#and when i say for the win i mean hes winnin

[inniessick]

What the TXT members are like in bed

Pairing: txt ot5 (separate) x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: smut obvi, dom!yeonjun, taehyun, hueningkai(?), switch!beomgyu, soobin. kissing, PIV, no protection (dont be silly), cussing, teasing, overstim, titty sucking? (soobin), facesitting (kai), lowkey manhandling (beom, tae), choking (tae), crying (good way, tae), bratty beomgyu, mayhaps that's all lmk if I missed anything.

likes reblogs and feedback are appreciated! ♡ my requests are open! let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist for future works

yeonjun who can't get enough of being so close to you. he's willing to fuck you absolutely silly anytime you want, even if it means every night. its almost a way for him to show how much he loves you. to be that vulnerable with you. it doesn't matter how, when, or where. he wants to be inside of you in some way. drilling into you from behind while you're struggling to hold yourself up altering cumming for the nth time, "cmon babe, really gonna make me hold you up too? fucked ya too good?" he's dragging his lips along your shoulders and back, lighting tugging your hair. every time you clench around him he lets out a groan or whimper. jjunie is not afraid to make noise and let you know how good he's feeling thanks to you. or, lightly rocking into your cunt in the early hours of the morning just before work. he's not saying much, just "love you, feels good," muttering and holding your back to his chest, taking in your warmth. no matter what though, yeonjun always makes a mess of your cunt. granted, he takes his time cleaning you up, but he loves to see how well you've taken him.

soobin who's such a switch. sub leaning of course. what can he say? he just wants to be taken care of. after all he looks after 4 guys, is it too much to ask to come home and have you ride him till he's panting and overstimulated? he may even let you tie him up and have him sobbing just to cum all for you, "please? let me cum, need to. can't take it anymore," or maybe he wants to suck on your tits and rut his hips into yours. surely you'll be nice to him and just give him what he wants right? after all, he's "such a good boy", until you make him jealous. tables turn real quick. he doesn't care if you "didn't mean to," just what the fuck were you doing choosing to sit with his hyung over him? as if that wasn't bad enough you let him drink from the same cup as you! soobin contained it, until you got home. youre immediately taken to your shared bedroom and pinned onto the bed while he has his way with you. he's grabbing your jaw forcing you to look at him, he's spilt load after load into your pussy; truly not caring how much you've gotten off. "you're all mine, got it? only I make you feel this good, baby. nobody can do it like me. not kai, not taehyun, not beomgyu, and absolutely not yeonjun."

beomgyu whos as much of a tease as he is a brat. he just has to have both. he'll have you crying under him and he works his fingers into you, palm grazing over your clit lightly. it's not enough, you really just need more, more pressure, another finger, anything. "beom, please wan' more. ah- need it, please beomie." "not enough, love? you're still writhing under me. not too sure if you deserve anything else." his goal is to make you beg for him, just for him. after he's done fucking you dumb on his fingers and mouth he'll do it again with his dick. he'll play around and let you ride him, he'll let you be in charge for just awhile, but he won't make it easy for you. "let me be in charge, aren't you tired?" grabbing your hips harshly, "i'm so much better at it too, you'll love it. you always like the way I fuck you." he's already trying hard not to hold you down and paint your insides white, but you dont need to know that. you put your all into your movements, lifting yourself up before sinking all the way back down, attempting to shut him up; but it's beomgyu, in the end he's always gonna win. good thing him winning includes making you cum another couple times.

taehyun isn't here to play games. you're gonna listen to him wether you like it or not. all he wants is for you to be good for him, not that hard right? hes always in charge. you like it that way. rough day at work? he has your knees touching your shoulders, hands pinned to your thighs while you scratch at his shoulders and back. "feels good doesn't it? such a good girl for me, all mine." he fucks into you deeper while littering your neck with kisses and hickeys. everyone knows you're his. "all yours tae. your good girl promise. wanna cum for you, may i? please please." he murmurs a small yes into your neck, bringing one of his hands to your clit making you unravel immediately. he's there to make you listen to him. hand wrapped around your throat, bruises left on your hips from his merciless grasp. he'll bite at your skin, curse against it too. he wants to make you both feel good, just on his terms. you wouldn't have it any other way. not when he kisses every part of your skin, praises you, and leaves you breathless with tear stained cheeks from overstimulation. you bet your ass it felt godly too.

hueningkai.. oh hyuka.. he is there to serve!! tired? let him fuck you to sleep while you cuddle his plushies. want to relax? ride his face please and thanks. wanna stop thinking? he'll make you cum so many times you won't know anything but his name. and hyuka will beg for this, he will absolutely get on his hands and knees and do everything in his power to get you to let him. you won't meet a better service top than him. he's rubbing your back after a bath as you sit on his lap, "you seem real stressed baby." you let out a small laugh, "that would be because i am." you don't know quite how you got there but kai has already taken your panties off and is laying flat pointing to his face, "sit, let me make you feel better," "c'mon kai, you don't have to." "please ride my face, i'll take care of you, just wanna make you cum." he has the most convincing puppy eyes too. inching up more and more before resting your core above his face, not fully sitting. he's gonna change that though. grabbing your thighs and sitting you on his flattened tongue. youre nearing release within minutes. he just knows exactly what to do to get to you; it's his job after all. kai himself is moaning against your cunt everytime you grind down onto his mouth. you're in for a good time alright, he's gonna make sure you relax.

a/n: oh hey sorry for my lack of posting.. take this as an apology???????? i'm gonna try and get back to it guys i swear.. anyways just thinking about with the whole of txt thank yew. again i apologize for not updating.. i was not living the life. i'm trying to keep writing again now tho! for txt now too 🧌. i'm trying guys pls don't hate me istg. yes hyuka gets extra words bc.. im hyuka biased I can't help it guys I got carried away...

likes reblogs and feedback are appreciated! ♡ my requests are open! let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist for future works

[bonezone44]

Muddy Waters, pt. 1 (18+)

'Limewash'

Ezra x F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: You live with Ezra in Jackson. Joel and Ezra are sometimes partnered for patrol. He doesn't trust Ezra. He doesn't trust you, either, by association, and because you don't have a job. When you finally meet him, he's even less certain than before.

Word Count: 3,5k

next: part 2 (story masterlist) (my masterlist)

tags: NSFW 18+ (not graphic yet). Intuitive!Reader. Afab!Reader (she/they). Southern!Reader. Established Ezra x F!Reader. Pet names: baby. Eventual smut. Eventual cuckold. Eventual threesome (maybe?). Ezra Enjoying Violence. No use of Y/N.

Author's Note: so this is happening. I'm not fighting it and just letting the story come out. Also doing paintings for them because I gotta. I've been reading so much amazing smut recently, this was bound to come out sooner or later. I'm thankful to @toxicanonymity and @walkintotheriveranddisappear for sharing their amazing work and inspiring my own.

=================================

An irritatin’ snake. 

That’s how Joel saw Ezra.

For starters, the man talked too goddamn much. Drove him goddamn crazy when they were out on patrol or in and taking care of the horses. Fucker always had something to say about something and it rode every last nerve Joel had left in his aching body.

Secondly, he was so charming that Joel found it disconcerting. Ezra could make everyone around him smile and feel special. At the Tipsy Bison, when Ezra drank enough to turn his ears pink and his eyes blurry–there’d still be a flirtatious grin plastered on his face. Hell, people loved the man even more when he was drinking. He would finally stop talking so much and listen for once.

But that didn’t mean he was quiet.

Ezra was what people would call an ‘active listener.’ He’d stare into the eyes of whoever was speaking like they were the only other person in the world. He’d follow along real intently, nodding his head, and asking follow-up questions as if he was damn near desperate to learn the answers. He would laugh real loud at any little pun or joke. Shit, he would make even the dullest Jackson had to offer feel like they were a goddamn movie star.

Goddamn! It annoyed the hell out of Joel.

Because thirdly, and most importantly, they didn’t see Ezra’s twitchy fingers or shaking legs when they were alone at night, circling outside the town on horseback. They didn’t see the shift in his face when he would gun down infected–something sick and excited dancing through him. It was even worse when raiders would show up. Ezra looked downright horny.  He’d stroke his gun like it was his own cock blasting holes in people’s heads.

One time, Ezra killed a man and then turned to Joel with a grunt and said, “Doesn’t that feel divine?” He dragged out the word ‘divine’ like he was scraping up poker winnings–slow, indulgent, and haughty.

“Not s’posed to feel good,” Joel chided.

He gave Joel a boyish grin. “Which makes the taste of it that much more ambrosial, don’t it?” He hummed and stared at the barrel of his rifle. “It is an effusive pleasure to be a batter for the winning team.”

Joel scoffed. “Winnin’ ain’t a sure thing.”

Ezra huffed. “I must riposte, brother. We may succumb to a battle or two, but Jackson is winning the long game.”

Joel always twitched when Ezra would call him ‘brother.’ That serpent would never be his kin. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” Ezra began with his shoulders back and chin high. “Look at history. Look at evolution. Our species thrives with the efforts of cooperation and cohabitation.” He huffed. “And Jackson’s community grows stronger every day.” A gloved finger rose into the air. “Now stay with me for a moment while I explain this.” He paused for dramatic effect to which Joel made no response. “But I believe God sent the fungal plague to start us anew and on an upwardly path.”

Joel’s lip twitched.

“Better the cordyceps than nuclear warheads, in my opinion.” 

Joel glared that much harder.

Ezra held up his palms. “You know as well as I that we were gonna end ourselves on way or another.” He shrugged his shoulder and flicked his head. “At least this way, the earth is still fecund enough for us to plant our virile seed.” Ezra’s left eyebrow curled upward as he chuckled to himself.

Joel huffed all frustrated and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the saddle horn. “How the hell does that make Jackson the winnin team?”

“Raiders are individualistic,” he answered with confidence. “And individualism is a remnant of the old world. Individualism. Capitalism. Monotheism.” He held his palm out wide. “We are evolving beyond it.” He gazed at the dead raider on the ground between them before pointing to it with his rifle. “We’re putting down the dying breeds to secure resources for our symbiotic comrades.” He looked up at Joel again. “And please–” he raised his empty palm. “--do not mistake my analogy for eugenics.” The empty palm found his heart. “We’re killing ideals, not controlling gene pools.”

Joel’s brows shot up. “Are you trying to say that we only killed that man’s hopes and dreams?” He pointed to the body with a thick, gloved finger. “That we didn’t just kill off his family tree?”

“I–” Ezra’s brow furrowed as he solemnly observed the deceased. His lips went tight. “Shit.” He watched the blood soak into the soil. “I guess we are doing a little bit of both, aren’t we?” He looked back up at Joel with that cheerful, boyish smile again.

Joel clenched his teeth. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He grabbed the reins and tugged his horse back toward the main path.

Ezra held out his arms, gun barrel aimed at the clouds. “No philosophy is perfect, brother. It evolves just as we do on our ascension toward greater realms.”

Joel stopped humoring Ezra after that.

Now you…

Joel wasn’t too sure about you, either. You didn’t have an exact job as far as Joel could tell. You were never on any of the rotations. When he asked Tommy about it in passing, Tommy only said that you ‘contributed in your own way.’

“If you took the time to get to know her, you’d understand,” said Maria.

“Dude, she just gets it,” said Ellie.

Buncha bullshit if you asked Joel.

There was no reason for you to be wandering the town every day without a care in the world, smiling like the sun shined outta your ass and everyone should be kissing you for it. Anytime he did see you in a storefront or at the stables, you weren’t doing anything special. Just… visiting with whoever was doing all the real work.

Like some kinda lazy ass.

He wondered if you were just like Ezra: charming people around you while something twisted boiled underneath.

Were you just as bloodthirsty?

No.

Couldn’t be.

You never ventured beyond the safety of Jackson’s walls and he never saw you arguing with anyone–let alone get into some kinda physical altercation. You seemed pretty happy most of the time. And downright jubilant when you had a few drinks at the bar.

(One time, he saw you gather up a group of women to sit around and play hand games. Hand games. At a goddamn bar. You were singing songs and clapping and even convinced Maria to join and teach everyone the songs that she could remember, too. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Grown women regressing into little girls–and under the influence to boot. There was so much screaming and laughing that the whole bar nearly emptied. Anyone not in on the fun didn’t wanna be anywhere near it. The whole thing bombarded the senses. And then Ellie came home a few days later, clapping her hands and singing the same songs. Joel almost kicked her out the house.)

Were you some kind of a crook? Were you gaining the trust of the people in town as some kind of long con?

It was possible, though unlikely.

And to what end?

You and Ezra seemed so invested. Not just in planting roots for yourselves, but invested in the town in general. Ezra was at every town meeting, offering his opinion and joining the group discussions. Joel never attended himself, but he would hear about it from either Tommy or Maria.

That was another thing! Tommy and Maria liked Ezra, too! They admitted he was ‘interesting’, but couldn’t find any real fault in him.

One night, Joel confronted Tommy about him. 

Joel’s eyes got real wide. “Something’s wrong with that man.”

Tommy laughed. “Everybody’s got somethin wrong with them.”

“You know what I mean.” Joel punctuated his remark with a sneer. Like he was saying something he really meant.

“Look.” Tommy sighed. “I don’t know how to put this, but his wife or partner or however they like to call it–she’s a good influence on him. Keeps him settled, I guess.” He sighed again. “Like… you and Tess,” Tommy added hesitantly.

Joel huffed and clenched his teeth. There was no way. He and Tess were–they were–he and Tess were nothing like Ezra and his ladyfriend. Simple fact. He just didn’t know how to prove it, yet.

For all Joel’s pondering and curiosities–he finally got his chance to talk to you.

You were walking by one morning while he was on his porch drinking coffee. You smiled and waved, he answered by raising his brows at you. But then you stopped dead in your tracks and pointed past him.

“Are those new shutters?” you asked, face all screwed up and confused.

Joel turned his head to see. Even though this was his house. He knew the shutters you were talking about. He turned back to you. ��Uhh… yep.”

“When did you put ���em up?”

Joel’s body tensed. “Last week.”

“Wow. I walk by here every day. I don’t remember even seeing you workin on ‘em.” You shook your head. “How long did it take?” You weren’t smiling or sunny when you asked him, either. You looked downright offended for some reason that Joel couldn’t quite figure.

“Couple days,” he answered with tight lips. He wasn’t sure where your questions were trying to take him.

“Well, shit.” You put your hands on your hips. “How did I miss all that?” You tilted your head and pointed again. “Did you thin out some paint or is that a real lime wash?”

“‘S a wash,” he said. “Don’t gotta prime it or nothin nowadays.”

“Ohh, okay.” You shrugged. “It looks really good.” And while you were giving him a compliment, your face said ‘meh.’

“Thanks.” He glowed a little in his chest. He could tell that you meant it. That you weren’t just being polite.

And Joel didn’t know what made him say it, but he followed up with, “I did the kitchen table, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head back. “C’mere. I’ll show ya.”

Next thing he knew, Joel was talking to you about a country music festival he went to when he was 25. It was just him and his old friend, Andrew. Andrew had bought tickets for them and even secured a sitter for Sarah. They spent the whole weekend sleeping and drinking in the back of his truck, singing songs and saying hi to all the pretty girls that walked by.

And when the story was over, and you both said your good-byes, Joel felt more confused than anything. He held a glass of water in his hand. His throat had gone dry. He wasn’t used to speaking that much, because, yeah, Joel just spoke a lot. A lot a lot. More than he’d spoken in years maybe.

And he felt good. Real good. Like a high flutter in his chest that got him all excited to go out and do something. Do something fun just for the fun of it.

But… why?

All he did was show you some work he’d done on the house. Then he saw his guitar and talked about playing again. Then that turned into talking about the music he liked. Then somehow he remembered that festival. Clear as day. After not thinking about it for over two decades.

And all you did was listen.

You just visited.

But it got him all excited. Like he was a little boy making a new best friend.

But… how?

Joel couldn’t make sense of it. And he didn’t have anyone to talk to about it either.

He didn’t like that something so simple could feel so good. He didn’t like that you didn’t do any of the talking. He was supposed to figure you out. Figure out you and Ezra. But this just made him even more confused.

You didn’t listen like Ezra did–all hyped up and dramatic. You made a comment here or there, but nothing significant enough to recall. And you barely asked him any follow up questions.

But you smiled when he said something nice. Chuckled when he said something funny. It was like you were water–rippling out and taking shape in whatever manner he needed you to. Whatever kept the words flowing out of his dry, creaky throat.

But people weren’t water. People were people. They had opinions and wants and needs. And no one could be that easy going, that passive, that submissive without expecting something in return.

Joel needed to figure you out. He just needed to figure out how to figure you out.

+++++++

Now that Joel had officially met you, he couldn’t find you anywhere. He stopped seeing you walking around town. He stopped seeing you in the storefronts. You weren’t around during mealtimes or at the bar at night, either. It was like you up and vanished.

He knew nothing bad had happened. It was a small town. Word traveled fast. If anything had gone wrong, he’d have heard about it an hour later. Two hours, tops. And Ezra would certainly not be walking around so cheerily.

The whole thing was making him all sick in the stomach. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you, looking for you. He made to ask Tommy or Maria, but the words never breached his lips. It felt wrong. Like he was gonna expose something about himself that he didn’t want them to know.

If he had known where you lived, he would have shown up at your house. Shit, the man even tried to follow Ezra home a couple of times–lurking in the shadows, stepping real light. But there was always something ruining his efforts. A loud tumble of cans falling over behind the general store. A small group of drunks walking by and talking loud. A goddamn dog barking at him.

Shit.

It pained him–greatly, he might add–but he knew what he had to do. 

He had to talk to Ezra.

Joel waited until they were paired up again for patrol–well, no. That’s not true. He switched shifts with someone to hurry it all up. But nevertheless, he waited until they were alone and out of earshot of anyone else, lest they get the wrong idea about Joel. He was just wondering about her. That’s all. Nothing untoward about it.

Joel cleared his throat, trotting alongside Ezra in the bright light of the full moon. “How’s your uh… ladyfriend doin?”

“Ladyfriend, huh?” Ezra teased. “I like that word. I don’t know how I ever forgot about that one.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

Ezra chuckled. “She’s doin alright.”

Joel slid his jaw side to side. “Haven’t seen her around in a while.”

“Yeah, she gets like that sometimes,” Ezra murmured.

“Is-is somethin wrong? Did somethin happen?” Joel asked, concern evident on his brow.

Ezra’s eyes found Joel. He sized him up as they made their way around the north end of the woods. After what felt to Joel like twenty fuckin minutes, Ezra looked away and sighed. “Look,” he said. “There is no need for you or anyone else to worry–”

“Worry ‘bout what?” Joel’s heart raced in his chest. His hands gripped tight around the reins, leather gloves squeaking. He’d go straight back to town if he had to–patrol protocol be damned.

“She has this feeling that someone is looking for her.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

Ezra sighed again. “She gets the feelings sometimes and sometimes she has misread her notions and sometimes they are accurate.” He stared off. “Disconcertingly accurate, to be honest with you.”

“Once,” Ezra began. “In our early days together, I got shot in my arm.” He pointed to his right bicep. “It wasn’t direct, but it wasn’t a slug, either.” He laughed and shook his head. “This asshole in a fuckin 49er’s cap was firing buckshot.” He looked at Joel with wide eyes. “Can you believe that shit? Buckshot. And the 49ers? Who in the hell liked the 49ers?” He huffed and wiped his mouth. “Now this all transpired down in Louisiana where I was born and raised. At the time, we were somewhere a little east of Houma, which if you don’t know, is mired in swamps and bayous and just… water, water everywhere.” Ezra gazed through the thick of evergreens, sucking fresh air through his nose. “And I was not thinkin clearly at the time.” He rolled his shoulders, eyes blank in disbelief. “Maybe it was the oppressive summer heat or the unrelenting humidity, but I washed the wound with some contaminated water.” He sighed. “As soon as I unveiled my hardship to her, she took one look and said, ‘We’re going to LSU.’” He shrugged. “That’s all,” he said. “And I can remember thinkin to myself, ‘LSU? Where the hell did that idea come from?’ We had been trying to go back east. I wanted to keep trekkin towards Florida, hopin we might find some help along the way, but she told me no. Said we had to go north. Go get our purple and gold on, I suppose.” He grimaced. “We walked a day straight. Now I mean that.” He stressed his words with widened eyes. “Twenty four hours of walkin. No little catnaps under the shady oak trees or dippin our toes into the creek.” He took a deep breath. “A whole day.” He exhaled laboriously.

“And I… started gettin feverish toward the end of our journey.” He closed his eyes. “I could feel every little pellet as it pulsed and bulged with pus beneath my skin.” He shuddered and opened his eyes. “I thought I was gonna start devolving into the Thing. Thought I was gonna have to strap dynamite to my torso and blow myself into smithereens.” He threw his arm up, exasperated. “She wouldn’t let me search any of the Eckerds or pharmacies we passed. Wouldn’t let me stop walkin neither.” He laughed dryly and sighed. “We make it to the LSU campus. We walk up to the gates.” He threw his arm up again. “And those people took us right in. No questions asked.” It was a good thing, but Ezra sounded so frustrated. “Got me cleaned and bandaged. They fed us.” He shook his head. “They even gave us each a new pair of shoes. Nike’s.” He looked in Joel in whole-hearted disbelief. “Swoosh on ‘em and everything.” He huffed out a laugh. “She just knew. She knew where to go and how to get us in. Didn’t need a map. We were out and exposed, walkin along the main roads. And when we got there, she spoke to the doctors and got me a change of clothes, too.” He chuckled. “She slept about a week straight after all of it was said and done, though. Poor thing could barely stay awake long enough to eat.” He hummed. “She had exhausted her mind, body, and soul to get me to where I needed to go.” He smiled with tender warmth. “I am forever grateful to her for that.”

“Sh-she just… knew?” Joel asked.

“She just knew.”

“Y-you think she’s right this time, too?” 

Ezra threw his head back and laughed. “Now, she is resolute to be right and true this time.” He grinned. “Her worries are beginnin to snake themselves into my mind, as well.” He turned to Joel with a playful smirk. “Past few days I could have sworn someone was following me in town.” He shook his head, still smiling. “But I know there’s no real danger in Jackson and the daily reports offer nothing of significance. I am inclined to believe that she has misread her notions again.” He sniffed. “‘Cause the real danger–” He pointed to the words with his chin. “The real danger is all out here.” He narrowed his eyes as his breaths grew heavy.

Joel watched as Ezra gripped the horn of his saddle with both hands, leather gloves twisting and creaking. He lewdly rolled his hips into the rise of his seat with a grunt.

Ezra turned back to Joel with a devilish grin–leaning toward him with slack shoulders. “Let’s go kill us some infected, brother.” He bit his lip before turning and trotting deeper into the trees.

Joel sucked his teeth. “Sick fuck,” he said under his breath and followed.

+++++

The following morning, Ezra woke you up on the couch after returning home from patrol. He pet your shoulder while you laid wrapped in your blanket.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you mumbled with your eyes closed.

“How you feelin?”

“Like shit.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he cooed.

You didn’t move. Only grunted.

“Guess who was askin’ after you?”

You grunted again.

“Joel Miller.”

‘Joel Miller?’ you thought. ‘Why?’

Then it clicked.

Fear left your mind and body and was quickly replaced with fury.

You shot up with a gasp. “Oh my god!” you shouted.

“What?” Ezra reeled back with his palms up in surrender. “What?”

“That’s who’s been lookin for me!” You balled up your blanket with righteous anger and hopped up from the couch. You threw the tangled wool fabric to the floor. The fact that it was too soft to make a sound when it hit the wood just pissed you off even more.

“Him?” Ezra’s eyes glittered, a small smile on his lips.

You squeezed your fists tight. “That motherfucker!”

+++++

-----

part 2

(story masterlist)

(my masterlist)

[kyabetsuhime]

Rinne Amagi 4☆ – Please, God☆

Writer: Yuumasu Characters: Kanata, Hiyori, Rinne, HiMERU, Kohaku, Niki Season: Autumn Translation: ksts Proofreading: mai (ENG)

Rinne: (So my next job is in an hour... I wanna play pachinko, but guess I'll only end up gettin’ there and comin' right back.) (And there's no point in goin' to Cinnamon either as Niki isn't there.) (Well, it seems I have no choice but to stay here and kill time. If only something could keep me from gettin' bored...) (...Oh.) Hey, Hiyori-chan♪ What a coincidence, nice to see you. For some reason, your mere presence is like a good omen. As if I'm gettin' an "fine weather" blessing...♪

Hiyori: Rinne-senpai, I know you're tearfully happy to see me, but now it's terrible weather…

Rinne: Hm? What's the matter? You don't look well. Did you caught a cold or somethin'?

Hiyori: I wanted to pick up some snacks for a light meal, but the quiche I was looking for was out of stock. Even though I was the one who wrote the letter asking them to add quiche to their repertoire, me not getting it in the end is simply unforgivable!

Rinne: Ehh, so your favorite food is tissues? Are you a goat eatin' paper?♪ Come on, Hiyori-chan, say maa maa...☆

Hiyori: I won't! And I'm not a goat! I'm not in the mood to be teased, why do you keep messing with me?

Rinne: But isn't it natural to greet acquaintances when you meet them in your free time? Why don't you get along with me since we're roommates? Gyahaha☆

Hiyori: Roommates, huh... Then you should ask Kanata-kun to keep you company. He'll bring you luck too, though not as much as me.

Rinne: What do you mean?

Hiyori: It's just a rumor. When I was still at Yumenosaki, I've heard that some people worship him, believing that he can make any wish come true for them.

Rinne: Any, huh? Gyahaha, that definitely isn’t true then. There's no way he could be a god, is there?

Hiyori: Fufun. Whether you believe me or not is up to you, Rinne-senpai.

<6 hours later>

Rinne: (Phew, all done. Good job, me~) (Now I'll drop my stuff off here and leave. My beloved gambling is waitin' for meee~♪) (There's a new pachinko machine, so should I try that first?~) (...Hm?)

Kanata: (Sleeping sounds)

Rinne: (So Kanacchi's back too. I didn't notice him at all.) (He looks so peaceful sleepin'. Is he havin' a good dream?) ... ("Make any wish come true", huh...) (I know it's just a baseless rumour, but... Guess it can’t hurt to try—) (In a low voice) May I win big! (Aight, I'm off now♪)

<Several days later>

Niki: Thanks for waiting~ Here are your two daily special sets~

HiMERU: Thank you.

Kohaku: ...Hey, Niki-han. I wanna ask you somethin'.

HiMERU: Oukawa.

Kohaku: But HiMERU-han, you're curious too, right? If we can't get anywhere on our own, then let's bring in Niki-han. Look... See Rinne-han sittin' at the counter?

Rinne: ......... ...(Sigh)

Kohaku: He's been lost in thought like that for quite a long time now. Did somethin' happen? Maybe he ate somethin' strange?

Niki: Eh!? Please don't suspect our food! But it's really weird that he didn't try to pester me. Well, now that I think about it, he sure looks different from usual~

HiMERU: So in other words, you don't know anything either.

Kohaku: HiMERU-han, where are you goin'?

HiMERU: To ask him directly. Since we don't know the situation, our discussion is just a waste of time. Amagi, can I have a minute?

Rinne: ...Hey, Merumeru. Do you believe in God?

HiMERU: ...What.

Kohaku: Oh no, Rinne-han's snapped!

Niki: Uwah, it's quite troublesome. Who can fix him then? Little brother-san?

Rinne: Nah, I'm totally fine. I don't know how it works, but lately I've been winnin' big at pachinko every time I pray to my roommate, Kanacchi. I suspected it was just a dubious rumour, but turns out he might really be a god of gambling... I haveta cherish this bond♪ Gyahahaha!

<Several days later>

Hiyori: I'm home! If there's anyone here, greet me with open arms!

Kanata: Welcome back, "Ohisama"-san.

Hiyori: Kanata-kun, what's the matter? Even though I'm back, you're in such a bad mood!

Kanata: No, I'm "fine". Just a little "bewildered". Lately, "Chief"-san has been "pampering" me so strangely often.

Hiyori: Pampering?

Kanata: Yes. Like giving me a "vinyl pool" or trying to take me to a "fish" restaurant. And now I'm stumped as I don't understand the "intention" behind it.

Hiyori: Ah, I think I might have an idea. Let me tell you.

<Some time later>

Hiyori: ––So it looks like his gambling luck increases in proportion to how much attention he pays to you. And now he seems to be completely devoted to the "god of gambling".

Kanata: Uu... That's why he's been "cozying up" to me... I don't like to feel used at all…

Rinne: I'm home~...

Kanata: Oh, "Chief"-san. We need to talk. I'm not a "god of gambling", you know!

Rinne: Eh... Haha–– So you found out about my prayers? Wish I had known this sooner. I lost big just now. (Sigh)... It really was too good to be true after all…

Hiyori: No sighs in front of me! If not Kanata-kun, you can worship me! If you treat the one of "Eden", named after the paradise ruled by the omniscient and omnipotent God, respectfully enough, you will surely earn His favor!

Rinne: Oh nooo~ Are you imposin' a religion on me~? What should Rinne-kun dooo~♪

Hiyori: It's worth a try! You'll have a bronze statue of me, so you can worship me everyday!

Rinne: Hehe~ Hiyori-sama~☆

Hiyori: Hmph, I don't like the way you say it! Show me more seriousness, will you!

Rinne: Oh, this god is so demandin'. ★ directory ★

[alltheirdamn]

ok so soo… idk why, whyyyy ma’am, but your cowboy!joels fics and cowboy!joel himself……. have me in a fucking chokehold.. metephorically and in a kinky way too.. hehe. but ok. so hear me out… 🤠 but also, i know you’re having some health issues rn so put this on the back burner and take care of yourself first love, but i think you could execute this idea… perfectly.. 🫦

this could be a one shot or maybe even a short series, dunno but i feel like you and i…. we 👉🏼😮‍💨 ~~~~~~ 😮‍💨👈🏼 we understand each other and we are both thirsty sluts for our man joel here. so here my pitch:

i’ve been seeing these like rodeo cowboy videos all over my fyp (https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8dSPGLp/ ) on tik tok and ya know, cuz cowboy!joel is living in my frontal lobe right now rent free, i was like … damn, if that was joel doin this or on a bucking bronco at readers like state or county fair and then like sees reader in the crowd eyein him as he’s getting himself or his horse or whatever ready… and she’s eye fucking him… with his sexy fuckin get up they all wear with the cowboy hat and everythin… and he makes eyes with the reader and maybe tips his hat and gives her a small wink. then she like looks away a bit embarrassed and starts talking to a guy sitting next to her, let’s just say is her brother or close guy friend and that makes joel jealous as he thinks he has competition, and maybe before his event or turn he comes and introduces himself and lowkey flirts with reader a little because now up close he can see her fully and she’s got this sexy floral sundress on with her cowgirl boots and cute cowgirl hat on looking like a damn meal that he wants to devour. but he’s also just a tad bit soft as when she shakes his hand he pulls it up to kiss her knuckles and compliments how pretty she is that instead of the horse knocking him out of orbit, the reader is (or something corny like that, ya know?) and they banter back and forth a bit as the reader thinks he’s a bit cocky but sweet and likes how easy it is to talk to him, but is lowkey ready to ride that cowboy if you know what i mean… and he knows it too by the way she keeps looking down at how tight his jeans hug his pelvis and show a faint outline of him, but when he catches her, she says she was admiring his belt buckle, and to kind of stir the pot and challenge her a little bit he says something like, “how ‘bout if i win m’self first place here when it’s my turn, sweetheart, you can remove this buckle yourself and replace it with the prize winnin’ one after i take you out for dinner” and she is lowkey turned TF on by what we ALL know he means by that, but likes how he presented it and has been good to banter with her, so she says something like “only if you win first. i don’t think they give belt buckles as participation trophies” just to be a brat or something like that. HOWEVER!!!! little does she know he’s like KNOWN for his talent, as he’s like a national champion or something and winning first will be simple for him… 😏🥵😮‍💨 so like… he’s gon get that belt buckle and maybe when he finally has his turn they announce him like “next up we have Joel Miller, who just won himself the National Championship last season, let’s see if he can defend his title here tonight.” and her face goes red and he watches her as they announce him and after the announcement is done he tips his hat, winks and mouths to her something like ‘let’s go, first place, baby’ or something to make us FOAM at the mouth with how fucking sexy he would be in this moment and then yeah… i’m sure you can go from there 😮‍💨

psssttt… you… yeah YOU!!!!! get out of my HEAD!!!!! because i was LITERALLY TALKING ABOUT A RODEO!JOEL IDEA LAST WEEK WITH A COUPLE PEOPLE 👀👀👀👀

this is a BEAUTIFUL set up for a fic and you best believe i am pocketing this idea & going to absolutely give this a home on page 💛 pls stay tuned for this because it will be HAPPENING!!!!!

also, for funsies… rotten cowboy!joel was a bull rider in his hayday and has his own lil collection of belt buckles… which may be included in the next one shot 👀 enjoy this lil snippet for your pleasure xoxo

**

joel slipped the warm leather belt around your neck, the large brass belt buckle cool against your skin. it was his prize from a rodeo back when he did bull riding as a twenty something year old boy. it was his most prized possession, and now you wore it like a choker. his fingers tightened the buckle until it was secure, the stretch of it across your throat unforgiving and suffocating. he gave it one last tug, and you restrained yourself from clawing at the burning sting of the leather digging into your neck.

“ain’t you just the prettiest lil’ thing,” he cooed.

your vision was already hazy around the corners, a vignette lens of the room around you as it warped at the edges of your sight. you tried speaking, but the words croaked from your lips, the syllables dying on your tongue and drying out before you could even make another sound.

“this lil’ necklace is doin’ a real nice job of keepin’ you quiet. lets keep it that way, darlin’. not a fuckin’ sound for me, ‘kay? don’t wanna hear your sweet voice right now.”

**

anyway omg??? running to find pic inspo and make this idea HAPPEN!!!!! thank you nonie xoxo ilysm 💛

[ladytanithia]

Side stories...

Does anyone else write little side stories for their main stories, like to fill in the blanks as to what goes on "behind the scenes?" I've written a few, actually, like that untitled bit I posted a while back about the archery lesson with Faendal, Persuading Fethis, Hrefna's Crush, and this little untitled discussion between Faendal and Rayya after one of Miranja's layovers at Lakeview Manor. Just wanted to share!

It's under a thousand words, but I'll put it below the cut.

@mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @gwilin-stay-winnin @dirty-bosmer @thechaosdragoness

Faendal was mining the iron ore vein on the Lakeview Manor property when Rayya came over to talk to him. Miranja had gone back out on another adventure with that Imperial mage Marcurio earlier this morning, and Rayya had seen enough.

Faendal glanced up at her as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Morning, Rayya, something that needs my attention?”

“Maybe,” Rayya replied, “but not about the property. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Faendal’s curiosity was piqued. Rayya never spoke about anything personal; she was a very private, introverted person. What could be bothering her so much that she was actually approaching him to talk about it?

Faendal stuck the handle of the pickaxe through the loop on his belt and picked up the ore he’d already broken loose, loading it into the cart and starting toward the smelter. Rayya followed.

“What’s on your mind, then, Rayya?”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now,” Rayya began. “Llewellyn and I have even had a couple of conversations about it. And I thought now was as good a time as any…”

Rayya had Faendal’s full attention now. He stopped and faced her, a question on his face.

Rayya smiled. “Don’t look so concerned, my friend. It’s nothing bad. We just want you to know that you don’t have to go to bed late and get up extra early when Miranja is home. You’re not fooling anyone but yourself. It’s easy enough to see how much Miranja adores you. We know you share her bed every time she comes home, and we’re fine with that. It’s not like you go around lording it over us or anything.”

Faendal’s face was redder than Rayya had ever seen it, and she laughed in amusement. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, you know.”

Faendal turned and continued on toward the smelter.

“My question is this, and you can tell me if it’s none of my business: I���ve seen you both wearing Mara’s amulet. So why haven’t you married yet?”

Faendal closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He’d been fraught with guilt more than once over that very question.

“I won’t say it’s none of your business, Rayya. I consider us all to be a little family of sorts, and what affects one of us affects us all. The fact of the matter is that when Miranja and I met, I was already in love with a woman in Riverwood. She’s who I’m going to visit whenever I go to Riverwood; I just pick up some supplies at her brother’s shop while I’m there, partly because we do need them, and partly so it looks like I had another reason to go there.”

“I suspected as much, if you want to know the truth. You’re not as subtle as you think you are. Falkreath is closer and you can get the same goods there.”

Faendal shrugged sheepishly. “If you really want to know, Miranja has actually taken my side to help me win Camilla’s heart. The Nord blowhard who was my rival is totally out of the picture now, and I’m really close to winning her over completely. Miranja’s been very encouraging. Yes, I know she wants more than what I’ve given her so far, but she’s put her own wishes aside to help me fulfill mine.”

Rayya found herself feeling very irritated with Faendal over that last little tidbit. “And nothing she’s said or done – Miranja, I mean – nothing has convinced you that Miranja might be the better choice?” There was an edge to her voice.

Faendal was irritated right back at her. “I told you, Miranja has been helping me win Camilla over. And I do love Miranja – very much, in fact.  She’s amazing. But she still wants to see other people, and I worry every day that she might not come home. Not only does she seem to seek danger, but danger seems to seek her out, too. I want to marry someone I never have to worry about losing to draugr, dragons, the Dawnguard – whatever. Can you understand that? I’m a pretty simple man, and I want a simple life. Miranja is complicated, and everything about her life seems complicated. I’m certainly her friend for life, but I could never be her husband.”

Rayya was silent, considering. There was a certain fondness between herself and Miranja, to be sure, but they had never really spent any significant bonding time together, and Rayya only knew the bare minimum about Miranja’s life or her inner workings. For all intents and purposes, she and Miranja were simply employer and employee. She only saw what was on the surface, and all she really knew about Miranja was that she treated her well and paid her well. Perhaps Faendal was right; he was closer to Miranja than anyone else.

“I think I understand where you’re coming from, Faendal. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. You’re obviously the only one in the whole household who’s truly close to her. Llewellyn and I – Gunjar, too – we’re just observers, and that’s how it looks to us, from the ‘outside.’ You two are like the ‘parents’ of our family. As long as both you and Miranja are happy with your arrangement, we’ll stay out of it.”

Faendal smiled. “There’s nothing to forgive, friend. Miranja would be very pleased to know that she has such a loyal family who has her best interests in mind.”

[godsgamefreak]

FFXIVWrite2023 - #9 Fair

OC's: Naomi Yukana, Cherise Holden NPC's: Jacke Swallow, Oboro Torioi

Read on Ao3

Naomi is trying to follow in her brother's footsteps but is finding the path not as straightforward as she expected.

The rafters above were twisted into a wild spin before coming to an abrupt and painful halt as Naomi's head hit the floor below. The pain caused her eyes to squeeze shut in a wince, and she took a moment to just lay there before looking up at the cause.

“Lost yer footin' there lass,” Jacke taunted, a smirk on his face. “This ain't spellcastin', ye can't plant yer feet and expect to blast away yer opponent before they reach ye.”

“But that wasn't fair, you didn't say start!” Naomi huffed, even while taking the Rogue Guild leader's hand and getting back to her feet.

The man just laughed. “'Not fair', comin from the lass what had crocodile tears in her eyes even while gettin' an introduction from a respected member of the guild hopin' to win us over?”

A glance to the side showed said respected member, Naomi's fellow Scion Cherise standing next to a pair of other Rogue Guild members. She had her arms crossed and was rolling her eyes.

Jacke continued. “Ain't about fair, it's about winnin'. The ability to stay alive for a moment longer. Whether it's gainin' the upper hand in a fight or just an opportunity to escape, ye do what ye gotta do.”

Naomi finished brushing herself off, dressed in the unfamiliar leathers and thicker cloths that came with martial fighting. Robes and stockings wouldn't cut it against the blades she was likely to come up against in close quarters. She wouldn't have the time to focus magical defenses like that either. Maybe some day, but not now. Besides, she wanted to learn this properly.

Taking a readying breath, Naomi did her best to copy the stance Jacke had shown her moments ago. “Okay, I'm ready, let's try again.”

Jacke however did not move in on her this time. Instead he cocked his head and looked at her. “So I know ye came in here all fired up, and I can see ye want to, but I gotta ask. Why? Yer already a talented mage from what I can tell, what's got ye all riled up to learn from back alley rogues?”

The question took Naomi by surprise, and she once again glanced at Cherise, but she offered only the barest of shrugs in return. “It's important to me.”

“Aye, I got that, but I want to know the why of it,” Jacke pressed. “Ye don't have to get into the details, but if ye are determined, it might help for me to know a bit o' the why, so I can help ye with the how.”

Naomi thought about it for a moment, not wanting to divulge her whole family history to a group she'd just met. “I want to train with masters of combat from the Far East and they weren't impressed when I met with them. I want to show them I can and will meet their expectations, just like my brother did.”

A glean seemed to enter Jacke's eyes. “Ahh, ye wanna show someone up and prove yer worth. Now that's something I can get behind. Well then, time to take off the kiddie gloves lass, we'll make somethin' of ye yet, not to worry!”

Cherise audibly laughed from the sidelines and Naomi had just enough time to gulp in concern before the roof above her was spinning once again.

“So, you think you're ready?“ Cherise asked the auri as the pair walked up to the building situated at the edge of the jungles in Eastern La Noscea.

”I'll have to be,“ Naomi said with a shrug. “This either worked or it didn't, and if I'm gonna get what I want, that means it has to have worked.”

The redhead smiled and nodded. “I think you're good then. Good luck.”

With one more steadying breath, Naomi walked up to the man at the door and spoke the coded response to gain entry. She had got that much from Yugiri at least, though she had quickly thought the man who waited her inside had been none to pleased about it.

Oboro, the local ninjutsu master who had fled to Eorzea with the rest of the Domans, seemed surprised to see her again. “Naomi. You've returned, it's been some time. I didn't expect to see you.”

“I have done as you suggested and taken much time to train and ready myself. I would like to request another chance at being worthy of your training,” Naomi stated with confidence.

Oboro's eyebrows raised. Very well. Come with me.”

Naomi stepped up alongside Oboro, who led her to the back of the building. She took stock of the man as Jacke had taught - for he had provided more than simply martial training. She had truly learned more than even she had expected.

Once in place, Oboro bid Naomi to stay put, and he walked a few steps away. “Your first test will be a simple one,” he started, putting a hand in his pocket. “You will simply need to take- hm…” Oboro looked confused, and his hands went to his pockets and pouches.

“Missing something?” Naomi asked with a smile, lifting a small pouch that clinked with the sound of gil. “I assume you wanted me to try and take a coin from your hand, how does taking the pouch off your hip compare?”

The ninja blinked in surprise. “That is certainly a new tactic.”

Naomi’s smile turned into a look of pure determination. “The Garleans weren’t about fair play when they took over Doma, I’m ready to do whatever is necessary to learn the skills I’ll need to fight back.”

Oboro smiled. “Well. Whatever training you did certainly served you well. I can see the determination in your eyes clearly. I apologize for my coarse demeanor during your prior request. I'd warn you that training will not be easy, but I can see you are prepared. Let's get started then.”

Naomi nodded, then gave a deep bow, one her mother would have been proud of. She would follow in the footsteps of her brother, she was sure of it.

[djcanipe99]

Dick : I can't do it.

Jade : What?

Dick : I can't beat him.

Jade : Kladur ?

Dick : Yeah. I been out there walkin' around, thinkin'. I mean, who am I kiddin'? I ain't even in the guy's league.

Jade : What are we gonna do?

Dick : I don't know.

Jade : You worked so hard.

Jade : Yeah, that don't matter. 'Cause I was nobody before.

Jade : Don't say that.

Dick : Ah come on, Jade , it's true. I was nobody. But that don't matter either, you know? 'Cause I was thinkin', it really don't matter if I lose this fight. It really don't matter if this guy opens my head, either. 'Cause all I wanna do is go the distance. Nobody's ever gone the distance with Ahm , and if I can go that distance, you see, and that bell rings and I'm still standin', I'm gonna know for the first time in my life, see, that I weren't just another bum from the neighborhood.

//////

Jade :Dick ! Put on your coat. Just put on your coat. Come on it's not worth it.

Dick : Naw, Jade it is worth it. He's just confused.

Jade : Dick, do you see what's happ...

Dick : [Interrupting] Yeah I do see he's twisted around by Pierce.

Jade : No, come on it's you, it's you, it's not him. You can't live backwards. Come on, you can't turn back the clock, 'cause we live now, we live here.

Dick : Hey Jade I know where we live, what do you think, I'm stupid? I'm not as dumb as you think I am. You don't think I can smell it? I see where we are. Jade, I don't want this no more! I want something good for the family, I don't want this! I don't want this! Jade did I come back here and get my brains beat out for these guys to say 'Hey there goes Grayson just another bum from the neighborhood!' I didn't want this!

Dick : No, come on, nobody says that!

Dick : I'm sayin' it Jade ! I'm sayin' this! I'm sayin' this! When that kid was in the ring, you know, what was I doin'? I was winnin'. When he was winnin', I was winnin'.

Jade : You were winning?

Dick : Yeah it was, it was like my last chance at getting some respect for us you know that?

Jade : I respect you, I respect you!

Dick : [Interrupting] You can't respect me!

Jade: I do respect you!

Dick : No you can't!

Jade : I do! All those beatings you took in the ring, I took them with you! I know how you feel! I know when somebody like Tim comes along you feel alive! But he's not you - he doesn't have your heart! All those fighters you beat, you beat 'em with heart not muscle! That's what Bruce knew, that's why you and Bruce were special, but Bruce’s dead! If there's something you wanna pass on, pass it on to your step daughter!For God's sake your step daughter is lost! She needs you! I know Tim makes you feel great, he makes you feel like you're winning again but you're losing us! Dick ,you're losing your family!

[aeoki]

SS Finals - Crown: Chapter 1

Location: SS Finals Live Stage Characters: Mika, Shuu, Sora, Natsume & Tsumugi

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< Almost an hour later after the start of the “SS” Finals.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤBefore the first round: “Valkyrie” vs “Switch”. >

Shuu: …I see we keep running into each other, “Switch”.

Who would have thought we’d be battling it out once more after the absurd Qualifying Rounds in Tohoku.

Quite frankly, I’m sick of seeing your faces and would have preferred something new instead.

Natsume: AhaHA. If that’s what you wantED, then you should’ve taken part in the opening performance with all of the other uniTS.

Shuu: Hmph. What, was I supposed to hold hands with them and skip about? We’re about to crush one another – I question how singing together with a smile and arms around one another is sane behaviour!

Tsumugi: It was so much fun, though~ Well, you weren’t forced to participate so it wasn’t an issue. I’m sure you would’ve wanted time to prepare since you’re the first performer.

Shuu: Hmph. I couldn’t focus because of all that boisterous horsing around, though.

Sora: HaHa~♪ That’s also part of our plan!

Tsumugi: Indeed. We, the “Red Team”, will win using everything we can think of. We were selected as your opponents to increase our team’s chances of winning.

The performances that stood out were repeatedly broadcast during the preparation period as well.

The viewers should be getting tired of watching “Switch” battling against “Valkyrie” by now.

Natsume: But “Valkyrie” has a large and passionate fanbaSE, so I’m sure those people will vote for you without much thougHT.

In faCT, it scares me more if you guys were to let all those votes pile up during the final rounDS.

“Valkyrie” will gain a large number of votes including those who have stockpiled their votES… And we’ll be the one to beat yOU.

Tsumugi: Everyone will be tired of watching the standard performances by the final rounds, so I’m sure “Valkyrie’s” unique performance will be able to captivate even more people than usual.

Natsume: But we cannot give you that victoRY. We, the “Red Team”, will win every single one of these battlES.

Shuu: Kakaka. How bold of you – You think you can win if you directly confront us? The likes of you?

Mika: Ahaha. That very “Switch” managed to drive us into a corner durin’ the Qualifyin’ Rounds, though ♪

But why are you guys so excited ‘bout it? That’s pretty rare. You guys usually act like you're aimin’ for somethin’ way more important than winnin’.

We’re the same so I thought we were on the same page, though…?

Natsume: How duMB. Do you guys actually know nothiNG?

Mika: ………?

Natsume: I just received news from the “General Leader” of the “Red Team” that “fine’s” Touri Himemiya-kun has been kidnappED.

By “Eden”, the “General Leader” of the “White Team”.

Everyone in the “Red Team” has received postcards with a photograph attached heralding that neWS. NaturalLY, we’re beside ourselves with anger after hearing of this despicable criME.

The red colour of the “Red Team” is the colour of a crimson flaME – the colour of raGE.

Wɇ sħȺłł ƀᵾɍn ɏøᵾɍ vɇɍɏ ƀønɇs Ⱥnđ ŧᵾɍn ɏøᵾ Ⱥłł ɨnŧø wħɨŧɇ Ⱥsħɇs… “Wħɨŧɇ ŦɇȺm”!

Mika: W–Wait. Whaddya mean by kidnappin’? Touri-kun got kidnapped…? We don’t know anythin’ about that!

Shuu: W–What’s going on? What did Tenshouin do!? I can’t believe he couldn’t protect such a dear child…!

No, this must be his plan. I know what he’s up to! He wants us to look like the villains and wants the public to go against us!

Mika: Nghahh, Oshi-san, quiet down! The seats are filled with people so they might hear.

Tsumugi: Indeed ♪ They’re told to turn off their phones inside the stadium, but they can use their phone and go on social media when they’re in the bathroom.

I don’t think everyone will follow the rules.

Shuu: Ridiculous! Idols are role models – That sort of thing happens because idols did it first!

Natsume: AhaHA. You’re amazing for being an idol with that mindset, Shuu Nii-sAN. No one is saying that idols are “humanity’s role models”, you knOW?

It’s just a business that relies on populariTY – It just means you’ll suffer losses if you do something bAD.

Those idols who sell themselves based on an absolute virtuous image committed a filthy crime by kidnapping someoNE.

The “White Team” would suffer a heavy blow if that sort of rumour were to spread, wouldn’t iT?

I bet the the New Year would have arrived by the time you did your own research and explained the truth behind iT ♪

Shuu: You’re speaking… as if it’s a plot of your doing. I’m right, aren’t I? There hasn’t been a poor child kidnapped, has there!?

Natsume: HmM~ I have my own suspicions to be honeST. That news was delivered to us in the name of Nagisa Ran, the “General Leader” of the “White TeAM”.

But if something like that was uploaded on social medIA, then that would truly be too cruel of an imaGE. It’ll damage not only today’s “SS” FinaLS, but our future idol activities as weLL.

Tsumugi: Right. Nagisa-kun tends to be quite eccentric, but he’s smart so I don’t think he’d do something like that.

I’m sure it’s a strategy they used to destroy Nagisa-kun or “Eden”. I won’t forgive whoever they are. It’s been a while since I last felt so angry.

Sora: HiHi~♪ Yes! It’s Sora’s first time seeing Senpai so fired up~

Natsume: Why can’t you just let those emotions out in generAL…?

AnywAY, it’s true that we received those postcards and that Touri-kun has yet to be fouND.

You two probably don’t know but he was the only one missing from “fine” during the opening performance as weLL.

…There’s an actual possibility he has been kidnappED.

That’s why we have to consider everything before making a moVE. We don’t have the time to fool around, eithER.

We’ll do whatever we can without regreTS. Don’t assume we can have a “friendly battle” just like we did during the Qualifying Rounds, “ValkyrIE”.

Mika: …………

Shuu: (What’s going on? Just what on earth is happening!? Nagisa Ran… This is exactly why I can’t trust former members of “fine”!)

(Have you learnt nothing after crushing us to pieces using despicable methods during the War!?)

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[commic-jester]

emma - carnations (striped), hyssops, mints, roses (yellow), sweet peas, and zinnias .

striped carnations are refusals . i imagine her gettin this flower after . actually no i wont explain that . hyssops r largely symbolic of cleanliness which i really associate w emma ? mint is hospitality which is Emma fr !! yellow roses n zinnias r both friendship n love, n friendship is vv integral to emma as a character (even if she treats her own friends like shit) . sweet peas have a LOT of meanings from what ive found but im more focused on the 'departure' part . emma loses a lot of friends . i think it fits .

manny - daffodils, freesias, gardenias, heliotropes, hyacinths (blue), savories, and speedwells .

daffodils r rebirth . manny reinvents her entire image . freesias (n also gardenias) r innocence n purity, which is practically the OPPOSITE of what happens to many . the purity of freesias would symbolize manny's loss of innocence . heliotropes r endless love...manny has SO much love to give (but how much does she really get in return ?) . blue hyacinths r constancy n loyalty . manny always seems to be a constant in emmas life even throughout their disagreements . savory is a plant i KNOW but it symbolizes romance :] manny is a vv romantic character ! n finally speedwells r meant for healin . manny has, like every character, a LOT of trauma n baggage to work through . but shes strong n she perseveres and and and

rapid fire time .

j.t - brugmansias, forget-me-nots, hollies, lilacs, rosemaries, sweet peas, valerians, and yarrows .

brugmansias (angels trumpets) is vibrancy, but also danger which is kinda really funny in ref to jt . forget-me-nots i already explained . hollies r foresight n defense which is another ironic meanin for jt bc yeah . lilacs r innocence, or jt's innocence, and that he both dies innocent but also LOSES his innocence when he tried to killhimself that one time . rosemaries r mournin/remembrance . sweet peas for the same reason as emma . valerian herbs for strength, or jt's lack thereof . yarrows for 'saying i love you in spite of everything' to liberty, despite the drug dealing, despite the accidental kid, despite the death: jt still loves her

liberty - forget-me-nots, lilies (orange), primroses, roses (red), thymes, violets, and willows .

orange lilies for honor n pride, which liberty has lots of <3 primroses optimism or libertys decision that she WILL have a future without jt in it . red roses for romances or ig romances that liberty always seems to lose apparently which i though was bullshit but oh well . thymes for courage which liberty has so much of . violets for humility . willows for loss AND hope

sean - aloes, bay wreaths, begonias, columbines (purple), lavender, salvias (blue), and thymes !

aloe plant for healin/protection bc sean is such a protective guy n prioritizes his own healin . bay wreaths/laurels for victory except sean may have had a victory but he didnt WIN he never got the satisfaction of winnin he only got the satisfaction of comin out on top . begonias for justice as well as misfortune: sean is vv troubled n is served "justice" in ways that r more unfair than true justice . purple columbines for success . lavender for calmness . blue salvias for long life (in contrast to ricks, who he feels guilty for cutting his life short) . n thymes for courage again ! woohoo !!!

there r SO many more you have no idea . be happy i didnt add craig or campbell or ashley or toby here bc jesus christ

OUGHDODUGJ

[azissuffering]

cannot tell whos winning really i cant

[mishkakagehishka]

repost from my old blog

No, you’re so right! For regular Deuce, I see him as the sweetest, kindest guy who drinks so much women respect juice because he wants to. Like, to compare to Leona or Ruggie, those two have fear-respect for women (is it called awe in English?), whereas I think Deuce just has a bunch of regular respect for them. I adore him, I wanna make him tea and help him study. He doesn’t deserve the slander I’ve been writing about him.

As for yandere, I agree with you, in that he’d be really manipulative and clingy, like, when he tells Yuu about the time he made his mother cry and how that was a wake-up call to him. He’d totally go “You know, my mum was so happy to hear I have a nice partner like you… I think she actually believes I’ve changed for the better now! I think she’d disown me if I ever lost you :)” in a jokey way, but def mean it as “my mother’s heartbreak will be your fault” if he started thinking he was gonna get the boot. I see him as the type to be a bit delusional and seriously overprotective, but not particularly jealous. That said, I see him as that kind of yandere in a world where his object of affection is either dating him, or is just indifferent to everyone equally. My nice guy (bleugh) Deuce theory comes in because he’s a bit dumb (affectionate), and I feel like if he thinks he has a rival in someone who’s usually openly a mean person, he would, unfortunately, be in danger of adopting the nice guy rhetoric. I don’t think he’d go full Nice GuyTM and use the b-word or slutshame, because he still respects women, but I feel like he would feel entitled to his darling’s feelings purely because he “treats them well” (despite being a manipulative bastard, actually, but when have nice guys ever been self aware?) because he’s kinda daft.

“[…] I wanna hear more of ur vers of deuce and mb u can write somehting for him?” we all read this part of the ask, okay? The following is technically not my fault. I’m sorry.

Word count: 3103 Summary: Ace decides he wants to tease Deuce by not telling him why he was alone with the Prefect of Ramshackle, and Deuce decides he needed to claim her ASAP. Warnings: yandere (toxic, abusive behaviour), implied stalking, a kiss that wasn’t consented to, cussing, entitlement to a person, nice guy rhetoric with the misogyny it carries, threats and manipulation. As always, let me know if I missed anything that should get a warning Note: Yuu/Prefect is refered to with feminine terms and she/her pronouns. I warned for misogyny, but it’s not as severe, I think, though there’s a few “girls like you” type of lines.

It was a peaceful day in the Heartslabyul dorm, for once. With no exams nor projects to prepare for in the coming week, the students of Night Raven College had ample free time that weekend, and in Heartslabyul, that meant rest and sophisticated socialisation, all in the borders of the Queen of Hearts’ rules, of course. With the sun not yet at the mid-point of the sky, a group of four first years were spending their morning playing cards in their shared room, circling from one game to another, mixing and matching rules for different ones until they were playing a completely new game, before returning to a classic once more. Ace, the cheater and trickster of the four, seemed to have been on a winning streak. Though his companions had their doubts, he was as skilled with his hands as he was with his words, able to absolve himself of any accusations that flew his way. “What can I say? You guys just suck,” he grinned, a Seven of Hearts poking out of his sleeve.

It was moments before Deuce, his closest frenemy, was about to point out the card that Ace abruptly got up, bringing a quick end to the game. “Oh, well, since I’ve been winnin’ all this time, this has gotten boring,” he said. “Anyway, I gotta run, promised Prefect I was gonna be at hers ten minutes ago.” He shot a wink to his buddies, a wave of heckling and comparisons to various animals ringing through the room as response. The frown on Deuce’s face either went unnoticed or ignored. “Prefect? Of Ramshackle? What does she want you for?” He inquired. “Wouldn’t you like to know? … hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re makin’ a scary face. Ya jealous or something?” With every word, Ace seemed to have been riling Deuce up more and more, who clenched and unclenched his jaw a couple of times, his glare not easing up. “I’m not jealous, just curious,” he said, finally turning his eyes away from the other. “Have fun… or whatever.” The cards were shuffled and dealt once more; a three-player game was starting.

Deuce wanted to say it didn’t bother him, he really did, but it has been a week since that day, and he just couldn’t stop himself imagining the worst. It’s already been two years since the Prefect had come to Twisted Wonderland, since Ace and he started attending Night Raven College - and since the three of them became inseparable friends. And Grim. Deuce could even say Ace was his best friend, or that’s what he could have said. He had told him he had feelings for the Prefect, he told him he was planning on wooing her… When he mustered the courage to do so. And here Ace was, going round to her dorm, which was still populated only by her and Grim, to spend time there, just the two of them. Just the two of them! It was basically a date! Truthfully, Deuce felt betrayed by them both. By Ace, in whom he confided. He trusted Ace not to break the bro-code, not to try and get into the Prefect’s pants when he’d already claimed her - not outright, but by being the first to show interest in her. And he felt betrayed by the Prefect for no reason that she would know, something Deuce was aware of, but he couldn’t help it. She was to be his, so why was she inviting Ace over, alone? Why was he accepting? It all just made Deuce sick.

So, there he was, seething and steaming while staring up at the ceiling from his bed at two in the morning, the culprit for his bad mood sleeping soundly and snoring away on the opposite end of the room. Picking at his fingers nervously, teeth gritting together, the thoughts that swam through Deuce’s mind ranged from furious to disappointed to just sad. Ace refused to give him the details of their meet-up that day, so what else could it be? It was just the two of them, in Prefect’s dorm - no - in the Prefect’s room more likely! It might as well have been a date. He slapped his hands over his face, stifling a groan. It was supposed to be him. It should have been him. And so, it spun, the desperation and sadness of it not being him, soon to be replaced with anger directed at Ace, at his friend who betrayed him by taking advantage of Prefect’s stupidity, who saw nothing wrong with inviting a man over, alone. And so the feelings progressed to disappointment at the Prefect. She was- is his dream girl. He hasn’t given up, despite all. Deuce truly and honestly believed he loved her. Convinced of it, his heart hurt even more. And she went and chose Ace. Ace, the bully. Over him, who was always so kind, so full of respect, so patient and gentle with her. How could she not choose him, when he was so good to her, when Ace was always the one making her frown, even cry? She might have tried to wave off the teasing insults, and she did do her best to not cry in front of them, but of course Deuce knew when she’d run off suddenly, of course he always followed her. Out of worry. Out of love.

And then it was back to fury, and as the thoughts spun in his head, he spent the rest of the night without much sleep.

He knew he had to confront her; he wouldn’t be able to get closure any other way. It was for closure, is what he told himself, but, deep inside, he’d hoped it was still early in her relationship with Ace (Ace refused to answer any question related to the situation, which Deuce took as an answer of its own), early enough that his own confession would be able to sway her. Make her question her feelings, at least. Give him a chance. He fidgeted with his pen, Trein was droning on as always, but Deuce’s eyes were glued to Prefect’s back. She was writing down everything the teacher was saying, so diligently. She was always such a hard worker, always giving it her all. Ace would be a horrible match for her. Didn’t she know this? As if sensing his eyes on her, the Prefect turned around. She shot him a smile, but Deuce couldn’t even hold eye contact, averting his gaze to his own notes, a deep blush coating his cheeks. He scribbled absentmindedly, trying to make it seem as if he wasn’t just staring at her the entire time.

“So, seriously, are you two… a thing now?” Deuce whispered, not wanting the other students in the cafeteria to overhear. Ace, who was moments away from destroying a plate of macaroni, just shrugged in response. “The hell do you care?” “Well, if my two best friends start dating, I’d like to be the first to know,” he lied. “Would you, now?” “It's… you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Come on, just tell me why Prefect only asked you to come to Ramshackle that day.” “It’s none of your business. Stop being a baby and ask her yourself if you’re so curious.” “I can’t just do that! She’s, I told you how I feel about her. Just tell me if I even still have a shot, or if you’ve already-” “A loser like you ne~ver had a shot. Oh, speak of the devil! Prefect, Grim! Get your asses over here!” Ace waved over the discussed-about person and her companion, pulling out a chair next to him. Deuce glared at him, but Prefect chose to sit opposite them both instead, with Grim taking the seat next to Ace.

For a moment Deuce found himself at a loss for words. Every time he saw her, it was as if he was back at the entrance ceremony as a first year again, in the moment when he saw her for the first time. She was the last of that generation’s first years to awaken, and he remembered it all clearly. Of course he did, the memory of first love is not one many forget. He was just standing around with the other Heartslabyul students, listening to his dorm leader’s words so attentively, until he saw the Prefect. They hadn’t even locked eyes, hell, she didn’t even realise his existence until she asked him to help catch Ace the next day, but it only took a glance in her way for him to fall head over heels in love. And then he watched her, the way her face morphed from confusion, to shock at being told she didn’t belong here, to dread at being told her home didn’t even exist. It was intriguing, yes, but for Deuce, seeing tears welling up in her eyes, the way she looked at headmaster Crowley, eyes wide and scared, so vulnerable, he knew he had to always be by her side. It was a riddling feeling, he couldn’t decide if he liked seeing her in such a state of despair, or if he wanted to protect her from it all, from the entire world if need be. When he looked at Prefect now, that was all he could remember. How sweet, how unguarded she was, how much he could protect her. How good he could be to her.

“Deuce? Hey, are you listening?” She waved a hand in front of his face, and he blinked rapidly, the hand he was leaning on falling to the table. He’d barely eaten, and students were already filing out of the cafeteria. “You didn’t even touch your food. Are you feeling okay?” She was worried. What a darling. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he stuttered out, “just, not really hungry.” “Oooh!” Grim piped up, grabbing a piece of bread from his plate. “Then, you won’t mind if I eat this? And this, too… actually, henchman! Open your pockets, put all this in there.” “My pockets? Are you insane? Just eat on the way to class.” “Speaking of,” Ace interjected, “it’s about time we get going. Crewel’s next period, I don’t wanna get called a bad dog again. Shit’s weird.” “Uh, actually!” Deuce piped up, reaching across the table to grasp at the Prefect’s wrist, keeping her seated. “I need to talk to you; it’ll just be a moment. In private.” He emphasised, more so for Ace’s ears. Ace took a glance at the Prefect, noting how she started shifting in her seat. “Dude, we need to get to class,” he said. “Stay out of it. I just… need to ask her something. It’ll take a moment.”

Ace shrugged, patting the Prefect’s back with a short “Hang in there!” and mouthing “Don’t say anything dumb” to Deuce before he left the cafeteria. Grim, much to his chagrin, stayed, citing how he had to stay at his henchman’s side at all times lest she gets herself in more danger. “It’s nothing, you don’t need to worry.” Deuce noticed how tense she seemed, but still refused to let go of her wrist. Instead, his grip tightened as he stumbled over his words. “Look, I just, I really need to talk to you about something and I, you know, I didn’t want to say anything in front of that guy, but, um, can you… can we meet up in the courtyard after classes end? By the well? I want to talk to you, just the two of us. If you’re- if you’re free.” “Hehe! You gonna ask her out or somethin’?” “NO! I mean, I’m not- stay out of this, Grim! Ugh… that’s all I wanted to say. Sorry for keeping you, let’s just go to class already… you don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it, I’ll be waiting by the well. Just… don’t tell Ace. Please.”

It’s not that Deuce was a smooth-talker, but even the awkwardness of his first year paled in comparison to how tongue-twisted he was around the Prefect. Just her presence was enough to suck all the confidence from him, and make him doubt everything about himself. How his hair looked, whether he smelled nice, if his clothes looked tidy, even how his voice sounded. He still hasn’t lived down the time his voice cracked in front of the entire group – not that Ace would ever let him – but it was still so mortifying to him. It was more than possible to live with Ace’s teasing, especially if he decided to rough him up a bit for it, but why did it have to happen in front of her? And that’s why he was still fixing his hair, using the reflection of the water in the well as his mirror. Not a single hair was allowed to be out of place, it just wouldn’t do. He sighed, shaking his hands and patting down his trousers while trying to cool himself off, and his nerves. He left the class first, the moment it ended, merely glancing in the Prefect’s way, hoping she would be there. It was perfect; nobody was in the courtyard at that moment. Just Deuce and his thoughts. “Hey!” He was startled by the Prefect’s voice once more, quickly spinning around to face her. “I’m here, so…” It seemed as if she felt just as awkward as he did, shifting her balance from one leg to the other rapidly.

With a sharp inhale, Deuce steeled his nerves and looked her straight in the eyes, despite how hard it was to keep eye contact at that moment. "Pref- Y/N. I want you to be mine. I want you to be my girlfriend.” He didn’t see a point in beating around the bush. He’s been waiting for the perfect moment to confess to her for years, and now, with the vibrant orange hue of the sunset providing a romantic background, surrounded by the silence of the school’s courtyard now that all classes have finished and knowing he’s the only man in her eyes at that moment, it would be hard to find a better moment. Besides, the way the fading Sun’s light fell on the Prefect’s features, making her look even more beautiful, would have made it hard for him to keep his feelings inside for longer than a minute, anyway. “Huh?” “I’ve had a crush on you for ages, ever since I first saw you and-” “Deuce, I’m sorry…” she trailed off, hoping she wouldn’t have to outright reject him. After all, “You’re a really good friend to me, but…” He paused. Rejection? “Is it because… are you already, with Ace? Is that why you two have been hanging out alone so often?” “Come on, don’t be like that.” “Like what?” Deuce’s voice was growing in volume with each word, and the shyness of before seemed to have vanished, replaced by an angry tone, sharp and accusatory. “Wait, are you seriously dating Ace? You’re rejecting me because of that punk? Are you fuckin’ with me? Have you forgotten the shit he did to you – the shit he keeps doing to you – or are you really dumb enough to go for a guy like that?” “Deuce!” The Prefect reprimanded him, appalled at his poisonous words. “No, don’t fuckin’ scold me like you’re my damn mother, are ya actually being serious? He was practically bullying you! He still constantly makes fun of you and embarrasses you in front of others, he hasn’t matured a fuckin’ day since we were first years and he’s the one you chose? You know I could- I would treat you better than him. Than anyone! I’m your best damn choice, and you picked the worst instead. I know he made you cry, multiple fuckin’ times. What are you, a masochist?” “Who gave you any right to tell me who I should and shouldn’t choose?! You know, you’re acting like a real ass. I’m leaving.” “No, you fucking ain’t, you’ll listen to me to the end.” Deuce grabbed her bicep, nails digging into her flesh through the blazer and shirt of the uniform. His grip was painfully tight, keeping her from leaving, but still with her back turned to him. “What the- let go of me!” She craned her neck to look at him, trying to pull her arm away, but his grip only tightened, causing her to yelp in response. “No! Obviously, since you picked Ace, you’re the type of girl who likes being treated like this by guys. I’ve been nothing but nice to you all this time and you barely even look at me, so I guess it’s time for a strategy change. I can be just as much of a fuckin’ disrespectful prick as Ace, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t choose me.” “Don’t be an idiot!” “Fuck you, Prefect. You’ll be mine, not Ace’s, not anybody else’s.”

With one more sharp pull to the Prefect’s arm, he turned her around to face him before pushing her against the well. Pinned between him and the well, she had little choice other than to lean against him, fearful of falling into the well. Not that Deuce’s ever-present grip would allow it. His stare was piercing, as if he was gauging her reaction, which was fearful if her uneven breathing and wide eyes was anything to go by. Just like that day at the entrance ceremony. From her bicep, his right hand travelled upwards, holding the back of her head as he leaned in to kiss her. It was an inexperienced, almost sloppy, kiss. The Prefect’s hands shot up, pushing at Deuce’s chest to try and get him to step away, but he used his free hand to take hold of her hip, only bringing her closer to him, leaving her hands crumpled up against his chest awkwardly, unable to do much. The kiss lasted for seconds, but felt like hours to both of them for vastly different reasons.

“I didn’t want to do this.” Deuce said as they separated, heat radiating from his face, coated by a blush that made his words seem almost innocent. “But since girls like you seem to like guys who treat them with no respect, I hope this was good enough. I can do worse, if you’d still rather be with Ace.” The Prefect yelped as his grip on her hip momentarily tightened. “If I must, I can kill him, too. I will kill anyone for you. But I don’t have to, right? Tell me, Prefect.”

“Tell me you only want me.”

[hyenahunt]

Werewolf - 3

Writer: Nishioka Maiko

Season: Summer

Proofreading: 310mc (JP)

Translation: Bella & hyenahunt

Natsume: Just look at Jun-kun. You're leaning against him so much that he's starting to go sideWAYS. Poor THING.

[Location: Seisou Hall Common Room]

Hiyori: You have my utmost thanks for not voting me off! And with that, my victory is decided!

Shinobu: Hooray! Our werewolf team's come out on top~!

Eichi: My, and I thought they were harmless… They certainly pulled the wool over my eyes.

Sora: Haha~, game over! That's a win for the werewolves~♪

Rinne: Dammit… If you hadn't hung me first, we mighta had a chance of winnin'.

Yuta: Excuse me? We all thought hanging you was the safest thing to do, okay? Makes sense, since you're the absolute worst and all. Why're you even so full of yourself to begin with?

Rinne: Damn, kid, ain't it obvious! It's 'cause no one else on the villager side's got smarts and skills like me!

Yuta: Yeah, yeah. Save all that sleeptalk for when you're snug in bed, 'kay~?

Natsume: Good GRIEF… It's that kind of idiotic behavior that cost us the GAME.

I didn't think someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth would be so good at this, THOUGH. I wonder if being rich made him so wickED?

Jun: Right? Ohii-san, that didn't seem like your first time at all.

Hiyori: Heheh ♪ It was an absolute piece of cake~

All the same, it doesn't feel too great to play such a cruel game. A foul weather...

Sora: Cruel…?

Natsume: Big talk from someone who had the time of his life fooling us ALL.

Jun: Is this game really that cruel? Personally, I think it's fun and easy to understand.

Sora: What makes you think that, Dazzling-oniisan? Sora wants to know!

Hiyori: Well I mean, that's it, isn't it? Playing this game requires you to think anything and everything could be a lie. Doubting your own friends is just how you start making progress.

Make a single mistake and you'll be made an example of, and once you are, you have no choice but to be eliminated.

You doubt and deceive your own friends, and despite knowing that one word from you could decide their fate, you up and say it anyway... Isn't that rather cruel?

Natsume: Hmph, how ludiCROUS. It's just a GAME, that’s why we can take it eaSY. Confusing fiction and reality like that is just nonSENSE.

Or WHAT, do you actually think that mystery writers are murderers in real LIFE?

Hiyori: Of course I'm aware of that. That's why I said it doesn't feel too great, but the game itself is fun and all.

This game may be built upon a foundation of cynicism, but I much prefer happier things and the ideal of inherent goodness. Those make a much finer weather ♪

✦✦✦✦✦

[Location: Seisou Hall Dorm Room (Leo, Natsume, Nazuna)]

Jun: I haven't been getting any good cards for a while now~ Every pull you’ve swapped with me has wound up in your favour, huh.

Natsume: Yup, seems like I'm in luck toDAY ♪ I must've taken all of YOURS.

Jun: Seriously~? C'mon, gimme a break.

Ah, my turn's over.

Hiyori: ...Is it just me, or have the two of you been getting closer lately? Natsume-kun. Don't you snatch Jun-kun without my permission, got that?!

Jun: He’s not, though. Even if I was being snatched, why would anyone need your permission for that?

Natsume: You KNOW… You're just barging into my room and saying whatever you LIKE, Tomoe-senpai.

Jun-kun's the one who dropped by and said he wanted to play a game in the first PLACE.

I've got the game he wanted to try so badLY, so I'm just playing with HIM.

Hiyori: In that case, Jun-kun's the naughty one here!

Jun: Why.

Hiyori: It's a beautiful thing to form bonds, but it's no good to wag your tail at just about anyone. You ought to have more dignity!

Natsume: ...AnyWAYS, Tomoe-senpai. Would you please stop trying to squeeze between Jun-kun and I?

There's plenty of room elseWHERE. It's too cramped like THIS.

Hiyori: I simply feel like sitting here, you see. I'm just exercising my freedom of choice ☆

Natsume: Just look at Jun-kun. You're leaning against him so much that he's starting to go sideWAYS. Poor THING.

Jun: I can barely even see the screen since he started this.

He's bored 'cause we're ignoring him, so he's being a pain to get back at us.

Hiyori: Never mind all that. Jun-kun, I'll have you know I'm hungry.

Jun: Geez, ignoring me the moment you don't wanna hear something, huh... Well, that's Ohii-san for you.

So? You're hungry, right? But if you eat at this hour, Ibara's gonna pitch a fit, y'know?

Hiyori: That viper's always spitting his venom everywhere, so I shall simply pay him no heed!

Natsume: Come to think of IT, it's already TEN… I was so absorbed in our game I didn't even noTICE. We've been at it for a WHILE...

Jun: In that case, shall we call it a night soon?

Hiyori: Yes, yes. Now then, Jun-kun, let's be off right away for a late night snack!

✦✦✦✦✦

[Location: Seisou Hall 1st Floor Passage]

Natsume: Then maybe I'll go to the kitchen TOO.

Hiyori: Hm? What's this? Natsume-kun, you're heading for the kitchen, too? Will you have a late snack with us?

Natsume: No WAY. I thought I'd just get something to DRINK.

—Hm?

Sora: ......

Natsume: (There're people outside… Sora and Kaminari-san? Did they just get back from WORK?

It seems like they're in some sort of deep conversaTION…?

I've almost never seen Sora look so seriOUS… It's different from when he's giving his all at WORK. What could have hapPENED…?)

Hiyori: Whatever's the matter, Natsume-kun? Don't just stand there zoning out — I'd like to hurry over to the kitchen at once!

Natsume: (I'm worried, BUT… Well, I'm sure it's FINE. It's probably not a good idea to pry too MUCH.)

I’m coMING.

✦✦✦✦✦

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[tulsa-trash]

Childhood Crush

Steve x Evie Imagine

WARNING(S): Mild swearing

"Look who decided to grace me with her beautiful presence!"

Steve rolled his eyes upon hearing his best friend in the other room. Sandy must have dropped by to visit him at work again, she's been doing that a lot ever since the pair started going steady. Steve wasn't annoyed because he was jealous of their relationship, if anything he was beyond happy for Soda. It's just that sometimes the couple's display of affection tended to be overbearingly gross to be around.

He decided to ignore them, and continued to work on a gorgeous Corvair in the garage. But right as he got back to work, he heard footsteps approaching him.

"Steve?" Soda called out to him.

"Under the car." Steve replied, "Say, would ya mind passin' me the wrench while you're here?"

"Yeah sure but--"

"Thanks." He cut him off by quickly sliding out from under the car, grabbing the tool out of his hand, and returning to his work.

"Steve." Sodapop stated his name a bit more firmly, but his tone still held a playful sound to it.

"Yeah?"

"Come on out, I want ya to meet someone."

"Uh... I'm a little busy here can I meet this person later?"

"Nope."

Sodapop grabbed the creeper Steve was laying on and rolled him out from underneath the car. Steve looked at his friend with an annoyed expression, still holding the wrench in his right fist as he got up.

"Your lucky I ain't hit you in the head with this thing, I gotta finish this car by four." Steve half-seriously threatened before swapping the tool with a rag.

"You wouldn't do such a thing!" Soda fake gasped.

"I won't?"

"Just shush and clean yourself up."

Steve couldn't help but notice how weird Soda was being, he was always pretty silly but there seemed to be something a little suspicious going on. After he finished cleaning all the grease off of himself, Soda lead him out of the garage and into the store.

"Just... be cool dude." Sodapop said as he threw an arm around Steve's shoulder.

Steve chuckled and shook his head, "What the hell are you up to..."

Steve was at a loss for words once his eyes met a pair of familiar green ones. He felt like all the oxygen in his body was stolen from him as he took in the features of the gorgeous girl leaning against the front desk. Evie Jones, Steve's crush since the third grade. Her dirty-blonde hair stopped just at her shoulders and framed her slim face perfectly. Freckles adorned her cute button nose and prominent cheek bones. Her lips were full and stained with red lipstick. She was hot, and Steve knew damn well he was making a total fool out of himself as he silently gawked at her with his mouth slightly ajar.

"Steve, this is Evie. But I'm sure you already know that." Sandy introduced them with a sly smirk. "Y'all went to school together when you were little, right?"

"Uhm..." Steve had no idea what to say.

Soda cleared his throat and pushed him forward, Evie giggled at how nervous Steve appeared to be. She extended her hand out for him to shake, Steve's eyes darted from her face to her perfectly painted nails a few times. A light blush made it's way onto her face when he took her small hand in his big, calloused one.

"Nice to meet you." She spoke quietly.

Her voice was like music to his ears, Steve found himself even more infatuated with her as every second went by. His childhood crush was already rekindling, and fast.

"Well, Sodapop just invited me to go watch you guys drag race tomorrow night, and I figured Evie could tag along with me." Sandy said suggestively.

"That's only if you want me to." Evie added nervously.

"I'd love it if you showed up. I wouldn't mind a girl as pretty as yourself watch me race." Steve said smoothly, his confidence was returning the more he talked.

"Then I guess we'll see you tomorrow night." Sandy replied with a sweet smile.

Sandy walked up to Soda and gave him a kiss goodbye while Steve and Evie stood looking at each other awkwardly. The blonde pulled away from Soda's embrace and headed for the exit, linking her arm with Evie's while doing so. As they were leaving Evie looked back and sent Steve a small wink.

"See you tomorrow night, Stevie."

-

Steve found himself scanning the crowds of people at the drag race over and over again. He secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of the girl that'd been running through his mind the past twenty four hours. He hadn't found her yet. He kept doubting himself, thinking that maybe she wasn't as interested in him as he thought. Little did he know there was a surprise waiting for him.

He sighed deeply and ran his hands roughly over his face, his forehead lightly rested on the steering wheel of his T-Bird. Soda watched him from the passengers seat, a smile plastered on his face because he knew he was thinking about her.

"Don't worry so much about it, kid." He lightly punched Steve's shoulder, "Just focus on winnin' the race for her."

A booming voice announced that the race was starting, so instead of responding to Soda's comforting words Steve just pulled up to the starting line. The both of them eyed their competition once the other car pulled up on the side of them, four greasers sat in a Stingray and sized them up as well.

"Gentlemen! Start your engines!"

Steve's head whipped forward and there she was. Standing ahead in the middle of the two cars was Evie, untying her scarf from her neck and holding it up in the air. Steve hands gripped the wheel tightly as he watched her. She made eye contact with him and smiled brightly, which sent a funny feeling erupting in his stomach. He was going to win, he needed to win. He had to impress her. With a wave of her scarf the cars sped off.

It all seemed to happen so fast, but all that mattered was that Steve reached the finish line way before the other guys did. Sodapop was cheering and hollering beside him, beyond excited for their victory. They both got out of the car and greeted everyone that congratulated them, Sandy soon found Soda and clung to his side.

"Stevie!"

Steve was tackled in a hug from none other than the beauty herself. Evie's arms clung around his neck tightly, after shaking off the wave of shock he wrapped his arms around her. To his dismay she pulled away, but she left her hands clinging on his forearms.

"That was b*tchin'! You were great out there!" She exclaimed.

"Hey, so were you." He replied cooly.

She scoffed, "All I did was wave a scarf in the air."

"Well yeah... but you looked absolutely stunnin' while doin' it."

She looked up at him, adoration evident in her eyes. She liked him a lot, that was very clear. And she hoped that he liked her as much as she liked him. She thought he was adorable the moment he first smiled at her with his crooked teeth in grade school.

"Sooo..." She trailed off, breaking eye contact with him to eye the tattoo on his muscular bicep. "Since you won the race, that means you get the grand prize."

"Grand prize?" Steve stepped a bit closer to the greaser girl, she had to crane her neck up to look him in the eye again. "What's my prize?"

Evie pushed up on her tippy toes to press a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. She smirked up at him, he couldn't stop the big grin that made its way onto his face.

"Well, sh*t..." Steve grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to him, if that was even possible. "Best damn prize I ever won thats for sure."

Before Evie could reply Steve smashed his lips against her own, capturing her in a passionate kiss. She returned his embrace immediately by snaking her arms around his neck and tangling her hands in his greased hair.

If this was a dream, Steve certainly wouldn't mind if he never woke up.

[betterdaysareatoenailaway]

RANDOM REVIEW #2: ANY GIVEN SUNDAY (1999)

“This game has got to be about more than winning. You’re part of something.”  Any Given Sunday (1999), directed by Oliver Stone and featuring Jamie Foxx, Dennis Quaid, Cameron Diaz, Al Pacino, LL Cool J, James Woods, and Matthew Modine, is my favourite sports movie of all time. Of all time.

I’m not betraying my favourite sport by saying this. The Mighty Ducks is a kid’s movie. It’s okay, but it’s not a timeless classic. I don’t like the Slap Shot series, Sudden Death is fun but silly, and the Goon movies were a missed opportunity. The only truly good scene in Goon is the diner scene where Liev Schreiber tells Seann William Scott: “Don’t go trying to be a hockey player. You’ll get your heart ripped out.”

  Such is the sad circumstance of the hockey enforcer. They all want to play, not just fight. Here’s a link to a video in which the most feared fighter in the history of the NHL, Bob Probert, explains that he wanted to be “an offensive threat...like Bobby Orr,” not a fighter: https://youtu.be/4sbxejbMH4g?t=118 Heartbreaking. But not unusual.

Donald Brashear, Marty McSorley, Tie Domi, Stu “The Grim Reaper” Grimson, Frazer McLaren: they all had hockey skills. But they were told they had to fight to remain on the roster, so they fought. As Schreiber says in the film: “You know they just want you to bleed, right?”  If the players don’t bleed, they don’t get to stay on the team. So they fight, and they pay dearly for it later. Many former fighters have CTE or other head injuries that make day-to-day life difficult. The makers of Goon should have taken that scene and run with it. I was so disappointed they didn’t, especially given what happened right around the time the film came out, with the tragic suicides of Wade Belak, Derek Boogaard, and Rick Rypien, all enforcers, all dead in a single summer. So Hollywood hasn’t even made a good hockey movie, let alone a great one. Baseball has a shitload of good films, probably because the slower pace of play makes it easier to film. Moneyball has a terrific home run scene, Rookie of the Year does too. Angels in the Outfield was a big favourite of mine when I was a kid, plus all the Major League films, and Bull Durham. 

Football has two good movies: The Program (1993) and Rudy (1993).    

And football has one masterpiece. The one I am writing about today.

A young Oliver Stone trying not to die in Vietnam. ^ Now, I know Stone is laughed at these days, given his nutty conspiracy theories and shitty behaviour and the marked decline in the quality of his films (although 2012’s Savages was underrated). I know Stone is about as subtle as a sledgehammer, but do you want a football movie to be subtle? Baseball, sure. It’s a game of fine distinctions, but football? Football is war. And war is about steamrolling the enemy, distinctions be damned, which is why Any Given Sunday is such an amazing sports film. I love the way it shows the dark side of football. In fact, the film is so dark that the NFL withdrew their support and cooperation, forcing Stone to create a fictitious league and team to portray what he wanted to portray.

This is not to say the movie is fresh or original. Quite the opposite. Any Given Sunday has every single sports film cliché you can think of. But precisely because it tries to stuff every single cliché into its runtime, the finished product is not a cliched mess so much as a rich tapestry, a dense cinema verite depiction of the dizzying highs and depressing lows of a professional sports team as it wins, loses, parties, and staggers its way through a difficult season.  Cliché #1: The aging quarterback playing his final year, trying to win one last championship. (Dennis Quaid) 

Sample dialog: Dennis Quaid (lying in a hospital bed severely injured): Don’t give up on me coach. Al Pacino: You’re like a son to me. I’ll never give up on you. ^ I know this sounds awful. But it’s actually fuckin’ great. Cliché #2: The arrogant upstart new player who likes hip hop and won’t respect the old regime. (Jamie Foxx) 

Cliché #3: The walking wounded veteran who could die if he gets hit one more time. Coincidentally, he needs just one more tackle to make his million-dollar bonus for the season. (Lawrence Taylor) 

Cliché #4: The female executive in a man’s world who must assert herself aggressively in order to win the grudging respect of her knuckle-dragging male colleagues (Cameron Diaz). Diaz is fantastic in the role, though she should have had more screen time, given that the main conflict in the film is very much about the new generation, as represented by her and Jamie Foxx, trying to replace the old generation, represented by Al Pacino, Dennis Quaid, Jim Brown, and Lawrence Taylor. Some people think Diaz’s character is too calculating, but here’s the thing: she’s right. Too many sports GMs shell out millions for the player an individual used to be, not the player he presently is. “I am not resigning a 39-year old QB, no matter how good he was,” she tells Pacino’s coach character, and you know what? She’s right. The Leafs’ David Clarkson signing is proof positive of the perils of signing a player based on past performance, not current capability. Diaz’s character is the living embodiment of the question: do you want to win, or do you want to be loyal? Cuz sometimes you can’t do both.

Cliché #5: The team doctor who won’t sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (Matthew Modine).

Cliché #6: The team doctor who will sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (James Woods) 

Cliché #7: The grizzled, thrice-divorced coach who has sacrificed everything for his football team, to the detriment of his social and familial life, who must give a stirring speech at some point in the film (Al Pacino…who goes out there and gives the all-time greatest sports movie “we must win this game” speech) 

Cliché #8: The assistant or associate coach who takes a parental interest in his players, playing the good cop to the head coach’s bad cop (former NFL star Jim Brown). 

Best quote: “Who wants to be thinking about blitzes and crossblocks when you’re holding your grandkids in your arms? That’s why I wanna coach high school. Kids don’t know nothing. They just wanna play.” 

Cliché #9: The player who can’t stop doing drugs (L.L. Cool J).

Okay, so the first thing that needs to be talked about is Al Pacino’s legendary locker room speech.  Now, it’s the coach’s job to rile up and inspire the players. But eloquence alone won’t do it. If you use certain big words, you lose them (remember Brian Burke being endlessly mocked by the Toronto media for using the word “truculent?”). The coach must deliver the message in a language the players understand, while still making victory sound lofty and aspirational. This is not an easy thing to accomplish. One of my favourite inspirational lines was spoken by “Iron” Mike Keenan to the New York Rangers before Game 7 against the Vancouver Canucks in 1994. “Win tonight, and we’ll walk together forever.” Oooh that’s gorgeous. But Pacino’s speech is right up there with it. 

“You know, when you get old in life…things get taken from you. That’s parta life. But you only learn that when you start losin’ stuff. You find out…life’s this game of inches. So’s football. In either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean…one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it…one half second too slow, too fast, you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team, we fight for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that’s gonna make the fuckin difference between winnin’ and losin’! Between livin’ and dyin’!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_iKg7nutNY  Somehow, against all odds, Any Given Sunday succeeds. It is the Cinderella run of sports movies. You root for the film as you watch it. The dressing room scenes are incredible…the Black players listen to the newest hip hop while a trio of lunkhead white dudes headbang and scream “Hetfield is God.” There is a shower scene where a linebacker, tired of being teased about the size of his penis, tosses his pet alligator into the showers where it terrorizes his tormentors. There is a scene where a halfback has horrible diarrhea, but he’s hooked up to an IV so the doctor (Matthew Modine) has to follow him into the toilet cubicle, crinkling his nose as the player evacuates his bowels. There is a scene where someone loses an eye (the only scene in the film where Stone’s over-the-top approach misses the mark). There are scenes that discuss concussions (which is why the NFL refused to cooperate for the film), where Lawrence Taylor has to sign a waiver absolving the team of responsibility if he is hurt or paralyzed or killed. I wonder how purists and old school football fans reacted to the news that Oliver Stone was making a football film. If they even knew who he was (not totally unlikely…Stone made a string of jingoistic war movies in the 1980s) they probably thought the heavy hands of Oliver would ruin the film, take the poetry out of every play. But the actual football is filmed perfectly. The camera gets nice and low for the tackles. It flies the arcs of perfect spiral passes. It shows the chaos of a defensive line barreling down the field. When Al Pacino asked quarterback Dan Marino (fresh off his own Hollywood experience acting in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective) what it was like to be an NFL QB, Marino said: “Imagine standing on a highway with traffic roaring at you while trying to read Hamlet.” A great explanation. Shoulda made the movie. So the football itself is fabulously done. Much better than what Cameron Crowe did in the few football scenes in Jerry Maguire. The Program had some great football, as did Rudy, but neither come close to the heights of Any Given Sunday. In one of the film’s best scenes, Jamie Foxx insists that his white coaches have routinely placed him in situations where he was doomed to fail or prone to injury, and we believe him because white coaches have been doing that to Black players for decades. Quarterback Doug Williams, who led his Washington Redskins team to a Superbowl victory in 1987, was frequently referred to by even liberal media outlets as a “Black quarterback,” instead of just “quarterback,” as if his skin colour necessitated a qualification. Even now, in 2021, the majority of quarterbacks are white, although the gap is gradually closing. The 2020 season saw the highest number of starting Black quarterbacks, with 10 out of a possible 32.  Quarterback is the most cerebral position on the field, and for a long time there was a racist belief that Black men couldn’t do the job. Foxx’s character is a composite of many of the different Black quarterbacks who came of age in the 1990s, fighting for playing time against white QBs beloved by their fan base, fawned over in hagiographic Sports Illustrated profiles, and protected by the good ol’ boys club of team executives and coaching staff. Foxx’s character isn’t demoted because he can’t play the game. He wins several crucial games for his team en route to the playoffs. He’s demoted because he listens to hip hop in the dressing room, because he recorded a rap song and shot a video for it, and because he’s cocky. Yes, the scene where he asks out Cameron Diaz is sexist, as if her power only comes from her sexuality, not her intelligence and business acumen, but it’s meant to show how overly confident Foxx is, not that he’s a sexist prick. Any Given Sunday isn’t a single issue film. It’s basically an omni-protest piece. It gleefully shows football’s dark side, and there is no director better than Oliver Stone for muck-raking. He’s in full-on investigative journalist mode in Any Given Sunday, showing how and why players play through serious brain injuries. How because they are given opiates, often leading to debilitating addictions (this happens in all contact sports...Colorado Avalanche player Marek Svatos overdosed on heroin a few years after retiring from injuries). As to why, Stone gives two reasons. One, team doctors are paid by the team, not the players, therefore their decisions will benefit the team, not the players. And two, the players themselves are encouraged to underreport injuries and play through them because stats are incentivized. James Woods unethical doctor argues with Modine’s idealistic one because an MRI the latter called for a player to have costs the team $20k. But the player in question, Lawrence Taylor, plays anyway because his contract is stat incentivized and if he makes on more tackle he gets a million dollars. Incentivizing stats leads to players playing hurt. And although I loathe this term, a lazy go-to for film critics, Stone really does give an unflinching account of how this shit happens and why. When Williams is inevitably hurt and lying prone on the field, he woozily warns the paramedics who are placing him on a stretcher to “be careful…I’m worth a million dollars.” It’s tragic, yet you’re happy for him. The film really makes you care about these guys.  Thanks to the smartly written script, the viewer knows that Williams has four kids, and you’re pleased he made his bonus because, in all likelihood, after he retires, his injuries will prevent him from any kind of gainful employment (naturally, they give the TV analyst jobs to retired white players, unless Williams can somehow land the coveted token Black guy gig). Stone is not above fan service, a populist at heart, and he stuffs the film with former and then-current NFL players, a miraculous stunt given the fact that the NFL revoked their cooperation. Personally, I think this was a good thing because it meant Stone didn’t have to compromise (the league wanted editorial say on all issues pertaining to the league…meaning they would have cut the best storyline, which is the playing hurt one). It also meant that they had to rename the team and the league. While I’m sure this took away from the realism for some fans, I’m cool with it. It also allowed the moviemakers to name the team the Sharks, a perfect name for this roving band of predatory capitalist sports executives. In another example of fan service, the call-girl Pacino’s quintessential lonely workaholic character rents a girlfriend experience from is none other than Elizabeth Berkley of Showgirls, who had been unfairly blacklisted after the titular Verhoven/Esterhaz venture, a movie my wife showed me one day while I was dopesick, which I became so transfixed and mesmerized by that I forgot I was. As mentioned above, the only misstep in the film is one of the offshoots of the Playing Hurt arc, where a player loses an eye on the field. Not because he gets poked, but because he gets hit so hard his eye simply falls out. A medic runs onto the field and puts the white globe on ice. Stone cast a player with a glass eye in order to achieve this effect. No CGI! Still, the scene is unconvincing, a tad too over-the-top. But this is Oliver Stone. At least Any Given Sunday’s sole over-the-top moment is a throwaway scene lasting all of thirty seconds. It easily could have been a secondary plot-line in which government officials try to sneak a Cuban football prodigy out of Castro’s communist stronghold but the player is brutally murdered the morning the officials arrive at his apartment to escort him to the private plane. Or else the team GM is revealed to be a massive international cocaine dealer. Or the tight end is one half of a serial killer couple. The film follows its own advice, focusing more on the players growth, particularly Beamon’s (Foxx). The anonymity of the title, Any Given Sunday, elevates the game, not the players. Thank God, the movie doesn’t force Beamon to assimilate into Pacino’s mold. He buys into the team-first philosophy without renouncing his idiosyncratic POV or his fierce individuality. This is a triumph. One of my biggest problems with sports is the flattening effect it can have on creative individuals. Players take media training in order to sound as alike as possible during media interviews, a long row of stoic giants spouting cliches. It’s boring. Which is why media latch onto a loudmouth, even while they scold him for it. All sports are dying for an intelligent mouthpiece who can explain his motivations in a succinct, sound-bite-friendly, manner. Sports are entertainment. As much as I love Sidney Crosby, in my heart I have to go with Alexander Ovechkin because Ovechkin is far more thrilling, both on and off the ice. Unlike almost every other NHL star before him, all of whom were forced to kneel and kiss Don Cherry’s Rock Em Sock Em ring, Ovechkin defiantly told the media he simply did not care about Cherry or Cherry’s disgusting parental reaction to one of Ovie’s more creative goal celebrations (called a “celly” in the biz). On the play in question, Ovechkin scored the goal, then dropped his stick and mimed warming his hands over it, as if his stick were on fire. As cheesy as the celebration appeared to the naked eye, it’s both a funny and accurate notion. Ovechkin was the hottest scorer in the league for many years and his stick was on fire, metaphorically speaking. The only celly I can think of that matches up in terms of creativity and entertainment value came from Teemu Selanne in 1993, who scored a beauty of a goal, threw one of his gloves straight up into the air, then pumped his stick like a shotgun while “shooting” his glove. Of course, Cherry took exception to it. Cherry’s favourite goal celebration features Bobby Orr putting his head down and refraining from raising his hands over his head. Cherry’s idea of an appropriate goal celly is no celly at all. This from a man who claims “we’ve got to sell our game.” But when an arrogant player shows up and he’s not white, he’s in for a shitload of bad press. Foxx’s Beamon illustrates this beautifully when he yells at Pacino after Pacino cuts him for an older QB who has lost four games this season. “Don’t play that racism card with me,” Pacino warns. “Okay…okay…” Foxx nods, “Maybe it’s not racism. Maybe it’s ‘placism’…as in…a brother got to know his place.”

Here is the original theatrical trailer, featuring Garbage’s classic “Push It.”

Above Lawrence Taylor begs Matthew Modine for Cortazone.  There’s also a great scene where Pacino is trying to figure out where he has gone wrong and Diaz just looks at him. “You got old,” she says simply. No enterprise is more cruel to an aging human being than sports. And this movie makes football a big giant corporate machine that chews players up and spits them out, injured and drug addicted, after four or five years. Those who play for a decade are lucky. This is still how the NFL works. And the NHL is increasingly becoming a young man’s game. Experience matters less and less.

When I started watching hockey in the 90s, players regularly competed into their late 30s. Not so anymore. Players peak at 23-24 now, and are often out of the league by age 35. Thornton and Chelois are exceptions, not the rule. After more than two hours, Any Given Sunday finally lurches across the finish line, bravely refusing to give its viewers a traditional happy ending, in the great tradition of underdog sports films like Rocky and Rudy. The bombshell dropped by Pacino’s character at the end feels less surprising than inevitable, but by now the movie has explored so much of professional sports' seedy underbelly that you're glad it's over. The film is great but exhausting. Stone seems to be advancing the notion that the sport itself is pure, but the people in it are corrupt. If money weren’t involved, the game would be played for its own sake.

I agree with this. People playing pond hockey are engaging in wholesome fun, not necessarily practicing to make a professional league. Commerce corrupts the purity of the game, and the extent to which it corrupts is directly proportional to how badly the individual in question needs the commerce. Of course, the sport is highly racialized, with people in positions of authority white, and those being told what to do with their bodies Black.

Any Given Sunday is an important film, but it never sacrifices entertainment for the sake of moralizing. That it pulls off such a strong moralistic stance is a testament to the actors, who are all incredible, and the material, which is among the strongest of Stone’s career.

He never really made a great movie after this one. So check it out sometime.

[justalittlelemony]

Worth Chapter 1

Read on Ao3 here.

Word count: 3,166

Tubbo is no stranger to war or conflict, even if he isn't the central player.

But that doesn't mean he can't pick up some lessons along the way.

Or, a look at how Tubbo views his own worth.

Full fic under the cut

Worth, Tubbo thought, is a funny thing.

Of course, when he voiced this to Tommy, he just laughed it off like he always did when things got a bit too philosophical for his liking.

Tubbo didn't mind. That was just how the two of them worked. They would cause some sort of trouble, laugh about it on the bench, Tubbo would say something out of left field, Tommy would (affectionately) make fun of him, and then the cycle would repeat. It wasn't the most sophisticated system, but it worked. It clicked.

But regardless of their system, his point still stood. The concept of value was an odd one, with its arbitrary rules and its potential for conflict.

There was no greater example of this, in Tubbo's opinion, than the discs.

The discs which were now, after hours and hours of fighting, finally back in Tommy's possession.

Not that Tubbo was complaining. He would gladly participate in a hundred wars if Tommy asked him to.

But, he couldn't help but wonder, why?

Why did Dream want the discs so bad? What made these two pieces of vinyl, whose only value seemed to come from the seemingly endless entertainment Tommy could glean from them, the subject of a whole war?

Tubbo wasn't sure if he'd ever find out the answer. But he also wasn't sure he really cared. They won. That was all that really mattered, in the end, right?

"Are you alright?" Tommy's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. They were sitting on the bench, basking in their victory. Dimly, he could hear Cat playing in the jukebox in front of Tommy, who was looking at him rather concernedly.

"I've already told you I'm fine," Tubbo grumbled, "It's just a nasty bruise." He rubbed at the bruise, which had been the result of fending off Dream while Tommy raced to craft an ender chest.

Tommy crossed his arms. "Well, you weren't fucking responding. I had to make sure you didn't die of a concussion or something."

"'Die of a concussion?'" Tubbo repeated, starting to giggle, "Tommy, that's not how concussions work."

"Well, excuse me for trying to check on you. Next time you're hurt, I won't bother and you'll go-" His voice turned ridiculously high-pitched, barely resembling Tubbo's at all, "'Oh! Why isn't Tommy helping me? I'm Tubbo and I follow Tommy around until he pays attention to me instead of talking to him like a normal person.' What do you think of that, prick?"

Tubbo pulled his legs up onto the bench. "You're kind of mean."

"You're kind of a bitch," Tommy replied in an instant. A few seconds later, the two erupted into a fit of laughter. It wasn't the kind of laughter brought on by a particularly witty joke, but rather one fueled by exhaustion and the satisfaction of being together.

No, Tubbo wasn't sure if he would ever understand the importance of the discs, to either Dream or Tommy. But sitting on the bench, listening to Cat, their laughter ringing in the air, Tubbo found that he didn't have to.

*******

There wasn't much room in the Carmarvan. It wasn't built to house an army, after all. It was meant to be a drug van, a monument to Wilbur and Tommy's potion-brewing empire.

That all changed with the creation of L'Manberg.

L'Manberg, which gave Wilbur an aura of leadership, of responsibility. L'Manberg, which ignited Tommy's fervor and passion, the likes of which Tubbo had only seen during the Disc War.

L'Manberg, whose five members would go to war for it in only a few hours.

It was a wonder, Tubbo thought, that any of them were asleep.

He wasn't really bothered by the cramped space in the Carmarvan. Their childhood was filled with late nights and crawling into the other's bed in the wee hours of the morning. Sharing a bed with Tommy was far from a new sensation. The unfamiliarity of sleeping in the Carmarvan was also not what was keeping him awake, although it likely didn't help.

Tubbo focused on the rhythm, the steadiness of Tommy's breathing next to him. There wasn't much else he could do. The sounds of his movements would surely wake the other members of L'Manberg if he were to get up. He would have to be content waiting for the morning.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a slight catch in Tommy's breathing. It was quick, unnoticeable. But Tubbo caught on to it and quickly realized that his breathing hadn't evened out. It had become unpredictable, slightly erratic, the behavior of someone who was paying attention to their breathing. After a few moments of internal debate, Tubbo gave in to his curiosity.

"Tommy," he whispered, "Are you awake?"

"No." Tommy's eyes were closed, facing the ceiling. After a couple of moments, he sighed and shifted in bed, facing Tubbo. "What's wrong?" Despite his previous statement, he was clearly awake, now staring intently at Tubbo.

Tubbo didn't really know how to answer Tommy's question. He hadn't really expected to get this far, so he asked the first question that came to mind. "Are you scared?"

"What?"

"Are you scared?" Tubbo repeated, "For tomorrow, I mean."

Tommy slowly sucked in a breath, then said, "'Course I'm scared. Wouldn't be human if I wasn't." Tubbo nodded slightly in agreement. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Tubbo shifted a bit with discomfort. "Back when it was just you and me versus Dream, it didn't feel this serious. It felt like a game, more than anything. But, Dream, he, he seemed so angry."

Tubbo could almost still hear the man's angered shouts, warning them of war. He wasn't sure he would ever forget them.

"I'm worried," he admitted, "I'm worried about us. Before, when it was just us, it was fine because there were only two of us. But now, Wilbur's here, and we have Fundy and Eret. It's just," Tubbo felt so small, so vulnerable, "I'm worried something bad will happen."

Tommy seemed to hang on to Tubbo's every word, until he finally said, "I'm worried too." The admission surprised Tubbo a little bit. If they had been anywhere else, Tommy would put on a brave face and claim that he wasn't scared of anything. But maybe it was how late it was, or the very real war staring them directly in the face, or that it was just Tubbo, who knew Tommy better than anyone, that he let his false bravado down, even if for a few moments. "But," he started quietly, "I trust Wilbur and I think it'll turn out right, in the end. Hey?" He reached for Tubbo's hand, something they'd done for comfort ever since they were little. "You and me, right?"

Tubbo smiled hesitantly, taking Tommy's hand. "You and me."

*******

All things considered, the war was going better than Tubbo expected. Not that they were winning or anything, but they certainly weren't losing.

So, walking down the narrow staircase to Eret's so-called "secret weapon," Tubbo felt pretty optimistic.

"Staircase" was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more of a crude imitation of a staircase, with blocks proceeding downwards and a ceiling just high enough to move on to the next level. Climbing down them was awkward. It was a rhythm of jumping down to the next step, then ducking one's head.

Jump, duck. Jump, duck.

Climbing behind him, Tommy made noises to line up with their movements as all five of them bopped down the tunnel. Tubbo stifled a giggle. Wilbur barked out a "L'Manberg strong!" The group fought to silence their laughter.

The stairs ceased, leaving only a narrow hallway. "Welcome, gentlemen," Eret said, leading them through a doorway, "To the Final Control Room." It was a small, blackstone bricked chamber, a wooden button laid on the floor. There were four chests, two on either side of the room, each labeled for the members of L'Manberg. Eret positioned themself on the far end of the room, while Wilbur and Fundy went for their respective chests.

Tubbo hung back with Tommy, who was eyeing the floor. "What's this button for?" he asked, bending down to press it. Eret froze, his gaze trained solely on the button Tommy had just pressed. "What?"

"Eret," Wilbur said slowly, turning away from his chest, "These chests are empty."

Tubbo turned to Eret, the pieces coming together in his head in an instant, his conclusion confirmed by the sinister grin spread across their face. "Down with the revolution, boys. It was never meant to be."

Tubbo had just enough time to lock eyes with Tommy before the walls opened. Dream, Sapnap, George, and Punz come pouring out of the holes, surrounding the other four. Out of the corner of his eye, Tubbo could see Tommy make a grab for his sword. He tried to reach for his own weapon, but his hand slipped clumsily on the hilt.

(This wasn't supposed to happen. He trusted Eret. They were supposed to be safe.)

"Tubbo!" Tommy cried out and it was only then that the reality of the situation sunk in.

(They're going to die. There's only one exit and there's too many of them and there isn't enough time. There's no way they're getting out of this alive.)

It was Sapnap that was heading for him, his weapon already poised to strike. There was no mercy in his gaze, no indication that their friendship had ever existed. Tubbo managed to finally pull out his sword and block, but it was thrown out of his hand in an instant. (There's nowhere to go, there isn't enough time.) Sapnap's sword cut through him and he fell to the ground.

The last thing Tubbo heard was Tommy's scream.

*******

The time waiting for Tommy and Wilbur to return was agony.

Everything had gone horribly wrong. Eret betrayed them. They all lost their first lives. L'Manberg was destroyed.

Now, sitting in Tommy's emergency bunker, Tubbo and Fundy waited for their inevitable surrender.

Tommy had been so angry when Wilbur had brought it up, the idea of surrendering. It was a little contrary to the whole "independence or death" thing. But Tubbo understood. This wasn't a game. He knew, just as Wilbur did, that Dream wouldn't stop. He would keep fighting and winning until there was no one left to oppose him. For L'Manberg, it was no longer about victory; it was about survival.

So the two waited.

It didn't take too long for Wilbur and Tommy to return, which wasn't too surprising. Tubbo expected the negotiations to begin and end with "complete and total surrender."

What he didn't expect was for Wilbur to explain that Tommy would be dueling Dream for L'Manberg's independence in a little under an hour.

"What?" Fundy cried, verbalizing the thoughts that Tubbo couldn't, "I thought we were going to surrender!"

Wilbur ran a hand over his face and it occurred to Tubbo just how tired he looked. "We were. That was the plan. But then Tommy-" The boy in question seemed to shrink in at the mention of his name "-decided to challenge Dream and before I could stop it, he accepted."

Fundy began to ask more questions, but Tubbo tuned them out, focusing only on Tommy, who was pointedly not looking at him. If this had been anyone else, Tubbo would think he had done something wrong. But he knew Tommy.

Tommy was scared.

Tommy wasn't stupid. He could be rather smart, at points. He knew what he was getting into. Tommy knew, just as well as Tubbo did, that Dream wasn't playing. This wasn't like the Disc War, where it was just a petty, lighthearted conflict. Dream would kill him. He wouldn't hesitate.

What were you thinking? Tubbo wanted to scream, He'll kill you! But he didn't. There was no use in stating the obvious.

Tommy didn't look at him the whole journey to the stretch of boardwalk near the Socializing Club, where the duel was to take place. Dream was already there, bow in hand. His armor was off, but his mask still caught some of the moonlight. It was a sinister sight, further unnerving by the never-changing smile plastered onto his face.

Fundy handed Tommy his bow, the only bow they still had, with trembling hands. Tommy took it and stared at it, his only defense. This was not a bow meant to be used in a fight. It was crudely made, more of a toy than anything. Its limbs were made of a crooked branch pulled from one of the trees in L'Manberg. The string was almost slack, loosened from use. It was not the ideal tool in a duel against the god of the server.

But it was all they had.

Tommy took a shaky breath and finally looked back at Tubbo. He saw all of his own fears reflected in his eyes. They had already died that day. They knew what Dream was willing to do in this war. What he would do in a few minutes.

In an instant, Tubbo jumped towards Tommy, wrapping his arms around him. Tommy hugged him back just as hard. It was a bit of an awkward hug, with Tubbo on his tiptoes and Tommy leaning down. The bow in Tommy's hand dug into his back a little bit, but he didn't care.

"Be safe," he whispered into Tommy's shoulder. Tommy didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

*******

Tubbo decided he hated waiting.

Tommy had lost the duel and had gone to give up Mellohi, which left the other three members huddled outside of the half-destroyed Carmarvan waiting for his return.

Wilbur had started a campfire to fend against the night's cold and it reminded Tubbo so much of L'Manberg's earlier days, before the declaration, before the war. Back when L'Manberg was nothing more than a drug van and the wars were no more than childish fights.

The three of them were silent as they sat around the fire. They didn't have anything to say. They all had the same question hovering in the back of their minds that wouldn't be answered until Tommy came back.

What now?

Tubbo glanced over at Wilbur, who was staring pensively into the fire. Even obscured by the harsh shadows from the flames, he could see the bags under the older man's eyes. Wilbur had looked so exhausted since the revolution had begun, the weight of it all taking a physical toll. He looked far more tired than Tubbo had ever seen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tubbo saw Fundy's ears perk up as if he heard something. A few seconds later, the sound of grass crunching underfoot was heard. Tubbo spun in the direction of the sound and stared out into the darkness. After letting his eyes adjust to the black, he could see a figure trudging towards them. Behind Tubbo, Wilbur stood, and both he and Fundy soon followed. As the figure came closer and close to the light, it was clearly Tommy. Tubbo took an uneasy breath, fearful of the news his best friend would bring.

Tommy finally became fully embraced by the light of the campfire and he was-

Smiling?

A grin was set upon Tommy's face, one of his more mischievous ones, but still sincere. It was the same type of grin he had given Tubbo after they had finally won the discs back from Dream.

In the current context, however, it was rather jarring.

"Tommy?" Tubbo asked hesitantly.

Wilbur's voice almost overlapped with Tubbo's. "Tommy, what happened?"

Tommy wasn't looking back at them but was instead looking down, almost to the fire. His voice was quiet, disbelieving. "We won."

"What?"

Tommy looked up and Tubbo could see this wasn't a joke. There was pure joy written on his face, not an ounce of insincerity. "We fucking won, Will!"

Tubbo could hear Fundy sputter out, "Wha- How? What do you mean 'we won?'"

"I gave him both the discs," he explained rapidly, "Don't you guys get it? We're free!"

Fundy laughed in disbelief. Tubbo could feel a smile of his own coming on. Wilbur strode forward and put his hand on Tommy's shoulder. "TommyInnit," he said, "You really fucking did it this time. C'mere." Wilbur pulled him into a tight hug. Fundy whooped and ran forward as well, Wilbur moving his arms to let him in. Soon, Tubbo was pulled into the hug, laughing along with the rest of them.

"I think this calls for some celebratory potions!" Wilbur said, pulling back. He turned and made way for the Carmarvan, Fundy trailing behind him, leaving Tubbo and Tommy alone.

Tubbo turned to his friend. "You- you gave up your discs?"

Tommy waved him off. "We'll get them back. But for now, let's celebrate," he said, slinging an arm around Tubbo, "We're together and we're independent, and that's all that matters right now." He smiled at Tubbo, who couldn't help but smile back.

Arm in arm, they went to join their friends in their newly independent nation.

*******

Tubbo still couldn't sleep soundly.

He was certainly exhausted; they all were. Dying could take quite the physical toll on a person, a toll only cured by rest. Tubbo knew this. He could feel it in his sluggish movements, the heaviness of his eyelids. But his brain buzzed with anxiety, the events of the day lodging themselves deep within his consciousness.

Tommy gave up his discs. Tommy gave up his discs to save L'Manberg.

Dream had the discs again. They were back to square one.

He wasn't disappointed or frustrated or anything like that. Tommy knew what he was doing and giving up the discs could have very well been the only way to win the war. For L'Manberg, it was the right decision.

But Tubbo worried it wasn't the right decision for Tommy.

Tommy would try to fight for the discs back and Tubbo would happily help him. But things were different since the first time Dream took the discs. War was no longer a game. There were consequences, real, tangible consequences.

Tommy had already given two of his lives for L'Manberg. What would he give up for the discs?

It was frightening, Tubbo thought, that he could lose his best friend over those two pieces of vinyl.

These thoughts plagued him throughout the night as he went in and out of sleep. His thoughts were messy, incoherent, but the fear of it all was enough to keep him up at points.

During the night, half-asleep, he heard what sounded like Cat's melody. But it wasn't the smooth scratching of vinyl that he was accustomed to, but rather the rough, imperfect humming of his best friend beside him. Even in his lethargic state, Tubbo could comprehend just how much the discs meant to Tommy, how far he would be willing to go to retrieve them. Vaguely, he also realized that he'd follow him the whole way, no matter the cost.

He didn't notice the way Tommy pulled him slightly closer.

[illinoisadventures]

Exactly, you’ve got pure speed, but he’s got agility….could be interesting!!!

That was completely the wrong thing to say, making his ears pin down. He didn’t like what he said being repeated when he didn’t order it, and the implication that he wouldn’t win at all.

“Wha’s it ta youse anyways, huh?!” Snarling, he only let his teeth be recovered by his lips when he saw the faint shiver over you. Right, he couldn’t do anything about you… Still, it made his tail lash once, before he turned and scored a tree with his claws. It left deep wounds, that sap started to seep out after the bark flew away. “If I didn’ care ‘bout ‘urtin’ ‘im o’ no’, I’d ‘ways win ‘cause winnin’ jus’ means I gotta catch ‘is snake ass an’ tear it ‘part.”