?

What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")

If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?

When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?

If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?

Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?

And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?

Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 5:48

Bakugou’s in his third year of high school when he finally invites you over to his house. The reason? To finish a calculus project.

You’d think that after surviving through the hardships of being a hero-in-training together for three years, saving each other’s lives (more often you were the one being saved than doing the saving, really), and whatnot, he would’ve invited you sooner to his home (one could dream).

But this was Bakugou, after all.

And he knew that something was off the moment he left you to share a conversation with his mom while he went to get his books from his room—the greatest mistake he could have ever done because by the time he’s making his way back, Bakugou could hear you snickering to yourself.

Not a good sign.

“I’m not going to lie; you looked hideous when you were a baby,” you say, reading through Bakugou’s baby album.

Bakugou froze. He had absolutely no idea why his mother would cave in and give you the godforsaken album from when he was young, but of course she would’ve agreed with your request to see it if you did so much as mention it.

He dropped the books he’d grabbed from on top of his desk on top of the living room table before whipping his attention towards you, an indignant scoff escaping through his nose before he took a few slow, but heavy stomps over to you—practically snatching the album from your grasp when he’s within reach.

“Stop looking through those stupid pictures.”

“Hey! I wasn’t finished,” you reply with a frown. “You’re lucky my phone’s battery just died, or else I would’ve taken a billion photos.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched slightly as he grumbled curses under his breath, trying to flip through the album in his hands to make sure you hadn’t managed to sneak a photo out—a small sigh of relief rolling off of his tongue to find that, luckily, it was still how his parents had done it.

He shot a glare over towards you, stuffing the album back into its original spot on one of the bookshelves, his nose crinkling as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t care; tell anyone what you saw, and you’ll drop dead,” he tells you.

“Oh, but how could I not? That photo album’s like hitting the jackpot—so many super ultra rare photocards of you,” you gushed, blatantly disregarding his usual threat. “Come on, I wanna see the rest!”

“Absolutely not.” 

Bakugou knew the damn photos were in the back of the album. There were probably a handful of the ones where he was in the bathtub, butt-naked—a common photo in most photo albums he’s seen, at least. Other photos include when he was three years old and wore an All Might onesie for his birthday, pictures of him during his school recital where he was the prince, him with a bald haircut, and so much more blackmail material. 

It was humiliating, for goodness sake! And he knew you’d just tease him mercilessly if you saw it.

You’ll never let him live it down, so it’s best to deprive you of it.

“Don’t come at me for saying this, but I was the cutest baby in our village back then,” you told him proudly. “Had the roundest cheeks and brightest smile, trust.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, a huff of air forcing itself past his lips. That was one thing about you that he couldn’t stand; you were so full of yourself most of the time—you’d always been like that, and he absolutely loathed it. It could be that it reminds him of himself, so the competitive meter on his head just flares whenever he’s around you.

“I doubt you were even 1% of how adorable I was as a baby.”

“Have you seen me?” you gestured to your face with your hands to emphasize your facial features. 

“I’m still as cute even now. And no offense, Bakugou,” you giggled, “you looked like a wrinkly raisin on your first few days on this Earth.”

Bakugou’s smirk dropped. He’d almost forgotten that you had seen the stupid pictures already.

“Shut the hell up. It wasn’t that bad.” He muttered quietly, his hands balling into frustrated fists. His parents always assured him that he was a cute kid when he was small—but to hear that YOU of all people, are in disagreement with that is just aggravating.

“Fine, fine. Quits it is,” you hum. “Let’s do that calculus project so I can get home before sunset.”

Bakugou grumbled something inaudible under his breath, reluctantly nodding his head in agreement. There was no point in arguing about something so idiotic—after all, both of you were there to get a project done, not to sit around and bicker about his past.

He took a few steps over to the living room table before plopping down on the polished floor ungracefully, yanking out his notes before he gestured his hand over towards the free space next to him.

“Sit down. Let’s just get this thing done and over with already.”

Bakugou had already started working silently by the time you sat down; his hand was writing almost furiously as he copied equations onto his paper. He kept his attention focused on his notes, trying to stay quiet as he focused completely on completing the project.

He eventually stopped writing for a moment, turning his gaze over to glance at what you were doing before clicking his tongue at the sight. Bakugou could already see a few mistakes you’d made with your work.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says.

“Wait, I’ve barely turned on the calculator, jeez.” You shook your head, solving the equation through your calculator.

“And that’s how I know you’re doing it wrong.” Bakugou huffed, shaking his own head in disappointment. 

“Formula first before adding 1.3.”

He pulled out a pen and began scribbling down on his own paper, glancing at yours every once in a while to compare the work. He knew from his experience that you were decent at math (he’d rather die than tell you that), but this was just pitiful even by your standards.

“Have you been dozing off during Ectoplasm’s class?”

“Ouch. Do you have a personal grudge against keeping the not-so-nice stuff from leaving your mouth?” you sigh. “You’re hurting my feelings— I’m devastated.”

He had a feeling you’d say something like that, and he was prepared to ignore your attempts at gaining sympathy from him.

“Unfortunately, you’ll fucking live,” Bakugou says, scribbling down the last of his work before turning it towards you. “And learn how to solve equations too, while you’re at it.”

“I know how to do it; calm down.” You huff, rewriting your solutions.

Bakugou raised a skeptical eyebrow, his head tilting with a hint of disbelief. Even if he knew you were capable of doing math, you had a bad habit of missing even the smallest details, like the operation to be used in your work, leading to the wrong answers.

His eyes scanned over the work you’d written on your paper before letting out a small huff. “Looks right. Are you done with your half?”

“Yep, yep. Are you going to write it down on our answer sheet, or should I do it?” you offered.

Bakugou glanced down at the answer sheet set to the side before picking it up and nodding. He was already holding a pen while you were still using a pencil, so it would make more sense for him to be the one to write it all down.

He began copying down the answers slowly and carefully, each number being written out with ease as his eyes flicked back and forth from the worksheet to the sheet of answers.

With him busy jotting down the answers, you occupied yourself with taking in the interior of his living room. It was beautiful, neat, and just screamed rich—not really what you expected (you really didn’t know what to expect, honestly). “Y’know,” you mention, glancing around. “You have a nice house.”

Bakugou hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes remaining focused on his task. It kind of took him by surprise to hear you say something out of the blue—about his house, no less. He’d fully expected you to talk about something else, like school or that new show you’ve been begging him to watch.

It went against what Bakugou had originally thought, which led him to look over at you from the corner of his eye, silently raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a nice house,” he said casually, his pen continuing to move over the paper. His penmanship was neat, and Bakugou hears you in awe. 

Bakugou continued to finish writing down the last of the answers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed you looking around his house. It was obvious what was happening, but he decided to ignore it in favor of just getting the godforsaken project done.

He finished soon enough, his pen rolling back with a click before he leaned back a little and let out a small huff. “We’re done. Finally.”

“Nice, nice.” Glancing at your watch, you concluded, “I should get home.”

Bakugou was silent, rolling his shoulders and neck before glancing out of the nearby window. The sun had already begun to set over the sky, the day quickly slipping away into the night.

“Yeah, whatever. You need me to walk you home or something?” He asks gruffly.

“Nah, I’m good. I need to say goodbye to your parents, too.”

Bakugou watched as you packed up all of your belongings, a scoff rolling off of his tongue. It felt almost weird to be civil with each other, neither of you having taken jabs or making snarky remarks to taunt one another. 

“Alright, fine,” he finally said, standing up from his seat and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go find my parents then.”

He led you down the hall and into the kitchen area, his ears vaguely picking up the sounds of his mother and father talking amongst themselves about… something. He couldn’t tell what exactly, and frankly, he barely even cared.

“Mom, Dad.” He spoke up, capturing the attention of his parents. 

Mitsuki looked over at him, a smile spreading across her face. Masaru looked in the same direction, a warm smile forming on his face as well.

“Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou,” you said in gratitude. “I’ll be going home now before it gets too late.”

His parents shared a hum in acknowledgment, with his mother being the one to speak up first. She had a knowing grin on her face as she clasped her hands together, her eyes flickering over to her son.

“You’re welcome. You should come over more often,” Mitsuki said enthusiastically, her voice taking on a slightly smug tone.

Masaru laughed as he nodded in agreement. He gave a knowing look to his wife before he looked back over at you. “You should join us for dinner; we already made enough for you to join us.”

“I’d love to, sir, but my folks are waiting for me at home,” you answered sheepishly.

Bakugou noticed the glance his parents exchanged and immediately knew what they were thinking. He almost grumbled in frustration, already knowing that they’d ask him about you later after you left.

His mother spoke up once again, her smug grin growing wider. “You’re always welcome here,” she repeated, her eyes flickering over to her son as her voice came out teasing. “After all, Katsuki’s always in a ‘better’ mood when you’re around.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, ma'am. I’m a joy to be around, after all,” you lightly joked, though you still maintained a respectful tone.

His parents were easier to get along with than you thought.

Bakugou’s eye twitched in annoyance at your words, almost making him want to quip back at your cocky behavior. However, it was the sound of his mother’s sudden laughter that stopped him from doing so.

Mitsuki mother put her hand up to her mouth briefly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she continued to chuckle. The expression on her face was elated, and it was pissing him off even more, knowing what’s to come. 

“I like this one,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

Masaru added, “And clearly, so does Ka—“

“All right! They need to get going to catch the shitty train.”

By the time Bakugou accompanied you to the door, he had this obvious scowl on his face. “You’re never comin’ back here again, dipshit.”

“Wha— no fair! Why am I getting banned from the Bakugou residence when this is my first time here?” you replied.

“Shut up,” he grunts. “I could do whatever the hell I want because it’s my house, too.”

“Too bad I have your Mom’s number—“

“Delete that.”

“Hey— wai— no way!”

It was not the last time you were ever invited to the Bakugou residence.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[screampied]

plz write a domestic toji fic

៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, house husband toji, reader is pregnant, toji attempting to cook, petnames.

wc. 1.8k

toji quirks an arched brow in frustration. with a concise glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday, it reads three am. sighing, the back of his wrist smears a sheet of sweat off his forehead as he gets a good sniff of the cuisine. like always, he stayed up all night, watching those random cooking mom videos on youtube. trying so hard to mimic their recipes and methods but failing anyway. “tch. fuckin’ shit,” he grumbles under his breath, covered in nothing but flour. the sizzling of the pan was quite loud. the smoke detector went off at least four times. he was wearing another thing you bought him. an apron that had the words of ‘kiss the cook’ imprinted near the front in bedazzled little sparkles. “why does it keep stickin’ to the pan.”

as his annoyance grows, he hears familiar little footsteps approach the linoleum kitchen floor. it’s you, his shoulders lower and his mood softens at the sight of you in comfy silk pajamas and a grouchy expression. “toji? ‘s like three in the morning,” and as you take a whiff of the air, you furrow your own two brows. “are you . . cooking?”

“yeah yeah,” he gruffly grouses, going back to whisking the flour. “go back ‘ta bed, baby. almost done. ‘m jus’ practicing.”

“at three am,” you deadpan, a hand rubbing against your plump growing tummy.

so cute, you were a few weeks pregnant yet everything was moving at such an rapid speed. with the way your body was changing so quick, he could barely keep up. toji hears the sass in your tone as you speak and he knows good and well he should be back in bed with you. you wondered why the left side of the mattress felt empty. you waddle over beside him, hugging him from behind. his bulging muscles rub against you and you let off a playful little whine. “tooooji, you need sleep. come back to bed.”

“princessss,” he plays along with a fake pout, his entire hands covered with piles and piles of doughy flour mix. “but ‘m makin’ breakfast for us two,” and with a brief notion of turning the fire down a bit, he utters last minute. “er— three.” and you smile at him not forgetting to include your unborn child.

toji never cooks, it’s always been just you.

it’s not like he was incapable or anything. he’s always found a liking to watching you cook though.

you always prepared him the best of meals, so good that it had his mouth watering, licking the tips of his tongue in sweet sweet relish.

right before you’d got pregnant, you’d pack him the most divine lunches for work, always with such loving care. you’d never forget to leave him a little adoring note or two, wishing him the best of shifts. so the moment you ended up getting knocked up, he wanted to try.

try to do better,

for you.

sacrificing his sleep wasn’t really an issue—he didn’t mind if it wasn’t for you and his unborn baby. and if toji had to learn how to cook simple meals, he’d do that.. despite the struggle it was.

giggling, you stretch your arms over his torso.

“toji . . making pancakes is easy,” you hum, and his muscles relaxes from your gentle touch.

he’s missed you dearly, even though he was only out of bed for at least a good hour now. hearing him swear vulgar curses underneath his breath at messing up the instructions was quite near adorable. peering at the mess in front of you, you take the cerulean blue mixing bowl from him. “you could’ve woke me up if you needed help, you know.”

“i know,” he grumbles, his voice softening a bit.

you pause—toji’s body language seems a bit different. it shifts. he looks a bit ashamed.

once toji turns off the stove, he deeply sighs. “i just wanted ‘ta learn how to cook for us— you know, like as a family. so when the baby’s here, i’ll uh- be prepared. don’t want ya to be doin’ everything, darlin’. y’er gonna be limited to do lots of stuff soon ‘n i jus’ wanna help out a bit more.”

with a smile, you stroke a thumb against your husband’s chin, right near his little scar. “awww,” and there’s an immediate embarrassed scowl stretching against his thin lips.

toji wanting to try more for you made your heart swarm up with a variety schools of butterflies. it flutters and flaps as he spoke. speaking in a soft tone, a thumb swipes a few remnants of flour near the crevices of his lip. “you’re sweet, toji. but i don’t want you stressing out over cooking. ‘s okay, besidessss we can always do it together.”

“eh,” his eye twitches at your smug growing grin. “that’s… not what i meant, mama.”

“don’t eh me. yeah it is, you want me to teach you how to cook like me,” you simper, planting a kiss against the back of his arm. “you wanna learn how to be a househusband?”

toji groans, turning to face you. verdant eyes leer at you for a long time—but he could never stay too vexed at you, you were so adorable, especially whenever you were this enthusiastic.

“that’s not the term i’d use for myself, but i guess,” and he wipes a few pounds of flour off his apron. “don’t worry ‘bout the mess. i’ll clean that up too.”

“i like this new toji.” you tease, leaning up close to press a wet kiss against his temple.

toji buries his hands in his pockets, staring off to the side and trying to ignore the incoming flush setting against his skin.

oh, you had him weak,

weak everywhere—weak in the knees.

he was feeling himself getting soft as the seconds pass. toji couldn’t lie, he was starting to like this new side of his too. he’d never in a million years admit it though. “baby please,” he grunts, switching the sink on to wash his hands. as the water screams out of the faucet, he lathers everywhere with soap before grumbling. “been watchin’ so many of those damn mom vlogs of cooking. was so annoying, wanted to pull my hair out.”

“you could have just asked me for help, silly,” and your arms securely wrap around his beefy body once more. toji’s frame was a lot more broad and built compared to you. he sucks his teeth, leaning into your touch before staring at the kitchen counter. “okay, good. you have all the ingredients . . eggs, flour, milk, umm sugar..”

and as your words continue and you observe his unkempt handiwork, toji clears his throat. “i gave up once the things kept stickin’ to the skillet.”

you let off a pretty laugh that makes his ears twitch. “welllll that’s probably because you didn’t add enough oil or butter to the pan,” and he watches as you grab a nearby stick of butter. you cut near the end part it with a butter knife before spreading it on the middle of the pan.

toji cutely stays quiet, staring intently and taking in everything you’re doing. he’s attentive, he doesn’t wanna miss anything because he’d soon be doing this for you and his soon-to-be baby.

after a few long seconds, you turn on the stove and it starts to sizzle again. “okay, so you mixed the batter, that’s good. now all you have to do is just pour a good amount into the pan and flip it once it’s a brownish color.”

“ehhhh.”

“toji, you wanted to cook so you’re gonna cook.”

“yes ma’am.” he sighs, his tone playful.

some minutes pass before you both finally finish making a fresh, scrumptious batch of pancakes. with your arms wrapped around him, you showed him all the steps slowly. you were patient with toji, helping him pour the batter and mix it. every time he messes up, you’d kiss the edge of his arm, reminding him that he can just try again. he calms down after a while, and you step away to watch him make a pancake of his own. he flips it over, and he has a sly grin—glancing back toward you, hoping you caught that. you did, giving him an encouraging smile before showering him with praise.

it was almost four am and toji was desperately trying to stay awake—you could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open with how he’s swaying a bit. turning off the stove for the nth time, you set the steaming hot spatula aside before looking in toji’s direction. “we can always eat them when we wake up.”

“we?” he grumbles, combing a hand through his messy strands, giving it a solid scratch.

“yes, we,” and you wrap the heated pancakes with plastic wrap, tucking the undersides of the plate with the material before putting it in the microwave to preserve heat. you then grab onto toji’s hand. “we’re going back to bed.”

with a sigh, he knew he wasn’t gonna win this little spat. toji squeezes your hand back, yet before the two of you could go back into bed, he bends down.

raising your brow, toji gets on his knees before bringing a chaste kiss toward your tummy. “hey little one,” he whispers, rubbing a palm gingerly against the front of your stomach. dark, tired eyes meet yours and he bedaubs a thumb near your the print of your navel poking through your his oversized t-shirt. the cold, frigid texture of toji’s fingertips almost tickles. as he softly runs a finger down the center of your growing belly bump, a bit of flour gets against your clothes. “how are my girls? any cramps or pain i should know about?

girls,

the gender was still too early to determine but toji always pondered about how it might be a girl.

“n- no,” you breathe, moving a few raven strands of hair out of his face. everything felt different, it was as if you were walking with volumes of water stored within you. toji’s always been supportive during your pregnancy, he was trying. he stands up again before kissing the crown of your head. “you still think ‘s a girl?”

“kinda, yeah,” he utters, and a strong arm slings around your shoulders.

toji guides you to bed, not minding your cute slow waddle of a walk. “up we go, c’mon,” and he helps you up the steps, lowly chuckling into your neck at your adorable state. toji was always patient, the moment you finally reach the bed, he pulls down the fat cover so you could climb in. “…. thank you baby.”

“for what?” you slump against the cushioned sheets, slipping off your baby blue socks. toji crawls in beside you, leaning in to switch off the lamp. he still had a bit of flour on his face—and he spots you swiping some of it off with your thumb.

toji groans, acting as if the next incoming sentence was gonna kill him.

“for . . teachin’ me how ‘ta be a good househusband,” he pouts, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “i love you.”

“i love you too toji.”

“i love ya more,” and he lowers his neck to kiss the middle of your stomach. “oh, ‘n papa loves you also, little one. love my girls so much.”