#and no concrete evidence of who the fuck they actually were

[nightingaletrash]

Ravnos really said 'what you take away from a story is more important than the facts' and then (potentially) warped reality to ensure that no one could figure out what their actual story was huh

[racew1nn3rs]

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘷. (𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴) 🐅

⤷ summary: spain and canada. lando's rizz is negative, mission is failed. plus, mclaren pr is about to fuck shit up 🗣️

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liked by ynusername, zbrownceo, and 42,908 others

mclaren spain you were forgettable at best 😔 on to the next one

18,980 others

user1 y/n don't insult your team on the team account challenge

mclaren is it really an insult if it's true

user2 we got a lando photo but at what cost

user3 lando fans can never win here

mclaren why you would ever choose to be a lando fan to begin with is beyond me

user2 you're so right queen i'm sorry

landonorris DON'T APOLOGIZE WTF

user2 fuck both of y'all honestly

user4 at least mclaren fans can always count on content, even if we can't expect results 😭

user5 lando and y/n in their friendship era, how the fuck did we get here

landonorris you're posting me now? oh you want me so bad 🥴

mclaren sending this to hr immediately

ynusername YOU'RE FIREEEDDDDDDD

user6 damn she logged into both accounts just to make sure he heard her ass 💀 double homicide

user7 oscar fans i can't even tell if we won or lost

user8 we didn't get a face pic but... we didn't get whatever the fuck the 3rd slide is

landonorris guys pLEASE

landonorris i won't post it she says... it's just for me she says

user9 LMAOOOO AND YOU BELIEVED HER???? 🤣 🫵

landonorris going dark, no one call me

user9 was anyone going to anyways 💀

user10 LET HIM GET UPPPP

oscarpiastri i'll pay you 20 dollars if you don't ever do this to me

mclaren 🤝

mclaren i mean you were never the target but now you will be if i don't get my money!!!!

oscarpiastri oh ok

lilyzneimer i have pictures you can you use if you need bb <3

oscarpiastri WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON

zbrownceo Very funny Y/n! Keep up the good work 👍

mclaren Thanks boss! (:

landonorris ZAK WHY

user11 zak is so supportive now, wait until he sees her comments 💀

zbrownceo I have seen her comments! Very funny! 👍

user11 blink twice zak, we can help you

maxverstappen1 This is the highlight of my week, thank you Y/n!

mclaren hey max verstappen of redbull racing! not sure if you heard but you did win the grand prix this weekend

maxverstappen1 No i know, this is just definitely better.

ynusername where's my photo credits 🫵

mclaren my bad bbg 😍

user12 nurse she got out again

oscarpiastri we'll win next time!!

mclaren who told you that 🤨

oscarpiastri the voices in my head

logansargeant you hold on bro, we'll find your meds soon

user13 i think moto moto likes you ahh image

user14 i need to shrink him and put him in my pocket and keep him there

user15 which one?

user14 lando

landonorris nuh uh, pick again

maxfewtrell you can't post pictures without consent mate

mclaren i didn't??

landonorris i didn't consent.

mclaren who are you gonna believe max? me? or the solid concrete evidence in front of you

user16 he looks like he can do some crazy tricks on a trampoline

landonorris this is the only comment about myself that hasnt made me viscerally angry

oscarpiastri unfortunately i feel the opposite

user17 lany/n at it again

user18 literally what the fuck do you mean

user17 if you dont get it, i can't explain it to you

user18 okay cryptic ass, fuck you 🙄

user19 they're in love guys, just wait and see

user20 yall just love saying stupid shit on this page huh

user19 i hate getting accused of some shit i actually do 😡 like yeah i do love that but who told you

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user20 op be so fr right now

user21 everytime one of these illiterate f1 drivers pulls one of the hottest women on earth a fairty dies

user21 *fairy

user22 fairty

user21 you shut the fuck up 🫵

user23 people when coworkers are seen together at their place of work

user24 do you hug your coworkers and follow them like a lost puppy when you could be on a break

user23 wtf no

user24 EXACTLY MF, THIS IS NOT COWORKERS BEING COWORKERS

user25 history will say they were just colleagues 😔

opeightywon this shit is a national tragedy

user26 every time i see a post like this i think about the fact that she has probably seen this and i shiver

user27 honestly praying on their downfall

opeightywon wtf

user28 lando fans be normal challenge

user27 idgaf about that white man, she's just too hot for him 😕

opeightywon oh yeah real

user29 i need another youtube video where they stare at each other longingly again asap or i fear i may start having withdrawal symptoms

user30 another hot girl lost to an average white man's swagless looks and cringe fail personality i feel sick

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liked by landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 44,786 others

mclaren not our best results in canada but we improved i guess 🙄 but on a much better, more exciting note: NEW MCLAREN YOUTUBE CHALLENGE OUT GO GO GO GO

17,998 comments

user31 my crops are watered, my skin is clear, my funds are tripled

mclaren all me 😮‍💨

user32 "yay challenge video" we all cry in unison

user33 OSCAR FANS IS IT REAL??? HAS IT COME TRUE??? IS THAT A FACE PIC I SEE

user34 and it's good quality too 🤩 what did we do to deserve this

mclaren you don't, but oscar bought me coffee all weekend

oscarpiastri yes i bribed her, i feel no shame

user35 lando's back in the dog house bro, he's back to no face pics

user36 but look at his beautiful brown eyes

mclaren babe they're greenish blue with the TINIEST bit of brown 💀

user37 how long you gotta stare at a man's eyes to know the exact paint blend 🫵

user38 DOWN HORRENDOUSSSSSS

lilyzneimer insert comical heart eyes here

mclaren flirting with your man 🤢 on MY cellular device

lilyzneimer my bad bb, he doesn't mean anything to me anyways 🥴

oscarpiastri ok what the fuck

danielricciardo DROP THE CAMERA SETTINGS AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

mclaren check dms 🤲

danielricciardo thanks love you're the best

landonorris LOVE??? LMAOOOO

user39 bro is losing the dgaf war MISERABLY

user40 the way lando is staring at her the whole time she's behind the camera 😫 oh he's not even down bad, bro's down under

landonorris can i get the camera settings

mclaren has anyone ever told you how good you are at photography?? i'm not saying that, i'm just asking 😀

landonorris oKAY fuck you.

user41 the way she doesn't even pretend to care about the results

landonorris i know 🙄

mclaren i know p13 is nawttt talking back to me right now

user41 OHHH SHE ATE YOU UP HUH

landonorris y'all are some fake ass fans fr

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8:57 PM.

Y/n stared at the flashing numbers on the digital clock in the boardroom and huffed quietly. The table in front of her was covered in a mix of shredded mozzarella cheese and vibrant, red pizza sauce. Flour with evidence of handprints and bits of pizza dough decorated the wood and the woman internally sighed at the thought of clean up. Eventually she would have to get back to work.

Lando was on his phone across the table from her, and she fought the urge to stare at him. Oscar had left a while ago, having an earlier flight than them out of Canada. Lando and her had made the executive decision to stay and finish the pizza the two men had made during the "not my hands" YouTube challenge. It was messy, and didn't fully resemble a proper pizza, but it tasted good enough if not a little bit burnt. The two had been sitting in a comfortable silence for the time being while they ate.

In the time Y/n had gotten to know the British man, both on and off the track, she found herself warming up to him considerably. He was kinder than she gave him credit for at the beginning of the season, and far funnier. She could see now that more often than not he spoke without thinking or having any consideration, and maybe he was more than a little bit arrogant, but he also felt things deeply and cared passionately.

Before she could think about what she was doing, Lando's eyes met hers and he smirked. Y/n's face burned but she rolled her eyes at him and took another bite of their burnt pizza. Her ears caught the sound of him placing his phone on the table, and when she looked up again he was leaning his body across the table and toward her instead.

"What are you staring at? Hm?" He teased and she scoffed.

"You," she started and took another bite of her pizza, "have pizza sauce all over your face, you idiot. And I'm just thinking, not sure if you're familiar with the concept." He grabbed a napkin quickly and began wiping rapidly at his chin and mouth, and even his nose. She couldn't help but laugh loudly. There was nothing on his face. He was perfect actually. Unfortunately.

"Did I get it? Why didn't you tell me sooner, traitor!" She doubled over but nodded anyways.

"What are you thinking about?" he questioned as he settled back down.

"Just the season, you and Oscar," she muttered.

"Me? Thinking of little ol' me when I'm right here in front of you," she rolled her eyes with a groan.

"You have selective hearing Lando," he laughed and nodded.

"Well what have you thought about it? The season I mean. And myself of course, don't care much what you think about Osc," he leaned on his hand and stared at her intently. Y/n couldn't help that being stared at by Lando felt a little bit like being ocean, being pulled and pushed by the moon's gravity. Her brain didn't work properly around him.

Or maybe I'm just really dramatic and he's just hot, she thought miserably, Probably the latter.

"I just think maybe you and me got off on the wrong foot," she said as she fumbled with the lid of her water bottle, "and I think that maybe I enjoy this job a lot more than I thought I would." The comments seemed to sober Lando's mood up slightly.

Maybe I shouldn't have been truthful. Maybe it shouldn't have been that serious.

"What did you think of me?" He asked quietly. "When you met me I mean."

"Do you want me to be honest?" He looked at her quizzically.

"Of course I want you to be honest Y/n, or I wouldn't have asked."

"I thought you were kind of an asshole," she whispered and he laughed.

"So the beef was real for you," he smiled slightly and she let her face fall gently into her hands.

"Yeah," she breathed out a laugh, "yeah maybe a little."

"Doesn't seem like a little," he goaded and she shot him a glare.

"Okay Lord Lando, maybe more than a little," he pointed at her triumphantly.

"AHA! So it was the instagram comment. I thought you knew I was kidding," A loud groan filled the room as she smacked her head on the table. Lando's giggling could probably be heard down the hall but Y/n found she didn't care all that much anymore.

"It wasn't just the instagram comment," she defended weakly. There was a brief silence as Lando stared into space and shook his head.

"Wow... I can't believe you were actually mad at me and I just didn't know."

"It wasn't that big of a deal I guess, I just felt like you didn't really take me seriously."

"Well I mean you're not a very serious person," Y/n's heart fell to her stomach.

"What?" She asked, staring at him. She couldn't have heard him right.

"Well it's just that you're not very serious are you? Like since I met you, it's never felt like you were a serious sort of person." He added as if that was some sort of defense.

As if that isn't more hurtful.

"You're not like Zak or Andrea, or really anyone else here you know? You're just you, you're different. It was hard to be serious with you here because that's just who you are." He continued.

God just shut up, please for the love of God just shut up.

"This is my place of work Lando," she muttered bitterly. "I mean do you hear yourself." His eyes widened and he put his hands out placatingly. Like she was some sort of rabid animal he needed to calm down.

"No no no," he muttered quickly and stood up to round the table, "that's not what I meant Y/n, you know that."

"Stop Lando, just stop," she said as she began to clear off the table.

Why did she expect him to be different. What made her think he could've changed.

"You made it perfectly clear what you mean. What you think of me and of my work, my career" she spit out, swiping everything on the table into the trash. They hadn't finished eating the pizza and now it was in the bin, but Lando didn't deserve to eat the pizza she helped him make. He didn't deserve to be here at all. He wasn't her friend, he was her coworker and nothing else. It was better she accept that now.

"You misunderstood what I said," he grabbed her arm to stop her from cleaning and she whipped it out of his grasp.

"Stop Lando," she said raising her voice. She knew her eyes were teary but she didn't care. She knew her face was red with embarrassment and her hands were shaking with the force of her humiliation but she didn't care. Lando Norris could go fuck himself.

He looked at her in shock and winced as he saw her face. She steeled herself. She had never cried over a man before, why would she do it now.

"You need to leave, you have a flight in the morning," she said emotionlessly. "And I have to clean so I can go home." He tried to speak and she put her hand up, stepping away from him.

"Get out please, you're in my way," she said and his brows scrunched. He was angry? Good, so was she.

"I'm in your way?" He asked incredulously, as if she didn't have any reason to be upset. "You're not even going to hear me out?" He scoffed.

"No Lando, I don't have time for this. I have a job to do and you're in my way," she said emphasizing the words as if speaking to a child. His face fell. He looked angry.

"Whatever Y/n. What fucking ever," he muttered, grabbing his bag and storming out. Y/n waited. Footsteps in the hallways continued until a far off door slammed.

Y/n wilted like an unwatered plant as tears began to fall.

So much for friends.

She knew deep down she was hurt about much more than just friendship.

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this is the second to last chapter of part one! i hope you enjoy! please feel free to comment and send requests, i'm excited to hear your thoughts <3

-

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne @urfavsgf @sadsierra2 @96jnie @sltwins @poppyflower-22 @alliumiae @livelovesports @liberty-barnes @the-holy-trinity-l @iliwyss @awritingtree @redpool @elliotts1one @velentine @chaoticmessneutralplease @5sospenguinqueen @charizznorizz @2pagenumb @mxdi0 @cwiphswmwasohmm @tremendousstarlighttragedy @lnspipedrm @itseightbeats @tinycoffeeroom @woozarts @personwhoisther @a-beaverhausen @love-simon @annabellelee @ravisinghs-wife @chezmardybum @greantii @weekendlusting @monserelates @sapphiccloud @halleest @deamus-liv @gigigreens @morenofilm @laneyspaulding19 @lanireadss @dear-fifi @moldyshorts1997 @oliviarodrigostan13 @eugene-emt-roe @ilivbullyingjeongin @im-a-ghost666

[leilanihours]

hiii ! req for paige x teammate gf reader (they're in a secret rs but the teammates know) — when kk and ice went live on insta then while they're interacting with fans, they didn't notice that paige and her gf is shown in the live while they're cuddling and kissing on the bed until they saw a comment about them. You can add anything you want to add, this is just my idea hehe THANKS !!!!

# ADORN

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

word count: 1657

warnings: none !

summary: your relationship with paige gets exposed, but with her still in your arms, is it really the end of the world?

⭑ from lani: idk how to feel abt this one and lowk feel like my work has been so flat lately but fuck it we ball 😭

masterlist !

“OKAY SO BOOM,” you hear your teammate, kk, say to her phone, “we back with another insta live! how y’all doin’?”

“kk someone said they saw you at chick-fil-a being a big back, can you confirm?” ice snickers as she reads a viewer’s comment.

“man, y’all never stop, huh?” kk side-eyes jokingly.

you giggle off-camera as you peer over your girlfriend’s shoulder to watch the two girls interact with fans. you were rested against the headboard of your hotel bed, paige lying comfortably on top of you with her arms around your torso and face buried in your neck.

you aimlessly rubbed her taut muscles underneath her loose shirt, relieving her stress from the game earlier in the day. the team was currently away from its home in connecticut, as they had an away-game against ohio state.

the huskies won, of course, but the score was much too close for anyone’s comfort, especially paige’s. with this season being her first after her acl tear last year, she felt immense pressure to come back twice as good and carry the team on her shoulders all the way to a national championship.

she never talked with anyone about how she was feeling - except with you. she claimed that you were the only one that truly understood her fears and would be able to chase them away simply with your warm smile and passionate words. when she told you this with tears in her eyes from her overwhelming emotions, your heart swelled immensely at her vulnerability.

the two of you had been together for close to a year now, and all your teammates and close friends were aware, but you both opted for a private relationship. there were many reasons as to why this was the decision, the most important being that you knew how the media would react - and neither of you wanted to jeopardize your careers.

there had been a few rumors and speculations about your particular closeness with the blonde, but you had been very careful around the cameras, ensuring that no one would have concrete evidence of your relationship.

as of right now, your entanglement with paige was out of frame, shielding you two from the camera and live viewers. paige was half asleep on her phone, still nestled in your arms while you listened in on your teammates’ silly bickering.

“i know they’re beefing right now but kendrick definitely won!” kk exclaims.

“okay, but who’s the better artist overall?” ice responds as her eyes scan the rapid-fire comments.

“that’s not even the point of this discussion, bro.”

“whatever,” ice laughs, shaking her head, “someone asked where everyone else is - yanna and aubrey are out getting dunkin for all of us, nika is already sleeping, aaliyah is taking a shower, and…” she stops herself before she mentions you and paige, “i actually don’t know what everyone else is doing.”

“what are you talkin’ about, ice? paige and-“ kk is cut off by ice swiftly kicking her leg under the table they’re sat at. she gives her a pointed glare as if to say “shut the hell up,” which makes you chuckle.

“anyways…” ice moves on from the close slip-up, “did y’all watch the game today? i think it was on youtube live or something.”

you tune out of their conversation when you feel paige groan lightly into your skin.

“you okay, babe?” you whisper into her ear.

“mhm,” she responds with a slight rasp in her voice, “can you do that thing you were doin’ earlier, though?”

“what thing?” you didn’t even notice what you were doing, or at least what you stopped doing, until she mentioned it.

“when you rub my back,” she answers.

“you like that?”

“'course i do,” she hums, “it’s like a massage.”

a flushed smile graces your face as you go back to caressing her soft skin, focusing on her tense muscles. when you press particularly hard on her lower back, she lets out a satisfied groan as she drops the arm that was stretched and holding her phone.

you can practically feel her melt into your embrace entirely, body going limp as she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. after placing a delicate kiss on her head, you too let your eyes close as you began to fall asleep with her.

“kk, i think they want you to sing,” ice says, pointing to one of the messages on the screen.

“oh i gotchu,” she smiles, instantly getting up from her chair, “what song should i sing?”

“do…” ice responds before reading one of the fans’ suggestions, “oh someone said do adorn by miguel.”

“that’s a good one, okay let me warm up a bit,” she says before obnoxiously and very poorly attempting to do vocal runs to “warm up her voice.”

“hold on you’re, like, not in frame right now,” ice says before she slightly adjusts the camera so that kk can be seen clearly.

but unbeknownst to all of you, your compromised position with paige can now also be seen clearly. you were too comfortable in your slumber and on the girl in your arms to pay attention to what the camera was showing.

kk was too busy "performing" for the fans and ice was too busy making fun of her for doing so, which is why nobody knew what what going on.

"did she eat guys?" ice asks the fans with a grin as kk sits back down, slightly out of breath from dancing.

both of them scan the comments, slightly confused with furrowed eyebrows at what the comments were talking about. it certainly wasn't about kk or ice.

user01: OH MY GOD

user02: THIS SHIP IS SAILING GUYS

user03: is that who i think it is in the bg 😳

at the third comment they read, they both inch closer to the screen to try and understand what their fans' were so enthralled by.

ice is first to realize how you and paige could easily be seen cuddling on the bed behind her and kk. with wide eyes, she quickly yet subtley moved the camera so that you and paige were once again hidden.

kk, still oblivious as to what they were so focused on, whispered to ice, "what happened?"

"they saw paige and y/n," ice replied putting a hand up to cover her mouth while leaning to whisper back in kk's ear.

now it was kk's turn to widen her eyes and cover her mouth, this time in shock. she turned to look back at you two, still fast asleep with arms intertwined.

she stood up from her chair and moved to block the bed entirely, not wanting another incident to happen. she knew that the fans loved to screenshot and record their lives, which always ended up being posted all over social media no matter what.

she also knew that she and ice would be getting an earful from you two once you caught drift of the situation.

------

you began to wake up as soon as you felt your girlfriend move from her position on top of you. she’s now next to you, head resting on your shoulder as one of her arms rests on your stomach.

“where you goin’?” you mumble, voice hoarse from just waking up. you were only half awake but you could tell that the room was now empty, the silence comforting and sunrise peeking through the hotel blinds.

“nowhere, ma, i’m right here,” paige rasps with a light kiss to your collarbone.

you were about to fall back asleep but are disturbed by your phone vibrating violently next to you. with a tired groan, you blindly reach for it in an attempt to silence it. even as you pick it up and unlock it, you are still bombarded with notifactions from all kinds of social apps - instagram, tiktok, twitter - you name it.

you’re now awake with curiosity, confused as to why you’re getting so many messages. you usually had your phone on “do not disturb” with the exceptions of your family, friends, and select media accounts. you scroll aimlessly through some of your dms, but when you don’t find an answer, you relocate and scroll through your explore feed.

your eyes shoot open as you register one of the top posts - a video clip of you and paige sleeping peacefully behind ice and kk on live.

“shit."

"what?" paige mumbles into your shirt.

"look," you nudge her, showing her the post on your screen.

"oh shit."

"my thoughts exactly..." you say, heart beating faster with anxiety at the thought of your careers at risk, "what do we do?"

"i mean," she starts cautiously, "i don't think there's much we can do."

as much as you hated to hear it, it was the truth. clips and captures had already spread like wildfire. people have always speculated and theorized, but with this mishap, their suspicions were practically confirmed.

paige sits up against the headboard of the bed when she notices your reaction - or lack thereof. your expression remains unmoved as you think of any way to de-escalate the situation.

"hey," she says, grabbing your phone from your grasp, "don't stress it too much, alright? what's done is done, and all we can do is act normal - like nothing happened. i can even beat up ice and kk if you want."

you know she's only half joking but the sentiment brightens your mood, "you're right. thanks, p."

"whatever it takes to get you off your phone and back under this blanket," she shrugs, "i mean, did you see the time? we have a full hour before we have to meet up with the team, i'm not letting it go to waste."

"so you're spending it...sleeping?" you giggle.

"no," she protests, "i'm spending it in a nice ass bed with my beautiful girlfriend."

"and who is this girlfriend?" you tease.

"at this point, i think the whole world knows it's you, ma."

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[thankstothe]

Some notes on Wilson's marriages/divorces, and how he met House:

• House didn't just meet a freshly divorced Wilson. He met barely married Wilson, who just got notified about his #1 divorce by a lawyer, not his wife

• Wilson walked around with papers on hand, long enough to give House a chance to sneak a peek. The same day he received the news. (there's a chance it was some sort of middle step in the divorce procedure, but "just served", checkmate your honor)

• House 100% knew that when he bailed him out. No, I don't have any concrete evidence besides "it's fucking House"

• House had Wilson observed the entire time to know he didn't open the papers. The divorce lawyer prob gave him an idea of what it is, and he was just marinating in the suffering juice

• House had to be nosy and stealthy when he checked the package Wilson clung to, he saw what's written on it

• They didn't actually talk at the conference itself, so House did it silently too

• There was a law firm address on the papers, and you couldn't just google shit then. House's had to remember it to investigate it further, or he already knew of the firm (or it said "BLAH LAW FIRM BLAH HERE'S YOUR DIVORCE PAPERS, LOSER", which is possible)

• Wilson likely opened them in a hotel room (or he looked at the package sadly/angrily there too), needed a drink, and House was at the bar

• House was watching Wilson at that conference, then at the bar, then meltdown over the song, then the whole fight and the mess, then the detention, and was like yeah I'll bail that

• "First words you ever said to me." This is when they first talked, Wilson was in jail and the one in need

• Ok alright, hear me out, if House didn't know what the papers were at the time of bailing. There are 2 paths for him to find out

• Wilson STILL had them on hand in jail

• Or Housey saw them at Wilson's hotel room. Yeah

• It's been over the decade since they've met and they both vividly remember the details of that drunk night (I get why for storytelling purposes. Still... Much to think about)

• That conference is either the last one, or one of the lasts, House attended. And that one was already boring to House without Wilson. 15 years prior to s06e06 "Known Unknowns", can't do the timeline magic I just eyeball it

• House also introduced Wilson to Cuddy pretty soon, since she was a witness to the levels of despair he was apparently in

• House might've pestered Cuddy to hire him, or she chose to do so herself (whenever she was dean). Maybe House chased away some poor oncologist to make an opening. Even if House isn't as obsessed with Wilson at the start of season 1, he's always plotting

• There's the brother thing too. Wilson still fresh out of med school, still divorcing, still guilty af and looking for the brother in Princeton, so he was happy to work there

• Prior to that, Wilson was working 2 jobs to support himself and Sam and was ready to follow her to Baltimore

• The divorce and meeting House happened in 1991, the same year USSR completely fell apart. Just thought I'll throw that in #educational

• Wilson was married, non-fraudulently, for 12 years total

• Marriage #1 has only lasted 1 year

• That means every marriage House was present for has lasted longer #math

• Wilson found a way to get fulfilled while in the marriage

• Now he's got a needy bitch with infinite problems and who will slurp any poison he has to siphon

• I'd argue House is what made Wilson bearable at home

• At the same time, House is what kept Wilson away from home, ultimately contributing to the divorce

• Wilson himself describes his marriages as crappy - he doesn't really need help destroying them. House still helps~✨

• Timeline gets wonky, but there couldn't have been much of a downtime between marriages, a couple of years max

• "Fell in love at the wedding" - whatever the fuck that means for Wilson

• Either Wilson met Sam through that wedding, and she also aimed to work in medicine - how they've connected. Or they went there as a couple, both being med students? Got high on emotions and jumped into marriage

• Wilson speedruns relationships once he's in them, so it could've gone "hey that was a nice wedding, how about we have our own?"

• He fucking sucks at proposals, his looks and general air of niceness carried him all 3 times, I will not be hearing any objections on the matter

• When Wilson talks to Cameron about cheating. He says, "I have (cheated). I always told them"

• "Them"

• It's could've been every marriage (#1, #2 and #3). If boy managed to sneak in cheating in his 1-year lightning marriage #1, while he was studying + 2 jobs (now I don't doubt his time management skills, but it's still a hassle. On the other hand, all that stress couldn't have been helping)

• Or it could be #1 and #2, or #1 and #3. But #3 is pretty much a certainty (he flirts with nurses on screen, House is also there), and it's "them", so why would he randomly stop in the middle? Don't think so

• What's most likely is - #2 and #3. When arguing with Sam (#1) again she didn't mention or allude to the cheating, her problem was that Wilson didn't communicate ANY emotions to her, she even admitted to House she made the most mistakes in that marriage, let's say there's some truth in that

• Wilson either didn't tell Sam about cheating, she didn't have a problem with it, or he lied to Cameron

• OR he didn't cheat on Sam

• He started to cheat after the first divorce AND his marriages started to last longer, which is funnier too

• He could've started cheating prior to House entering the picture, but much more likely - after. Divorce and/or House are the cause

• Speaking of. Meeting House is very tightly linked to the #1 divorce. Every time Wilson would think back on it, he would have to think about all the turmoil and getting bailed by House. And vice versa - every time he'd think back on meeting House...

• "I met someone who made me feel funny. And I didn't want to let that feeling go." Another Cameron talk. Ur honor, there's something on that wall

• btw, he is STILL married while meeting House, so if you hilson 1st-night-fuck truther, that meeting is his cheater origin story in a more practical sense. He then could've really meant all the marriages, but then he lied about telling Sam/Cameron, he might not count it since he's divorcing to tell Sam

• Ultimately, he's a huge liar, and I'm wasting my time. What I'm saying - nothing is really off the table with this guy in terms of hcs

• Aftermaths of #2 and #3 aren't really talked about like #1. It must've been really nuclear

• House says neither of them recovered from (#1) divorce to Wilson's face, Wilson doesn't contest that in any way. Even tho House didn't know Wilson before the divorce he usually right on the money with these things

• After the divorce #2 Wilson got 3 legged cat

• After failing to secure marriage #4 (#1 part 2) he got a diabetic cat

• Just like the thing he has with missing phone calls, after every divorce, consciously or not, he might expect a savior to bail him out

• After and during #3 he crashed at House's, then surfed hotels, then moved in with a dying patient, then Amber's, then House moved in with him (still Amber's)

• Maybe his wives kept taking properties in the divorce, and he just stopped getting them

• Man frankly didn't have a home for a while (HOMELESS BUT NOT HOUSELESS)

• Then Wilson finally commits and gets the place for himself and House, from Bonnie (#2)

• Wilson adamantly remains on good terms with his ex-wives (but not random exes. One helps House with a prank, House kept tabs bc of course)

• But Wilson thinks they hate him. Did he ever pay attention to them?

• While spending all the time with House, then cheating, telling his wives about it, Wilson gave them more attention and emotions to delay the divorce

• He also learned how not to get attached in marriage, to not get destroyed by the divorce (excellent gambit if you expect your marriage to fail)

• He has a better support system now too. Can't believe House is your support system, fucking lmao and ouch. Cuddy is his only other friend we see, maybe Stacy at some point (he kept in touch with after the incident)

• All his other friends and family we hear next to nothing about, at best they're surface level

• In season 5 he's only visited by the coworkers/House's team + Cuddy <- all that is pretty much House's tolerance circle

• House is pathetic, but Wilson is something else entirely

[darcytaylor]

Are people mad that Luke Newton has a girlfriend? Or is it something more? A deep dive. Part 2 of 3.

In my previous blog I talked about the mistakes that Luke has made with his relationship and why fans cannot, will not, do not want to like his girlfriend. (Do you guys see what I did there?) - Most people wouldn’t care if he had a girlfriend (or they wouldn’t even know) if he didn’t make a few mistakes along the way.

Mistakes previously stated in last blog:  

Making dating life public. Befriending Antonia on Instagram. Always saying he was most like his character. His friends. Social media presence.

Now onto Part 2:

Luke should have been more active when it came to booking new jobs. He seemed to take the summer off before the Bridgerton press tour. While it does make sense that he wanted some time off before he was going on a months long press tour. He floundered in opportunities. 

I can’t say for sure if he was sending in tapes and auditioning for anything. Maybe he was and he just never booked anything. But it seemed like all he was concerned about was hanging out with friends and spending time on boats. 

I do get that he had just gotten out of a long term relationship and everybody takes that different ways. Breakups are hard and take time to get over. His way was to completely change everything about himself (and yes some of that had to do with getting into character) - from body to personality. 

(Personally I prefer when he had a bit more weight to him, he lost all of his ass!) - He was too focused on working his biceps than his glutes. 

So now because he doesn’t have jobs booked and the only time he does go do something (LA and Paris), he brings Antonia. This is another mistake! It seems like he just wants to take trips with her and not actually put in the work. Fans don’t want to see his dates, they want to see his talent. 

I think everybody and their mothers have had enough of Soho Farmhouse. 

All of the outrage could have been avoided if he had just kept everything secret from the beginning or avoided some of the key mistakes that were stated in Blog one. He should have reigned in Antonia and gotten her to stop posting about said trips/dates. People already hated them together and he was apparently content on digging himself even deeper. 

Which brings on the InStyle stunt that happened in LA (this was a cluster fuck mistake). People knew that they were together in LA. That would have been fine if Antonia didn’t then post the pictures on social media. It’s one thing to speculate, it’s another to have concrete evidence. 

It’s okay to not let people know everything. It’s okay to keep those memories to yourself. It’s okay to post these pictures (that they knew people would be mad about) on a private account. 

It’s like Luke thought that since people were already mad, it couldn’t possibly get any worse. He was wrong!

They were posted out of spite, that’s the only logical reasoning why the InStyle pictures happened. Antonia doesn’t have the comments turned on, if she was a kind person, she would delete them, like what is the point of them now? But both of them wanted to make their relationship known, they have wanted to announce their relationship for a long time and they weren't allowed.

The next thing that is completely insane is telling people in interviews how he was young and naive in his early 20s in interviews. This one is a huge mistake and a mistake that I’m not even sure Luke has picked up on. During those interviews people already knew about Antonia, and one of the issues people have, is her age. 

It seems like Luke may in fact still be naive. Because the lack of judgement to even say those words out loud is astonishing!

I think Luke has forgotten how to cater to his fans, which in turn has made them question everything about his decisions - which includes who he is dating. 

Because of the MULTIPLE mistakes and actions at every turn,  people will never accept Antonia/they weren’t ready to accept her yet. He has made her look like a ‘mean girl’, with no job, flaunting her not-so-secret relationship. 

(It sounds mean but it is what it is)

Ultimately the fans were not ready, they weren’t ready for him to go date a much younger girl. They weren’t ready for him to completely go 180 from his character of Colin. 

He should have taken a step back after New Years. He saw the backlash and should have stopped and thought about what he wanted to put out into the world/how he wanted to be perceived. Instead he went head strong into it and now I can’t see him ever being able to make Antonia a fan favourite. 

It’s like the Harry Styles and Olivia Wilde situation. People hated that relationship because of how it started out. They were never able to get the fans on board, all hope was lost when it came to that. 

But his next relationship with Taylor Russell, people loved. Because it had a good foundation. It didn't have the drama. It was brought out with care.

Luke and Antonia’s foundation to the public is non-existent. The foundation literally exploded and they kept on laying bombs. 

I don’t think people are ultimately mad that Luke has a girlfriend. I don’t even think they are mad because it’s not Nicola. They are mad because of the ongoing cluster fuck of actions that were made. 

If you have again made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

I could probably make a part 3! Hahah 

I do want to say that this isn't a hate blog on Luke. I think that he can be redeemable in the eyes of the fans he has lost today (because he has lost some fans). But all of his actions up until this point in regards to his relationship have been wild! It's just mistake after mistake after mistake.

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

Headcannon here, but since the Corrie guard probably has extremely limited/zero access to things like speeders or hover bikes, they picked up parkour?

Just imagine corries learning how to safely descend/ascend various levels without access to things like stairs or ladders, because they know the price of losing the suspect.

And what would the reaction of the GAR be?

AHAHAHAHAH YESSSS

Fox started the trend - he saw a kid do it with their friends and in a moment of desperation, he asked them straight up what they were doing

They showed it to him and in the times he had available, he learned from them how to ascend and descend from buildings to levels safely

Now, he wasn’t about to teach the Corries that until they were doing a patrol and one had him following a suspect and his patrol of shinies that was with him saw and RECORDED him doing parkour and in the end, he was hounded by his men to learn

(Turns out though many Corries were attempting to do parkour without even knowing that’s what it was during patrols because they had no speeders or transportation; Fox just taught them how to do it more efficiently, effectively and safely)

The GAR was never meant to find out. That was Fox’s only rule to the Corries doing parkour: don’t let the GAR find out

Thorn swears Fox broke the rule first. Fox knows it was Thorn who broke it though

Them two were having their monthly parkour competition and were jumping and flipping off buildings and levels for fun. It was the only time they both had time off at the same time together

Bacara and Neyo’s battalions were on leave at the time; hence, Thorn and Fox avoided the 79s

HOWEVER, the Corrie Commanders forgot that Bacara and Neyo like to explore Coruscant whenever they’re together and those two saw Thorn scale a building and flip to another building during their exploration

They also saw Fox curse out Thorn and do a double flip to the same building his SIC was on, almost falling when he didn’t land quite right.

(Luckily, Thorn was there to catch him)

According to Thire, the two weren’t originally going to say anything except Stone accidentally pissed them off when he and Thire was on patrol and Stone bumped into Neyo which caused him to drop the ice cream food he had in his hand to the floor. (Stone denies he bumped into Neyo; swears it was actually Thire who did it but the video cam apparently glitched during that time so there’s no concrete evidence). Either way, Neyo was willing to let it go but the ice cream cost all the credits that Bacara saved up during his missions and he wasn’t about to have his best friend disrespected that way

Hound doesn’t care who did what. What he did do was put up a sign in the barracks that has the words “OUR CCs ARE THE REASON WE CANT DO PARKOUR ANYMORE”

(They still do parkour though. They just become extra careful on not getting caught)

That lasted for about two weeks before Fox threw in the towel when on patrol and saw a suspect right behind Cody and General Kenobi and decided his job was more important than a secret and said “fuck it”

This caused not only the GaR to want to learn how to do parkour, but many Vod who had batchmates in the Coruscant Guard began reaching out to learn why they do parkour, how to learn, and it become spread out in the GAR to have competitions with the Corries (the Corries always won)

Thorn still has on camera Cody’s expression of awe and disbelief as Fox straight up ran, flipped over him, scaled the building next to them a few feet and jump off towards the suspect’s speeder. It’s hearted on his camera roll so he has easy access to it and can show it to Fox when he’s having a bad day

(Fox deletes the video when Thorn doesn’t come back from the Scipio mission)

(He also stops doing parkour until the end of the war)

[jedi-enthusiast]

Ok here's my thing with "The Wrong Jedi" arc, and I'm saying this as someone who actually really likes Ahsoka in TCW.

People use this arc to shit on the Jedi (particularly the Council) so much, but like...Ahsoka was literally doing everything she could to make herself look guilty and give them no other choice but to suspect her.

Like, let's put this in perspective, shall we?

One of the people in your (really fucking large) family--someone you know of, but whom most of the family isn't really close to--gets accused of murdering someone and being a part of a terrorist group--and apparently there's video evidence, although even that doesn't really make it clear what happened.

You, of course, start trying to do everything you can to get said cousin out of jail since--even though you're not close to them--you don't think they would do something like that, and the evidence isn't concrete.

But, while you're trying to help them get released, you find out that your cousin has escaped from the county jail, several police officers are dead from knife wounds, and the only evidence is a knife that specifically belongs to your cousin as well as a couple other things that implicate them.

Your cousin goes on the run, then teams up with a known murderer and terrorist, and hurts even more police officers while on the run until finally they're caught once again.

Now you are left with a choice: you can either continue trying to defend your cousin, or you allow the police to take them into custody to face a trial.

Right now a lot of people hate your family, to the point that they're sending death threats and mail bombs and screaming obscenities outside your ancestral home.

It's already putting everyone else in your family, including literal children and babies, in danger and if you continue defend your cousin--despite all of the evidence that points to them being guilty--they could be put in even more danger and the government funding that your family lives off of could be taken away, since you would be defending a suspected terrorist.

So, in that situation, what would you honestly do?

You would do the smart, and reasonable, thing and stop defending your cousin so the police could take them into custody.

The Council tried to help Ahsoka, but she kept doing things to make herself look guilty and--in doing so--put them in a hard position where they couldn't defend her anymore without causing harm to the rest of the Order.

And would you really, truly, honestly defend someone when all of the evidence points to them being guilty? Of course not!

If you want to blame someone for what happened in that arc, blame Barriss for framing Ahsoka in the first place or Tarkin for being such a dick, but shut the fuck up about the Jedi.

They were put in a shitty position and made the best choices they could in a bad situation.

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Side Effects III | Han + Chan

You're onto whatever it is that Jisung and Chan are hiding. You just have to prove it. With a hidden camera set up in your room you're ready to catch the two science nerds in the act. However it just doesn't work out that way.

•Pairing: nerdy Jisung + Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, kitchen sex, feelings of guilt, jealousy and betrayal, animal testing no rats were harmed in this work of fiction

an: sorry this one took so long. writers block was kicking my ass. slightly edited so if something doesn't make sense or needs to be fixed let me know ♡

The link to the song Amortentia that's referenced is included. For a more understanding of Jisung's feelings towards y/n give it a listen. Completely optional of course but it's truly a good song. Amortentia By, Let's Lumos ft. Oliver Boyd & The Remembralls

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

Part I • Part II

You had everything planned out. You knew exactly what you were going to do. Or so you liked to tell yourself. In reality, you were clueless and nervous as hell. What should I do? Seduce the two men and see who spills the beans first? Nah, that'd never work. Confront them with my suspicions about both of them being invisible? Without concrete evidence, they would only deny it.

“Ugh, damn it. Guess I'll just wing it,” you mutter to yourself behind the register, just as a customer walks up wanting some eccentric type of coffee.

You’ve felt Chan more than Jisung lately, so you figure it would be easier to get to him. You know he seems to like places where it's easy to get caught, like the balcony, the kitchen, or the couch. If Jisung were to ever walk out of his bedroom, he’d see you two immediately. Your eyes light up as you pass the recycled paper cup full of fresh coffee. Each time you were fucked by someone you couldn't see, it was an instinct to be as quiet as possible to not get caught… but what if you weren’t? Your mind starts running through scenarios of Jisung finding you as you come undone around some unseen man.

You argued with yourself your whole shift at the small coffee shop you work at. What if Jisung catches his best friend invisible and balls deep inside his roommate, causing a fight? Why would it, when Jisung doesn't see me that way? What if Jisung kicks you out? I'd be homeless and miserable. The cons were looking pretty convincing. You were all out of ideas, having talked yourself out of every one. It was starting to look like you'd never know what they were up to in Jisung's room, if they were actually invisible or if you were insane.

When you step into the apartment and slip off your shoes, you’re surprised to see Jisung in the kitchen. What surprises you the most is that he says something to you as you walk past the kitchen to your room. You freeze and look at him, almost wondering if you imagined him saying, “Hello” to you. Looking around, you see it's just the two of you.

“H-hey, Ji,” you respond, feeling timid and a little scared that he’ll just start ignoring you again.

He gives you a shy smile and retreats to his bedroom. Weird. He never fails to be weird, and you never expect it either. It's not like how you expect to have a visitor in your room waiting for you. You could smell the sweetness in the air the moment you stepped inside your room. To anyone else, they probably wouldn't be able to smell the difference between the vanilla of Chan and the caramel apple scent of your current favorite body lotion. Where he was in your room though, you had no idea.

Chan sat on the floor in the corner of your room by your bed, watching you. He had to find another spot to observe you from after you almost stepped on his balls two weeks ago. He discovered this corner was one you didn't go near, and it provided the best view to watch you undress. Much like right now. You meticulously removed each piece of clothing, and Chan was engrossed in the action as if it were his favorite show or movie. He didn't suspect that the way you moved had anything to do with the fact that you knew he was there. Slowly, you put on a show for Chan while still wondering how to catch them.

Does Ji know Chan is in my room? He must.

You were certain that Jisung's greeting to you was some sort of signal for Chan. It amused you, and you almost laughed out loud, but you remembered that you had eyes on you. That might not be enough to convince someone like Jisung or Chan, but it was enough for you. Nothing would get past you now that you knew you weren't crazy. Now, if only you could expose one or the other while they were invisible. Where are you? you wondered once you were completely nude. You stood there, chewing on your lip, pretending that you'd forgotten what you were supposed to be doing. A slow turn and, with a gasp, you moved to grab your towel.

Maybe if I entice him enough, he'll follow me into the shower. The steam might expose him...

It was a shot in the dark, but you didn't have a whole list of ideas. There was no guarantee that Chan would follow you into the shower, and no guarantee that the steam would make an outline like in the movies. Never once had Chan followed you into the shower. It always seemed like an easy way to get caught. Not in the way you were thinking, though. He knew you'd possibly get suspicious if he just so happened to have wet hair right after you felt something. Not to mention Jisung would be more suspicious than he is now.

Jisung had yet to question Chan about the strange, creepy smile you gave them both. He noticed how Chan's body language changed that night—how shifty and nervous Chan was, no matter how calm and collected he acted. Jisung had always been good at reading people. Well, except for you, but he attributed that to his feelings for you. Jisung just couldn't understand why Chan suddenly started acting weird. Surely if he were experiencing any side effects, he'd report them so they could work on them. Chan wasn't the type to keep things like that to himself. Not with something as important as this. This elixir, once perfected, would make them billionaires. That outcome was so close Jisung could hear the announcement of him getting a Nobel Peace Prize.

Chan continuously tries to fight the urges, running tests of his own that Jisung doesn't even know about. Every night, he tries a new combination of vitamins and over-the-counter pills. In his own time, he researches anything that would lower a person's libido and, in a healthy, safe way, tries each one himself. So far, nothing has worked. The only change is that he's getting a good daily dose of vitamins and a hell of a workout with you. It's even a mental workout just trying to resist you when you choose to walk around your bedroom completely naked, like you're inviting him to fuck you. You are, but Chan doesn't have a clue.

There's no way you would ever think that he was the one that was balls deep inside whatever hole of yours he decided he needed to fill that night. But smell is such a powerful thing. You could smell something you hadn't gotten a whiff of in twenty years, but one breeze past you will bring up a whole memory you could've sworn you forgot about. You put a lot of effort into that cologne for Chan. You paid close attention to how he smelled weeks before you settled on that specific one. The smell of smoky vanilla always reminds you of his hugs. The warmth and sweetness surround you. It brought you comfort. It still does; only now it also makes you wet. Like your body knows once you smell him, he'll be fucking you into another dimension.

So while Chan would love nothing more than to fuck you hard up against the slippery, wet tiles of your shower, he remains in the same spot, all while his precum leaks heavily from his hard length. He refuses to even touch himself. It would do him no good anyway; he'd still be hard as hell and insanely horny. He even tries to resist the temptation to feel you. You were still dripping wet from your shower when you walked back with the towel wrapped around you. You half-expected Chan to have left, but the soft shuffling sound that quietly creeps closer gets louder. The smell of vanilla fills the space around you, and you struggle to pretend you're unaware. Without thinking and without any warning, you scream loudly, hysterically calling for both Jisung and Chan.

Jisung bursts into your room without hesitation, making your heart swell. The way his cheeks turn red at the sight of you gives him a cute, innocent look, all wide-eyed, wearing his round glasses and lab coat. You have to bite your tongue to hide your smile. Instead, you pout and run to him, grabbing his arm.

"Ji, oh my god! I just saw this massive spider in the corner. I… I don't know where it went, though. Where's Chan? I know he usually takes them outside." You lay the damsel-in-distress act on thick.

You cling to his arm, your breast pressing firmly into his biceps. He shifts on his feet, looking around your room, likely for Chan instead of the imaginary spider. Jisung can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and his cock rapidly growing harder. It's been a while since he's taken the elixir, and although that wasn't easy, lusting over you and desiring you seems to only grow since he already felt you under him and around him.

“Oh, uh, I'll, um. I'll look,” he stammers, moving out of your arms, though he'd rather be fucking you up against the wall behind you both.

“Thanks, Jisung. Dunno what I'd do without you,” you tell him. Your voice is soft and delicate, which only makes Jisung struggle even more.

Chan uses this opportunity to slip out of the open door before the effects wear off, while Jisung hesitantly walks toward your bed, looking for the bug, scared and horny. A loud thud startles both you and Jisung, and you both turn toward the door, seeing nothing, though you hear the faint whisper of a few curse words in a very familiar accent.

“I'm not seeing it, Y/N. Maybe it crawled away,” Jisung says loudly as a distraction from the foot of your bed.

With an amused smile, you look back at him, and his throat feels suddenly tight. With you just in a towel, hair damp, and in the same spot where he was inside of you, he feels overwhelmed. So many emotions are running rampant inside of him. He just stares at you, lost in the memory of when he first felt your walls hugging his cock tight. With his faraway stare, you wonder if he's thinking about the last time he was in your room. Back when you had no clue and seriously thought you were insane. When you can prove your suspicions, then you'll deal with the fact that they both let you believe the place was haunted or that your brain was fried from working too much. You take a couple of steps over to Jisung and gently touch his arm. He hasn't jumped away from you like before, but he does look at you with such an intense expression that you almost step away from him.

“Ji? Are you good?” you ask, looking him directly in the eyes. He swallows hard, his breathing coming out in quiet huffs.

He prays your eyes don't stray and travel any further than his face. He'd be mortified if you noticed the very prominent bulge he's got right now hidden behind his dark basketball shorts. It's painful just how hard he is, and with each angry pulsation, he fears that he might cum right here in front of you.

“Yeah, I'm... I'm alright, just tired.” He clears his throat and starts to walk to the door.

You feel panic blossom in your chest. What if he goes back to being distant? The thought makes you reach out to him, grabbing the wrinkled white lab coat. Jisung looks over his shoulder, and his heart drops seeing the fear and sadness in your eyes. He knows he's been a huge dick to you, but he figured that would make being away from you easier. Yet he was wrong. He missed your company far more than he missed your tight, wet, perfect cunt. Before his mind can drift off again, you speak up.

“U-uh… I was wondering if you wanted to order from Collision? I know how you love the food there. My treat?” He nods, and his lips perk up into a small smile.

“Sounds good, sweetie. My treat, though, okay? I'll get our usual.”

And then he leaves your room, shutting the door gently behind him. Bewildered is far too weak of a word to describe how you're feeling while you just stand there in the middle of your room with a stupid shocked expression. Jisung has gone back to how he was with you overnight, and it makes you anxious for some reason. Like something big is going to happen really, really soon…

Chan is walking out of Jisung's bathroom when he steps back into his domain. He locks the door and just stares at his friend.

“Uh, sup? Why are you looking at me so weirdly?” Chan asks, chuckling nervously.

“You did it too, didn't you?” Jisung whispers, looking at Chan, who has panic flash across his face.

“No! What? Why would…” Chan trails off, quickly accepting defeat.

“Not while she was sleeping, no.” He finally admits and watches as his best friend walks over to the bed and flops down with an oof.

“Listen Ji, I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do all the things that I knew were the right things to do.” Chan continues, unmoving from his spot in front of Jisung's bathroom door.

“No, I get it. The elixir. This side effect is strange. I don't even know how to describe it, let alone study it.” Jisung inhales deeply and sighs. “On top of that, we're so close to making it last longer than twenty minutes too. I can feel it.”

Chan moves, walking over to the air mattress and carefully sitting down, feeling guilty and also proud of their hard work. He opens his mouth to apologize at least six more times, but when Jisung speaks, he's unable to find his voice.

“Did she like it? You said she was never asleep. She must've wanted it, so she must've enjoyed it. Stupid question…”

His statement hangs in the air like cigarette smoke. Heavy, lingering, suffocating. Chan, with his guilt and desires eating at him, and Jisung's heart hurting due to the unspoken love that he has for you. He wants to be mad at Chan. Shit, he is mad at Chan, but he really understands. Though the little green demon called jealousy is constantly tapping on his ear, telling him that now he's got no chance with you. All the girls love Chan, despite him being just as nerdy as Jisung. With his chiseled abs and jawline, the perfect dimpled smile and accent, the girls at school always had eyes on him. So what's to say you won't fall for Chan now that he's fucked you who knows how many times. Jisung can't bring himself to even ask for a number.

“I try to fight it, Ji. I really try. In the beginning, it was easy, but something shifted… no, cracked in me. One night, she was talking in her sleep. But that talking soon turned to moaning, and at the time, I still felt normal. Until she got… close.” His voice gets quiet, and he trails off.

“Was that the, uh, first time you and her?” Jisung asks, and Chan shakes his head in reply.

“When she, uh, finished in her sleep, she moaned your name, Ji. I know you don't think you deserve her, but you're wrong.”

It's not much, but Chan's words soothe the green-eyed demon that was festering away at Jisung's heart.

Nodding and with a loud exhale, Jisung stands up. “Alright, let's get to work. I know for sure there's a way to tackle the effects as well as lengthen it. We just need to think further out of the box,” he announces, pulling out his phone. “But first, I need to order food.”

That night after dinner, things started to look up for you. Though you don't have any proof yet, Jisung seems to be coming around. You're not back to how things were, but at least he isn't running away from your presence. You sigh and roll onto your back, hitting the yellow "buy now" button on your phone. By the time you get home from work tomorrow, you'll have a wireless discreet camera. A victorious smile spreads across your face as you think, “Gotcha.”

You set your phone aside, the screen dimming as you rise from the bed. The soft rustle of the sheets and the creak of the mattress punctuate the quiet. You can feel him watching you, his gaze almost tangible against your skin. Your heart quickens, not with fear but with excitement, the anticipation of what’s to come making your pulse race.

Slowly, you begin to undress, your movements deliberate and unhurried. The fabric of your clothes slides against your skin, a soft whisper of cotton and lace. You hear a faint, almost inaudible intake of breath, and you smile, knowing the effect you’re having on him.

The room is cool, the air from the open window sending gentle chills across your exposed skin. You can almost feel his presence drawing closer, the warmth of his body cutting through the coolness. Your breath hitches as you feel the first tentative touch – a soft, barely-there caress along your arm, trailing down to your wrist. It’s as if the air itself has come alive, brushing against you with a lover’s touch.

You don’t flinch or pull away; instead, you lean into it, letting your eyes flutter closed as you savor the sensation. His touch grows bolder, more confident, sliding up your arm to your shoulder, tracing the curve of your collarbone. You shiver, a sigh escaping your lips. The feel of his hands – warm, soft – skimming across your body with a reverence that makes you ache.

Chan moves closer, the scent of vanilla intensifying, mingling with the smell of cake batter from your body wash. You can feel his breath now, warm against your neck, goosebumps up and down your arms and legs. His lips follow, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You tilt your head, giving him better access, your fingers threading through the air where you know his hair must be. The sensation is surreal; you've never let your hands roam too much before. You feel his hair through your fingers and his hands on your hips, pulling you closer, his body solid and real against yours despite the invisibility.

The room is filled with the sounds of your shared breaths, the quiet breeze, the faint rustle of sheets as he guides you back to the bed. You lie down, heart pounding in your chest.

His hands are on you again, sliding up your thighs, parting your legs with a gentle insistence. You gasp as his fingers find your core, slick and ready, the sensation electric. He teases you, his touch light and maddening, drawing soft whimpers from your lips.

"Please," you breathe, your voice a desperate plea. There’s a moment of stillness and then he’s on you, in you, filling you with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes you cry out.

The world narrows to the two of you, the sensation of him moving inside you, the slippery sounds of your bodies coming together, the taste of his kiss on your lips. Every touch, every caress, every thrust sends sparks of electricity through your veins.

You cling to him, your fingers digging into the air where his shoulders must be, your body arching into his. His pace quickens, the rhythm of his movements matching the frantic beating of your heart. You can feel the tension coiling inside you, tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

With a final, desperate thrust, you come undone, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. He follows you over the edge, his own release a silent shudder that you feel rather than hear. For a moment, you lie there, your bodies entwined, the air around you heavy with the scent of vanilla and sex.

As you catch your breath, you feel him begin to pull away, the warmth of his body retreating. You reach out, your fingers brushing against nothing but air, a wistful smile on your lips. The room settles back into its quiet stillness. You reach for your phone, the glow of the shipping tracker on the screen lighting up your face once more. For now, you’ll play their game, savoring every touch, every stolen moment. But soon, you’ll have the evidence you need to confront them, to bring their little experiment out into the open.

"Ready to come clean, boys?" you think to yourself, feeling Chan's eyes on you, waiting for the moment he can slip away. He finds that moment when you go to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Just in time too, as the effects wear off right as he steps out, coming face to face with Jisung.

“"I'm sorry," Chan whispers, letting his head fall.

There's no need to ask how long he's been standing there or if he heard your moaning. The flexing of his jaw muscle and the steady breathing to keep himself from doing anything he'd regret speak volumes. Chan suggests they should scrap everything and start over. He can't stand the hurt look on Jisung's face; he's like a little brother to him. Never in a million years would he ever hurt him.

“No. We're not far from the end; we can't give up now,” Jisung says quietly, moving away from your door and towards his own as Chan follows. “I know the feeling of not being in control, and with you taking a higher dose than I was… well, I get it. Let's just finish this up as quickly as possible.” Chan mutters a defeated-sounding agreement and trails after him like a sad puppy.

When you get home from work, you find the package containing your new camera. You retreat into your room quickly to set it up. You smile to yourself as you angle it so that it's pointing towards your bed and the bedroom door. At one point, you even thought to rig up some contraption above your door that would dump flour on them when they walked in, but you thought better of it. With your luck, you'd be the one covered in white instead of Chan or Jisung. Though… you still just might be. When you walk out of your room, you see Jisung and Chan talking in front of the door with Channie's bags in his hand.

“You leaving us, Channie?” you ask, worried that you missed the opportunity to catch him on camera and that you just set everything up for nothing.

“Don't worry, I'll be back to bug you two soon. My cousin's having a grand opening for his restaurant in Australia, so I'll be gone for the weekend.” He explains, his eyes darting to his friend nervously. “Stay out of trouble,” he tells Jisung and looks back at you. “Both of you.”

You give him a lazy salute and smile. “Yes, sir,” you respond and walk into the kitchen.

Just you and Jisung for the weekend… This could go either really well or really badly.

The first night was a bit awkward. Jisung is distant again, but not as much as before. He seems to try and talk to you more, but you can see he isn't always fully present in the conversation.

It's not that he isn't paying attention or finds what you are talking about boring. It's the flashbacks that he struggles with around you. The temptation of taking the liquid just to feel you again. He misses how you felt, the sounds he would make you make. Every time he is with you, talking about whatever, it’s almost like he can practically feel you bear hug his cock with your greedy cunt.

The second night isn't any easier, and most of the time, Jisung is in his room, tweaking and testing the elixir on more borrowed rats. Each time he hears you shuffling around the apartment, he wants to chug the whole test tube of the faint aqua liquid.

Those two days, however, you feel defeated. You keep thinking that you wasted money and time on the camera that sits hidden in your room out of sight. In a moment of frustration, you disconnect the device with an annoyed growl.

“Fuck this,” you sigh and sit on the edge of your bed. “Back to the drawing board, I guess. Maybe… maybe I could take a peek inside his room?”

The brainstorming with yourself only keeps coming to a brick wall. The camera was the answer, or so you thought. Now, without anything happening, you figure you missed your window to catch them in the act.

It's Saturday evening, and you've seen Jisung only a few times. You start to worry that he's gone back to his weird avoidance towards you again.

“Hmph. It's not like I have cooties or something,” you mumble, rolling your eyes as you walk into the kitchen, just barely catching a glimpse of your roommate before he hurries into his room.

It's true that he's avoiding you, but at that particular moment, he just didn't want you to see that he had snuck out of the kitchen with your espresso extract. You'd kill him if you knew he was going to use all of it in the name of science. No matter how many times he told himself that it's for a “good cause,” he knows not to come between you and your coffee. Lucky for him, you already had your cup for the day and wouldn't notice that it's missing until tomorrow. Plenty of time for him to replace it.

The idea of adding a strong espresso to the elixir had immediately popped into his head at random. He could feel the light bulb over his head glowing brightly. It was such a simple idea, but he was more than positive that this was what they needed to lengthen the invisibility timeframe.

The tiny white rat squeaked from inside the metal cage that sat on his cluttered desk when he sat down. Its nose twitched curiously, sniffing the air as the strong smell of coffee filled the room. Jisung's glasses slowly slid down his nose, but he was too focused on measuring and mixing to be bothered by it or even adjust them.

“This is it,” he whispered under his breath, eyes sparkling with excitement.

With a glass dropper in his hand, he watched as the now grayish-teal elixir filled the tube. A couple of drops fed to the rat, he started the timer on his phone. Jisung could hear you outside his room singing. It was muffled, but just the sound of you working with the experiment made him hard.

“Maybe if I... No! I promised Chan.” Jisung took a deep breath and kept his eyes on the cage that seemed to be empty.

The occasional squeak and the cage bedding being kicked up was evidence that the rat was indeed still there and still doing just fine. More squeaks from the cage woke Jisung, who had dozed off, and he checked his phone. Thirty-five minutes and the rat was still invisible. He jumped up out of his chair, startling the rodent, who jumped and squeaked some more.

“I did it,” he said out loud. “I fucking did it.”

Only problem now, how will it react with something bigger? Sure, he promised Chan he would stay out of trouble, but this is important. He can't possibly wait until tomorrow when Chan gets home and then wait for him to make it to the apartment. He'd just have to fight the urges. Maybe the espresso canceled out the weird side effects anyway. He had to know how this new version of the elixir would do on a human.

He watched the dark liquid swirl in the flask, heart racing with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, he downed the elixir, the bitter taste masked slightly by the coffee. The invisibility kicked in almost immediately, but what he didn't anticipate was the overpowering surge of arousal that came with it. Every nerve in his body was tingling, his cock painfully hard. He was amazed and a little terrified by the intensity.

He paced in his room with a stopwatch in hand as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He was invisible, but the arousal was overwhelming. It had never been this intense before. He checked the mirror obsessively, waiting for any sign of the elixir wearing off, but it didn't happen. Twenty minutes passed, and he was still invisible, still hard, and it was only getting worse. He should be happy that his brilliant idea worked, only if he wasn't going mad.

Then, he heard it. Your voice, soft and innocent, singing in the kitchen. You were singing that old song from Let's Lumos, the one you were obsessed with, "Amortentia." The lyrics hit him hard, mirroring his own hidden feelings for you.

Before he could think, he was moving. The kitchen came into view, and there you were. You were lost in the song, unaware of his presence. His breath caught as he watched you from the kitchen doorway, invisible but so very present. The desire gnawed at him, rational thought slipping away. He moved silently, driven by an overwhelming need to be close to you. Suddenly, without realizing it, he was standing right behind you, the proximity making his breath hitch.

He snatched the headphones off your head, tossing them over the kitchen counter. You yelped, spinning around to face nothing.

“Ji?” you whispered, your eyes flicking around the room.

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound, before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was intense, searing, consuming you whole. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you close, and you moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled and desperate. When he finally pulled back, you gasped, inhaling deeply like you’d been deprived of oxygen.

“I’ve missed these lips,” he murmured against your skin. One hand slipped inside the front of your shorts, cupping your sex. “I’ve missed these lips even more.”

You gasped, feeling his middle finger slip inside you, your body arching into his touch. His name passed your lips in a hushed whisper, making him groan.

“Fuck, you’re smart. Makes you even sexier. Can I have you, Y/N? Hm? Not Chan, just me.” He slipped another finger inside you, and you cried out, clinging to him.

“Yes!” you gasped loudly. “I’m yours.”

His fingers were gone, and your pajama pants were pulled down. You barely had time to think before he was lifting you onto the counter, his mouth on your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. Every touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine.

His name fell from your lips over and over, each time like a prayer, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed your body.

“Needed you so bad, Y/N. Needed you for so long,” he whispered against your skin. “God, you have no idea.”

You gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him as much as he needed you. “Show me,” you breathed. “Show me how much.”

You felt his hands on you again, rougher now, more insistent. His cock pressed against you, hot and demanding, and you shivered with anticipation.

“Jisung…” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders, needing him closer, deeper.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue tangling with yours. He entered you in one swift motion, and you cried out, the sensation overwhelming. He was everywhere, all at once, filling you completely. His thrusts were urgent, desperate, each one making you feel like putty in his arms.

“God, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained. “You feel so good.”

The kitchen faded away, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. You didn’t even notice the moment you could see him. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was like a fire, burning away everything but the raw, intense connection between you.

You lost track of time, the only thing that mattered was the way he felt inside you, the way he made you feel. His whispered words of desire, his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. It was all-consuming, a perfect storm of sensation and emotion that left you breathless.

You could barely think, barely breathe, the pleasure building and building until it crashed over you in waves. You came apart in his arms, crying out his name, and he followed soon after, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

You were both panting, clinging to each other as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

He helped you off the counter, pulling you into his arms. Together, as he carried you, you made your way to the couch and wrapped yourselves in a blanket. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the feeling of his arms around you and his heartbeat against your ear.

Hours later, the sound of the door opening jerked you awake. You blinked groggily, realizing that Chan was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide in shock at the sight of you and Jisung, naked and in each other’s arms.

“Guys…?” he said, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

The blanket slipped slightly, revealing the state of your undress, and you hurried to cover up, as if he hadn't seen you naked for the past month.

“Uh… I can explain…” Jisung started, but Chan just raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Chan said, shaking his head. “Guess we need to talk about this, aye?”

You stepped into Jisung's room, your eyes scanning the cluttered space. "Okay, I need to know what you're working on," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chan looked at Jisung, eyebrows raised in question. Jisung sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She found out on her own..."

"Please," you interrupted, your voice breaking. "I need to understand."

Jisung exchanged a look with Chan, who nodded slightly. "Okay," Jisung said, motioning for you to sit. "But you have to promise to keep an open mind."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. Jisung began to explain, his words technical and complicated. But the gist was clear: they'd created an elixir that grants invisibility. As he spoke, the pieces started to fall into place—the strange occurrences, the feeling of being watched, the vivid dreams.

"So, you're saying... you’ve been invisible this entire time?" you ask, disbelief coloring your tone.

Jisung nods, looking down at his hands. "Yes. We've been testing it, trying to perfect it."

"So the... dreams?" you whisper, not sure you want to hear the answer.

He hesitates, then looks up, meeting your eyes. "That was me."

Your breath catches in your throat. The room spins, and you feel a surge of anger and betrayal. "You... you lied to me, Ji. I was terrified for weeks, thinking I was haunted."

Jisung’s face crumples, and he looks away, shame evident in his posture. "I'm sorry. I never meant for any of that to happen. It started out as a joke. But the side effects… it got carried away.”

Chan stands, his face a mix of shame and disappointment. "I'm sorry too, y/n.” You turn to him, having been waiting for him to say something. “It wasn't just Jisung. I don't know what came over us, but I do know it wasn't something we could control."

Jisung buries his face in his hands. "We fucked up. I fucked up."

You stand, trembling with rage and hurt. "Et tu, Channie?" you say, your voice barely more than a whisper as you look at the curly-haired man who avoids your eye. "How could you guys lie?"

Jisung looks up, tears in his eyes. "I’m so sorry, y/n. I’ll do anything to make it right."

You shake your head, backing towards the door. "I need a moment," you say, your voice hollow. "I can't think."

You walk out of the room and leave the apartment, the weight of Chan and Jisung's betrayal crashing down on you. Outside, the night air is cool and soothing, the feeling of autumn approaching, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You walk aimlessly, trying to clear your head, but the pain and confusion follow you.

Back at the apartment, Jisung sits in his room, staring at the door you just left through. Chan stands beside him, silent and disapproving. "We need to fix this," Chan says finally. "We have to make this right, man."

Jisung nods, but deep down, he knows it won’t be that simple. They crossed a line that can never be uncrossed, and the consequences of their actions are only just beginning to unfold.

When you step back into the apartment, you see the backs of Jisung and Chan out on the balcony. The glass door muffles the sounds of their conversation and your footsteps as you walk towards them. Behind the glass, you see tall flames in front of them, and you panic. They've finally done it, you think. They've finally set something on fire. Sliding the door open with speed, the two men turn around quickly, both startled by you.

“What the hell did you burn?!” you ask, looking at both of them.

“Nothing yet,” Jisung says, pointing to the table where every piece of their experiment sits. The notes, every drop of liquid, and even the failed experiments.

“We talked a lot, y/n, and we came to the mutual decision to destroy everything. It's not worth it if it means destroying anything with you,” Chan says, bringing you to tears.

“We would hug you, but the side effects have some lingering symptoms. You're very difficult to be around, let alone touch, right now. Sorry, y/n.” Chan tells you, and Jisung awkwardly coughs, which makes you laugh.

“Listen. Maybe you don't have to destroy it. Maybe you could change it to be some kind of sex enhancement drug? Doesn't sound too difficult for you two.” You appreciate that they'd actually destroy something that could make them billionaires. “How about calling it Love? That's cute, right?”

“Fuck, y/n. Your brain is so fucking sexy.” Jisung grumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face and up into his hair, making you blush and giggle.

“About time you two stop this silent mutual pining,” Chan says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's wait for the stuff to get out of our system before that, maybe.” Jisung laughs and smiles your way. “I mean, if you want to, of course.”

“Ji, of course I do. I told you, I'm yours.” You reassure him, watching his cheeks turn red and ignoring Chan's dramatics pretending to gag.

“Okay, lovebirds, let's get this stuff back inside if we aren't getting rid of it, yeah? Gotta figure out where to store it before we start y/n’s genius idea.”

“I kinda like the side effects.” You say timidly, and both men look at you in surprise and you laugh.

You help them carry everything back inside, feeling a new sense of calm. Once everything is safely stored and locked in a crate that only you have the key to, the three of you head back into the apartment, the door sliding shut behind you. Jisung and Chan exchange a glance, both knowing that their bond with you, though strained, is far from broken.

"We’ll figure it out," Jisung says softly, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Now that there are no secrets."

You nod, smiling, "No secrets."

And for the first time in weeks, you feel a glimmer of optimism. The experiment may have changed everything, but it also brought a truth to light that you and Jisung needed to face. Now, you can rebuild the trust that was lost.

As the night deepens, you find comfort in the fact that, despite everything, you're happy. And if that's a side effect, then you'll gladly endure it all.

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[tyrantisterror]

What are some examples of benevolent (or at least benign) dragons in classical western folklore? I recall you mentioning that they did indeed exist, but I don’t recall you ever mentioning any specific examples.

Well, firstly, most of the dragons from Greek mythology. Like, the dragon that Cadmus slew was Ares's pet, and Cadmus had to build an army to fight war in Ares's name as penance. The dragon of Colchis was beloved by Medea and viewed as a protector by her people, and in some versions of the Argonauts myth was put to sleep peacefully instead of slain. Ladon, the dragon who guards the Hesperides, was specifically beloved by the nymphs who lived alongside him, and in the versions of the myth where Heracles slays him, Ladon is explicitly mourned by those same nymphs. Dragons were agents of the divine in Greek myth as often is not more so than they were enemies of it, which makes sense given that so many of them were, like, first cousins with the Olympians. It's really funny that people will cite the Greek myths as examples of dragons as "agents of evil" in the same way it's funny when people cite Greek heroes as moral paragons, when any actual look at Greek mythology shows its morality was always very murky shades of gray rather than the black and white view we like to pretend all European mythology shares.

I think this inflicting of Christian black and white thinking on a morally gray mythology also occurs with Norse myth, though sadly we don't have a lot of pre-Christian Norse literature to serve as concrete evidence for this opinion the way we do with Greek dragons. Like, outside of Ragnorok (which some have argued is not a REAL Norse myth, but something concocted during the Christian-ization of Europe as a way to placate Christianity into not destroying all of Norse culture), Jormungandr doesn't do a single malevolent thing in any Norse story. The most he ever antagonizes anyone is when he lets Utgard Loki (no relation to normal Loki) make him look like a cat to teach Thor a lesson in humility that the god of thunder never fully learns. All subsequent encounters are a result of Thor fucking with Jormungandr out of spite for the cat prank. The corpse chewer dragons in Niflheim are terrifying, but the souls they're gnawing on are the dishonored dead, and they don't cause problems for the living until - well, until Ragnorok, which again, may not be a real Norse myth. Fafnir's a piece of shit, sure, but he's not a dragon by birth - he's a dwarf who turned into one out of greed for gold.

Then you have a myriad of stories about dragons who were tamed by saints or heroes only to be killed by townsfolk who thought they were still vicious, and promptly mourned afterwards - the Tarasque is probably the most prominent of these, but there are other stories that are variations on the formula. I'd also include Maud and the Wyvern/Dragon of Mordiford in this category, as while the dragon is never fully tamed by Maud's affection, it's nonetheless kind to her, and the story ends with her mourning its death rather than the townsfolk celebrating it. You are clearly supposed to feel sympathy for these dragons, even if the stories present their deaths as necessary or inevitable.

There are even examples of good dragons in explicitly Christian Medieval stories, despite them usually opting to treat dragons as purely evil. You have Y Ddraig Goch, the red dragon of Wales, whose defeat of a white dragon is an explicit omen of how the wicked Saxons will be overthrown and driven out by a good (or at least better) king in time, and who becomes the heraldry of King Arthur, a paragon of virtue by the standards of the times each of his stories are told in. There's one saint - I think Carantoc? - who found a dragon sleeping in a well and convinced it to move without much complaint, and another, St. Simeon, who removed a thorn from a dragon's eye to the amazement of all and was shown gratitude by the dragon in turn.

Benign/benevolent/not-explicitly-evil dragons may not make up the majority of European dragons, but they're not as rare as modern generalizations of it would have you believe.

[ghosttotheparty]

exhibit a (detective mongomery)

ao3 more songwriter!eddie can be found here more songwriting/poetry; mildly nsfw bc eddie is eddie

***

Jeff has a theory.

Gareth agrees with the theory, though he's less confident about it, and Ian disagrees, though he's expressed that there's a chance Jeff may be right.

The theory is that Eddie fucking Munson has a boyfriend.

And Jeff has evidence.

EXHIBIT A: THE RING

Jeff notices that one of Eddie's rings is missing one day.

Granted, it's not the most concrete of evidence, because Eddie is Eddie, so Jeff assumes that he forgot it. Dropped it between his bed and his bedside table and just couldn't be assed to fish it out or to move his furniture. Maybe he was fidgeting with it in the car and dropped it to the ground and forgot about it by the time he got to Gareth's.

So he doesn't say anything.

But the next time he sees him, he isn't wearing it again.

So maybe he dropped it in a crack in a porch and couldn't reach it.

But if that were the case, Jeff feels like Eddie would have complained about it by now. Eddie once proclaimed that bitching is one of his favorite hobbies, along with getting stoned and sucking dick (at the same time or not, which he clarified after Ian questioned it), and the last time he misplaced a ring, he wouldn't shut up about it for three days until Wayne found it in the laundry basket. But maybe Eddie is just maturing. (Hah.)

They're in Jeff's living room, bantering and fucking around, the music from Jeff's record player low so they can hear each other, and as Eddie is watching Gareth and Ian bicker like he's watching a tennis match (not that he'd ever watch a tennis match), looking back and forth and back and forth, Jeff sees him reach for his ring finger, fingers poised to twist it around the way he usually does. The ring isn't there, obviously, and Eddie glances down like he's forgotten, and then a brief smile flashes across his face for a moment before he looks up and shouts that Ian is right, and Gareth, shut the fuck up.

And Jeff wonders.

EXHIBIT B: THE BASKETBALL

Eddie and Wayne live in a new apartment in town. (New being relative. It's a little run-down, with creaky floors and squeaky doors, but it's new to them.) Eddie's room is smaller than it was in the trailer, but Wayne has his own room in the apartment now, with an actual bed instead of a pull-out sofa.

Eddie's room is practically the same. Messy and covered in posters and tapestries and cut-out photos from magazines. His desk is covered in D&D pamphlets and character sheets, messy sketches of characters that he started and forgot about, uncapped pens and markers that must be dry by now. There are clothes covering the floor, hiding the fuzzy rug, and the blankets of his bed are always cast aside, almost falling off the bed because apparently Eddie throws them aside in the morning (or afternoon, depending on the day).

Eddie is searching for the weed he was supposed to bring to Ian's, and Jeff is waiting, leaning against the doorframe, watching as he rummages through some drawers.

"I swear I have it."

"I believe you," Jeff says dryly. "There's gotta be weed in here somewhere." Eddie shoots him a look, sticking out his tongue. He keeps rambling, I thought I fucking put it in here, I don't know how I get all these drawers confused, there aren't even that many, Jesus Christ, and Jeff looks around the room. There's a new poster of Bowie on the wall near his window. Jeff eyes it. It's not really Eddie's style, but Jeff's heard Eddie talk about how hot he is.

He looks at his blankets as Eddie rummages through another drawer. His bed wasn't raised when they were in the trailer, but he has a new bedframe, and now he has boxes and bags and a pizza box and... Is that a basketball?

Jeff looks at Eddie, who has his back to him, groaning as he tosses things aside onto the floor, and he steps to the side, tilting his head to see the orange ball that's partially hidden by a striped blanket that's falling off the bed. Jeff raises an eyebrow.

Eddie Munson has never voluntarily played a sport in his life. Jeff knows it. Gareth and Ian know it. The queen of England knows it. There is no reason for there to be a basketball in his bedroom. Unless it's someone else's. Someone he hasn't mentioned to them.

"Got it!"

Eddie stands, holding up the baggie triumphantly, grinning as he turns to Jeff.

"You really to stop losing illicit substances."

"'S fine," Eddie says, swaying to turn off the light. Jeff glances at the basketball one more time before following him out of the room.

"You're gonna get in trouble one of these days."

"Nah," Eddie says easily, still grinning, and he turns to face Jeff, walking backwards and spreading his arms like a challenge. "I'm immune, baby."

Jeff rolls his eyes, fighting a smile.

"What have I said about calling me baby?"

"Oh my god, it's a general term, I'm not calling you baby, it's just--"

EXHIBIT C: THE EXCUSES

"I forgot I need to help Wayne sort out some boxes before he leaves for work," Eddie says, swinging his guitar over his back. He's still a little out of breath, his hair falling from where it's tied up, exposing the scar around his neck. He won't talk about it. They don't ask. "I'll see you guys later."

"You guys aren't done unpacking?" Gareth asks before he guzzles some water.

"You know Wayne," Eddie says. "He'd put off unpacking for five more years if I didn't volunteer to help."

He's cheerful, going around and smacking loud kisses to their cheeks. Ian grins when he gets to him. He's always liked the affection that Eddie gives out so freely.

"Have you noticed he's been doing that a lot lately?" Ian asks as Eddie's van is pulling out of Gareth's driveway. Eddie rolls his window down and flips them the bird. They do it back. He cackles.

"God, yes," Jeff says, grateful he's not the only one.

"Doing what?" Gareth asks.

"'I have to help Wayne unpack,'" Ian repeats. "'I said I'd help old man Cooper fix his A/C. Henderson needs a ride to an appointment. Little Sinclair is going to the salon and her mom can't take her.'"

Gareth stares at him.

"How can you remember that all word for word but you don't remember when my birthday is?"

"...July--"

"No."

"Fuck. I don't know, my brain's weird. Anyway, he's been doing it a lot lately."

"Yeah," Jeff says, smiling after watching the interaction. (Gareth's birthday is in June.) "I mean, it's not like it's every time we hang out, so I'm not, like, offended or anything, but it's more often than he used to."

Gareth pauses as he spins his drumsticks, holding the door open for them to go inside.

"Do you think it has to do with... everything?"

Everything is code for Eddie going missing and being framed for three murders.

"I don't know," Jeff sighs, swinging open the fridge and finding a bottle of soda before he passes it to Ian. "He seems to have actual stuff to do, like with Erica and Dustin, but if he is lying, I mean... He's gotta have a reason to, right?"

Ian cracks open the soda, leaning against the counter.

"And if it has to do with everything, then, like... I don't know. I don't wanna, like. Pry."

"Yeah," Gareth says.

Jeff agrees. Eddie's been keeping quiet about the whole thing ever since he got discharged from the hospital. He's lost his memory, doesn't remember a lot of what happened, but they've seen him get lost in space, seen him breathe so shallowly it barely looks like he's breathing at all. These episodes (Jeff doesn't know what else to call them) sometimes last a few minutes. The first one was after they played Master of Puppets together for the first time. Eddie had learned it himself on guitar, but when they played it all together in Gareth's garage, he played for about fifteen seconds before he stopped abruptly, his eyes wide and trained on some spot on the ground. It scared the shit out of all of them.

He snapped out of it after a minute, blinking and startling and looking around at them gathered around them, and he was suddenly pale and shivering and holding his side like he had a cramp from running, and when they worriedly asked what happened, he just said in a rough voice I don't really like that song. He left after Jeff forced a bottle of water into his hands.

He's covered in scars. He has a skin graft on his chest, and when they asked about it, about what the fuck is going on? he just shrugged and said, "You know how much I paid for that zombie head?" in reference to the tattoo that's mostly covered in scar tissue now.

He doesn't want to tell. So they don't ask.

"Do you guys think..." Jeff hesitates, sipping his own soda, hopping up on the counter next to where Ian is leaning. "Do you guys think he might be seeing someone?"

They blink at him.

"Why the fuck would we think he might be seeing someone?" Ian asks, almost smiling.

"He..." Jeff hesitates again, realising how dumb the ring and basketball seem. Eddie loses shit. Maybe he forgot. Lucas plays basketball, and Jeff knows he and Eddie are pretty close now. Maybe he just convinced Eddie to help him practice. "I don't know."

But Gareth is nodding, staring at the ground, frowning.

"No, I can see that."

"You can?" Ian says.

"I mean, he's probably not, but it kinda makes sense. He's been ditching more lately, he's all smiley all the time. Et cetera."

"I don't know," Ian says, grimacing, but Jeff nods.

"He's smiling so much," he says, pointing at Gareth with his bottle. "Especially, like, in the past few weeks."

"Right?"

"Maybe he's just recovering," Ian says.

Oh.

Gareth and Jeff look at each other, wincing.

"Maybe."

"Maybe."

EXHIBIT D: THE HUMMING

Jeff leans back in his desk chair, lifting his legs up onto his desk, pulling his comic book closer to his face. He should probably get his eyes checked.

Eddie is laying upside down on Jeff's bed, his head hanging off as he draws in a notebook. (Jeff's never understood how he does it; his head hanging off the edge of the bed, holding up a notebook in front of his face, drawing without a care in the world.) It's quiet.

Jeff flips the page of his comic book, careful not to bend the pages, but as he's looking at the first panel, he hears the distinct, low rumble of Eddie's voice. He looks up, thinking for a split second that Eddie is speaking to him, but he's just humming. He does that a lot. He doesn't even notice himself doing it.

Jeff looks back at the comic book, listening, but he pauses again, looking up at the wall in front of himself as he furrows his brows, listening closer until he recognizes the song. He doesn't know the name of it, but he's pretty sure it's by Tears for Fears.

Tears for fucking fears.

Jeff looks at Eddie, who's still drawing, the notebook wavering as he looks at it, and after another minute, he moves, rolling over and shifting to lay on his stomach, setting the notebook down in front of himself. His brows are furrowed in focus, lips pouting a little bit, but he doesn't stop humming, and Jeff narrows his eyes.

He doesn't know anyone that listens to Tears for Fears. Maybe Dustin, but Eddie would probably, definitely tell him to shut it off because he has a musical superiority complex. (Jeff has no idea what Lucas listens to, and Mike probably listens to the same stuff as Eddie. Ian and Gareth both like rock and metal, and Erica probably listens to Cyndi Lauper or something.)

But here Eddie is, about a minute into a Tears for Fears song that Jeff can't even name, humming softly, happily to himself.

And Jeff wonders who the fuck Eddie is allowing to listen to, is tolerating listening to, Tears for Fears in Eddie's presence. And often enough that Eddie apparently knows the words.

It happens again the next week while they're all at Gareth's house, sitting in the kitchen and helping Gareth's mom make dinner. Jeff is peeling carrots, passing them to Eddie to chop, and Mrs Emerson's radio is playing, sitting on the windowsill. It's just on some Top 40s type station, which Eddie tolerates for Mrs Emerson because she tolerates their band practice in her garage.

The song fades out and there's a moment of quiet static, accompanied by Eddie's knife on the cutting board, the smooth sounds of the peeler, the clinking of the dishes that Gareth is putting away, the clicking of the stove turning on as Ian follows Mrs Emerson's directions. The next song starts, and Jeff passes the naked carrot to Eddie, pushing the peels to the side where he's collecting them to give to Gareth's dog.

He pauses the peeling when he hears Eddie's low hum, under his breath, and he stares at the carrot, listening before he slowly turns to look at him. He's just chopping the carrots, as easily as he always does, scooping them onto the knife and pouring them into the salad bowl next to him, humming and humming.

His voice is lower than the singer's voice, and it harmonizes nicely, but Jeff doesn't know what to think.

He glances over his shoulder across the kitchen, catching Ian's eye as he's mixing something in a bowl, also frozen and staring at Eddie.

Toto? Ian mouths at Jeff, looking more confused than he's ever looked, and Jeff shrugs, wide-eyed. Gareth leans up next to Ian, staring at Eddie's back intently before he looks at Jeff and mouths What the fuck?

Jeff shrugs again.

They don't say anything.

Eddie never notices that he's humming.

Jeff can't stop thinking about it, about what kind of person Eddie would listen to pop music for. He has a boyfriend. There's no way it can be anyone else.

EXHIBIT E: THE SONG LYRICS

Eddie is the main songwriter of the band. They all trust him with it all, and add their own bits and pieces when they play all together, like a drum solo for Gareth, and his lyrics changed a bit when he came back after everything.

His words were more intense, less literal. One lyric sings about the sky turning red, and the silhouettes of monsters. One song was called Batshit, about demon bats with steak knife tails. One sings about a girl with curly hair and a sawed-off shotgun, and another girl with vodka bottles and a lighter.

Save the world, save my life, Get your guns, I'll get my knife. Cut the shit, ignore the scythe And blow that shit to pieces

He sings about carnivorous flowers and flickering lights, about floating girls and broken bones, about blood-stained ceilings and sneakers and a bottomless lake.

Oh, it's a nightmare I'm living God, the world's flipped inside out There's spiders in my veins I feed them coffee and self-doubt

And then after a while, the vibes shift. He still sings about it all, about the fantasy, nightmarish world that comes up time and time again, but then he shows up with lyrics about a boy.

A boy. No one by name, or by description, almost just the idea of a boy rather than an actual one. When they ask who the lyrics are about, he gives them a Who knows? shrug, and Jeff's suspicions might as well be confirmed.

Some are sexual, very Eddie-esque, about lungs filled with smoke and mouths filled with cock, about the taste of sin on his tongue and hair tangled in rings. About being roughed up and cuffed up, the bite of metal around wrists, about being watched and known. Something about if they knew what we knew, they wouldn't care at all.

Others are sweeter, which just confirms Jeff's suspicions even more. Some sing about soft hair and sparkly eyes, about going stargazing by staring at his skin.

Kiss me 'til I'm flushed all red I wanna be your favorite color, baby

Eddie smiles while they go through the lyrics all together, his cheeks pink, but they still don't say anything.

EXHIBIT F: THE HICKEY

"Afternoon, fellas," Eddie says brightly, hopping into the room, dropping his bag on the ground next to where Ian is sitting and headbutting him affectionately. Ian beams. "How we doing?"

They talk as he gets sorted, finding his place on Gareth's bed between Ian and Gareth, laying on his back so his head is hanging over the edge, upside down, his hair falling. It almost touches the ground. He laughs at something Gareth says, but Jeff doesn't hear it, because from where he's sitting he has the perfect view of Eddie's neck.

Hence he has the perfect view of the purplish-red bruise above the collar of his t-shirt, and Jeff finally can't stop himself.

"Eddie."

"Hm?"

He turns his head to look at him, and the second their eyes meet, Jeff knows he knows. Eddie's eyes widen, and he slowly reaches to his shirt collar, pulling it up (down?) so it covers the bruise.

"Is there something you want to share with us?"

"...No?"

"What's going on?" Gareth asks, watching them.

"Eddie has a hickey."

"Jeff!"

"You wore a loose t-shirt, did you think we weren't gonna see it?"

Eddie just groans obnoxiously, throwing his arms up to cover his face, and Jeff grins when he sees how red he is. Ian laughs, reaching out to poke at his legs, ignoring the way Eddie is kicking at him.

"Eddie-e-e," Gareth sings. "Who is it?"

"It's no one, fuck off."

"Edmund. Edward. Eduardo."

"Oh my god."

He pushes himself to sit up, avoiding their eyes, and he sits at the edge of the bed, turning a little to make sure Jeff can see him too.

"Okay," he says, huffing. "I..."

"Who is it?" Gareth prompts. Jeff is beaming. He loves being right.

"I can't... I can't give you a name, he's not... out." Eddie's looking down at his lap.

"Okay," Gareth says, still waiting. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"...Yeah."

"Is he the reason you listen to Toto and shit now?" Jeff says, and Eddie looks up at him, his hair flying.

"I don't listen to Toto and shit," he says defensively. "He listens to Toto and shit and I allow it because I love him--"

Ian and Gareth let out identical shouts, and Jeff's eyes and grin widen. Eddie turns redder, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and covering his face.

"You love him?" Gareth says loudly, reaching out to rustle his hair. "Love?"

"Shut up," Eddie groans, but he's starting to smile under his hands as they all laugh.

"Why?" Ian asks.

"Why do I love him?"

"Yeah."

Eddie sighs heavily, rolling over the edge of the bed and falling to the ground with a heavy thud that makes them laugh again. He lies on his back, laying starfished on the ground and looking at the ceiling, eyes wide and dreamy.

"He's just... He's so great. He's beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. And funny as hell, even though he doesn't even try to be. And he's... kind. Like really, genuinely kind, and-- and selfless. He loves his friends, he'd do anything for them." He pauses, his smile faltering for a moment, tilting his head. "He makes me feel safe."

They're all quiet. Eddie hasn't gushed about any of his crushes in ages, not since Steve Harrington graduated. (And, God, wasn't that a time. Eddie was bitter about it, about how much he liked him, but every time someone brought him up, Eddie would turn into a blushing, smiling mess. Embarrassing.)

"Was he involved in everything?" Ian asks softly, and Eddie swallows, blinking at the ceiling, his face going a little blank. That happens every time it comes up. Everything. He'll zone out or look distant, and his voice will become a little empty in a way that makes Jeff feel sick.

"Yeah," Eddie says, blinking again. He takes a deep breath, and he looks like he's trying to stay there, in his body. "He's... He's the reason I'm alive."

They're quiet.

"Shit," Gareth says succinctly.

"Yeah."

"He's good to you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie sighs, smiling again.

"He's so good to me. He listens to me talk nonstop about D&D and shit even though he doesn't know anything about it, and he asks me questions, and he shows me stuff that he likes and he always looks so excited that I just... Like. Can't help but like it too."

"Is the basketball his?"

Eddie lifts his head, squinting at him.

"You saw that?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, it's his."

"Did you give him your ring?"

"Jesus, are you a fucking detective?"

Jeff grins. Eddie lays his head back down.

"Yeah, I gave it to him."

"Wait," Gareth says, leaning over the edge of the bed, looking at Eddie. "I didn't see the hickey, lemme see."

"Absolutely not."

"Lemme see-e-e..."

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

It's Friday night at the Hideout. They've been getting bigger crowds since Eddie's charges were dropped, metalheads and weirdos coming from across the state to see Eddie Munson live on stage, with his wild hair and scarred neck.

They're nearing the end of their setlist, pausing to drink water, grinning and laughing across the stage. Eddie is having a blast. He hasn't stopped beaming, even as he sings about hell and a house on fire. Jeff wonders if his face is sore from smiling.

The next song is called Midas. Jeff assumes it's about Eddie's boyfriend. It's heavy, bold and screamy. It makes Eddie's voice rough, but he doesn't seem to care at all.

Would you let me kneel at your feet and press my lips to your ring? Would it bring you a spark of joy? Will your smile make the clouds sing?

Jeff looks into the crowd, squinting in the blinding fluorescent lights, and he feels fucking alive here, like the music is coursing through his veins, like every shout from the crowd is rejuvenating him. His eyes scan the front row, looking at the girls with dark makeup and the boys will long hair, at the leather jackets and denim vests and pins that flash under the lights and-- Is that Steve fucking Harrington?

Jeff almost falters, but he looks away from the boy, keeps playing, pretends he isn't there, but he can't help but look back by the next verse, his propped up as he plays. It sure looks like Harrington, complete with the floppy hair, but there's no way Steve Harrington is in the front row of a metal show, wearing a battle vest and smiling. The lights are flashing, running over the crowd like water, and Jeff can't see clearly, and it can't be.

My man with his holy touch Won't you turn my heart to gold? Press your hands into my chest My heart is yours to hold

Eddie's voice is breaking, and Jeff glances at him, curious if he's seen the Steve look-alike in the front row, the Steve look-alike that seems to be beaming up at him, wide-eyed, but Eddie's eyes are squeezed shut as he sings and strums his guitar.

Take my hand baby, make me yours My beautiful king Midas They'll tell us gold's a sin, but They can't stop what's inside us

Jeff's ears are ringing when it's all over, when they get off the stage to talk with some people. (It feels weird to call them fans. They aren't fans, Corroded Coffin isn't big enough to have fans.) Some people that work at the Hideout are moving the equipment, taking the drums and guitars and amps, and Jeff is sitting at the edge of the stage, talking with a girl that sat toward the back of the bar. She's holding a beer bottle, and she has a beautiful smile, but even as she talks to him, he can't help but realise that Eddie is nowhere in sight.

So he excuses himself politely, slipping past her and finding his way backstage, looking around until he opens a door, and Eddie has his back to the wall, holding a boy against himself. A boy with bare, scar-covered arms, wearing a denim vest, with floppy brown hair that's twisted around Eddie's fingers as Eddie groans loudly because the boy is slipping a leg between Eddie's, and it's nearly filthy, the sounds they're making, because they're licking into each other's mouths, groaning and whining and murmuring and Jeff can't look away.

"Fuck, Stevie," Eddie chokes as the boy buries his face in Eddie's neck, and--

"Oh my god."

Eddie and Steve part with startled shouts, detaching and stumbling as they both flush red and look at Jeff with wide eyes.

"Jeff, why?" Eddie says loudly, breathing hard.

"Uh." He blinks. "You're the one making out in a public place."

"Oh, Jesus." Eddie bends over, taking a deep breath, groaning. Steve is staring at Jeff, wide-eyed and terrified, and Jeff takes a moment to take him in. He's wearing eyeliner, smudged and dark around his eyes (sparkly eyes), and his hair is touselled, longer than it was in high school. He's wearing a black shirt under the battle best, and oh, that's Eddie's vest. His jeans are light blue and fitted, and his hands are shaking, and he has the same scar around his neck that Eddie has. Jeff's body is consumed with curiosity and confusion, but it doesn't matter, because Steve is shaking, and Eddie is taking his hand, squeezing.

"Jeff, can you keep your mouth shut about this?" Eddie asks, his eyes imploring, begging, and Jeff nods.

"I saw nothing," he says. "I don't even know where I am, I was just trying to find the bathroom."

Steve cracks a smile, and he's totally Eddie's type.

"Oh," Jeff says, blinking. "King Midas."

Steve's cheeks flush with color again, and Jeff says, "Oh, right, sorry," before he turns on his heal and walks out.

"Where'd you go?" Ian asks when he gets out to Eddie's van.

"Bathroom."

"Where's Eddie?"

"No idea, I couldn't find him. Dumbass probably got lost."

He's always been good at lying.

Eddie comes out after another ten minutes, looking a little touseled but no more so than he does after most gigs. He apologizes, and jokes that he got lost, and Gareth and Ian laugh. Eddie hops in the front seat, asks if they want to go to his place for drinks, and they all say yes. As they're headed to his apartment, crossing the parking lot, Eddie lingers back and speaks quietly to Jeff.

"He's, uhm. Gonna meet us at my place."

"I thought you guys were keeping this quiet."

"We are, mostly, he just... His best friend knows about us. And you know--"

"Sorry about that, by the way."

"No, it's..." Eddie shakes his head. "Not your fault, we were fully making out in a public place, we just, uhm."

"Were worked up," Jeff finished for him, and in the light of the streetlights above them, Eddie flushes red.

"...Yeah."

Jeff snickers and pokes at him.

"So he wants to... meet the guys?"

"Yeah. I talk about you a lot, so he said he trusts you guys if I do, and I do, so."

Jeff nods, smiling.

"He's pretty cool."

"He's a prep, Jeff, he's adorable."

"I cannot believe your type is normies."

"Shut up."

When Steve shows up, he lets himself in. He has a key.

"Hi."

Ian and Gareth both look up at him from where they're sitting on the sofa, glancing him up and down, recognizing him, questioning him, wondering.

"Hi?"

"So, uhm..." Eddie goes to stand next to Steve, his eyes shining at him like he's asking something silently, and Steve nods a little bit, taking a breath. "Ian, Gareth, Jeff. Steve." He gestures to all of them, and Steve waves awkwardly. Jeff sees Eddie's ring on his finger.

"Hi," Ian and Gareth say again. Jeff lifts his chin up at him, smiling when their eyes meet.

"Uh." Eddie pauses, gesturing to Steve again. "...Boyfriend."

Ian and Gareth both blink, and Jeff grins, watching the gears turn in their head.

"Oh," Ian says. "Cool."

Gareth stares for a second before,

"I cannot believe you got with your high school crush after high school."

Steve beams.

He ends up going to Eddie's room and coming back in Eddie's clothes, in a sweater and some sweatpants, and they sit on the floor together as the guys ask them questions. They skirt their way around some of them, without even glancing at each other to figure out what the other will say, It's like they're perfectly in tune with each other. Eddie plays with Steve's fingers while they all talk.

Jeff can tell that Ian and Gareth are also surprised but are keeping it under wraps. Surprised that King Steve is the boy Eddie was talking about when he described his boyfriend's kindness, selflessness, bravery, when he said He makes me feel safe, but even now it's obvious that it's true. Eddie leans up against him and holds his arm, gazes at him and kisses his shoulder for no reason. He's in love.

Jeff tells Eddie later all the clues he gave without meaning, and he realises the Bowie poster was a clue after hearing Steve humming Heroes. Oh well. He was still right.

[necronatural]

Project Moon Discourse Part Whatever: Statement 2

Project Moon's company twitter has released a statement on their perspective.

In summary, the Youth Union who has been rallying a lot of people has been protesting about Vellmori's "unfair dismissal" (firing over previous statements). Project Moon points out that they have not fired her yet, and the YU do not have concrete proof of what happened (AKA why you have to say "alleged" when commenting on crimes yet to be tried). Youth Union discusses the private circumstances and apologizes for repeating accusations as fact.

Kim Jihoon posits here that this was a political conspiracy by the Youth Union to boost their position (they were a very very small group before all this), which the Project Moon User Association must a part of. He posts the draft the Youth Union drew up if PM complied, without the union rep's permission as evidence. OK man.

...By the way, he also sent an official legal notice to the Project Moon User Association with that same info.

The PMUA says hey man! We do talk to the Youth Union, but we're actually a completely different group who has not declared jackshit as fact and have been conscientious in our speech. Fuck you! And posted the letter (legal threat) PM sent publicly along with their reply. (Jihoon references this in the statement above).

Read here. The letter is the pdf at the top of the doc.

It's through this response that we learn that the reason the Youth Union was cowed was because Vellmori resigned.

The PMUA notes: hey, isn't it extremely fucking suspicious that you publicly stated that due to breaking company rules with years old tweets (this isn't legal btw) and Vellmori's most recent statement was that you told her that she's getting her papers in a week (legal but asshole shit btw)? And yet when you're catching heat about the ludicrously illegal unjust firing, you reveal you've been hiding her resignation? Unrelated, why did you post an unfinished draft statement predicated on a round table that never occurred? Why are you threatening us for libel we never posted?

AKA they fucking ate him for dinner.

Kim Jihoon is being cooked alive over his notes app malding & pointed translated repost of his original statement. Everyone and their dog can see his sole deflection only really applies to the Youth Union, who fucked up publicly a while ago, while the PMUA is spotless in their conduct. The fact they have not done anything but ask the Youth Union for info - which they used responsibly thus far - renders literally every complaint Kim Jihoon is making totally worthless. And they made sure he fucking knew it. Meanwhile, the folks who originally kicked off harassment and boycotts (DCInside) remains uncommented on, enraging people even further.

By the way, you may be wondering why Kim Jihoon is suddenly so frenzied in his attacks. The thing is, PMUA just successfully met their fundraising goal! And wouldn't you know it, the money they raised is for applying to file a class action lawsuit over PM's mismanagement.

Stay tuned for more on Crossy News Network. I am too nosy to possibly stop reporting on this

[bitten-fruit]

you invite him inside

It's Summer 2007, and you're on your way home from a party in Edinburgh. You encounter an exceptionally forward Scottish stranger with a buzzed head and a brow ring, calling himself Soap - you roll the dice, and let him walk you home.

18+ MDNI - cw: reader is drunk - 5k words

tags: Indie Sleaze(!!) Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x f!Reader, teasing & denial, flirting & banter

a/n: this is (some) of the first chapter of my longfic Trainspotting on A03, bitterfruit. I thought I'd share on here since I'm working on a part 2!! ♡

You carve through the beating crowd of the house party; sloshing drinks and drunken hands intercept you as you attempt to navigate your way to the front door. MGMT’s Kids thunders from the speakers in the hallway, its deafening volume only exacerbated by the passionate chanting of the dancers that hover around it.

Control yourself! Take only what you neeeed from it!

Your friend Katie, who had brought you as a plus-one, had long disappeared with some boy she had been all over - taking your coat with her - leaving you to make your way home in nothing but your needlessly skimpy playboy bunny costume.

Finally stumbling out of the dense jungle of partygoers, you burst through the front door as if you’d just been birthed, sweaty and panting. 

Just a fifteen-minute walk.

With your arms crossed, you trudge down the steps in the stiletto pumps you had borrowed from Katie – glossy, sharp, and a size too small. Fuck, they ache. Before you even make it past the gate, you throw in the towel and unstuff your feet from their latex trappings; holding the shoes with two fingers hooked at the heels, doing your best to avoid stepping on the broken glass on the footpath.

As your distance from the house party grows and the echoes of Paper Planes begin to fade, it dawns on you that you’re far drunker than you had believed yourself to be. Being surrounded by students two boxes and three pingers deep has the tendency to make you feel staunchly sober by comparison.

Still, you feel the slabs of concrete wobbling beneath your feet, your head starts to spin like you’ve stepped off a carousel if you shut your eyes for too long. The streets are utterly quiet, devoid of cars or people, despite the neighbourhood’s proximity to the CBD. You may well have found it off-putting if you were sober, but in truth, you’re just thanking Christ there’s nobody around to see you trotting down the road in nothing but a bodysuit and fishnets. You imagine a car might pull up alongside you, rolling slowly on its wheels as the driver asks through his window, “how much for an hour?”

And that would almost be preferable to what you actually encounter once you’re halfway home – crossing the street, stumbling in your bare feet as you walk past shops with steel shutters blocking their doors and windows.

You hear the distinctive thuds of sprinting feet from far behind you; the soles of sneakers slamming hard on the footpath, in a rapid enough pace that the person might as well be an Olympian runner. As they get louder, closer, your first instinct is to flee – but before you even have the chance to turn to look over your shoulder, the sprinter has come to a screeching halt beside you, tearing off their jacket and tossing it over your shoulders as if it were a cape.

“What the fu–” You yelp, hastily cut short.

“Shh – shut up, pretend y’know me.”

A man, and a local, evidently – the kind of Scottish accent so thick you can barely distinguish the beginning of one word from the end of another. 

“Get away fr–”

He interrupts you once again, tossing an arm over your shoulder as he walks alongside you, shoving his other fist into the pocket of his loose black jeans. “Please, lassie, do me a favour and just go with it.”

Amidst his breathlessness he sounds quite desperate – voice deep and warm, oozing sincerity despite the edge in his tone. So you weigh your options, whether or not to trust him, or to help him, or to scream and flee. You tilt your head just enough to take a peek at him; he hunches over, shoulders shrugging high as if keeping his neck warm, head low like it might hide his buzzcut from whoever may be chasing him.

You quickly discover that there are, in fact, people chasing him – more echoes from further down the road of multiple sets of running feet. You hear an enraged roar from a man behind you; your body tenses on instinct, head twisting further in the hopes of checking how close they are to you.

“Don’t look at ‘em,” he instructs you pointedly, under his breath.

More indistinguishable yelling erupts from his pursuers, though they no longer seem to be approaching. “Cheap fucken’ trick, ye fucken’ coward!”

“Keep walkin’ with me,” he mutters, tugging you along with his heaving arm draped around the back of your neck, forcing you to accelerate so that you can keep up with him.

Adrenaline throbbing hotly in your ears, you try to steal glances at the controlling stranger, not able to see much of him in your periphery. You realise now that the gifting of his jacket was not a chivalrous gesture, but a failed attempt to trick his pursuers. “Sounds like they’ve spotted you,” you whisper-yell, facing ahead.  

“Aye,” he grunts, “but they won’t touch me if there’s a witness.”

“I don’t want to be a witness,” you squeak, nervous terror in your throat.

He chuckles breathily, gives a single shake of his head. “Too late.”

“Next time I see ye, yer a fucken’ dead man, hear me? With or without yer hoor!”

The stranger groans as he scoops you around a corner, keeping a hurried pace, shooting looks over his shoulder to ensure he’s no longer being followed. Fortunately – or, unfortunately – this was the corner you would have taken anyway.

“Did he just call me a whore?” You whisper, still in shock.

He chortles at you again, sliding his weighty arm from your shoulders and releasing you at long last. “Ignore ‘em. Fucken' wankers.”

You finally have the opportunity to turn around fully to check behind you, seeing only empty, silent street.

“They won’t follow us,” he assures you, still walking alongside you, arrogant in his assumption that you won’t tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t, not yet. “Why – why were they chasing you?”

“Nosy wee thing, aren’t ye?” He smiles, crossing his arms, and you finally get a good look at him.

Hair buzzed short, the sort of job he likely did himself over his sink with an electric clipper plugged into the wall. A curved barbel pierces through the tail of his left eyebrow, almost as flashy as the sharp grey eyes pointing down at you from beneath it. His grin pushes dimples into his densely stubbled cheeks, revealing charmingly crooked teeth, and a golden crown on his right canine.

There’s something tired, jaded about him, dark eyes and low brows; face speckled with a variety of little scars, one white slash through his right eyebrow, a few pink lines carving over his temple and through his shaven scalp.

You blink, reminding yourself to speak.

“Nosy?” You snap, “you brought me into this!”

He tilts his head, appearing to acquiesce. “Aye, true. They’re just mad ‘cos I short-changed ‘em.”

As he shrugs, the hem of his cropped t-shirt tugs up on his stomach, revealing the hem of plaid boxers sticking out from his baggy trousers, a sliver of firm abdomen, a dusting of curly hair trailing down from his navel. You swallow.

“Hm. For what?” You pester.

“Now yer bein’ nosy.”

You huff, crossing your arms underneath the cape of his jacket, checking over your shoulder one last time to be certain you’re no longer being stalked.

“Fine,” you pout. After a beat of silence, you decide to add; “I’m not a prostitute, by the way.”

He snickers hoarsely, “’course not. Prostitutes are much more subtle. You’d be the first I’ve ever seen dressed as a – a what, a bunny?”

He reaches behind you, the cocky prick, lifting the back of his cloaking jacket and flicking the puffball pinned to your ass. You gawk at him, a surge of adrenaline buzzing within your chest – curious, that it’s not out of fear but fascination.

“See a lot of prostitutes, do you?” You sneer, noting how briefly his gaze lingers on your backside before it flits to your face.

“Not ‘round this side of town,” he chortles. You suspect he’s joking, but who’s to say? “So… why a bunny?”

“Playboy bunny,” you correct him, turning your head to glance at him; he just looks bewildered. “Pimps and hoes party.”

He laughs, richly, lurching forward as he does. “Ha! Had no idea they still did those.”

“Sure do,” you say, failing to suppress your grin. “Too old for them, are you?”

“Aye, for house parties full o’ students,” he admits, “but not too old to party. M’only twenty-six.”

You smile. “Good for you.”

“Got no girlie-mates to walk ye home?” He changes the subject.

Peeking at him, you squint. “You’re not supposed to ask a girl if she’s alone, you know.” 

“Oh,” he frowns, “why’s that?”

“Like, stranger danger.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles deeply. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”

You turn to look at him, running your eyes from his cocksure grin, down to his Chucks and back again. He certainly looks the part. Rough around the edges. You wonder if you would have avoided him, had he not approached you so blithely.

“Very,” you nod. “Plus, you’re following me.”

“Am I?” He jibes, “well, love, if ye want me to leave y’alone, tell me and I’ll try to leave ye be.”

Your pout shifts into a girlish smirk despite your dire efforts to contain it. “You’ll try?”

“Mm. Might be easier said than done,” he ribs, leering down at you. Your quiet titter only serves to embolden him. “It’s probably for the best that I found ye.”

“You reckon?”

“Mm. Not very bright o’ye to be walking home by yerself at this hour. And in that.”

You click your tongue impatiently. “You sound like my mum.”

“Then she’s a smart woman,” he says, with a sternness that leaves you taken aback.

You peer up at him, scrutinising. For fuck’s sake, you curse at yourself, get a grip. All better judgement, your guardian angel, screams at you to stop flirting with this bizarre studded stranger and hurry your ass home. But the little devil on your other shoulder is far more interested in seeing how this unusual interaction plays out.

“You gonna protect me, are ya?” You probe.

“Naturally,” he chuffs.

“Walking me home, then?”

A devilish grin stretches in his lips. “Happily.”

“Promise you’re not a psychopath or something?”

He inhales deeply, blowing a raspberry as he puts his hands on his hips. “No promises.”

“Mm. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised,” you say, “only psychopaths would roam the streets at three-a.m.”

“Yeah? What does that make you?”

You giggle. “Shit. You got me.”

“You bet I do. What kind of psycho wears a fucken’ outfit like that ‘on the streets at 3-a.m.’?”

Taking a peek down at yourself, you’re confronted immediately by your obnoxious cleavage, unsure how you could have forgotten it was there. You decide to slip your arms into the roomy sleeves of his jacket, wearing it properly rather than as a cloak – much warmer.

“What’s wrong with it?” You wonder in jest, feigning offence.

“Yer jokin’.” He scoffs.

“What?” You gaze at him, with a cock of your brow; he unashamedly glowers at you, vibrantly grey eyes raking from your lips to your feet before climbing back to your stare.

He huffs petulantly. “I could see yer tits from across the street,” he murmurs, “don’t make me say something about the stockings.”

You laugh coyly, feeling your cheeks burn hot and red. Seems like you got the answer you wanted. “S’that why you ran up to me, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Nae. That was just dumb luck.”

“Ah. Lucky you.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, voice low, “very lucky.”

Why is your heart fluttering? Why are you suddenly hanging on his every word like a fucking teenage girl? You blame the cherry-flavoured RTDs you were knocking back every ten minutes while you were at that party. They’ve made your cheeks all pink and your tongue all wet.

Yet in the current quiet, strolling nonchalantly down an empty street at half-past three in the morning, you don’t feel any awkwardness in the silence. You just smile at your feet like an idiot.

“What’s yer name, then?” He asks casually, both fists in his pockets.

You hum in thought, “hmm. I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“You’re a stranger, remember?”

“So?” He disputes, grinning and playfully biting his bottom lip with his top teeth, brandishing that glistening golden canine.

You shake your head. “Who knows what you could do with my name! You could be a stalker for all I know,” you explain defensively, “you might find out where I work on MySpace, or something.”

He snickers. “Wouldn’t need MySpace to figure that out, lass.”

Frowning, you give him a disapproving smirk. “You’re proving my point.”

“Ye really won’t tell me?”

“Nope.”

He huffs disappointedly. “Alright, then, I’ll just have to call ye the bunny I found on the street.”

“Fine by me,” you declare proudly. “What can I call you, then? The playboy?”

With a chuckle, he purses his lips in contemplation. “The playboy to yer bunny, I like that,” he says. “But, pals call me Soap.”

“Soap?” You question incredulously, “seriously?”

“Aye. If I can’t have yer name, y'can’t have mine.”

You snort. “Is it meant to be ironic?”

“Can’t be,” he refutes, quick to detect your insult, “I’m clean as a whistle.”

As you open your mouth to offer back some snippy response, you spot your mailbox, number eighteen, three terraced townhouses down – you had lost track of how long the walk was, your charming stranger having sponged up every last drop of your attention.  

You find yourself disappointed, unjustifiably; you even consider, briefly, not mentioning that you had arrived home just so you can keep walking with him. God, you’re pathetic.

But imagining yourself having to eventually turn around, having to admit that you purposefully missed your stop – you begrudgingly decide to be a good girl and put yourself to bed.

“This is me,” you say flatly, slowing your steps before you come to a stop.

“Ah,” he stops beside you and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Bugger.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, mindlessly slipping your hands into the pockets of his jacket, preceding a reluctant silence. “Well, um... thanks for walking me home. Who knows what danger I could’ve gotten into.”

He waves away your jocose gratitude. “Oh, ‘course,” he says, “had to make sure ye didn’t get tricked into a chase by some strange gadgie.”

You snicker. “Oh, yeah. That would be terrifying.”

Crossing his arms, her gives you a wide but wistful grin. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, hen.”

“Okay,” you nod, chewing your lip, you feel something in his pocket – rolling it between your fingers, feels like a wad of paper. Cash? A receipt? You start to wonder what he might have ‘short-changed’ those thugs for. Don’t be nosy. “Oh – your jacket.”

As you slip it off your shoulders, he disputes; “don’t wanna keep it as a memento?”

You chuckle, frowning, shaking your head in bemusement. Memento? What a peculiar bloke. “No. It sorta smells.”

“Bollocks,” he retorts, reaching to take the jacket from you – a brown leather bomber, now that you can see it properly. “I smell divine.”

God, he does. Like patchouli and sweat and leather; some sort of earthy masculine concoction, the kind of scent that’s probably entirely accidental – underpinned, you note, by something strangely chemical, like he had just taken a walk through a hospital. Still, so delightfully distinct from the stench of Axe body spray that the boys at your university gassed themselves with daily.

You pass him the bomber, shivering once your scantily clad body is once again exposed to the chilly air of the night. He’s quite shameless, this stranger, eyes almost bulging as they comb brazenly over you – legs, hips, tits – finally getting a good look at you, he takes his time.

“Eyes up here, playboy,” you chide.

He smirks, piercing gaze jumping to yours while his head remains tilted down; you’re almost intimidated the intensity of his eye contact from under his brow. “Aye. They’re just as pretty.”

“Alright, alright,” you giggle, face glowing hot. “I’d better turn in.”

“Yes, you’d better.”

Before you bring yourself to turn around, his hand reaches toward you, plucking the bunny-eared headband from the top of your head.

“Oi!” You bark, smoothing your disturbed hair; watching in confusion as he meticulously sits them on his head, flicking one of the fuzzy white ears with a pleased grin stretched in his lips.

“I want a memento,” he explains boldly. “Never know when I'm dreamin’ these days.”

You stare at him in bewilderment, amused and oddly endeared. He slips on his jacket, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging it over his shoulders.

“Fine, all yours,” you capitulate, smiling meekly, once again letting a pregnant silence linger while you resist a goodbye. “Um. Alright. Goodnight. Soap.”

He nods. “G’night, wee bunny.”

You nod, too, finally turning on your bare feet and walking up the stairs of your flat’s brick stoop. Fumbling around in your handbag, you pluck out your keys – jingling loudly with all of your various keychains as you unlock the painted white door.

You hear his footsteps as he strolls away, slowly, growing duller as the distance grows. You find yourself frozen in the open doorway, staring into the dark abyss of your foyer, facing solitude. Bouncing in dispute with yourself, you exert all strength to bite your tongue. Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.

He starts to whistle, some obscure tune from just down the street, as if he is purposefully reminding you he’s still in earshot – a smug little prompt.

Fuck it.

Spinning around to face the road, you lean out of the door, and call out; “Hey!”

As though he had expected it, he stops in his tracks, twirling on his heel to face you with his hands still in his pockets. Had lit himself a cigarette already, in the thirty seconds since you had bid him farewell.

“Hm? Want the ears back after all?”

“Um–” You scramble to come up with an excuse. “Those guys won’t be looking for you, will they?”

He grins. “Oh, they could well be.”

“What’ll they do if they find you?”

“Who knows,” he huffs. “Probably kill me. Might gimme one o’ those Glasgow smiles.”

“That would be pretty terrible,” you remark solemnly.

“Aye. It sure would.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, battling with your drunken little demon. “Maybe you should hide out here for the night.” You daft bitch.

“Hm,” he ponders aloud, sauntering slowly back towards your stairs, squinting in thought. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

“How come?” You challenge, tapping the inside of the doorframe with shy fingers.

He creeps up your short footpath. “Never know what might happen.”

Your lips curl into an impish smirk. “That’s the best part.”

He laughs, plucking the cigarette from his teeth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “How drunk are ye. On a scale one-through-ten.”

“Um,” you muse, biting your lip. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Well, hen, you must be steamed. ‘Cos that’s not a number.”

You snicker, then groan impatiently. “Four.”

“Only four, eh?” He asks dubiously, standing at the base of your stairs, he gazes up at you devilishly. “You gonna remember in the mornin’ that you asked me to come in?”

“’Course,” you say. “I want you to come inside.”

He sneers. Filthy boy. “Don’t wanna get in trouble,” he refutes.

“I want you to come in,” you insist, correcting your wording just slightly.

He hums, feigning deep thought, as if he hasn’t been hoping you’d ask. “Alright,” he surrenders. “Why not.”

You do your best to conceal your glee, nodding, grinning, you turn to step inside and you hear him follow you.

“Ye live alone?” He asks, as he looks around the empty hallway, shrouded in darkness.

Shutting the door behind you and locking it, you tut at him. “Still shouldn’t ask that.”  

“You’ve already invited me in,” he jeers, “if you’re worried I’ll hurt ye, you’ve made it well easy for me.”

“I s’pose so,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you go to switch on the light hanging in the centre of the foyer. Christ, it’s a tip – you and Katie are equally dishevelled, leaving shoes and lip gloss and hair ties and clothes in your wake wherever you venture. “Can’t be too careful,” you add – very aware of how uncareful you are being.

“Do I scare ye?” He asks coyly, taking a raffish drag of his cigarette.

“I dunno,” you answer frankly, leaning bashfully against your front door with your hands tucked behind you. “Should I be scared of you?”

“Mm,” he shrugs, “probably.”

You purse your lips and nod. “Stranger danger,” you remind yourself.

“I reckon you’re a lot more dangerous than me,” he grins.

You frown. “Why’s that?”

He puts his cigarette between his lips, holding it with a pinch, taking a puff as he eyes you scrupulously. “Look at you.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fucking hell.

“I have a flatmate,” you finally answer his initial question, and change the subject. “But she’s not home tonight.”

“Good,” he says, milky smoke spilling from his smile.

“Um,” you make noises to fill your flustered silence. “Want to go upstairs?”

He cocks his eyebrows. “Lead the way.”

Pushing yourself from the door, you slip past him and trot up the staircase that sits flush with the panelled wall. The old oak creaks and moans under the weight of his heavy steps, he follows you steadily.

Rushing to get to your room before he can see it, you scuttle across to your bedroom door from the landing, hoping he ignores the kaleidoscope of peeling stickers you’ve tacked above the handle. You shove it open, quickly kicking aside a pair of twisted up panties you had left on your red shag rug.

In a blink he’s behind you, standing in the doorframe, a terrifyingly tall and bulky silhouette against the dim glow emerging from downstairs – made uniquely funny by the rabbit ears sticking up from his head.

You step over the piles of discarded outfit options and switch on the lamp by your bed; the yellow bulb glows coral pink from behind the vintage fabric lampshade. Looking back at him, he’s already perusing your room like it’s a museum.

He picks up and analyses the assortment of trinkets on your shelves and chest-of-drawers (old jewellery, empty lighters, some strange ceramic babies you once picked up at a flea market), and admires the mosaic of posters on your wall (Gorillaz, Feist, The Killers, MGMT,  Arcade Fire, The Strokes, Peter Bjorn and John – careful cherry-picks of your favourite bands, in the hopes you’d one day impress some hot guy with taste as good as yours).

“Bit of an artiste, are ye?” He queries, nodding at the easel against your wall – housing a half-finished and long-hated painting of yours, an attempt at a masterwork copy of Monet; sitting amongst a bombsite of palettes, brushes in dirty cups, and curled-up tubes of oil paint.

“Guess so,” you answer. “It’s my degree.”

He leans into your hideous painting, taking a drag but careful not to stain the canvas with the smoke. “Still studying, then?”

“Yeah, uh, my Master’s.”

He nods. “If you’re already this good, what does a Master’s in painting get ye?”

You snort. “Good fuckin’ question.”

Feeling suddenly shy, you venture to busy yourself, electing to pull the curtains shut over your window.

You hear him chuckle while you aren’t looking. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

You spin on the ball of your foot, and freeze instantly – stare caught on your grape-coloured vibrator, held comfortably in the palm of his hand, he tosses it and catches it again. You had left it on your bed, a rookie mistake. You fucking idiot!

Your hand shoots to cover your mouth, fire burns white-hot behind your cheeks; but you can only giggle, humiliated. “Put that down,” you plead into your palm.

Ignoring you, he inspects it, quickly finding the button to turn it on; its buzzing rings out obnoxiously loud into the cripplingly awkward silence, forcing you to grimace. He doesn’t seem to find it awkward at all, holding the end of the purple rod into his other hand, curling his lips in disapproval as he evidently evaluates the vibration against his skin.

“Never understood why you girls like these things,” he remarks insouciantly.

“Please put it down,” you cry, staring at the ceiling as if it might hide you from the embarrassment.

He only sniggers. “Cannae compare to the real thing.”

You cover your eyes. “It fills the void,” you quietly admit.

He finally switches it off, but continues to fiddle with it as he ambles towards you. “Mustn’t do a very good job o’ that.”

Uncovering your face, finally, you jolt when you see how close he is to you – only a foot between you, you can feel the heat of him from where you stand. You do your utter best to prevent your eyes from jumping to the vibrator in his grip, but he still toys with it, as if just to taunt you.

“What makes you say that?”

He gazes down at you, lips stretched into a smug grin. “Why’d you invite me in, eh?”

You swallow, stifling a giggle – you look around capriciously, anywhere but his drilling stare. “Just wanted to help you out.”

“Help��me out?” He interrogates you, inching forward, forcing you to step onto your back foot.

You’re suddenly short of breath. “I didn’t want you to get stabbed.”

He gleams that cheshire smile, suddenly his canines seem sharper. “You’re a bad liar, wee bunny.”

“Am I?” You utter, shambling back further has he continues to encroach.

“Took me to yer bedroom straight away… didn’t even offer me a drink…” he teases, “I’m thinkin’ ye want me to help you out.”

You feel a sudden bump as your back hits the door of your cupboard, shrinking as he leans over you, closing the gap. Your eyes catch on his lips as he again places his cigarette in between them, its smoke drifting softly over your face, your stare lingers.

“Dunno where you got that idea,” you breathe, entranced by the cloud that’s left in his mouth once he tugs the roll out again.

Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid.

Ignoring any remaining shred of common sense, you step up on your tiptoes to slam your lips against his, sucking down the smoke lingering behind his teeth deep into your chest. He matches you with no hint of hesitation, leaning into you with the full weight of his body, you hear him finally drop the vibrator as it lands on the carpet with a dull thud.

Fuck, his tongue tastes good – like tobacco and peppermint chewing gum, soft and hungry as it writhes against yours. He does what he can with his one free hand, starting tastefully with a cup of your cheek, then a hold of the side of your neck, down to your shoulder – before plunging into a greedy handful of your breast, kneading it like dough.

His wet and eager lips drag along from yours, taking soft bites out of your cheek, hot tongue licking from your jaw to your neck, where he burrows his teeth. You let out a breathy whimper, fervid fingers clutch and claw at his chest through his t-shirt, using the fabric to pull him closer. His busy hand ventures along your waist, taking a palmful of your hip and tugging it only slightly towards him.

Impatient, ravenous, your fingers slither down his firm stomach to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling to get his button undone; you feel him smile against your skin, a breathy chuckle, before his other hand moves to stop you with a hold of your wrist.

He releases your neck from his maw, standing upright with a fucking cocky and self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. You let go of his button and return your hands to your sides, worried you’d been too eager, put him off with your fervour.

“Glad to know it’s this easy to get ye hot n’ bothered,” he drawls, taking another drag of what is now nearly just the butt.

“No idea what you mean,” you pant, utterly breathless, you sweep some stray hair from your forehead with your palm.  “I’m not hot and bothered.”

“Aren’t you?” He goads, and the hand that clutches your hip sneaks towards your centre, prompting you to hold your breath; he snakes it over your mound, gliding it brazenly between your closed legs.

His shrewd eyes watch you, arrogantly, as he palms your aching pussy through the thin fabric of your bodysuit – under which you wore no panties, you wonder if he can feel how damp it is. He pushes a coaxing pressure against your covered clit with the heel of his palm, forcing you to whine in desperation; your insatiable hands return to his chest, balling the fabric of his t-shirt into your fists – and he only chortles.

“I could fry an egg on that,” he says.

And suddenly you snort, breaking into cackling laughter as you shove him away with both hands. “God, you’re disgusting!”

He laughs with you, proud of himself, he finally takes off the fucking bunny ears.

“I could hang a towel on that,” you jab, eyes suddenly caught on the frightening tent pitched in his roomy trousers. That can’t be real.

“You could hang a lot on it,” he agrees rakishly, chuckling, palming the length under his pants to tuck it away.

You try to contain your giggles as you push yourself upright, attempting to un-fluster yourself by smoothing your hair and wiping the dampness of his saliva from your neck. You feel the slippery wetness of your cunt with a step. “You’re evil,” you spit, still throbbing from his attention.

“Cannae fuck you yet,” he declares bluntly, turning to dump the end of his cigarette into your paintbrush cup full of brown water.

“Why not?” You pout, whingeing like a spoilt brat.

He returns with a debonair grin. “Gotta give you a reason to see me again.”

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Ignorance is Bliss

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

Dean makes a startling discovery about his little brother’s love life and now he wants to wash his eyes out with bleach 

Warnings: implied smut, crack humour, Dean is done

WC: 797

Minors DNI

The world had seemed to have reached a state of calm. There were monsters, sure, but they were just the normal ones, no more of God’s siblings or corrupt archangels trying to write books, or even were-piers. Just regular old monsters.

And Dean was happy with that. Sam was safe, they had a home, and now one of their best friends was living with them permanently. They had movie nights and went out on adventures, they even had family dinners once a week like normal people! Everything was perfect!

Everything was awful!

Dean cringed as he cleaned out Baby. Months of living on the road definitely made the build up of trash a monumental effort to clean out. But he took it in stride, glad to be doing something as mundane as cleaning his car. Yet, he didn’t expect to find a pair of ripped and suspiciously stained panties. A pair of panties that he knew well because he actually enjoyed doing laundry. A pair of panties that belonged to-

“Y/N!”

“What!!” She shouted back at him, determined to not move from her comfy spot on the couch in the library, but after a few seconds of him not responding, she groaned and stood up. Sam glanced at her from over his book. 

“What does he want?” She shot him a glare.

“How the fuck should I know, he’s your brother.” 

“He’s your best friend.”

“Shut up Winchester.” She started walking from the room, taking unusually ginger steps with bowed legs. Sam chuckled and went back to his reading.

By the time she reached the garage, Dean had determined that he was going to kill her and then himself. Her because she obviously had sex in his Baby and himself because he had to clean up her mess. “What do you want Dean? I’m supposed to be having enrichment time.”

A bundle of pink fabric flew over the car and landed at her feet. So that’s where those panties went. “Yeah I don’t care about whatever book you were reading. YOU HAD SEX IN MY CAR!” His face was red and blotchy, his jaw ticking with anger. “Who did you sleep with?”

“You don’t wanna know.” She warned as she kicked the ruined underwear behind her. But that seemed to set the hunter off even more.

“Yes I do because they’re also going on my kill list.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Seriously man, you don’t want to know.” 

“Tell me!”

“Tell you what?” Sam evidently chose the exact right time to enter the garage behind Y/N, his brunette eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“Who she got it on with in MY car so I can kill them!” His hazel eyes dropped to the concrete floor, spotting the garment that had sparked this whole debacle. Thin lips curled up into a truly wicked smirk and before anyone could react, Sam wrapped his arm around Y/N’s thick waist, tugging her into his side and said:

“I don’t think you want to kill your little brother, Dean.” And everyone froze. Y/N sighed deeply, already extremely fed up with her boyfriend, Sam’s grin kept widening as the look of horror on Dean’s face grew. And well, Dean also looked like he was about to have an aneurism.

His gaze flicked from Sam to Y/N, and then back to Sam, and then back to Y/N. “Son of a bitch! How long!” But that was most certainly a question he didn’t want answered, yet he still asked.

With a look of smug pride, Sam indulged him. “Seven months.”

“Seven months?!” A large hand slowly slipped from her hip, all the way down to her plump ass. Y/N shot him a glare but it’s not like that ever deterred the giant before.

“She’s never even slept in the room we gave her, and the key word there is slept.” He winked and Dean just about lost it.

“Shut up Sam.” He kept going.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure out. I mean we have had sex literally all over the bunker and pretty much all the motel rooms we’ve been in. Why do you think you caught me washing the dungeon at three in the morning?”

Apparently that was Dean’s last straw. “Right! You two are disgusting and I’m going to wash my eyes out with bleach and get blind drunk. When I wake up tomorrow, I will not remember this conversation and you will not remind me of it. Capiche?”

He stormed away but not before yelling over his shoulder. “And clean my fucking car!” There was a beat of silence and then Sam turned to his girlfriend.

“Wanna have sex in it before we clean it?” She shrugged.

“Why not, we’re both dead anyway.”

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[ageofstarkey]

untitled snippet: band!marauders x new-to-the-band!reader

summary: You're James Potter's little sister and he asks you to join his band. Remus Lupin, the Marauders’ moody bassist, makes you regret agreeing.

content: bassist remus x singer/guitarist reader, potter!reader, "enemies" to lovers, mature content (alcohol, tobacco, and drug use, swearing, etc…)

note: hi so i've never posted any of my writing on here, but i recently started fleshing out this marauders band au in my free time, so i wanted to post a snippet to see if anyone like...actually would be interested in reading it if i were to write a Proper Fic™️

wc: 0.8k ish

✩✩✩✩✩

On one particularly late night, after a particularly infuriating comment from Remus, you snap. You stand up before he’s even finished speaking, letting your banged up acoustic clatter unceremoniously to the floor. Truth be told – you hardly even processed what he said, so irritated by the goddamn way he said it.

“Y’know what?” You’re overtired and practically seething, a half-smoked cigarette trembling between your fingers. “I’m fucking done. With all of this.” You toss your cigarette into the over-stuffed ashtray on the table, paying no mind to the way it bounces and falls, still smouldering, to the wooden surface below. “And honestly? It’s a real goddamn shame because I think you guys have something special. And I think we’d be really damn good together if he -” You jab a shaking finger towards Remus, who looked rather unmoved. “- wasn’t so fucking self-absorbed.”

James tries to defuse the situation, but you’re storming out of the room before he can finish a sentence, intently ignoring him on your way to the front door. You slam it harder than you mean to, shakily inhaling as you step into the chilly midnight air. With a trembling hand, you reach for the cigarettes in your pocket, sliding one hastily from the box. You feel the familiar sting of tears in your eyes, silently berating yourself for being so sensitive as they roll down your reddened cheeks.

Minutes have passed, and you’re halfway through your second fag when you hear the familiar creak of the front door opening behind you. With a soft sniff, you wipe hastily at the lingering tears on your cheeks. You look quickly over your shoulder, hoping for James and sighing quietly when you see Remus standing just beyond the doorframe. His hands are tucked coolly into the pockets of his jeans, and he stares at you unflinchingly.

You turn back around, taking a long drag from your cigarette before stubbing it out on the damp concrete. “If you’ve come out here to offer your two cents on my lyrics, I’m really not interested.” Your voice is clipped and steady when you speak, despite how badly you want to scream and shout in his stupid arrogant face.

His converse scuff lazily against the ground as he takes a few careful steps towards you. Your eyes remain intently trained on your boots, back firmly facing Remus and the house. “I didn’t come out here to talk about your songs, Y/N.” His voice is soft and your heart pangs strangely in your chest. You don’t say a word. He takes two more steps. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to apologize?”

You scuff the toe of your boot against the ground with a scoff. “Not really.”

“I didn’t think so.” Remus laughs softly, and you swear you can hear the smirk on his face. It’s infuriating how amusing he seems to find the whole situation. He takes another step, and suddenly you can feel his tall figure looming behind you. You want to turn around – you want to say something, but you can’t bring yourself to move a muscle. “Whether you believe me or not, I am sorry. I’ve been a proper arse and…” He trails off, evidently searching for his next words. Your heart thumps anxiously in the silence. “You haven’t done anything to deserve it. So I’m sorry.”

His words are followed by a long stretch of silence where neither of you speak. You open your mouth once, twice, trying to offer a response, but you come up short both times. Remus eventually speaks, his shoes scuffing against the damp ground as he takes a step back. “I’m not trying to change your mind or anything, but for what it’s worth, I think we’d be really damn good together too.” His voice is low, steady, and effortlessly confident. Without another word, he leaves, and you don’t dare breathe until you hear the front door shut behind him.

When you finally find the strength to stand, you walk home with your thoughts racing a million miles a second. Needless to say – you’re back at the Marauders house the very next morning. James – who’d been calling you all night, smiles with wide eyes when you walk into the living room behind Sirius. His shoulders drop in relief, and you almost feel guilty for intently ignoring each and every one of his calls.

Remus, in a surprising turn of events, is the first to speak. He’s sprawled lazily on the couch, a ring clad hand resting on his upper thigh. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and he wears a knowing smirk that makes you want to cuss him out. “Not giving up on us yet, hm?”

His stare doesn’t falter when your eyes find his, and you hate how quickly you look away with warm pink cheeks. “Don’t make me regret it, Lupin.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for putting in a fake negative review for my workplace? (👾👾👾 for easier search and recognition)

So I've worked at this local hardware store for a little over a year now. So far, it's been the most chill job I've had and has paid a bit better than the last one I worked at. The current staff, for the majority of them, I'm pretty chill with, except I (and a lot of the others) has had issues with two people: One of the managers (let's call him Reggie, 40sM) and one of the associates (we'll call him Cider, 40sM). Reggie is a recovering alcoholic and he's been keeping his sobriety by using marijuana, while Cider is an old friend of Reggie's that used to be a bartender. Reggie was hired on as a manager a couple months after I started, and a month after Reggie hired Cider.

From almost day 1 everyone has had some sort of issue with the two of them. For one, Reggie is always casually breaking the rules by wearing slippers to work (safety hazard, it's a damn hardware store and the floors are concrete), leaving for several minutes to even HOURS without saying anything to anyone while still on the clock, and worst of all he often hotboxes in his car so he comes back with a literal cloud of weed clinging to him. He's taken money out of the safes and store deposits for his own personal stuff, and then goes to replace the money later, and it took him over a year to actually start doing some of the basic manager stuff on the computer. I, and two other people, were taught some of those same manager stuff within 2 weeks. Mind you that we're still sales associates, but because we were taught this stuff Reggie would sometimes have us do some of the more tedious manager stuff under his code. So, when it looks like he's done a ton of work, in reality he was doing something like reprint sales tags and leaving the plaza to go home and walk his fucking dogs.

Cider on the other hand has been found smelling like alcohol, evidently being drunk on the job in front of customers, and we've had to clean up after him more than a few times in the bathrooms. Hell, Cider came in actually drunk on his first day working, and the manager on shift at the time (who wasn't Reggie) wanted to turn him immediately out the door.

The other two managers have both reported all this to the store owner, and even the store owner's son who co-owns the place has seen some of this stuff first-hand (He came up to one of them asking if it was just him or if Reggie reeked of weed). The both of them have even experienced Reggie's incompetency during truck orders when the other managers were on vacation. The store owner still hasn't done any sort of reprimanding to Reggie, despite that if the other managers did anything similar they'd be fired on the spot. Neither manager can say anything to Cider about his drinking, because then he'll just say something like: "Oh, I'm getting in trouble for having a little drink, when Reggie can be here every day smelling like weed?" Dude can be a good worker, but only when he's occasionally sober.

Basically, I want to create a throw-away google account and leave a 2~3 star review as customer saying that some of the associates smelled like weed and alcohol and seemed like they were under the influence. I know it sounds like a dick move to do this, but maybe if there's a public thing about it then the store owner will start addressing it. Maybe put in one every couple of weeks to make it really stack up and make an impact.

What are these acronyms?

[elsa-fogen]

I know from an old livestream there was mention of Rosie never have died indicating she'd be hellborn then, but that was obvi old and Vaggie refered to the cannibals as sinners last ep. Plus, I believe Lute mentioned a pardon for hellborns in exterminations, and the death of cannibals would've gone against that (but you could argue angels were already planning to attack Charlie, so...)

It kinda seems like it could go either or? I kinda liked the idea of Rosie being hellborn personally, but the vague evidence maybe indicates sinners (love the Rosie cult idea someone had). Personally seems fun playing both ideas, be nice if there was some confirmation though or more concrete evidence.

There's also some fucked up kids out there (just look at true crime stuff and you will see them), so I'm sure there's a good amount of sinner children in Hell. Which, I think is also a bit more interesting, but that's a personal take.

I think it was talked a bit on the pride ring kind of having a prison system to avoid having to get too dark/controversial, meaning no one has respect for and will leave someone who abuses/harmed women and children. But that also could be from an old stream and been retconned :/

I personally don't count on info from the streams, esp old ones, because they can say anything and then take it back

But imagine if Rosie is actually a fallen angel PODJUSPFHIYSDOIHFGSOGFSKUI it also counts as "never died" i guess??