#anyone who wants to post this on twitter go ahead but if i get idiots on my dms here i will not hold back

[henry-winter-apologist]

i'm about a month late to the party but i still got some thoughts.

so our sims lord and savior got digitally/socialmedially murdered by the amount of computer illiteracy everywhere online these days. and im here to have a rant about it and pick a bone with the idiots who feel entitled to his time and skill. long post ahead, i'm in the mood to go full anadius on simmers' asses

this isn't me trying to defend anything or speak on his behalf. but this is the hill i'm willing to die on regarding piracy in general. anadius doesn't need anyone to defend him in any case lmao. nonetheless this is a good case study

facts i need everyone to actually get through their heads real quick:

as it stands now, the full sims 4 experience has reached over $1200. that's my entire living budget for almost half a year.

sims 4 is a pile of garbage spaghetti code that will never get fully fixed unless some sort of miracle happens

ea is incomprehensibly big

ea doesn't give a shit about you

game cracking is free labor

okay, rant starts under the cut. don't interact if, besides comp skills, you also lack reading comprehension and critical thinking

if you're willing to dunk on anadius for being a dick, you're not different from people who defend ea. am i willing to say for certain anadius doesn't sometimes get off on calling people stupid? i'm not and i honestly don't give a shit if he does cause it would be missing the entire fucking point of his work. so what if he does?

and before y'all call me an asskisser, i see your point and i'm not trying to hide it. i lurk in his server sometimes and i go over the help threads and lose my shit laughing at the conversations happening there. he does live in my head rent free. as i've been saying for the past few years, if anadius spits in your mouth, you say thank you. anyway

i won't even get into the "he's rude" thing because it's a nothing burger. yes, he is. there's no denying it. however, just because he's mean doesn't erase the fact that some simmers can't follow instructions - especially the ones who got into sims when sims 4 was released. and i say this as someone who's exclusively played sims 4. this is most likely due to comp literacy going down w late genz/gen alpha.

the fact is that if you took a few hours out of your life to understand his system, your problems would go away. unfortunately, some of you can't fucking read a text carefully because you're so goddamn used to skimming over shit. and that's how you miss important details. that's how you end up moving shit you're not supposed to. i know it hurts to find out you're illiterate, but someone has to humble you. you can't just fucking go around calling him toxic and abusive(??????????) and telling him he has anger management problems. besides the absolutely bonkers idea of diagnosing someone over twitter replies, anyone who's ever dealt with people who have never tried to learn the basics of compsci can tell you he's right

furthermore, another thing that grinds my fucking gears is "if he finds it so annoying why doesn't he stop replying🙄". maybe i know this because i enjoy reading help threads too much, but i can tell you why he keeps replying. if you have a problem that can't be fixed by instructions, he genuinely wants to help you. this also applies to people who get cursed at, but y'all refuse to see it. in any case, he really does offer his full support when something does go wrong with his tools. (don't ask me for proof. there's a reason the server isn't that easy to find). the reason he keeps replying is so very simple. he's genuinely trying to make his tools better. the thing he posted about finding very few real problems with his tools is evidence of that. actually, as far as i've seen, he also takes feedback on his instructions very well and he's used the feedback to make them more clear over the years. the thing is, you can't dumb it down more than this. there's a limit to how comp illiterate you have to be to pirate, especially if it's tools as complex as anadius'. again, you might not enjoy hearing this and i can't help you with that.

if you thought i wouldn't get more asskissy than this, here you go: the dude is simply a master in programming. not only that, but game cracking is a side of programming that won't be automated and/or taken over by ai any time soon, unlike many other code-monkey tasks, for obvious reasons. he does it all for free. he spends a huge amt of time trying to improve his tools and craft just to, most often, run into a wall with people unable to follow instructions or, even worse, lying to him about shit they did to fuck up their game then expecting him to read their mind.

you wanna speak about this in tiktok-y therapy talk? y'all are the ones abusing his time, then calling him names, then being pissed when he makes fun of you again (I'm fucking kidding, by the way, if it really has to be said. but that's not to say y'all aren't wasting his time)

the backlash he got over his "finally" reply is wild. y'all are wild. and entitled. you're so used to shitting on EA that it spills over in the modding&piracy communities.

it's so fucking obnoxious how much of a spoiled brat some of you can be over people who do insane amounts of work for FREE. do you understand that? do you understand that, if someone gives you something for free and you break it by "accident" (aka you don't use it as intended, then try to lie to them about it), then go to them for more free labor to fix it, they're allowed to be pissed and make fun of you? (is it the right thing to do? i don't really care, honestly. if that's how he deals with his work and time being exploited by spoiled brats, fine by me)

as much as some ppl insist piracy isn't a political statement, just because you keep saying it doesn't make it true, and it's very telling how people are more pissed at someone who does work for free than at the humongous company owning the thing. and, before you even think about it, no, you couldn't seriously share the same amount of outrage for both.

i could go on and on and on about how this kind of victimization on the internet won't bring you anywhere, but I'll just say this: people insulting you online because you can't follow instructions isn't abusive. and if you can't understand that i have no idea how you can live in this reality.

anyway. this whole thing applies to anyone who mods or cracks or provides for free something that companies make or would make offensive amounts of money from. i hope it doesn't ever drive anyone away from doing what they do, but especially anadius who, and i hope you understand this at some point, is indeed the reason EA doesn't own our entire asses with the bullshit they frequently pull

anadius, if this post finds you, nice work. really appreciate you. also, let's pretend i never said anything about anyone spitting in someone's mouth, thanks😗

[tumblezwei]

Ranking different social medias on how likely I am to get untagged Penacony story spoilers while passively scrolling through them

HSR leaks reddit

properly tags everything, even in the discussion under a post that's literally all of 2.0's cutscenes everything that's even remotely a spoiler gets censored. It's like reading a redacted government document, I can look for Acheron animation leaks without fear that any big plot twist will be shoved in my face. 10/10

2. Twitter

not good. The annoying ones just do that dumb thing where they're like "SPOILERS AHEAD" and make the post artificially longer, as if they didn't post an uncensored picture right under it that I still have to scroll past. At least the block button is at the top. The worst is the improperly tagged fan art. You're lucky I already knew about that twist 3 months ago but RIP to anyone who just wanted to see fan art in that character's tag. 4/10

3. TikTok

the wild fucking west. Nobody on there seems to realize that on the social media app designed and marketed around being a purely algorithmic experience, the thirst trap edit of those Aventurine scenes you just made isn't going to be seen by just your mutuals. And no, putting the word "spoilers" OVER THE SCENE YOU'RE SPOILING doesn't count. Terrible. 0/10

4. Tumblr

pretty decent, mainly bc the fandom on this website consists mainly of male character RP and smut blogs, and there's no time to talk spoilers when you're answering an ask about how gentle this or that HSR boy will be while he rails you into the mattress. And in general, Tumblr's got a better handle on spoiler tagging than most, but sometimes there are idiots. 7/10

[golbrocklovely]

have you seen the crowd on twitter trying to get Sam and Colby cancelled and sued for 'not doing enough'? It's wild and makes no sense to me, they're doing plenty, they don't need to give us everything, what are these people on?

i'm happy someone sent me this bc i do have some opinions on it lol

see the thing is, it's not even that they "aren't doing enough", ie related to xplrclub, it's that they aren't talking about things that matter. the main two being palestine and george/wilbur being creeps.

to be mad at them for all three of these things, as if somehow they are all on the same level is ridiculous and such an online take, it's not even funny.

but here, i'll break down how i feel about all of this.

as i've stated before, snc don't have to comment on palestine. i know a lot of fans want them to say something but reality is nothing will change if they say free palestine or ask for a ceasefire. snc do not hold that much power, they aren't besties with the president. stop asking influencers to do something. this genocide has been happening for a long time, well prior to the october attacks. it's not snc's job to inform the public on worldwide news. it will not change what is currently happening. palestinians are being murdered and you are making this about snc. stop doing that. who you should be truly angry at is our government and the fact they keep giving OUR TAX DOLLARS to the idf. be upset at that. call your congressmen. donate. stop making this about snc, oh my god.

(and if anyone reading this doesn't agree with me, that's fine. but just know i'm not gonna change my mind on it. who cares what snc think about a genocide??? do your part, help out how you can, and keep it moving.)

the george and wilbur thing…. look, i get fans wanting them to unfollow them, but most likely that's not gonna happen. not bc snc support them, but bc snc never do shit like that. they don't get involved in things that aren't related to them. and this is one of those instances. why do they need to denounce two ppl they aren't friends with and only collabed with, max, twice? you wanna be upset with them about this, go ahead. but don't hold your breath.

also it would be incredibly idiotic for them to comment on something like this. and again, you are making a situation that has nothing to do with snc about snc. stop doing that.

xplrclub. imma be honest with you, this is the one that i find hysterical, just bc of how far fetch it is.

i read the original post that started all of this, or at least that was recently created about all of this. i'm also on xplrclub and saw a fan asking basically all of these questions, and then getting a reply from a mod telling them that snc have account managers that probably tell them when to comment on things, and then when that wasn't a good enough answer, said fan asked for an admin. and idk what happened afterwards.

but let me make it abundantly clear: you can't sue snc for "not doing enough" lol that's just not a thing

first off, they haven't even been charging us for a while. so you're not paying for any of the content as of right now. which i think has caused ppl to think that xplrclub has always been free. but now that they plan to charge us in 2 weeks times, ppl are upset that this is all the content they're getting. but snc laid it out loud and clear on the site of what we're getting: multiple camera roll vids a week, a podcast and livestream a month, and a giveaway a month. and then exclusive content like once a week i think. that's all laid out on the site. if you don't want to be charge $19 a month for that… then don't sign up. it's an exclusive club for a reason. not every fan can afford it. you're not owed a spot in xplrclub. sorry. that's just how the world works.

but what makes all of this even dumber is these fans want to sue snc or at least let them know that "without your fans you would have nothing" as if snc don't already know that. and they're talking about "all we need is 40% of ppl on xplrclub to leave, and then they would have to shut it down, which means we can sue them bc we're not getting what was promised to us"

again, not how any of this works. not to mention, any fans that believes this 10000% wasn't around when metalife shut down in like three days time with basically a paragraph and an email notice lol but that being said snc also gave refunds to those that were charged for the month it shut down

if snc lost a huge amount of subs on xplrclub, they're allowed to shut the site down then if they weren't breaking even or were losing profit from it. the only reason you would be allowed to sue them is if they weren't giving you any content but kept charging you anyway. or if somehow there was a data leak and ppl's card information got out there. that would be a reason to sue. but that has not happened, and most likely won't as well.

not to mention, but there are over 1000 members on that site as we speak. 40% would be a significant dent, sure; but not enough to close the site down. there would still be hundreds of ppl on the site. you would need over half of the users to dip out, and baby that just ain't happening lol

there was also this whole argument about how if snc were sued "tv and film laws" are really difficult and they would be in a lot of trouble and all i gotta say to that is……… wut???? snc aren't on tv or film???? do you guys think they are characters or something, actors acting in their vids??? when snc call their content "movies" they don't mean literal movies, they mean length wise, babe. like i want to give some benefit since i know some of these fans are really young and don't know better but like… google is a thing.

i just…. it's always something with this fandom, you know. there can never be complete peace. i can't have a single day of fun without there being some shit storm brewing on the horizon. i'm so totally done with it lmao

[voidspiraling]

Forgot to add something cuz I couldn’t find the pic. I can’t remember if it’s official or if it’s just a drawing that’s non canon but let’s pretend it is significant for the sake of this post.

Here we see R2 Till crying on stage, I say on stage bc of the fact that he’s wearing the mic. Presumably this breakdown is happening while he’s singing, bc of the open mouth and the fact that he’s looking ahead instead of trying to wipe his tears. And while he’s singing the background is bright red with falling stars, comets, debris whatever it is.

Looks familiar doesn’t it? As far as I know red skies have always been an IvanTill thing. So while he’s singing his Unknown (Till the End) song, proclaiming his desire to get closer to Mizi, he starts crying and thinks abt this meteor shower scene.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen adult Till cry this much either. But if anyone can bring him to tears it’s Ivan. I also remember reading somewhere that Till “could never escape the red sky” so I wonder if this IvanTill moment continuously haunts Till.

When Till is remembering the kiss scene that broke Twitter the whole thing is tinged with reds. Probably bc after the meteor shower when Till turns back he associated red with regret or pain.

This is probably a reach but since everyone’s an unreliable narrator in alien stage I’m starting to question if what we seen in Round 2 is what actually happens. Cuz when you watch Round 1 up until the end you don’t really realize how awful the situation is and you just think “oh hey it’s a sci-fi idol thing cool!” and the Sua dies. And when you watch Round 3 you go “TILL YOU IDIOT WHY DIDNT YOU LOOK AT IVAN!” and it’s only until later that you realize Till did look at Ivan. So Round 1 and Round 3 are both told by unreliable narrators so I’m thinking that Round 2 is also told by an unreliable narrator.

Is that just sweat or is that also tears? He does that sniffle thing so it could be tears. (Also how does he look so beautiful even when in severe distress? HOW!?)

Anyways my point is that Round 2 is overtly abt Till confessing his love for Mizi. But certain details don’t add up like the parts abt “no better options” with images of a young Mizi. As well as Till not looking at Mizi when she’s looking at him.

You could say that he’s too injured to notice. But usually after you confess to someone you would check their reaction right? Or at least try to. Till did turn to her when he was onstage but here he is physically closer to her, so this would actually be the perfect time to see how she feels abt him. But Till just looks ahead and then faints. He doesn’t even attempt to turn his head. It’s so unlike Ivan who kept standing even after he was shot and didn’t move away from Till until he was literally moments before death.

So what I’m saying is that while Till was singing abt his “love” for Mizi he inadvertently thought abt his love for Ivan. Hence the crying under a red sky, and Till may not have even noticed he was crying and thought it was just sweat. That’s also why after he was done singing he didn’t bother checking Mizi’s response. His love for Mizi is a performance, on stage for the aliens and for himself.

Also some of the lyrics of Till’s Round 2 song do not sound like they’re for Mizi. (It’s not just the yaoi on the brain I swear) I’ll be using the Eng translations so some things may be lost in translation but hopefully you get what I’m trying to say.

For example, “I wanna know all about you” I always thought was such a weird line when talking abt Mizi. Bc Mizi was such an open book, she never hid any parts of herself nor was she difficult to understand. She had lived a very sheltered life so she never developed any walls to protect herself. If you wanted to know all about Mizi you literally just had to look/talk to her bc at the time everything abt her could be found at the surface. (Not the case anymore but in their childhood it was like that. What secrets could she have possibly had at that time?) It would’ve made more sense to say “I want you to know all about me” considering that Mizi is unaware of Till’s feelings for her.

Another line is “How dare you think this time’s enough” it’s so… aggressive. Like he’s usually skittish and shy around Mizi. He can’t even bring himself to touch her in the Round 7 ending scene. He straight up freezes up around her. I can’t imagine Till writing like that while thinking of Mizi.

But I can imagine Till writing that for Ivan. “I wanna know all about you” because I’ve spent all this time with you and I still don’t understand you. And “How dare you think this time’s enough” bc you never understood my feelings and just assumed everything on your own. How can you think our relationship is good enough for me?

This is just my speculation (out of all the characters I understand Till the least) but the lines of the song actually feel like they’re for Ivan at some parts.

Another thing that bothered me is that Ivan is not seen in any of the Round 2 flashbacks. We only see him at the end when Till’s song is over. Till liked him enough to rate their relationship at 70% yet we don’t see anything abt baby Ivan. Especially bc based on the comics on alien stage Twitter Ivan and Till were usually seen together. I’m actually surprised he wasn’t drawn as a side character hovering over at the side while Till was watching Mizi or something.

Till was probably suppressing his thoughts abt Ivan bc he wanted to make a point that his feelings for Mizi was love. However in singing abt his love for Mizi he also accidentally sang abt his love for Ivan, causing him to cry from the pain and regret. Then when he got caged in that glass container he was so drained emotionally and physically that he just closed his eyes. He didn’t look at Mizi bc he probably didn’t actually care abt her reaction to it.

He succeeded in confessing his “love” and proving his “sincerity” I think his end goal was to convince himself that he loved Mizi not Ivan. So after he wins the round by singing abt Mizi and not Ivan he accomplishes his goal. Now he’s known as the guy who loves Mizi and not the boy who was rejected by Ivan.

Everyone has a story they tell themselves to get through life. It usually paints us as a good person who lives a decent life. Regardless of the reality we will warp things and distort things so that they fit our concept abt our life. So Till could be doing that here where he distorts his feelings to suit the palatable narrative of being in love with Mizi instead of the reality of being hopelessly entangled with Ivan.

Also I’m not done yapping yet I need to look at the meteor shower scene again. I actually missed a lot the first time.

Omg so I was obsessing over Till again ya know. As one do. And I was analyzing (obsessing) over the baby Till comic when I noticed some thingssss. (This is just my interpretations feel free to disagree)

This frame was fun to look at bc it was just Till doodling and looking cute. But the closer you look…..

Till knew that the flowers were actually cameras!!!maybe that’s why even tho Ivan ripped up the flowers in Till’s presence Till didn’t actually hate it as much. Most IvanTill scenes rarely have these flowers in them and I think after Till grows up we stop seeing the flowers altogether.

Baby is so observant 🥹

Another thing I was obsessing over was the final few frames. In this one my eyes first went to Till because he is contrasted in the picture (blue against white bg and his head being in the center of the comp) and then to Mizi bc she is the biggest element in the picture. But after looking closer you see that Mizi and Sua are both blurry. They are also further away from Till.

But here Ivan and Till are both in focus and they’re right next to each other. I think this shows how despite what Till outwardly says on his subconscious level he feels closer to Ivan. They’re equals. This is also easy to overlook because Ivan is cut off in the picture. He’s like a shadow off to the side. This could be bc Ivan always hides what he feels to everyone and to himself. Or maybe bc he always follows Till around like a shadow lol.

Another thing I wanted to add is when Till turns around. Presumably he’s looking at Mizi (could just be the viewer but lets assume it’s Mizi) but his face is flat he only looks surprised to see her. But aside from the fact that his collar is green we don’t see any other indication that he’s happy. His face isn’t flushed nor is his face expressive like it usually is. I think this is bc his love for Mizi wasn’t in a romantic sense but more in a admiration sense, and his love has cooled down.

Not to sound mean or anything but I remember reading that the reason he fell in love with her is bc of her smile. While that is a sweet notion it feels surface level especially when you compare it to Ivan’s love to Till.

Which would you prefer someone falling in love with your smile vs. someone falling in love with your strength and passion?

I also think that it’s telling that in his R2 song he admits that his feelings were “Error: No better options” Till likely knows that he doesn’t love Mizi but he feels like he should love her bc she is so kind and gentle. She gave him such nice and thoughtful gifts. Even complimented his piercings and treats him kindly even though he’s an outcast.

In his mind he should be madly in love with her. She should be his “savior.”

But inevitably his eyes drift to Ivan.

And I think it’s telling that while Till is looking at Ivan the focal point of the panel is the kids of Anakt garden walking among real trees. It shows that his love for Ivan is similar to freedom and that his love for Ivan is real. It’s like someone feeling relief at finally expressing their love after denying themselves for so long. I think Till tried to force himself to fall in love romantically with Mizi bc he felt too vulnerable around Ivan.

He likes Ivan but he thinks Ivan doesn’t like him so that’s why he tries to fall in love with someone else to get over it. He’s probably afraid of Ivan rejecting him so he projects his love onto Mizi instead. Till doesn’t actually know Mizi all that well so in a way even if she rejects him it won’t hurt that much. And he does feel happier around her and wants to talk to her more. But I think this is more of a friendship thing than a romance thing. Till also wanted to be friends with Sua too but Sua was too obsessed with Mizi to give a damn. That’s why Till feels uncomfortable around her and likely why he gave up talking to her first.

But since Till or any human for that matter were never taught how to love all he can do is try to remove his feelings for Ivan and put them on Mizi. However this isn’t rlly healthy nor does it work out.

After all…

His collar turns green when he listens to Ivan singing. Even though he was injured to the point he passed out, even though he’s bleeding profusely, even though he likely has a major headache. Ivan’s song is comforting to him.

That can only because of love right? Hell after his round even though Mizi was right next to him looking at him he was too injured to even pay her any attention. But here he managed to open his eyes bc it was Ivan singing.

They’re love was always mutual Till was just to shy abt it and tried to run away from it.

;-;

[richardrayovaunofficial]

I am gonna commentary dabewarehub's bullshit post about me, It's because i don't give a shit about that user.

"You're posting on a public platform. If you don't want a random stranger into your "business" than don't post it where people can see it. Do you believe that anyone who isn't on your side to be "evil"? cause if you do, maybe you should reflect on that cause that's toxic behavior."

-You think i could posting on a public platform? Of course i would, You are not a boss of me. And in fact, The business that i am not 18 years old until i will be in 2025. I do fucking believe that anoyne could be evil if someone does every crimes in social media such as YouTube, Twitter, Instagram, And etc. And they cannot be a toxic behaviour, It will be surely a jail. And you are trying to attack me, Sucker.

"Absolutely. But if you get banned the only person you have to blame is yourself."

-Do i fucking believe you? No, You are decided to harassing and attacking me on tumblr because i did not break the dA rules, Instead! I do not fucking blame myself, Blame your bullshit friends including ilia and evie that my bullies should leave my social media channel the fuck alone.

"Terms are not getting "overused". They are there to help regulate and follow within the sites state their headquarters are in. DA is housed in the USA, In CA. They have laws they have to follow just like tumblr, facebook, youtube and other social medias. Even Discord has rules. So, the fact that you continue to say that the terms is getting "overused". It's not. It's the fact that YOU REFUSE to obey the rules. You're a rule breaker. You're a rude child who shouldn't be online."

-Yes it will be overused, You are decided to use this annoying terms instead of quitting calling me a ban evader, I am not a ban evader because i am a fucking innocent, And you wanna reporting me on tumblr! Go ahead but it will not helping because you likes to harassing minors and you are trying to ruined my social media career, I can stay in this site whatever the fuck i want. And do not try to find me on dA, If i still see you by finding me on dA! I am gonna get my revenge until march 2024. And stop calling me a rule breaker cause i am fucking NOT! You are monster and brainwasher. Also, I am not a child anymore, I am a teenager until i will be 17 at 2024 after the september will come out in 9 months. Dumbass.

"Evie and Ilia hasn't said anything about you. Infact they've moved on with their life. You haven't."

-I already move on, Bitch! And yes she does say anything to me about a fucking annoying ban evader terms, They could quit using this bullshit terms. And you are lying to me.

"It's not stalking if you post on a public platform where EVERYONE can see. And you call me an idiot. - Don't want your enemies to know what you're doing? Stop posting publically on YT community or this Tumblr."

-No, I will not stop until you will end my dA drama right now. I will only see your friends when it should end my new drama and not bringing up my fucking past. - Can't you fucking see that i have my own secret to hiding my dA account? You will never find my incomplete hiatus dA channel because i know you are a stupid hacker finder.

"Why don't you give up creating a dA account knowing you'll be banned? Why don't you move on ? Why don't you blame yourself and your own actions instead of placing blame on someone else when you have NO physical evidence of your claims? - Btw, We're still waiting on the so called evidence you have to prove how "evil" some of the users you have issues with. The only reason why they are "Evil" is because they don't bend to your will."

-Ha, I won't give up creating a dA account so you will NEVER find me as well. Dumbfucker, How about you blame yourself and move on another site instead of your bullshit post. And i fucking told you i don't blame myself because you are making me a angry, Harasser supporter. And yes i would GET my physical evidence of my claims soon. - Btw you should leave my social media channel alone and quit calling me a ban evader, Calling me a ban evader is a fucking annoying and it should quit calling me like that. Since july 2023, I have been fucking reported by ilia when she contact nick to ban me when i didn't do anything wrong for FUCK sake.

"Public platform. Don't want unwanted people to see your PUBLIC PLATFORM. do something about it. - If you can"

-You are NOT going to finding my incomplete channel on deviantart, I don't wanna let your friends to reporting me on dA when i am coming back as a hiatus. You better leave my social media account alone right now.

[ramp-it-up]

The One

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warmings:  18+, Minors DNI. Curate your own experience. Cursing, drinking, running, a raging argument in an established relationship, name calling, taunting, drunken raging, Twitter. SMUT, explicit, rough sex, fingering, tit slapping, orgasm denial, spitting, oral sex (mostly female receiving). Also, I’m sleepy. 😴

A/N: Not proofread. Also, I know very little about Chris and Jenny, and have no real opinion about their relationship. I made up the scenario about what happened there for the purposes of the story. THANKS FOR 400 FOLLOWERS TONIGHT! 🥳🎉🎊🍾👏🏽🎈

This fic is based on the following ask:

Anonymous asked:

Imagine idea :

Chris is drunk after a fight with the reader. He was On Twitter and saw some pics with Jenny and when the reader comes in he screams at her and says that Jenny was the one and not the reader. The reader get sad because she was always kind of insecure about the age gap with Chris. The day after he didn’t know what he says and she don’t say anything because she got the feeling that he was right. But one thing both didn’t noticed that Chris was drunk calling Scott and he knows everything Chris says and drive to Chris to give him a good clamp ahahhaha Chris was drunk and Just mentioned her name because he saw a post with Jenny.

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

It had been the perfect day.

You slept in, then had a late brunch at home. 

You saw a message from Chris’ former co-star, Heidi, light up his phone that he’d plugged in on the kitchen counter when you two were tidying up.

You wondered why he was texting the bitch even after you told him that she wanted him. And after he agreed to cut off contact out of respect for you.

Heated, you didn’t even look around before you picked it up, put in his code and read a string of friendly, if not borderline flirty, texts.

Chris walked in the kitchen, caught you, and yelled at you for being in his phone. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“Exactly! What is going on, Chris. I thought we talked about this?” 

Chris rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, it’s a big fucking deal.”

You threw his phone on the marble countertop, which caused Chris to pick it up to see if it was cracked. Your temper was too much.

“We’re just friends! She knows we’re together, y/n!” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“And I know women, Chris. That doesn’t fucking matter to her. Sometimes you’re so oblivious. Or act like you are.” You huffed and rolled your eyes.

“I know you want to leave me for someone more glamorous and beautiful. Someone who will put up with your shit, everyone the media says you’re fucking. Go ahead and just do it!”

Chris’s temper was really rising now. You could tell as the red creeped up his chest to his neck. 

“Stop fucking saying that!” Chris was screaming now. “Is that what you want? To end it? Because you don’t have to make me do it. If you want to leave, just leave.”

You said shit like that a lot. And it scared and angered him. He wanted to know if you were trying to make him break up with you so you would be free.

“Why are you being such a fucking…” Chris stopped himself. He knew better than to call you out of your name.

Your head almost spun around. You smiled evilly. 

“Go ahead, say what you wanna say, Chris. Or are you scared?”

Chris exploded. “A fucking BITCH.”  He was shaking because you went there.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not fucking anyone else!”

Chris lost it and punched the wall, making a hole in the drywall and definitely injuring his hand.

You just stood there with your mouth open and in silence. You went toward him to look at his hand, and he just put both of them up, backing away from you and going to the liquor cabinet.

He retreated to the deck with a bottle of Jameson’s. He wanted to dull the pain, in his hand, and in his heart. He hated when you hurt each other.

You understood that you both crossed the line, so you let him be. You went upstairs to change into your running clothes to get out and clear your head.

Chris settled on a deck lounger, started drinking from the bottle and got online, which is never a good thing, but he needed something to distract him. He started reading tweets about himself, and following a thread of Chris + Jenny stans.

The more he drank, the more he started reminiscing.

There were good times. He was happy. Mostly. He thought she was the one. Sometimes. But she broke his heart. He was just a rebound. 

Her handsome arm candy.

Then he thought of you. His heart melted; you really loved him. He was sure of it. But loving him was hard. He realized that you felt the same way about him that he felt about Jenny. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Insecure. 

And you had good reason to be. Everything you’d said about women coming after him was true. But what you didn’t realize is that since he’d met you other women didn’t matter to him. 

You were the one, not Jenny.

Chris began to get melancholy. He’d fucked up. You were nothing but good to him and you just asked him to respect you and listen to your feelings. He’d ignored that. 

Shit, why did he yell at you like that?  

He went to erase Heidi’s contact and block her number. He was confident that you were never going to throw him away like Jenny did. She was the one who’d hurt him. Not you. Never you. He recognized that you wouldn’t ever hurt him on purpose.

His mind was racing with how to apologize when you came back. He was an idiot. The pain in his heart was replaced with regret and his hand had slowed to a dull throb.

But then 30 minutes turned to 3 hours, and by the time you got back, the bottle was empty and Chris’s eyes were red with rage and worry. 

Maybe you were just like Jenny after all.

--------

You ran, and then went to get some coffee. You ran into Shelby at the cafe and distracted yourself with mindless chatter, then walked back. You were ready to apologize by the time you opened the door.

When he heard the door, Chris picked up his phone and met you in the living room. He was obviously shitfaced.

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!?” 

Chris’s voice boomed throughout the house and you jumped. Then you just stood there, shocked at his outburst. 

“The hell are you talking to me like that?” 

He was unsteady on his feet. He leaned toward you, and you could tell that someone was spinning the room for him.

“I don’t want it to be you!” 

He had to let you know that he knew that you wouldn’t be the one to hurt him. Chris pointed his phone at you. 

“You’re not the one. Jenny’s the only one. Not you! Not ever you!”

You couldn’t believe your ears. But then again you could. It was what you were afraid of. You were head over heels. And Chris could find someone on his level. Like Jenny.

“Well, Fuck You very much, Chris.” 

You brushed your tears away and ran past him up the stairs to the bedroom, locking the door and crying your eyes out. You got out your suitcase.

----

Chris started up after you, calling your name, and then suddenly needed to duck in the downstairs bathroom to throw up. 

He tried to make it up the stairs and had to sit down on the floor near the bottom. Then, he needed to lay down just for a minute.

The next thing Chris knew, it was morning, and he woke up to a pounding on the door and in his head. He rolled over on the floor, and something stabbed him in the side.

Groaning, he reached down and saw your keys to his house, his cars, and his life, all on the Tiffany heart keychain he’d given them to you. He was staring at them, confused, when Scott opened the door with his key.

“There he is. My brother. The fuck up.”

Chris groaned again, sat up on the bottom stair and held his head. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nevermind me. It’s not often I get to say that, only when you publish your dick pic to the internet or you RUN OFF THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU!”

Chris winced when Scott yelled, his head a pounding mass of meat wrapped in fuzzy cotton. 

He didn’t understand why he was being tortured and he didn’t understand why his hand hurt.  He looked at it, all bruised up, and the keys inside it.

“Just tell me, Scott. Why are you here?”

Scott leaned up against the door. 

“Did you know you drunk dialed me last night?” 

Chris looked up at Scott, and his face was a sight as his brother told him what he’d said to you.

“Fuuuuuck me!” He put his head in his hands again. 

“I don’t know if she ever will again,” Scott joked, but Chris didn’t laugh. 

“I called her after you apparently passed out and wouldn't pick up your phone.  She was ready to catch an early morning flight, but I convinced her to sleep in today and leave tomorrow.”

Chris moved his hands down from his eyes and stared out the patio doors, trying to think.

“I put her up in the Four Seasons, on your dime of course.  Room 6145. Penthouse. Could be pretty romantic. If she were in that kind of mood.”

Chris looked up at Scott, smiled weakly, jumped up and hugged him, then made for the door. Scott jumped in front of him.

“Trust me, you’ll want to get some water and coffee in you, and shower and brush your teeth. You look and smell like shit.”

“Right.” Chris nodded, flexing his hand. He could still move it. He was glad it wasn’t broken. “Thanks, bro.”

“No problem.” Scott walked into the bathroom as Chris went to the kitchen, groaning when he saw the hole in the wall. He’d have to ask Scott to get it fixed before you saw it again. 

If he could convince you to come back.

----

It was 11 am, and Scott had verified that you were still in the room. Chris just stood there, nervous and terrified that you were just going to be done with him.

Room service came and headed toward your door. Chris waved them down and when they saw his face, they stopped in their tracks, shocked.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

----

You climbed out of the wonderful deep jetted tub, having soaked until the water got cold and your fingers were wrinkled. You pulled on the plush Four Seasons terry cloth robe that was provided with the suite.

You felt calmer than last night, and after some sleep and relaxation, you realized that you’d been a fool to think that Chris would want you forever like you thought.

It was for the best that you leave and start over, to focus on your consulting business and yourself for a while.

You opened the door with a smile on your face for the attendant, and you let them into the room, your back turned to the door while they brought the cart in. You turned back around and there was Chris.

You grew heated, and your heart began to race while the attendant scurried out. Chris’s face was a welcome sight, but you were still angry.

There you were, looking so beautiful, curls tied up in your favorite silk scarf, cocoa skin radiant in a white fluffy robe.  You should have been comfortable, but your eyes were wide and scared.

He’d done this to you.

“Fuck, y/n… I…”

You interrupted him. 

“You’ve got some mutha fuckin nerve. How dare you just run up in here, using that fucking face,” you flung your hand up, “using who you are to get into my room. How did you even know where…?”  

Your mouth dropped open at the realization of what Scott had done. You turned on your heel to get your things. You didn’t care that you were naked under your robe. You didn’t care that you still loved Chris. You were out. This second.

Chris moved to block you from entering the bedroom of the suite. You tried to push past him, all 5’ 4” of you versus 6 feet of him.

“Move, Chris!” 

You glared up at him, your body responding to him in ways you weren’t prepared to admit. You were betrayed by your pussy.

“I just want you to listen to me.  Then you can leave, stay, do whatever you want. Just hear me out.”

You and him physically was always the shit. His arms across his chest did things to you  But you kept mean mugging him, making him hard for you. 

You stepped back and said, “Okay.  You have 10 minutes.  Then I’m out, Chris.”

You paced back to the couch in the living room of the suite, watching him warily.

Chris paced in front of you, making it inevitable that you follow his lean form back and forth across the carpet. You noticed that his hand was bandaged and that he kept flexing it. 

You hoped it wasn’t broken. No matter what, you cared what happened to him. You would always love him. Even if it was the end of your relationship.

“First of all, I’m sorry. My anger got the best of me, and I was violent and that is never acceptable.  Even though I didn’t touch you, it’s not ok, and I know it was intimidating. I take responsibility.”

He stopped and looked at you, you melted a little, but you didn’t give any outward sign. Being a business owner taught you a mean poker face. 

But the shirt he was wearing made his true blue eyes pop and you could see a hint of his chain around his neck under the fitted henley.

You suppressed a shiver at the memory of the things you did to have that chain and medallion wave in your face, to have it clenched between your teeth as Chris had his way with you, and you with him.

You focused on him, pointedly looking at your watch. Chris’ anxiety peaked when he saw that.

He stepped toward you and thought that he recognized the look in your eyes.  He was almost sure that you still wanted him, sure that you still cared.  He could only hope as he came closer.

“And then I started drinking. And while you were gone, I came across some posts about me and Jenny. And it took me back there.”

At those words, you crossed your arms and averted your eyes, defenses up. You didn’t want to hear about how much he loved Jenny.

Then, Chris swiftly moved to sit on his haunches, becoming eye level with you.  

“And I realized that she never really loved me. Not like you loved me.”  

Chris speaking about your love in the past tense made you a little angry and you stared him in the eyes. 

It was just the reaction he hoped for. Your attitude. He loved it. He hid a smirk so that he could continue, but you saw the glimmer in his eyes. And you rolled yours.

Chris then picked up the sash to your robe and started playing with it, your eyes drawn to his thick fingers. You didn’t know why that was getting you hot, but it was. You opened your mouth to breathe.

Chris’s voice cracked when he said. “And to me she was the mountaintop. Another, different kind of conquest. But I realized that I never really loved her. Not like I love you.”

Present tense.

Now you were looking into his eyes, about to fall into them. Shit. He had you hooked. But then you remembered, and drew back.

“Yeah, I know what I said, but what I was trying to express was that I know it could never be you to hurt me like Jenny did. That I didn’t want you to hurt me like she did. Not when I’ve thought about forever…” 

He moved even closer. “I mean forever, forever, with you.”

All of a sudden you couldn’t breathe. Chris got on his knees.

“I want to be in this position again with you one day. One day soon. But not like this. I don’t want it to be to try to get you back. I want us to be good.” 

He sighed, pensive. “I want you to be smiling and happy, and even have our families there.”

You don’t know how your face looked at that moment, but Chris started smiling at you. You were so beautiful to him right now.

“I was drunk, and I couldn’t use my words correctly. I yelled and I screamed and I punched the wall. I fucked up and may have lost you forever, but I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

You felt yourself get emotional, but you tried to calm down.

“I’m just so fucking scared that you will get tired of all the bullshit that comes with me and leave… and I absolutely wouldn’t blame you. But there’s no one else, y/n.  No one else can compare…”

“Chris…” 

You raised your hand to his face, eyes searching his. You could tell he was being honest.

Chris grabbed your hand and started kissing your palm.

“So.” He looked at you with those eyes. “Is this goodbye?…” His lips were giving you shivers. “Or hello again? Can we start over?”

Chris trailed his lips from your palm, to the pulse point at your wrists and lingered there, licking the delicate skin. Then he moved up your arm to the opening in the robe. 

He pushed his torso in between your legs and leaned into your neck, inhaling the lavender bath oil that was your favorite. And his, too. 

He moaned as you leaned your head to the side, giving him access. But he didn't just want the physical. He breathed into the shell of your ear. 

“Please come home, baby…”

You just moaned as he started sucking right below your ear, your spot. Desire took over for Chris when he heard your sounds.

“Fuck it. I can tell that you still want me. If this is goodbye, then I’m going to make it worth your time.”

Your back arched and Chris palmed your bounteous ass over the robe, pulling you flush to his crotch.  He smiled as he felt the warmth coming from you.

“You’re so fucking warm, babe. Are you wet, too?  Are you wet for me? Do you want my cock? I mean, do you want your thick, fat, cock to fuck you babe?” 

Chris was kissing down your neck into the cleavage that the robe was revealing with each sentence as you opened your legs. Your pussy was quivering for him, but you still didn’t answer him.

Chris looked up at you with those eyes and pulled on the robe sash. It fell open and he looked down and bit his lip, taking in your warm skin, lovely breasts, and elegant pussy, with the manicured triangle of hair kept like he preferred, and offered up for his taking. 

You still looked like his girl, and he smiled as he looked up into your eyes. But he had to be certain. He lowered his head, keeping eye contact and descended toward one small hard mountain peak, kissing it gently, tentatively, while watching you.

You were mesmerized as his tongue peeked out and licked it, then he opened his lips and enveloped it, moistening it with his pink lips. 

The look on your face compelled him, and he fully enveloped your nipple and started sucking roughly, still keeping eye contact. You were determined not to close your eyes, but it was difficult. You bit your lip to stay still.

Chris’s bandaged hand was dangerous, however, and it came up to pinch and roll your other nipple. You arched into his hand as he became rougher and rougher. 

He switched nipples and hands and his saliva made your breast that much more pliable and sensitive. He slapped it, and then rubbed it with the rough bandage, making you cry out and moan as his other hand trailed down your body to your cunt.

“This pussy will still be mine, even if you leave me.” He smiled cockily while looking down on it. 

He looked at you, before lifting his hand to his mouth, looking straight into your eyes and spitting on his fingers before bringing them down to your cunt.

“I think, that if even if you leave and  move back to Houston, and I come to town, that if I I call you, even if you’re with someone else, you would meet me in a parking lot and let me fuck you over the hood of my rental car.” 

He was faintly tracing your pussy lips and instantly your control was gone. You were sopping wet, because of his words and because of the knowledge that what he was saying was the truth.

“Oh,” was all you could say. You were adding to the wetness of the saliva on his fingers.

Chris smiled and tilted his head as his two thick digits breached your opening. He had his answer as you threw your head back and let him finger fuck you while he rolled and slapped and pinched your nipple.

His thumb was lightly brushing your clit and you wanted so much more.  Chris could sense that and he pressed down roughly on it, causing an electric jolt up your body, which you keened for, arching your body into his hand.

Chris moved his hand from your breast to your neck and applied the pressure that you wanted and needed and that he was expert at while he stuffed another finger inside you and circled your clit with his thumb. 

You floated among the clouds as you came like fireworks, and all over his hand.  

He watched you come undone, and come down, rubbing his hard cock through his pants with one hand while he sucked your juices off his fingers, releasing each with a loud pop.  When you opened your eyes, you smiled.

You pulled his hand and started licking yourself off him, flattening your tongue against his palm. 

“I forgive you Chris. I forgave you when you conned your way into my room, you ass.” 

You smiled against his hand as he groaned, relieved and desperate for you.

“But you still have some work to do.”

“What do you want? Anything.”  

Now Chris was breathless, anticipating payback.

“First, you need to take those damn clothes off.”

He quickly moved to take off his shirt, and then stood up to take off his pants.  You smirked as hs cock sprang up immediately when he peeled them down. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

Chris caught your look. 

“What? I wanted to be prepared.”  He chuckled softly while pumping his cock lightly, expecting to immediately fuck you.

He moved toward you. But you quickly moved off the couch and into the bedroom, forcing him to follow you, and his dick, into the other room.

You sat on the edge of the bed as he remained standing. 

“What do you need, babe?”

You reached for his cock and tugged it toward you, opening your mouth and deep throating it, wetting it from root to tip and then spit on it. Chris moaned as you started to stroke. Then you stopped.

“I need you to jack off for me.” 

“Ugh! You’re so fucking nasty. I love you.”

Chris instantly started where you left off. This didn’t seem like work.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him, and licking your lips.

“And I need for you not to stop, and not to come. Until I tell you.” 

You looked him in the eye and that was when Chris knew he was doomed.  A chill ran down his spine as you reached down and started playing with your pussy.

“Fuck!”

You looked so damn good.  He licked his lips and stroked harder and faster, his balls drawing up already. 

“Shit, y/n.”

You watched his eyes, and got wetter at his blown pupils and glazed look. 

“You like that?”

“Fuck yeah.”  

His voice was broken and desperate. He fisted his cock, and held his balls, trying to stave off the inevitable. 

You turned around, got on your knees and reached back between your legs and ran your fingers up and down your slit.

“How about that?”

“Goddamnit!” 

Chris grunted as he tried to hold it in. You were a goddess. He licked his lips. Wanting to taste you. So he did. 

He dove in, tongue competing with your fingers to command your slit. You finally gave in to his expert mouth and he savored your salty goodness.

“Fuck, Chris, you better still be…”

“I am. Christ.” 

He was leaking in his hand, but he had it under control. Barely.

Chris stopped eating you out for a second, grabbed your ass cheek with one hand, stretched you open, spit on your tighter hole, and watched it slide down your satin lips to drip onto the bed. 

His warm saliva made your pussy quiver and he watched it lovingly. Then he dove in again.

He sped up his movements with his other hand and you could hear the smooth skin of his dick sliding on his palm while his tongue did forbidden things to you.

“Ffffffuuckkkkkkk! Chrisssss.” 

You came, burying your scream in the mattress, and even harder than before. You couldn’t believe that he’d turned the tables on you.

Chris ate you out through your orgasm, holding you down with one hand like it was nothing. 

He was god of war, love, and sex, all at once. 

Fuck Captain America.

You came again, almost immediately.

When he was done with his meal, he let you go, wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand and stepped back.

“Fuck, what do you want me to do? I can’t take it much longer…” Chris’s sexy growling voice got to you. 

“What do you wanna do, Chris? How do you want to take me, Daddy?”  Chris’s cock jumped in his hand, he slapped your ass, and watched it jiggle.

Chris entered your wet, wet pussy, and marvel how if felt like it was choking the life out of him.  He had to stop moving, or he would burst almost immediately.

“How the fuck are you so wet, but so tight.  It’s like a fucking vice grip, geeze.” 

You both waited and felt it jump inside you, then Chris reached down, grabbed you by the neck and pulled you upright and flush to his chest.  

One hand clutched your throat and the other arm hooked under your leg, allowing him to piston up into you upright while your other leg dangled, your big toe barely touching the ground.

Chris held you and fucked up into you, grunting each time the large mushroom cap head of his cock was stuffed into your pussy. 

“Ugh, gatdamn it, you were thinking of leaving, ugh, you wanted to leave this, mmmmmm, this dick that, ugh, that fucks you like this?” 

Chris’s mouth was near your ear, which was on his shoulder because your head had fallen back on his chest. He was using you like a sex toy as he fucked you senseless. 

His dick slicked in and out of you with obscene wetness, Chris somehow lifting you up and slipping completely out of you and pounding back into you with force.

“Chris!!!” 

You started shaking, your center of gravity being where you and he were connected.

He fucked you even harder and faster, chasing his release, but he maneuvered his hand to find your clit, refusing to come before you. 

“Fuck! You know you were going to miss this cock that your sweet cunt fits… like…  a …mutha …fuckin…  glove!” 

"Ahhhh!" 

You screamed as you fluttered around his cock. He could take only so much before he had to shut his eyes and bite down on your collarbone. Chris’s legs were trembling now.

"Take all of it!." He was hitting your spot.  "How does it feel?" 

Although the feeling was intense, you tried to speak. 

"L-l-l-like h-heav-v-v-ennnnn." 

The sound of your voice made his release start to build. 

With each of his thrusts, the sweet tightness began to build until you came, screaming and moaning in pleasure.

“Oh shiiiiitttttt!”  Chris exploded inside your tight wet cunt. He wanted to fill you up like never before. He wanted to put his baby in you and tie you forever to him. That made his balls empty.

He fell back on the bed, with you on top of him, slipping out of you and depositing you on the bed beside him.

Chris couldn't help but smile as you both came down.  He was made for this.

Chris put his hand on your cheek, brushing your beautiful lips with his thumb. You smiled under his attention into his sea blue eyes.

“I love you.” You grinned. 

“God, I love you.”  You sobered up, taking in the weight of his words.

“Is it weird that I want to get you pregnant before we’re married?”

You made a face.

“Who says I want to marry you?”

Chris scooped you in his arms and rolled you over on top of him.

“You don’t want to marry me? You’d say no if I asked?” 

You held in a giggle.

“Nah. I’m gonna move back to Houston and marry someone else so you can come in town and fuck me over the hood of your rental car. That sounds hot as fuck.”

Chris released an anxious breath.

You took his head in your hands.

“Easy now. Ask what you want to ask.” Chris started to speak. You put your finger over his mouth.  

“When you want to ask it.” You looked into his eyes again. “I won’t break your heart.”

Chris smiled at you and said, “I know.” He kissed you. 

And when you pulled away, breathless, he told you, “You’re the One.”

----------- Read Part Two: It Takes Two

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[somethingusefulfromflorida]

[Originally posted April 27, 2022]

Biden has signaled that he may be open to considering the idea of canceling some student loan debt, and Republicans on twitter are freaking out like he just declared himself Chairman and is coming to kill all the capitalists.

They're bending over backwards to say that canceling student loan debt is a bad thing. They say that only idiots and liberals have debts, that it's entirely their fault and the debt is deserved, that they shouldn't have to foot the bill for other people going to college, but they fundamentally misunderstand how anything works. Conservative kids go to school too, you know. Republicans aren't all high school drop outs. They have debts, and stand to gain from this just as much as anyone else. The media is saying that canceling debts would give another break to rich people, but rich people don't have student loan debts because they can afford to pay out of pocket. Everyone I know who has debt is dirt poor, so the idea that debt relief is a scam to bail out irresponsible rich kids is bullshit.

And speaking of bailouts, people seem to forget that you don't get to pick and choose what your tax dollars pay for; you don't want to pay for someone else's student loan debts, but you already have to pay for every corporate bailout and subsidy. Every time some trillion dollar company gets a tax break, you foot the bill. Trickle down economics has been funneling money from the bottom to the top for forty years; reverse Robin Hood, the rich steal from the poor. Your tax dollars pad executive pockets, and you're mad that poor people might start to suffer less? I'm sorry if you're a libertarian who thinks all tax is theft, but that's how society works! You pay taxes, you get benefits; the more you pay in taxes, the less you pay to private businesses.

Well, in most countries.

In the United States you pay higher taxes and get nothing in return; no healthcare, no public utilities, no transit, nada. We're so used to going without that as soon as anyone proposes sensible reforms, all the right-wingers shit their pants in fear and calls it communism. Other countries have nice things, so why can't we? If we pay a little bit more in taxes, we pay a LOT LESS in education and healthcare. It's an algebra problem; < or >, which side is bigger? If everyone pools their resources, people can take what they need when they need it, so nobody has to go broke; if you're unwilling to help your community, your statesmen, your countrymen, then you don't deserve the benefits either.

There's an anti-intelectual talking point that college is exclusively for liberal elites, or that it's a leftist snowflake factory that turns hard working red blooded Americans into woke gender-neutral pansies; if that's the case, then why do any Republican politicians go to college? If college is brainwashing, then why are so many senators Ivy League graduates? If going to college changes you and makes you believe something you don't believe, then how did any of them make it out of there even more conservative than before? If you say that they were strong willed and able to reject the brainwashing, then you're admitting that brainwashing doesn't work; and if you counter by saying that it does work but only on weak minded fools and that Republicans are just better at ignoring it, then you're calling yourself a weak minded fool because you're afraid you'd succumb to it! Why do you hold your leaders to a higher standard than yourself? Why do you keep making exceptions for them? "This is a bad thing, unless they do it, then it's okay!" Why do you think they're better than you?

Education isn't a taboo.

Intelligence is not a vice.

Ignorance is not a virtue.

College should be accessible to everyone who wants to attend, and it shouldn't be seen as an indoctrination machine because it very clearly isn't. Student loan debt cancelation isn't some unearned reward for leftists. It isn't bribery ahead of the midterms. It isn't a punishment for uneducated people to pick up the slack. It is the leveling of a playing field that has been lopsided for too long. If good jobs require degrees, then everybody should be able to get a degree without 5 or 6 figures of debt weighing them down. That's a bullshit catch-22; you need to pay a ton of money for the chance to earn more money. Debt cancelation eliminates that hurdle. If you think that you should only go to college if you can afford it outright, then you're saying that only rich elites deserve good jobs; which is it? Do you hate rich elites, or do you want them in charge of everything? Pick a lane, and stay in it!

TLDR: student loan relief benefits everyone at the bottom, regardless of ideology. They would rather have us fight a culture war against one another than unite to fight a class war against them.

[isabeljkim]

Short Story Submissions Guide for Idiots

The short fiction submissions game is confusing as hell when you first get into it…or at least, it was super confusing to me circa 2.5 years ago. I realized pretty quickly that the question wasn’t even “How do I get published?” but “Where do you go to get published?” and “How does anyone get published when the acceptance % rates are so low?” and “Where is everyone getting their information about how to do this?”

The answer is through googling. And twitter. And asking established writer friends. And guides that writers put together, like this one. There are others out there, and they’re probably better - do some searching, find out what works for you. But maybe this is a good starting point.

That’s a lot of opening to say this post is a fairly broad, hopefully comprehensive, slightly messy overview to “How to submit short stories (idiot edition),” which is hopefully helpful for people who want to break into the pro sff short story market. Skip to the end if you want tips, read from the beginning if you want a process guide.

This is not for: anyone who knows what they’re doing. This is for idiots only, guys . This is also not for people who want to submit to exclusively literary magazines, this is for genre [science fiction, fantasy, horror, speculative fiction broadly] only. Literary fiction submissions (and poetry, of any genre) aren’t something I’m well versed in.

My credentials: I girlbossed hard enough at submissions to get some pro sales (Check out my website for my three published things at Clarkesworld, Khoreo, and Sub-Q, gotta self plug, my other stuff is coming out hopefully soon at Lightspeed, Fantasy, Cast of Wonders, BCS, not to humblebrag). I started submitting seriously and actually selling stuff about in 2019ish, so I’m fairly new to the game so my process is very up to date. Also I’m a lawyer. That is irrelevant to today’s conversation but it’s new and exciting information for me and I’m very proud of myself so you get to know about that.

Disclaimers: This guide just has my submission process, and there are probably more efficient ones out there (and if you have suggestions dm me on twitter about it!). The style of this guide is going to be colloquial as fuck because if you want my good words you have to pay my billable hours (did I mention the lawyer thing). I can’t say that this is “wow! one true method for getting published!” because at the end of the day getting published is really only about the strength of your story and how much it resonates with a particular editor and market and whether Mercury is in retrograde.

But! There’s still a bunch of practical technical shit that’s helpful to know. So here’s the comprehensive, quick and dirty overview from the top:

1. Write a story

In some ways this first step is the hardest part, but not the focus of our exercise today. Good luck have fun don’t die write that funky music. Also edit that funky music. Pro tip: a “short story” is generally considered somewhere between 1k and 6k words, with anything lower than 1k generally being considered “flash fiction” and anything in the 10k and above being a novelette, novella, etc. Different markets will have different word limit restrictions - some only accept flash, some only accept short stories, some accept all of the above AND novellettes, etc. If you want to tailor your submission to a market, skip ahead to steps 3 and 6 and check out the guidelines before writing. My advice is that about 3-4k is a good, marketable length, but also, fuck marketability.

2. Format the story

Now we start caring about marketability. 99% of markets will want Shunn Manuscript Format (Modern). Format your story accordingly. This is the first pass at formatting you want to do - later you’ll want to format to the specific market you’re sending it to (Some markets want anonymity, etc.)

3. Pick the markets that you’re interested in

Maybe you have markets in mind, because you read a lot of short fiction. Maybe you have no fucking idea where to start. Well if you’re in the latter camp, you might want to join the former camp, but I’ll give you the cheat codes first: the first two places you probably want to look are a) The Submission Grinder and b) Ralan. Both websites list the currently open markets, and the Submission Grinder has a lot of really great submission tracking features. Ralan looks like it’s from the 90s but it’s regularly updated. If you have five dollars to toss every month, Duotrope has similar features to the Submission Grinder and lists literary markets and interviews with some editors as well. (Disclaimer: I pay for Duotrope, but I find the Submission Grinder far better).

Now that you have a list of all the places, you’re going to want to narrow that down.

Four considerations to make:

Prestige of the market: There are multiple tiers of market. Pro markets are those paying at least the SFWA rate, (8c a word currently) and who doesn’t like to get paid more? Furthermore, pro markets generally have larger readerships, and more eyes on your thing = better. And, a lot of the pro markets have Big Fancy Award winners in their pages, and it’d be pretty fun and sexy to share a TOC with one of them, right? In my opinion, there’s no point submitting to token or semipro markets first (unless theres a really specific market you want to get published in! follow your dreams!) - aim high bitches. (NOTE: I did this and it worked out pretty alright for me, but it took me longer to get published because of that, I think). The downside to the really prestigious markets is that they receive a lot of submissions - check on submission grinder and peep those sub 1% acceptance rates. Furthermore, there’s not a ton of pro markets. Get ready for rejections, and lots of them!

Submission opening windows If a market is open for a month once a year, you might want to prioritize it over a market that is open year round. This is the sort of thing you need to check individual markets websites for. For example - Lightspeed opens like once a year. Clarkesworld is open basically all the time.

Whether your story is a good fit for a particular market This is probably the most important point. At the highest level, don’t send horror to markets that say they don’t take horror, etc. On a lower level, you should read the magazines you’re submitting to and try and get a sense of what sort of stuff they publish, and evaluate how close your story is to what they’ve got. That being said - take a reasonable amount of stock in this, but you should send everything everywhere (within reason)…this will just help you decide order of operations. Furthermore, read the magazine’s submission guidelines, because they’ll usually list their likes, dislikes, and specific considerations.

Submission turnarounds. Some places take three months to get back to you with a rejection. Some places take two days. My best advice is to check the Submission Grinder for this, because that sure is a time difference, and that’ll change your timeline substantially.

4.Order of operations

Rank your now narrowed list of markets, based on the prior considerations or any other considerations you have. This is the point at which I recommend creating a spreadsheet to keep track of markets, submission dates, and responses. My spreadsheet is called “REJECTIONQUEST 2K20” despite it being the end of 2021 and also not made in 2020.

(If anyone wants a longer entry about my submission tetris approach, I’d be happy to write a post, but this is hella long already). Note: Let’s say you get rejected from everywhere you wanted to send it to. Just expand your list - my recommendation of curtailing the list comes from the fact that you have to start somewhere, and you might as well start at the combination of prestige and likelihood of publication - but different writers have different approaches.

5. Write a cover letter.

A cover letter is usually copy and pasted into the text entry part of the online submissions portal. Keep it short and simple, no need to get fancy. Your cover letter is the least important part of your submission. A lot of places won’t even look at it before reading your submission. It should look something like below:

[Greeting],

Body paragraph that lists a) story name, genre, and word count, b) relevant life experience (If you’re writing hard science fiction about physics and you’re a physicist… probably say that); c) relevant publications (three most relevant is a good number, if you don’t have any don’t worry, it’s not going to hurt your submission - it doesn’t matter that much.)

Thank you,

Your Name Here.

6. Submit!

BUT WAIT. First read the guidelines of the market you’re sending to, AGAIN. Then modify your formatted story to fit their guidelines. Anonymize, do specific formatting, save as a .doc rather than a .docx, then go ahead and shoot your shot.  

Nearly all markets have online submissions portals now and require digital submission. There will be a fairly obvious link on the market’s “submission” page on their website. A lot of places use Moksha, or sometimes Submittable. 

Note: Make sure the market got your submission - most places will send you an automatic notification of receipt.

Note: Let’s talk about simultaneous submissions for a bit. So, a simultaneous submission is when you send a story to multiple markets at the same time. Some markets are okay with this. Most of them aren’t. (This differs from literary markets, which are pretty much mostly simsubs). Is it worth simultaneously submitting despite the guidelines? Will doing so blacklist you? I’m going to give the controversial opinion of “It’s situational.” I think if it’s your first time submitting anything, you can probably get away with it. So if you want to roll the dice, that’s a you decision. But the minute you get anything other than a form rejection, abort mission. The real risk in simulsubs is that you damage relationships with editors by being uncool about their guidelines, and for that to be a risk, you have to be on their radar. Use your best judgement. I personally find simsubs that aren’t explicitly allowed by a market to be too stressful to do.

7. Receive feedback! Rejections, acceptances, rewrites, etc.

The feedback is going to range from form rejections to acceptances. Unless you’re fantastically talented and lucky, you’re going to be getting more of the former than the latter. Rejectomancy, or the scrutinization of rejections for signs and portents of how much an editor liked it, is a whole slightly suspect art practiced by short story writers. Jokes aside, it’s a good idea to keep track of whether you’re getting mostly form rejections, higher tier form rejections, or personal rejections. 

A “form rejection” is one that is copy and pasted to the majority of the slush pile, and usually just indicates something along the lines of “nope! not for us!” politely. A “higher tier form rejection” is one that comes from a managing/associate/etc editor or editor-in-chief and indicates that the story got closer to publication or they liked it in some way, and therefore is more in line with the work that the magazine wants to publish. A “personal rejection” is a personalized rejection that details specifically what worked and what didn’t, most of the time. Each magazine has norms for how many of each they send, or what their stock phrasing is. Rejection Wiki is somewhat out of date, but has a large database of examples. 

Some magazines only give out personals to a small fraction of the slush pile, and it’s always a lovely silver lining to receive some useful feedback or learn what worked in a story. Furthermore, keeping track of rejections can track progress, and it’s cool to see over time that youe’ve gone from all forms, to mostly higher tier forms and personals. Don’t get discouraged (yeah, easier said than done, I know. I could write a whole other post on that topic.).

Other things you might receive are “hold notices” and “rewrite requests.” Many magazines send out hold notices when the story passes the first tier of slush readers and is pushed up to the editor. This indicates that your story is a tonal fit for the magazine, and also, it’s getting closer to hypothetical publication. This also indicates usually that it will take fucking forever to get back to you if it’s a rejection or an acceptance, but that’s the price you pay. A “rewrite request” is an interesting, fairly idiosyncratic response - high level, the editor wants you to rewrite a portion and resubmit it, or they’re accepting with the caveat that you need to change something. These are varied enough from market to market that I don’t have useful info for them as a whole. 

Note: A healthy way to think about submissions is as not the definite chance to be published, but the sure outcome of receiving feedback. Treat rejections with advice in them as your own personal writer’s workshop. What I learned from my early rejections was that my endings needed a lot of work and I had a tendency to trail off, and incorporating the advice into my work led to later acceptances.

Note: DO NOT respond to a rejection letter. JUST DON’T. The ONLY exception is if you get a rewrite request.

If you do receive an acceptance, CONGRATULATIONS !! I have no advice for you now because most editors have different acceptance/contract signing/payment protocols, from here on out it gets pretty idiosyncratic.

And that’s all I’ve got, drop me a line on twitter if you want me to elaborate on any of this. And...

Good luck ! 

Grab bag advice

1. Have multiple stories out at different markets. Like. A lot of stories. Have 5+ stories out on submission at once, all at different markets. Yes that’s a lot. No not all of them will probably get published. But writing more will make you a better writer, and it effectively multiplies your chances at publication. This is why having a spreadsheet is useful, because it’ll help you track what is where, and for how long. (Or you can use the Submission Grinder for this, but I personally don’t because I’m attached to my horrible gdrive spreadsheet)

Note: I don’t always follow my own advice, I usually have 3 stories or less on submission at once, because I sure do have a day job)

2. Follow markets on twitter. Why is everyone in the writing world on twitter? I have no idea. But markets will often announce upcoming submission windows, guest editors, and similar things on twitter. Following a bunch of markets on twitter is often easier than manually checking each site.

3. The odds of publication look bad on paper, but in reality, are probably better than you think they are, as long as you can write a coherent narrative. A lot of the stuff in the slush pile is…questionable quality. Best thing you can do is focus on your writing! Sorry, that’s boring advice, I know.

[fanfics-with-coffee]

The simple pleasures

Your friend had so kindly set you up on a date with Kuroo Tetsurou, her classmate. And it’s been going great! But after your third date, another friend alerts you to the fact that you may want to check out his twitter... where he advertises his onlyfans. Of course you had to see what was hidden behind the paywall. 

Genre: Smut, smut, oh and did i mention smut? Pairing: Kuroo x reader Kinks: Could probably consider this some voyeurism, mastrubation, oral (both ways), little bit of orgasm denial, little bit of choking, mastrubation instructions for females. Words: 6000

“This was your place right?” The car slowly comes to a stop in front of your house, right between two streetlights. They dimly light up the inside of his car making it easier to see him as he turns his head to look at you, one hand still on the wheel. You couldn’t help but notice the other was placed on his upper leg, leading your eyes to his obviously thick thighs. 

“Yeah, this is still the place! Thanks again, Kuroo.” You quickly look up at his face again while smiling. Even in this light you can see his bright, cat like eyes watching your every move with slight amusement. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand but you don’t want to make that apparent. You know that showing any sign of weakness would just make his teasing even worse.

He hums and nods his head, unbuckling his belt in one smooth move as he left his own car. You mimic him, climbing out from the warm car and out into the chilly evening air. Leaning back in, you grab your jacket before slamming the door closed. On the other side of the car, Kuroo is rummaging through his backseat, soon emerging with the giant cat plushie he had managed to win you earlier in the evening. You giggle while watching the grin on his face, still surprised by the comical size of the thing. Putting on your jacket while walking, you approach him and are about to take it out of his arms so you could carry it home by yourself. But before you could grab it, he moves it further away from you.

“Eh? You know, I’m not sure I’m ready to leave this guy with you…” He looks at the kitty plushie with a clearly fake sadness, hugging it closer to him. You just cross your arms over your chest and stare at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. Looking back at you, you see him melting a little. “Lemme walk you two to the door at least. So I can say goodbye to him properly.” 

As much as you had rolled your eyes at him, you happily have him follow you to the door. He radiates warmth despite having ditched his leather jacket in the car so you couldn’t help but drift closer to him. Absorbing his warmth before he could leave for today. This had been your third date with the man and each time it was over, you had missed him just a little more. This time had been especially fun since you hung out at the amusement park until just minutes before closing. The plushie had just been the cherry on top of a great day with an amazing guy.

“Well this is it.” You walk up to your door, fishing for your keys in your pocket. Before unlocking it though, you turn on your heel to face him, intending on grabbing Mr. Kitty. He comes strolling up to you, taking his sweet time and not so subtly soaking in your figure all the while. When he comes face to face with you you’re forced to tilt your head back a little so you could get a clear look at him. 

“I guess so.” He does his signature smirk while handing you the oversized plushie, watching you lean back before getting a good grip on it. With two hands now freed, he places one on your hip softly and slowly, keeping an eye on you in case you don’t accept his advances. You don’t shy away from his touch, having gotten used to his hands innocently touching your body throughout the day. What makes you surprised is when he brings his other hand up to cup your cheek. You feel yourself do a sharp inhale, staring into his half lidded eyes. But as he leans in, you do the same, closing your eyes.

The kiss is soft and lasts only a second before he pulls away again. Though it was quick, your whole belly was filled with butterflies fluttering around like crazy. You don’t realize you’re giving him big doe eyes until he has to cover his mouth with the side of his fist to contain a laugh. That’s when you snap out of your awed daze and lightly slap his chest.

“Sorry, sorry. You just looked so cute like that.” He has a shit eating grin while he speaks but does take a small step away from you. “I’ll text you later though so don’t ignore me. Oh and I’ll miss you.” You’re about to start blushing again at his last words until he softly grabs the back of your plushies head and kisses it's forehead. You let out an offended gasp until he laughs and does the same action to you. 

“There we go. Now you can leave.” You give him a teasing grin and he just softly shakes his head, turning to leave you. But not before he gives you a small wave, placing his other hand in his pocket. You watch him walk towards his black car, his silhouette lit up by the car's lights when he unlocks it. Even from this distance you can hear his cheery whistling. Satisfied, you turn around and finally unlock your door.

As soon as your foot hits the floor inside your home, you feel your shoulders relax and you let out a breath. As if in a trance you take off your shoes and jacket, throwing your handbag to the hallway floor with no need for it anymore. Carrying your new plushie with you, you move into your living room and throw it on the couch, your own body following soon after in the darkness. 

You cuddle up to your new found friend, his size perfect to lean on. And having been carried around by Kuroo since he won it, his scent had been rubbed off onto it. That simple fact made you smile like an idiot. You reminded yourself that you had your friend to thank for this since she had been the one to set you two up the first time. So while you move to pull up your phone, you took the time to light one of the floor lamps next to the couch and turn on the TV to fill the silence in the room. And then you sitt there, phone in hand, ready to tell your closest friends about the day you had just had.

You can barely believe your eyes as you read through the screenshot. While you had seen people sharing their onlyfans link you didn’t think anyone you knew would have one. But you shouldn’t judge it too quickly, you knew onlyfans advertised to a wide variety of people, one of them being professional trainers. Kuroo talked about his love for training… so maybe?

Now that your curiosity has been piqued you couldn’t just let it go. Sitting up properly, you type the link into your phone. Onlyfans.com/… domkuroo… That training theory didn’t sound as likely anymore. But you continue, met with the login screen. You go ahead and download the app and create your account, heart in your throat. You only pause when his subscription page popped up, your whole face lighting up by your bright screen.

$15 per month.

It wasn’t a meekly sum but was it worth it to realize what was going? Of course it was. 

Minutes later you’re allowed onto his page and you can physically feel the blood rush to your face. He certainly wasn’t a professional trainer even though you can clearly see he got the body of one. Your eyes are drawn to his profile picture even though it lacks his face. A slanted shot with just his abdomen shown thanks to him raising his black t-shirt. You can see a hint of a grin peeking out from the edge of the picture. Simple but effective. His banner was in similar spirit, three pictures of him shirtless next to each other. Two from the front and one showing off his defined back muscles, all of them with teasing or joking facial expressions. Your eyes were roaming over his pictures, eyes wide open. Three dates and you hadn’t even seen a peek of these swatches of skin but now you kinda felt like you couldn’t wait for it. 

Your phone had already buzzed a couple times, your friends messages popping up as notifications above your screen but you don’t pay them any mind. Already too absorbed in the new found treasure chest of content from one of the hottest men you’ve ever met.

Shifting in your seat, you use a shaky finger to scroll down to the first post. The content was similar to the first pictures you’d seen. Him, shirtless, in what looks to be his bathroom mirror, doing a peace sign and sticking out his tongue. The caption simply read “Don’t wanna go to class tomorrow but alas. But you guys can have a little something before I go to bed early”. Cute…

The small smile that adorns your face fell quickly when you scrolled onto the next post. Another picture but this time he wasn’t using it to show off his abs. Instead you came face to face with his bulge as it pushed against his pants, the same pants he had worn just earlier today. He used his hand to accentuate it, letting it tent between his fingers. You couldn’t help but stare, not just at the bulge but his hands. You had never gotten such a good look at them before, the long fingers with their prominent knuckles and the veins which softly protruded from his skin. You remember how they had felt against your cheek but now you imagined how they’d feel dragging across other parts of your skin. How his softly calloused hand would feel gripping your thigh, slowly and gently dragging further up and inwards… How they’d push down on your hips while his damned teasing tongue was put to better wor—

You caught your own mind wandering and how you had unconsciously pressed your thighs together in anticipation which would ultimately lead nowhere. You lick your dry lips and take a deep breath before looking at the caption. 

“Hate when this happens, any cute kitten willing to help out?” 

It was aloof, casual even. It was infuriating in the best way. You could see the amount of people who had left comments and just shook your head. You had been afraid you’d get discouraged by the whole thing, the thought of Kuroo sharing more than just… his face… had you worried. But now you just felt a sense of pride welling up in you. The way he treats you was much more intimate so there was no doubt in your mind that this little side business wouldn’t have an impact on your romantic relationship. But that also meant that you don’t have a problem enjoying this side of him as well. 

With this newfound confidence you scroll down even further, the sound of the tv just a white noise by now. It was a new format on your screen, a video. It was like a new step, a new hurdle to cross. But unlike earlier, you aren’t as hesitant. Throwing your phone on your couch, face up as you scramble to find a pair of headphones. Luckily it was just to reach over to your table, a pair of flimsy earphones haphazardly laid there. Plugging them in and putting them on, you sit down on your couch again, pulling your plushie closer as you pressed the play button, your teeth chewing softly on your lower lip.

Immersed in the video, you first heard Kuroo’s soft breathing against your ears. The camera was clumsily adjusted until his whole face was in view and he smiled, seemingly looking so it recorded properly. When he had assured himself of that, he laughed quietly and posed, letting his tongue slip past two fingers in a suggestive manner, giving the camera a wink. Your cheeks heat up again at his teasing mannerisms. 

The camera shook a little and suddenly the view switch and you almost gasp. You should’ve suspected it yet when you were face to face with his cock, it still surprised you. In the background you could see glimpses of his laptop, set up with a paused video of it of what must’ve helped him get ready. But you don’t really pay it any mind, much more focused on the center of the screen. His dick was lean and rather big, that’s your guess anyways, based on what could be seen. A vein or two decorated the shaft and a neat tuft of hair was at its base. His hand finally appeared, wasting no time in grasping his own dick. And as his thumb swiped over the tip he let out a shuddering sigh which made you tense up. 

“I remember how much you cuties liked that last video… So I’ll try to remember to talk more.” His voice filled your ears, a light growl in his voice thanks to how quietly he was speaking. “Since my voice obviously made you so horny.” It went down another octave when he spoke this time and he spoke even closer to the mic. He started to get into it, slowly jerking himself off with a steady hand. You couldn’t possibly break away from watching him now, you were too invested at this point. Your own hand had even moved down your bare thigh.

“Hah… Now if you’re gonna jerk someone off like this… Start slow. No— mgh… No stress.” —he moved his thumb over the head, you could clearly hear his voice catch in his throat— “but when you’re alone like this, it’s hard not to get impatient.” The chuckle he had started with unraveled into a throaty groan as he started to speed up his own movements. Pulling on his own member, his breathing sped up and droplets of pre-cum was forming on the tip.

“I’m not going to try and… pull something fancy this time… fuck… Sometimes just a good ol’ handy is enough, you know?” The fact that he could still joke under all this made you kinda impressed. You knew yourself that had you been in a similar position, you wouldn’t be able to make any sense. If he had you against a wall, his fingers playing with your clit as he towered over you. His other hand holding onto your wrists to force you to rely on him for pleasure. No matter how many times he’d ask what you wanted from him, you doubt you would be able to give him a reply that would satisfy. “You’d look so pretty, you know?”

Kuroo’s voice brought you back to reality and back to the video. 

“I would’ve loved to have you here, your cute… pink lips… wrapped around my cock. You’d eagerly suck it, wouldn’t you? Kitten? Ah fuck—” he slowed himself down to a crawl again. His breathing had developed into panting to the point where you could see his abdomen rising and falling. And just below the skin you could see his muscles tens and relax, trying to prolong the inevitable end. He shuddered before speaking again. “Your eyes would just beg me to fuck your face. Ask me to destroy you, use you for my own pleasures. ‘Cus you know I’d happily do the same in return.” 

He picked up his own pace again and you had unconsciously let your hand move to the button on your shorts, playing with it.

“But right now I’d love nothing more than to thread my fingers through your hair and grab it. Hold you right there as I buck my hips into that filthy fucking mouth of yours. Just imagining the sounds are getting me so… fucking close…” The way he said it went straight to your core. He was rambling and it was obvious he was going to cum any second now. You couldn’t help but hold your breath. “You’d be such a good girl and just take it—” With a sudden gasp you saw cum start to shoot from his cock but it only lasted a second until he turned the camera again. 

He had thrown his head back, the camera shaking slightly from his orgasm. His back had clearly arched off whatever he was sitting on and sweat had formed on his exposed chest and collarbone. You could even see how he jerked and twitched as his orgasm overtook him. The scene was almost hotter than the whole process of getting to it. But it didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped it would. Catching his breath, he let his head fall to the side with a lazy, smug grin. He looked into the camera with half lidded eyes. And then the video ended.

You could barely stand this anymore. What began as a curious look into a side of a date you had never seen is ending up making you more horny than you have been in a long time. Yet you knew you couldn’t stop now just as much as you know you need to take care of yourself.

Thinking it over for just a moment, you decide that it was worth the embarrassment of facing him again after this. You turn off your phone and place it besides you on the couch before jumping up from the couch. It takes you mere seconds to pull off your top and shorts, you even take off your bra for good measure. The soft light from the lamp bounces off your skin and the sudden chill from the loss of clothes makes goosebumps appear up your thighs and arms. But your blood rush soon catches up to you and you feel comfortably warm when you sit back down on your couch. You grab your phone and in one swift motion you throw up your feet on the plush seat next to you. You positioned your gigantic cat to act as a backrest. A pleasant surprise in reaction to this was how Kuroo’s intoxicating smell now enveloped you even further. 

You push your knees together while turning on your phone again, this time fully aware of what to expect when you put in your earphones again. And you aren’t disappointed when you scroll down further, past a couple more pictures in similar fashion to the earlier content. You only stop when you see another play button on your screen. You look at the caption.

“This little thing has been highly requested so since I got some time over and I’m in dire need to release some steam I thought why not? ft. my favorite toy” Well now you have to play it.

“So here’s a little treat for all you lovely ladies.” The video started with a shot of his face and parts of his, once again, bare upper body. He was sitting in the same seat as last time, leaning back and resting his cheek on his fist. “I’ll be honest and say that is the first time I’ve instructed anyone on how to touch themsleves— Mh, wait no,”—he smiled to himself—”it’s the first time I’ve planned out the instructions ahead of time. So if you aren’t satisfied with this video, you’re very welcome to come up with a fitting punishment down in the comments. Sounds fair? ...Good. With that out of the way…” 

“Let’s play.”

Your heart catches in your throat, the daring tone in his voice making you fidgety. But it caught your attention and you were just about ready to do anything this man told you to do, as long as he did it in that deep voice of his. The screen changes and this time he was wearing a pair of black dress pants and his bright red underwear was peeking out from underneath. While restricted, you could still see that he was hard underneath the layers.

“Now I hope you’re prepared yourself, babygirl, because I’m not going to be waiting for you to get undressed. You should know what you were going to end up doing if you’re listening to me right now. So lay back… and spread your legs for me.” You sink down even further in your seat, almost laying down while letting your legs fall open without any resistance. One of your legs hit the couch back but it doesn’t bother you, you know you still have full access to everything you need. He shifted his legs a little, spreading them even more. While doing so, he managed to unbutton his pants and slowly pull the zipper down.

“Good girl. Now use one of your hands and just let it slowly move down your soft belly.” You obediently do as you are told, watching him as he hooked his thumb in his underwear. He probably knew anyone watching would be anticipating this moment so he made sure to take his sweet time pulling them down. You even caught yourself licking your lower lip without thinking when you finally saw the swollen head of his cock. It is almost embarrassing how much he affects you but you are shameless right now. And as his whole length sprung free, bouncing up thanks to it's new found freedom, your eyes follow it. But you aren’t the only one affected by this move, Kuroo groaned quietly when the fabric rubbed against his crotch. He didn’t care enough to take off his garments and instead pulled them down just enough for them to get out of the way. 

“When you get to your sweet spot I want you to just lightly tease your slit with one finger. Don’t press too hard or you’re gonna ruin the whole fun here. And we’re here to have fun aren’t we?” The smile on his face could be heard through his voice. He reached his hand somewhere off screen and when it came back in frame, you could see something liquid and shiny on his fingers. It became obvious what it was when he carefully smeared it over his shaft. He took a sharp intake of air through his teeth before relaxing and letting it out again. “Ah crap… So cold… You girls have it way easier, you get so damn wet on your own.” 

“Speaking of wet, why don’t you finally dip a finger into yourself? And maybe even a second one. Rub them on either side of your clit and that little hole of yours. Don’t touch them though, got it?”—he pauses for a second—”It’s almost funny how quickly you melt for me. How easily you’re following my instructions.” He was calling you out. But you couldn’t help but do as he said, your fingers slipping under your underwear almost too easily. He had begun slowly stroking his own dick in a steady pace while he was talking, once in a while teasing the head like he had done in the earlier video.

“It’s so cute… I love when you listen to me like this. When you trust me enough to let me do this to you. It makes me want to push you down a little, see how much you can take. How much you’ll let me use and abuse you. So rub your clit for me, kitten. Slow circles. Don’t get impatient, I’m not there to stop you today. But maybe that’s good, I could probably keep you in that limbo until you’re crying and begging me to fuck you.” The chuckle he made after was tethering on being evil, as if the thought of your desperate cries was amusing to him. It was kinda hot. 

The comment bounces around in your head, the thought of him pushing you to the edge like that. Maybe he’d do it in the back of his car, the one he took you home in. Parked just outside your house after a date, you two would be crammed into the back. He lifted your legs over his shoulders, the blood rushing to your head from the angle he was holding them up at. Your hands were pushing against the door from the inside, stuck staring at him as he ate you out. Slowly and calculating. He was taking his sweet time with you, his tongue gently circling your bundle of nerves. He was doing it hard enough to make your hips twitch and your mouth whine but not enough to rile you up further than that. If you were starting to zone out too far he’d introduce his fingers to you again. Pushing two inside with ease and fucking you with them until you were raising your hips even further and about to cum. Then he’d pull away fully, leaving you to fall from your high in the matter of seconds. All because he wanted you to watch him properly as he made it all start over again. 

“Rub faster now. I want to see you unravel before me... Now I should probably tell you that I expect that you wait for my permission to cum. It’s important that you do so or I’ll end up having to make a punishment video for you as well. Or maybe that’s more your style.” He could barely even laugh at his own comments anymore. He had been increasing his own pace along with you and the heavy breathing had just kicked into full effect. “Maybe you’re the type to smile while I tie you up. Get excited at the thought of cum denial and pain. At being gagged and fucked raw until you’re sore.”

He spent another moment just jerking off, letting you take care of yourself. All the while he was letting out quiet groans and pleasured sighs which were all clearly picked up by his microphone. 

“And stop.” —He quite suddenly, and almost hesitantly, let go of his own cock— “I told you not to get impatient didn’t I? Now take a deep breath and let’s try that again.” You mindlessly followed, removing your hand from your pussy, a trail of your own wetness connecting your fingers to your pussy lips. But you aren’t happy, you may have listened but you frown at his sudden demand. 

While you were busy pouting, he had reached over to somewhere off screen again. Once you had gotten over your own annoyance you realize what he was holding when his hand came back into frame. You haven’t seen any in real life but you knew what the toy he had mentioned in his caption was now. A translucent pocket pussy. The obscene nature of it would make you blush if you weren't already burning up. 

“Let’s finish this, eh?”—he cleared his throat before speaking again—”Take a finger and slowly start fucking yourself with it. Use two if one doesn’t suffice. And well if you have a dildo, I’m sure you know what to do with it. Oh but please... don’t imagine it’s me fucking you.” The sarcasm dripping from his voice would’ve annoyed you if you weren’t in the position you were in now. Because right now, you would love nothing more than for him to fuck your brains out. But like he told you to, you can only do it slowly for now. He seemed to keep that in mind as well when he pushed his dick into the toy, slowly letting it take him to the hilt.

“Because I’m certainly not imagining that this is you right now. Slowly pushing yourself down onto my cock, moaning like a bitch in heat. And then back up again just to let yourself  slide back down. Over… and over… getting faster each time. Hah...I’d help you of course, I’d grab your ass and set the pace.” He was quickening his own pace in time with his talking and you followed suit without being instructed to do so. You are getting too invested in the fantasy, his words turning into vivid images in your head.

You could almost feel his dick pounding into you, filling you. And how his big hands fit on your hips. You could remember how it felt when he did so earlier while he kissed you. But the kiss you were imagining now was much more sinful. Tongues intertwined in open mouth kisses, only broken by your own moans. The sound of skin hitting skin was clear in your head, the pacing matching your own fingers thrust. He wasn’t soft or careful like he had been with you during the day, behind closed doors he was rough and raw. No longer afraid to leave marks of his fingers on your hips or a red handprint on your ass. It exhilarated you, how calculated yet reckless each move he made on you was. 

“Fuck yourself, just like you— F-fuck… like you think I’d fuck you. And now a little faster than that, I don’t think you really understand just how badly I need you right now, kitten.” You can barely even think for yourself anymore, you don’t need to. You have a faraway look in your eyes while staring at the screen, watching him pump himself with the toy. Strings of lube connecting his skin and the silicone together with each thrust, the sound perfectly mimicking that of skin against skin. Even the clothes he had pulled down didn’t go unstained, making the scene even more pornographic. 

His erratic thrusts were a clear indication of how close he was getting again. The grip on his toy was growing tighter too and you wish you could feel how desperate he was. He would grab a fistful of your hair close to your scalp and pull, forcing your head back and breaking your open mouthed kisses. His need to claim you as his too great, manifesting in the licks and bites he made along your neck and collarbone. The sweet pain of creating a hickey mixed with his powerful thrusts into you was overwhelming.

“I’m s-so close…” You told him in your head, your hands mentally grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself steady. 

“I… Hah… mgh-!..I know you’re getting there, babygirl. Let me count you down… I don’t care how you fucking do it, but I need you to cum on 5. Can you do that for me?” He asked and you nodded vigorously, your back arching off the couch. You didn’t care that he couldn’t hear you, you replied like a good girl should. “G-good.”

“5”

You closed your eyes, too overwhelmed by his, or rather your own, actions. But in your mind he was counting you down, a dangerous grin on his face when he looked up at you above him. He had purposely slowed himself down to make sure you could last the whole time without cumming. 

“4”

He let go of your hair, instead moving his hand to hold it around your throat loosely. Meeting his eyes it was as if they were glowing in the low light, watching your rapidly rising and falling chest. His other hand was firmly placed on your hip, helping you bounce on his dick. Your hands holding his shoulders were grabbing on harder.

“3”

The number left his lips and he started to speed up your movements, the wet slapping sound getting louder. Your moaning was starting to match those you hear in pornos, sweet and needy. His own voice sounds strained when he speaks again.

“2, you’re doing so well, pretty girl”

There was a small smile on your lips at his words but it was interrupted by his thumb pressing down on your clit. It started rubbing the nerves frantically, no longer concerned by how long you were supposed to last. He trusted that you could hold yourself. 

“1”

You were chasing your release, eagerly fucking yourself on his dick. He sped up his thumb as it was working on you while he happily watched yourself lose your mind thanks to purely his voice and your own need to please him. 

“Fuck! Cum for me—!”

You can’t see him cum, but you swear you can feel it. And as you do, your own orgasm comes washing over you like a tidal wave, hitting your hard and fast. Your whole body tensed up and you pushed your thighs together, curling up instinctively. The whole room was warm and your panting mixed in with the murmurs of the people on the TV. You rubbed your clit slowly, riding out your own high in a daze, lips parted while you twitch. 

Kuroo’s heavy breathing finally registers in your brain and you focus on the video again. He had flipped the camera to his face again and you were glad he did. He looked pretty fucked up himself, a similarly dazed look in his eyes while he recouped. But when he wetted his own lips, he seemed to regain control and energy enough to laugh at himself.

“Ho-o-oly crap, well that wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t sure how much I would enjoy that but I’m not gonna lie, that was really good.” —he stretched his neck muscles, tilting his head from side to side—”I’m gonna need to go lie down a bit and drink some water… You do the same, stay hydrated. And uh, right, comment underneath if you enjoyed this or if I need to make a… punishment video. But anyways, I’ll catch you guys later. Heh..” 

With a final smile, the video ends and you are left alone in your home. But you don’t feel alone, you are honestly still exhilarated. Maybe it was because you just came but maybe it was because you now had a hint of what to expect if you and Kuroo got serious and you loved it. The fact that you so easily obeyed everything a guy who didn’t even know you were watching said to you was a sign of the confidence he had with every command he told you to follow. And you loved that about him.

But what now? You knew of this side of him, should you bring it up? Or act like nothing had happened, as hard as that would be.

You let the thought simmer in your head as you get up, grabbing your clothes from the floor on the way to clean yourself up in the bathroom. You make quick work of it, tired from the whole experience. But as you splash some water in your face, you hear a notification go off on your phone. Curious, you look at the locked screen.

“Onlyfans: Domkuroo just posted something! Be the first to check it out!”

Your stomach does a flip as you read the banner and without thinking, you unlock your phone to check the new post.

Another picture post, this time he was in his car. The lights were turned on in it which lit up the photo, giving it a yellow tint. It was of his crotch, the zipper of his black pants pulled down and his white boxer briefs were clearly tented and pushing against the fabric. It couldn’t be anything other than a hard on being displayed. 

It made your breath catch in your throat as you realize the implications of the post. Your suspicions were confirmed once you read the caption.

“I blame her and her soft lips for this. Can’t get it outta my head.”

You can’t ignore this. It took you mere seconds to find his number in your phone and while still riding your confidence high, you call him. It beeps twice before you hear him pick up.

“Hey, y/n. Isn’t it a bit late, what’s up?” His voice was breathy and a little quiet, it reminds you of the way he sounds in his videos. Maybe you interrupted him while he was—? No… But the thought makes you blush.

You had to take a deep breath before you responded to him, going over what you wanted to say once more in your head before speaking.

“I’ll happily take the blame for your situation, Kuroo.” You feigned confidence but your heart feels like it was going to beat out your chest. Now he just needs to understand what you meant, but you doubted you had to worry.

“Huh—? Oh.”—His voice went down an octave when he spoke again—”Oh, is that so? Well why don’t I come pick you up again so you can take responsibility for this, kitten?” Despite how teasing he sounds, you can see a grin form on your own face in the mirror at the suggestion.

“Pick me up in 30.”

“Got it.”

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

[emgkheadcannons]

So accidentally read this ask wrong from @positivecorrelation, and thought it was about them ending their beef, went with that, and wrote everything below this. I just rechecked the ask and realised what you were asking for. I will make it work.

I don’t have a set headcanon on how they make up, but one of my favorite ideas is that Cassie, and Hailie team up to end the feud. So I started writing an entire fic, but I really wanted to post this so here is the headcanon and most of the fic.

Cassie convinces MGK to apologise to Hailie, not her dad, since he wronged her first. She does it with perfect little kid logic, and Kelly wants to not only be a good dad but also a good example for his daughter, so he apologises to Hailie.

Hailie would be really happy she received an apology, and would decide that if a 9 year old can convince her dad to apologise, maybe together, and with a little outside help, they can get this feud to end.

This takes place sometime late February 2019.

Cassie hated that her dad was in a feud with Eminem. A lot of people are being mean, harassing him when he goes out, and booing him when he does ‘Rap Devil’. She has noticed that her dad isn’t as happy, and is acting different. He is sleeping more and more.

Cassie had an idea to help him though. If her dad apologises to Eminem’s daughter then that should make things better, not perfect, but it was a starting point. First she needs to find her dad, so she can convince him that he needs to apologise to hailie. She finds him easily enough in the living room, working on a song.

She starts by asking about the beef, and why they are fighting. Then she asked if he apologized, which she knows he did, but to the wrong person.

“But dad, but your tweet was about his daughter, not him. Shouldn’t you have apologized to Hailie instead?” Cassie asks.

Kelly freezes, thinking about what his daughter said. His tweet was about Hailie. She was the one he insulted, but he tried to apologize to Eminem. He never thought about how his comment affected her. If some kid had said something rude to his daughter, he would expect them to apologize to her.

“You’re right Cassie. I should have apologized to Hailie.”

“Then why don’t you? I bet she would appreciate it.”

“It’s a little too late for that now, pumpkin.”

“It’s never too late to say you’re sorry.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“No it’s not. You made a mistake, you acknowledged you made a mistake, now you just need to tell her you're sorry, and that you won’t do it again. See simple.”

“You are right again, sugar bean. How did you get so smart?” Kelly asks as he scoops his daughter up, as she breaks out into a fit of giggles.

Later that night, after he has put Cassie to bed, Kelly thinks about what she said. He really should apologize to Hailie for his tweet, but how could he get in contact with her. It’s not like Eminem, or anyone close to her will help him, and a public apology will look like a copout after all the feuding he and Em have done.

“Fuck. I can’t set a bad example for Cassie.”

He scrolls through his contacts on his phone, until he sees Travis Barker’s name. ‘Maybe he can give me some advice.’ He checks the clock; it was only 10:30, Travis should still be up.

After two rings he picks up

“Hey Kelly. What’s up?”

“Do you know a way I can get in touch with Eminem’s daughter Hailie?”

“Why do you want to get in contact with Hailie Scott?” Travis asks threateningly.

“I just want to apologise to her, nothing else. My daughter was asking about my feud with Eminem, and asked why I apologised to him, and not Hailie, since it was Hailie I tweeted about. I thought about what she said and it’s a good point. I wronged Hailie, therefore I need to apologise to Hailie, but I have no idea how.”

“So why call me?”

“For advice.”

“Okay. Let’s think. You could try DMing her”

“I highly doubt she would read a DM from me, if she hasn’t out right blocked me on everything.”

“Right. No one will probably give you her phone number. So maybe write her a letter.”

“A letter really. Even if I do write her a letter, I don’t have an address to send it to.”

“I can actually help with that. You just write the letter. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay, a letter it is.”

“Oh and Kelly, you better be telling the truth about this. I don’t mind helping you, but if this is just a way to get to Eminem by using Hailie, or something like that, I will personally drive your career into the ground.”

“Don’t worry Travis I am serious about this. I’ll leave the envelope unsealed so you can read it before it’s sent off.”

“Okay. Call me when you’re done.”

Kelly puts his phone down, grabs pen and paper, and starts drafting his letter.

It’s harder than he thought it would. Swallowing his pride, admitting his faults, and humbling himself is hard, but he finally does, and the letter shows his regret for his actions. Now he just has to find that nice stationary someone gifted him.

******

Hailie was sick and tired of all the attention she has been getting from her dad’s feud with Machine Gun Kelly. She prefers the quiet life she was making for herself, but now she barely got a moment of peace. What makes it even worse is that she has never seen her dad so angry, worrying that things will escalate beyond diss tracks and insults. Hailey doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her dad, because he feels obligated to defend her honor.

She knows her father’s beef with MGK isn’t just about the tweet Kelly posted back in 2012 about her being hot when she was 16, (Kelly says he didn’t know how old she was at the time), and that it was more about how disrespectful MGK was to her dad, saying he was better than her dad, and claiming how Eminem was hindering his career, banning him from Shade 45, and whatnot, but she was tired of this shit. Yeah MGK was a prideful idiot, who was full of himself, but her dad did block him from Shade 45, and some of his friends have decided not to associate with Kelly. When Kelly really did try to talk to Eminem in private, and end their feud, he threw it back in the blonds face, making Machine Gun Kelly double down, and release that diss track, ‘Rap Devil’. Her dad then destroyed him with ‘Killshot’.

While going through her mail, she notices a letter. She couldn’t think of who would send her a letter. Maybe it was a former classmate, or a thank you card. Shrugging she opens the envelope, and pulls out the paper inside.

The letter read,

Hailie,

I am sorry for the tweet I posted in 2012 about you being ‘sexy as fuck’, making you uncomfortable, and for apologising to your dad instead of you.

When I posted the tweet I didn’t know you were only sixteen, and when I found out your age I should have taken it down immediately, and apologized to you, but I didn’t. Instead I made a half assed apology to your dad, who I should have apologised to anyway, but for a different reason.

My daughter helped me see my mistakes, and convinced me that it’s not too late to apologise for what I did. I am going to set a better example for her. I have deleted the tweet, and I promise to never do something like that again. I will make a public apology, if that helps you, or if there is something else you need me to do, please tell me. I want to make up for what I did to you.

I was wrong for what I did, and what you had to deal with because of my actions.

I know I don’t deserve it, and that you in no shape or form have to give it to me, but I would like to ask for your forgiveness.

Sincerely,

Colson Baker, (A.K.A. Machine Gun Kelly)

Hailie was shocked. Machine Gun Kelly sent her a handwritten letter, to apologise for something he did years ago. No one else who had targeted and dissed her has ever apologised to her. Her dad sure, but never her. She rereads it just to make sure.

She opens up twitter, and the tweet is gone. Looking back at the letter, Hailie smiles. Maybe Machine Gun Kelly wasn’t as bad as she thought. She did want to know how he got her address though.

Going back to her phone, she reopens twitter, and goes to Machine Gun Kelly’s profile. She unblocks him, before opening her DMs.

I got your letter. How did you get my address? - Hailie

A few minutes later she got a reply.

I’m glad you got my letter. Don’t worry I don’t have your address. I gave the letter to Travis Barker. He’s the one who got a hold of your address. - MGK

Hailie frowns at her phone. Who was Travis Barker? His name sounds familiar. After a quick google search, she sees he is the drummer for Blink-182, and that he probably got it from Paul Rosenberg. Okay that made her feel better. Going back to twitter, she sees that she has a new message.

Would you mind if I told my daughter that you got my apology letter? - MGK

Hailie thinks about it before typing her reply.

Yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind if you tell her. This doesn’t mean that I forgive you though. - Hailie

I understand, and thank you. Again I am sorry for my tweet, and dragging you into this beef. - MGK

Hailie doesn’t respond. She debates whether or not to reblock MGK, but decides against it. He really did seem remorseful for what he did, and is trying to change to be better for his daughter. That gets Hailie thinking, if Machine Gun Kelly’s daughter can convince him that he needs to apologize to her, and not her dad, then maybe together they can get their dad’s to stop fighting.

Hailie has a plan to end this stupid feud, get her dad from being so angry all the time, and hopefully get her peaceful life back. She will need Cassie’s help, and a few other people too, for this to work. First thing she does is call up Paul Rosenberg.

“This is Paul.”

“Hey, Paul this is Hailie. Do you have a second?”

“Sure. What can I do for you?”

“First are you with my dad.”

“No. Should I be?”

“No, it’s better if he isn’t around for this. Did you give my address to Travis Barker?”

“No, he gave me the letter to mail. I didn’t read it though. He said it was something important, and asked me not to read it. Is everything okay? Was there something in there I should Know about?”

“The letter was important, and you did the right thing trusting him. I just wanted to know how he got my address.”

“Okay, I’m glad my judgement was good, but this has me a little worried. Will you tell me what the letter was about?”

Hailie debates whether or not to tell him. On one hand the letter was an apology to her, she doesn’t have to tell anyone about it. On the other hand, if she tells Paul nothing, he might tell her dad about it in concern, which would ruin her plans. She makes her decision.

“It was a handwritten apology letter from Machine Gun Kelly.”

There is a moment of silence before Paul responds. “WHAT!”

“You heard me. He apologized for the tweet he posted about me, making me uncomfortable, apologising to my dad instead of me, and for dragging me into this stupid feud. He even deleted the tweet.”

Hailie can hear Paul tapping on his phone, probably checking to see if it was really deleted. “Damn, he really did delete it. Do you know what brought this on?”

“Yeah, his daughter.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

“So you know how you have been trying to get my dad to end this feud with him, well this gave me an idea. I just need to know if you are in.”

“I’m listening.”

“If Cassie can change her dad’s mind, then I should be able to do the same with my dad, right? Right. So I need you to do a couple of things. I need a way to get in contact with Cassie, and her mom. I will also need you to back me up later on.”

“Okay I can probably get in touch with Cassie, and her mom. Give me a few days. And I will back you up but I will need more details.”

“I will tell you the details later. I need to make a few more calls.

Next people she recruits are Alaina and Whitney. They have noticed how agitated Eminem has been lately, and agree to help with her plan. He also ropes in Travis Barker, Tommy Lee and Elton John, to help them too.

Paul came through with Emma’s, Cassie’s mom, phone number, and an understanding that Emma will listen to her idea, but she decides if Cassie is involved.

Hailie explains her plan. She and Cassie were going to convince their dad’s to meet, in hopes of ending the beef. Colson already tried once, but Em turned it down. This is where Cassie came in. She needed to convince her dad that he should try again, that he should take the higher ground, and be the better person. You know, set a good example. Emma can help with this too. Hailie has the harder job of convincing her dad to do the same. That he has defended her, and should talk with MGK. Once they have convinced both men to meet, they will have to pick a date that works for everybody. They will have Paul, Travis, Elton, and of course Hailie and Cassie, there when the two meet. Hopefully having both of their daughters there will keep things civil long enough to get something done. Paul hopes a collaboration comes out of it, but Hailie and Cassie just want their dads to be happy again.

******

Over the next few weeks Hailie e-mailed, Cassie and Emma,over how to get the two rappers to end their feud.

******

Hailie, Whitney, and Alaina have been dropping hints, and saying things, about ending arguments, burning the hatchet, and letting bygones be bygones. Em is really proud of his girls, being so mature, but fails to get the hints. Whitney even stages a fight with a friend, with an epic apology, but it still goes over Em’s head.

Now it is time for Hailie to confront her dad on his feud.

She has made it this far, there’s no turning back now. Hailie straightens her back, squares her shoulder, and walks into her dad’s office determined. Her dad looks up from some papers and smiles. It’s nice to see him smile.

“Hey Hailie.”

“Hey dad.”

“What brings you over? Not that I’m not glad to see you, it’s just you have been busy lately.”

“I came to talk to you. It’s about your feud with Machine Gun Kelly.”

The smile falls off Eminem’s face and his eyes harden. “You don’t need to worry about that son of a bitch. I’ll take care of him.” He stands up and heads over to the window.

Hailie takes a deep breath. “No dad. It was me he tweeted about. Everything has gotten out of control, and I have now been dragged into your stupid feud.”

Em turns around. “I know sweetie, and I’m sorry for that, but don’t worry I am crushing that blond asshole. His career is practically over.”

“Dad, that's not okay. Yeah, he is an asshole, and he deserved to be knocked down a few pegs, but this is overkill.”

“Hailie, this is my business. What I do…” Em didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“No, this isn’t just your business. It’s mine too, and I get a say in what happens. Machine Gun Kelly wrote me a letter…” Hailie didn’t get to finish what

“HE FUCKING CONTACTED YOU. I’M GOING TO KILL HIM. THAT STALKING SON OF A…” Em yells, as he heads for the door. Hailie steps in front of him, blocking the exit.

“No you're not. Now calm down. We are going to finish this conversation.”

“Hailie Jade Scott Mathers you better move out of my way.”

“No dad. I am a full grown woman, not a little girl anymore, and you are going to listen to what I have to say. Yes he wrote me a letter. He did it to apologise for what he did. The tweet, the feud, everything. Do you know how many other people have apologised to me for stuff they said? Have expressed regret for what they did to me? Not how many regret having to deal with you, but feel bad for what they did to me.”

Eminem thinks for a second, but doesn’t respond. Hailie continues.

“None. That’s how many. Everyone says sorry to you, not me. He is the only one. He admitted that he should have given me an apology for the comment, and even though it is years late, he still said sorry. Even after this whole feud, ‘Killshot’, and everyone hating him, Colson Baker is a big enough man to admit when he is wrong.”

“Just because he said ‘sorry’ doesn’t mean…”

“No dad, he didn’t just say ‘sorry’, he swallowed his pride, took responsibility for it, deleted the tweet, asked what he could do to make it up to me, and asked for my forgiveness. He wants to be a better role model for his own daughter. Here, read it for yourself.” Hailie hands him the letter, and waits while he reads it.

Em reads the letter. The kid really did set his pride aside and ask for his daughter forgiveness. He rereads the letter just to make sure he read it right, and he did. He was still unbelievably pissed that Machine Gun Kelly was somehow able to get to Hailie, but after reading the letter he doesn’t want to kill the blond idiot anymore.

“Okay he apologized to you, what do you want me to do? Just let him get away with running his mouth?”

“You have already won. He admitted that he couldn’t respond to ‘Killshot’. He tried to contact you more than once to end it but you said no. What I want is for you to be like Machine Gun Kelly, swallow your pride and set a better example for Alaina, Whitney, and I, and at least meet with him, so this stupid feud can end.” Hailie says as she holds her dad’s satire.

Em looks away, and sighs. “I don’t really have a choice in this so I?”

“You do have a choice. You can be an adult and meet with him, or you can be petty, and Alaina, Whitney, Paul, Fifty, Royce, Elton, Dre, and I will be disappointed in you.”

“Of course you got everyone to back you up. Fuck! Fine, I will meet with him, but I am making no promises about ”

Hailie relaxes. She will take it. For all intents and purposes, her dad has agreed, and she is tired, but she has a sense of accomplishment.

“Thanks dad. I’ll have Paul arrange the meeting.” She turns to leave.

“Hey, Heilie.”

“Yeah,dad.”

She turns back around, and her dad has wrapped her up in a big hug. She returns it immediately, and stands there for a moment. When they finally break apart Em asks her, “When did you get so smart, Jelly bean?”

“I don’t know dad. I musta learned it from you.”

******

The day of the meeting happens. They are in a studio in LA. It’s a neutral location. Paul, Elton, and Travis are sitting in the room waiting on the others to arrive.

“So, do you think this will actually work?” Travis asks.

“I don’t know darling, but hopefully with their daughters here it will be civil.” Elton replies as he crosses his ankles.

A few minutes later Eminem shows up with Hailie, and he looks put out. “Alright where is the blond fucker?”

“Marshall! I hope you don’t plan on using that kind of language today. Colson is bringing his daughter, and she is only 9.” Elton scolds. Em sighs knowing better than to argue with Uncle Elton about this kind of thing, even though he is pretty sure that she has heard worse from her own dad. He slumps into a chair between Paul and Hailie, already feeling done with the day and this meeting.

Kelly walks in with Cassie on his shoulders, and she is just chatting away, and Kelly is listening to every word she says. He sets her down in one chair, and takes the one between her and Travis.

“Hi Cassie.” Hailie greets.

“Hi Hailie.” Cassie says with a wave.

Em looks between his and Kelly’s daughters, and then it clicks.

“Fuuuuc-dge, fudge knuckles.” Em has to correct himself remembering that there is a literal child present. Hailie and Travis are snickering. At least Paul and Elton are trying to hide their amusement at his outburst. Em looks over at Kelly who gives him a look saying ‘yeah me too’.

“Our daughters played us.” Em says.

“Yep they teamed up to gang up on us.” Kelly says as he nods in agreement.

Neither rapper speaks, and the silence gets heavier with each passing moment.

“Let’s get this over with.” Em says with a sigh. “Everyone else out. This is between Machine Gun Kelly and me.”

Everyone but Kelly and Cassie begin to protest. Cassie decides to take action. She nudges her dad in the side with her elbow, and whispers in his ear, “Remember Dad be the bigger person.”

“Thanks pumpkin.” He whispers back, gives her a hug. She then grabs hailies hand, and heads for the door. The others follow suit, until it’s just Em and Kelly in the room.

“I’m sorry for tweeting about your daughter. I’m sorry for those things I said about you trying to interfere with my career, and I'm sorry for the other awful things I said about you. I really didn’t mean for that tweet to be rude, but I now see how it looks.”

“Did you fucking practise.”

Kells scratches the back of his head, breaking eye contact, looking down, at the ground. “Yeah with my daughter.” He mumbles out.

“Why did you post that tweet about Hailie?”

“To be honest, I thought she looked hot in it, but I didn’t know how old she was. When I found out how old she was I was disgusted with myself, but didn’t know what to do.”

“Okay fine I can understand that you didn’t know her age before commenting, but it was still shitty.”

“I Know.”

“Don’t ever do it again.”

Kelly looks up meeting Em’s Glare. “I won’t.”

Em takes pity on him, seeing that he is being sincere.

“I’m sorry too, kid. I’m sorry I banned you from Shade 45, talked shit about you, and called you a mumble rapper. You’re not.”

“Thank you.” A soft smile appears on Kelly’s face. Em can’t help but think it looks good on the blond.

Em can’t help but smirk. He was going to have fun picking on Kelly. “Am I really your idol?”

Kelly goes pink, and looks away. “Shut-up.”

“Oh no. You really looked up to me didn’t you? You wanted to be just like me. I bet you had all my albums, and posters of me.”

“Yeah but they always say never meet your heroes.” Kelly freezes, not meaning to say that out loud, making Em stop. Yeah Kelly did look up to him. Kelly really didn’t do anything, beside the tweet. Em did hinder his career, and was an ass to him, but the entire time they were feuding, Kelly still said he looked up to him.

“Look I’m sorry I was an ass to you. You just wanted recognition from me. Instead I dissed you, called you a mumble rapper. You tried to end this multiple times, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

Kelly is still blushing but he is looking at Em again.

“Your lyrics aren’t half bad either.”

The blond lights up. “Really?”

“Yes, need some work but they are pretty good.”

“Thank you.”

They sit there again not knowing what to do. Then Kelly pipes up. “So does that mean our feud is over?”

“Yeah it’s over.”

“What do we do now.”

“N

Em grabs his phone and texts Paul. Next thing they know Paul walks in. “Now that that is out of the way, we can call this beef over. I will set something up for the press.”

The details are hashed out. Kelly is going to open up for Em later this year, and neither one is going to sing their diss tracks of each other. Kelly does get to keep the moniker ‘Rap Devil’, to Paul’s disdain. Em thinks it’s funny (read cute).

Everyone parts ways.

Hailie links with her dad’s arm as they go down the hallway.

“The way you were picking on him, almost felt like you were doing it to get his attention.”

Em blushes as the statement.

“OMG you do think he is cute, that’s why you don’t want to give up this beef.”

“No I don’t. He’s an asshole who needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Okay Dad whatever you say.”

She hurries on head, but turns and gives her dad a wink. A new plan in mind.

[petri808]

TW: ghosts. Bakusquad (Bakugou, Mina, Kirishima, Kaminari, Hanta) 

For @bnhamonsterball​ 2020 Tumblr/Twitter main event piece 2. Based on a true story that happened to me (I’m Mina’s character). Beta’d by Imitationicarus. 2k words

“Come on, losers!” Bakugou stands up from a couch in the dorm’s common area. “You heard the teach. If this campus is haunted, let’s go catch a ghost!”

“I don’t know…” Mina pulls her legs onto the couch and wraps her arms around her knees.

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d always been sensitive to spirits and knew tempting them was a bad idea. The land indeed had a history, but one she wasn’t keen on getting acquainted with any time soon.

Seeing her concerned expression, Kirishima takes a seat next to his girlfriend. “Yeah Bakuman, that’s probably not a good idea.”

“Why, y'all too chicken shit?! It’s just bullshit they tell to keep us from wandering around campus at night. I’m gonna go whether you losers join me or not.”

The rest of the group looks around to each other in concern. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina communicated without words. A nervous energy permeates their bubble because they know the blond is dead serious. Unfortunately, such concern took a heavier toll on Mina because she knew it would be a worse idea to let him go alone. She places her hand on her boyfriend’s knee, giving it a weak squeeze, eyes flitting to the front door.

He winces, groaning internally. “Alright.” With a sigh, the redhead looks at the piercing red gaze of their buddy. “Guess we’ll go with you.”

So, according to the folklore of their campus, the area was once inhabited by the Ainu people that were pushed out by new settlers. Some say burial grounds were even discovered and moved before the existing buildings were erected, and the spirits lingered, waiting to exact revenge.

Bakugou didn’t believe in any of the supernatural mumbo jumbo. If he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t real. End of story.

For the first hour, the group walks around the UA campus, encountering nothing more than shadowed silence. Amber emergency lighting made it possible to see along the walkways around buildings, most of which were locked due to the time of night. It was easy enough to hide from the occasional security guards roaming around as well.

“See,” Bakugou points out. “If it was as haunted as the teachers make it out to be, those wannabe cops wouldn’t stick around.”

Mina frowns at such a statement. She is certain those men have seen a few things and probably just learned to avoid certain areas. Up till now, she’s been able to steer them away as well, but they were running low on new places to explore, and Bakugou was too fired up to stop. ‘Why’d their teacher have to tell their class the stories anyway? If Mr. Aizawa hadn’t, Bakugou wouldn’t have thought up this idea in the first place! And of all the days to choose, he chose a waxing full moon.’

“If you think it’s a hoax then let just go back to the dorms,” Kaminari prompts the blond man. “We can just chill with a movie or something till lights out.”

“Fuck no, ain’t this fun?! And we haven’t checked the whole campus yet.” A collective groan ripples in the darkness. “Come on losers, time to hit the gym section. There’s gotta be something around, and I wanna find it.”

Kirishima looks down at his hand as it holds his girlfriend’s. She squeezes it tighter than usual. Her body has gone stiff, and the expression on her face is clearly worrisome.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“That’s not a good area,” she responds.

Mina holds out hope she was wrong and doesn’t want to panic anyone.

He raises her hand and kisses the back of it.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he teases, to which she returns a half-hearted smile.

They follow Bakugou a few paces behind, Sero and Kaminari, then Kirishima and Mina at the rear. Because of its size, the gym is toward the far edge and back of the campus, with an access road that goes around it to the parking lot in the rear. Along this road runs a small stream that, according to the stories, is part of an old irrigation system for the farms that were there at the turn of the century before the school was built. The only source of light along the road are dull lamp posts every ten feet.

Mina notices that Sero and Kaminari are uncomfortable, but they try to keep their cool through a quiet conversation. Every so often one or the other rubs their arms as if a non-existent chill crept over their frames.

She frowns at the sight, knowing the lurking spirits are watching them. Her own boyfriend exudes a calm-panicked energy as he strives to hold together his emotions for her sake. It is a disheartening feeling, and it was unnerving in the faux mellow evening.

Soft burbling of the water beside them mixing with crickets are the only real sounds aside from their footsteps against the asphalt. The closer they travel to the gym, the stronger her senses tingle. Mina’s fingers twitch, gripping to Kirishima’s hand as music wafts past her in spurts like a distant party beckoning one to join. Haunting drumbeats and soft woodwinds of ancient melodies eerily carry along the breeze and send chills all through Mina’s body. She shivers, knowing she is the only one hearing this melody.

Turn back, it warns. A full moon at peak energy allows the spirit world to shine with all its other worldly glory.

“Did you see that?” Mina whispers, tugging at her boyfriend’s arm.

Mina’s gaze tracks darting balls of light, to their left, the right, zipping overhead or off in the nearby tree line.

“Um— no, I don’t see anything,” he answers.

Of course, Kiri didn’t see anything, only she could. They looked like fireflies, except these don’t hover and don’t flash, always staying out of her direct sightline, curiously teasing the travelers.

Mina sighs and moves closer to the man. “Must’a been a bug.”

It was a lie, but again, better than making him worry.

But strangely enough, when they reach the back of the gym the music and lights disappear as if they too fear what is to come. It is dark, cold, and an odd pressure settles in her bones. Something even more sinister lurks ahead.

The road continues farther and away from the gym. To where, Mina isn’t sure. All she does know is something is screaming at her to turn back. The lamp posts also end in the parking lot, leaving the branch of roadway to fade into an inky blackness.

Bakugou stands at the head of the inclined roadway. “I heard there’s a maintenance shed up there. Let’s check it out.”

The others pause as a deeper fear creeps over each of them like waves of evil energy. Mina pulls back on Kirishima’s hand, shaking her head when he looks at her. She could only guess that they are as freaked out as she is. The pressure around them tightens its grip on her.

“Yeah, no way Bakubro,” Kirishima waves a hand adamantly.

“It’s too creepy,” Kaminari adds.

Sero nods with his buddies. “I got a bad feeling about it, man. Let’s just go back.”

“I’m taking Mina back to the dorms,” Kirishima speaks up, “so if you wanna check it out, you’re going by yourself.”

“Tch, losers,” Bakugou scoffs and walks up the inclined road. He isn’t afraid of the dark, and he certainly isn’t letting a ghost story stop him.

Kaminari yells at the man’s fleeting back. “Dude! Come on, this is ridiculous!”

But no matter how much they yell the man keeps walking until he disappears into the night. Mina hugs closer to Kirishima. This was bad... really, really bad. Her instincts are screaming, and every hair on her body tingles like right before a lightning storm is about to hit.

Something right at the point of light and dark moves from one side of the road to the other. No sound, not even the crunch of grass or shifting of stone. Just dead silence until the group watches with trepidation as a rock slowly rolls down the right side of the road’s incline.

Kirishima scoffs. “Not funny, Bakugou!”

Another rock, but this time on the opposite side of the road. Every tiny hair on the back of their neck stands at attention as the rippling chill grows stronger.

“What the fuck man! You trying to scare us?!” Kirishima finally snaps. Things have gone too far. He’s seen the petrified look on his girlfriend’s face. Bakugou is his best friend, but he has to protect his girl. “We’re going back to the dorms without you. Come on guys, let him be an idiot if he wants to be.”

They beeline it back to the dorms and hang out in the common area like they’d wanted to do all along. A few of their classmates were still awake, watching movies or chatting quietly, so they joined in.

“Better?” Kirishima checks on Mina.

“A little,” she responds and sidles closer to his side. “I’m just worried about him.”

“You know that stubborn ass as well as I do. None of us could have talked him out of it.”

“I know...”

Kirishima’s voice softens. “Hey, come on.” He wraps his arm tighter around her shoulder and kisses her temple. “Let’s focus on the movie.”

Mina sighs and gives in. He was right after all. There really is nothing they could have done, short of literally carrying him back with them. So, she does her best to push away the churning feelings brewing in her gut. What could the ghosts really do to him anyways? There was no history of anyone being physically harmed on campus, at least that she is aware of. And despite the power that area was giving off, she has hope all they would do is scare him away.

But those fears return, when thirty minutes later the front door opens, and Bakugou walks in. He doesn’t acknowledge them, doesn’t even look in their direction, just simply walks straight up the stairs to the second floor where the boys reside like a mindless zombie. All the creepy tingling sensations flood right back through Mina’s frame.

This was bad!

“Someone needs to check on him.” She looks frantically at her friends.

The three boys exchange worried looks and a silent hand battle, fighting to see who would make the ascent. There is no telling what they would find upstairs. He could be furious that he found nothing and take out his frustrations on the messenger.

“Ugh,” Kaminari groans. “Okay, I’ll go. Send a search party after ten minutes if I don’t return.”

The remaining trio gather at the foot of the staircase as their friend ascends it. Mina clings to Kirishima’s arm while they wait. She knows Bakugou is physically okay since he made it back. But her senses tell her he isn’t unscathed, and it is confirmed in less than five minutes.

Kaminari returns with a shocked look on his face, explaining the brief conversation he just had with Bakugou.

“Are you serious? He remembers nothing?” Questions Kirishima.

Kaminari shakes his head. “Nothing at all. He even snapped at me when I pushed.”

“Wow...” Sero cocks his head in confusion. “Baku really thinks he’s been studying all night?”

“Yup.”

Kirishima scoffs. “Maybe he’s lying, you know, too afraid to admit he got scared of something.”

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Mina responds quietly. “At least what he thinks is the truth.”

Kirishima narrows unbelieving eyes at his girlfriend. “What, like the ghosts wiped his memory?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just feel that he’s telling his truth.”

“Whoa, that’s... that’s just crazy.” Kirishima shivers. “Damn, I’m so glad we didn’t follow him.”

“So, what do we do now?” Kaminari asks the group.

“Nothing,” Kirishima shrugs, “there’s nothing we can do right now. We’ll just wait till morning and see if his memory returns.”

But it never does.

[miller-day]

hi everyone!!

during the semi-hiatus i took from tumblr i became obsessed with psych (people who follow me on twitter know) and i even started writing about it. i thought it would be so funny to see how a crossover between shawn/gus and sherlock/watson would go, so i took it upon myself to make it happen. i’ve only written 6 pages of it but i’m thinking about going forward and writing more, but firstly i wanted to know if it’s actually worth it so i’m posting what i wrote on here and i hope that if ANYONE actually reads it and enjoys it, then let me know <3

(none of the characters are mine)

“Shawn Spencer. Psychic detective.” Watson shifts his glance from the open newspaper on the coffee table to Sherlock, who’s standing in the kitchen and looking like a misplaced giant, his 6 feet of flesh and bones (or just bones) still forming a comical comparison with the small-dimensioned furniture of their apartment, most of it bought by equally small-dimensioned Mrs. Hudson. “I see you’re now interested in the supernatural?”

 Sherlock scoffs. “Please. You know my demon-hunting days are long past.”

 Watson waits for Sherlock to develop his last statement, even though he’s not sure he actually wants to hear more of it, but his roommate’s attention seems to have been captured by the stirring sounds he’s making with the teaspoon against the glass of his mug. “What’s this doing here, then?”

 Sherlock doesn’t look at him to know what he was referring to. He goes about as though Watson’s presence in the room is as dispensable as a fly on a summer day, something you dismiss with a single hand motion and move on, and sits on his usual red sofa. Watson rolls his eyes, not yet immune to Sherlock’s peculiar way of being even after almost two years of friendship, and throws the newspaper onto his lap rather angrily, to which Sherlock replies, “Hey!”

 “Shawn Spencer,” Watson says, pointing at the bold black letters on the top of the page that’s facing Sherlock, the phrase PSYCHIC DETECTIVE SHAWN SPENCER SAVES THE CITY OF SANTA BARBARA FROM ANOTHER KILLING SPREE making its loud announcement above a picture of two guys proudly smiling in front of a police station. “You were reading this.”

 “How observant,” Sherlock replies, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should be the one solving the crimes and I should be the one writing about it on my blog.”

 Watson exhales angrily. “Why are you avoiding this topic?”

 “It’s not so much avoiding this specific topic as much as it is me avoiding you,” Sherlock stops to take a sip of his tea. “I’m busy.”

 Watson rubs his left temple in an attempt to soothe the vein he’s foreseeing popping in a couple of seconds. “If you say so.”

 He ends up sitting dramatically on the opposing couch. They’re both silent for a while, Watson with his eyes closed and his head resting against the cushion, Sherlock noticing the rhythm of his best friend’s chest rising and falling as he approaches, slowly, the realm of sleep.

 “Alright, fine. Do you want to discuss this?” Watson opens his eyes in surprise at Sherlock’s sudden rupture of the room’s previous quietness. “I think the guy is obviously a con-man.”

 Watson blinks, noticeably distressed. “What makes you so sure?”

 “Oh, come on. Please don’t tell me you believe this bullshit.” Sherlock says, his sarcastic laugh creating an itch on his roommate’s skin, then places his mug on a table nearby. “You’ve believed worse, though, so I’m not exactly shocked.”

 “I just asked a question. I think the guy deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

 Sherlock’s expression is void of any inclination towards an agreement with Watson and giving the psychic even the tiniest bit of credibility. Crime-solving, as far as he is concerned, is an art, a study of the human brain, a test of one’s skills in terms of impulse-control and harmony of the senses, a practice no one can ever master in its entirety, and for someone to taint its name with something so low and idiot as an alleged psychic ability only makes him furious. The worst part, he thinks, is that people aren’t contesting it at all — the guy managed to make his name go from Santa Barbara to London after all, and from the looks of it, he has the entire local police department on his side.

 “Oh, don’t start,” he says, a tone of annoyance dripping from the edge of his words.

 “With what?” Watson asks, a little amused.

 “With your whole thing,” Sherlock gestures vaguely with his hands. “You’re free to think what you choose—”

 “How kind of you.”

 “—but I won’t let you waste my time with arguments in his defense. He either has someone on the inside or he actually solves the crimes, but I won’t acknowledge any talent on his part if he’s doing something so stupid as hiding under the pretense of ‘communications with the supernatural’,” he does the air-quotes mockingly, “or whatever term he uses to call it.”

 “Are you jealous because the spirits like him better than you do?” Watson asks, a smile of mockery slowly taking form on his lips. “I’m sure if you’re kinder to people they might just come around to talk. Y’know, if you’re a good bloke and all that.”

 “You’re thinking about Santa Claus, Watson, but given that he’s not any more real than whatever powers your little Shawn Spencer claims to possess, I suppose it’s a valid assumption.”

 “He has a partner. You know that, right?”

 “Who? Spencer or Santa?”

 “Shawn Spencer, obviously,” Watson replies. “You said you think he has someone on the inside, and he’s not alone in that picture. He works with someone.”

 “Oh, but I meant inside the police department, to give him information and such. The man on the picture is his...” Sherlock sighs. “Best friend, I guess. As if they couldn’t get more embarrassing.”

 Watson throws his head back in laughter and Sherlock stares blankly at him. “What?”

 “Nothing! It’s just...” He puts his hand over his mouth, then itches the back of his head, still smiling. “If you think about it, they’re kind of like us.”

 Sherlock’s face has an expression about it that makes him look as though he’s taken a bite out of a lemon. “What do you mean?”

 Watson hasn’t stopped giggling, and Sherlock looks at him with puzzlement, expecting an answer.

 “I mean, they’re two friends who solve crimes together.” Watson replies, his tone an indication of how obvious the comparison is.

 “I don’t suppose you’re suggesting I’m the Spencer in this scenario?”

 “Well, you’re the one who’s always going on with the ‘you see, but you don’t observe’ bullshit. I always thought you meant it literally, but perhaps you meant something more... metaphysical? Seeing like a psychic, maybe?”

 Sherlock stands up abruptly. “This isn’t funny, Watson.”

 Watson chuckles. “Agree to disagree.”

 “You know, I’m positive I could expose that Spencer within seconds of meeting him,” Sherlock says, and starts pacing around the room like his thoughts are too fast in his mind for him to be still. “His partner, for instance—”

 “I think you meant his best friend.” The smile of mischief is still there.

 “Is a pharmaceutical salesman. What does this tell you?”

 Watson furrows his brows in confusion. “That he has a discount on paracetamol?”

 “You’re useless. Utterly, completely useless,” Sherlock replies. “How did you even manage to get a medical degree?”

 “Oh, well, they just give it around these days,” Watson rests his elbows on his thighs and places his face on his hands, a Little-Mermaid-like position that weirdly fits him. “Showing up is pretty much the only requirement.”

 Sherlock ignores his roommate’s response and continues, this time more to himself than as a contribution to their conversation. “Shawn Spencer’s partner having another job is an indication that their whole business isn’t as solid as they make it seem. It might be to help with the money for rent and transportation and such, but it could also be that the financial guarantee he’s seeking is preparation for the moment when Shawn is inevitably exposed for being a fake.” Sherlock stops and scans Watson for an indication of him having been convinced. “Or he just had that job before this scam started and doesn’t trust Spencer to keep it for much longer, at least not enough to make him quit.”

 Watson rests his back against the cushion again. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this bit, make me hate the guys?”

 “No, of course not. I just want to show you the other side of things, the real side. But you can choose to live in this delusion as much as you want. I mean, go ahead. Keep thinking the supernatural actually exists! I’m sure it helps you sleep at night.”

 Watson rolls his eyes and angrily grabs the newspaper, which, at this point, is on the floor, having been stepped on by Sherlock at least five times, and his eyes immediately fall on the picture. The one whom he reads is Shawn is on the left, plaid shirt and cocky grin giving him the appearance of an average guy you wouldn’t be surprised to see eating chicken wings or making obscure references to movies from the 80s. His hand is up as though he’s waving to the crowd in front of him, not even a little bit worried about his unconventional methods being an easy target of judgment. He looks like he belongs there, Watson realizes, and for a second he almost wishes he knew those guys. The best friend/partner, Burton Guster, is on the right, his hand placed on his chest in a gesture that would suggest humbleness if it weren’t for his facial expression, a look about him that seems equally receptive of the recognition and praise as Shawn is. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt that’s tucked under his pants with a belt, and the two of them form such a distinct contrast to each other that Watson finds it rather amusing. He can’t help but think about the many pictures of him and Sherlock that have appeared on the newspaper over the years, and he wonders if people have analyzed them the way he’s analyzing Shawn and Guster at this moment. They can undoubtedly notice Sherlock’s arrogance and Watson’s shyness from the capture of a lens, but can they also see his excitement, Sherlock’s determination, the deep and unspoken connection the two of them share but hardly ever acknowledge? Can they understand what motivates them from within, the drive for justice, the thrill of the chase pumping in their veins?

 “I think you’re being too harsh with them,” Watson says simply, putting the newspaper on the couch next to him.

 “How come?” Sherlock replies. “I think I’m being perfectly adequate.”

 “I don’t know,” he crosses his arms. “It’s just... Okay. Let’s suppose he is indeed faking his powers.”

 Sherlock points a finger at him. “Which he totally is.”

 Watson ignores him and continues, “Does that inherently mean he’s a bad person?” Sherlock stares at him, silent. “He has put a lot of bad people in jail, and no doubt has saved a lot of lives in the process... Doesn’t that give him a little bit of credit?”

 Sherlock takes a deep breath. He doesn’t respond immediately; instead, he walks to the window and gazes at the street below, strangers passing by with shopping bags and dogs on leashes and briefcases on hand, the sounds of London fading away as background noise as he concentrates on details of the everyday life. He notices the mark of a ring on the girl with the dog’s finger, the dust on the shoe of the guy with the briefcase, the small tear on the shopping bag carried by the woman. He absorbs all of it in, knowing none of this information is relevant to his existence, and takes a deep breath.

 He’s reminded of a babysitter he used to have back in the day. Susan Carter. She was, in theory, hired to take care of both him and Mycroft, but Sherlock’s brother, even in his youth, acted like someone older than his age, someone who could take plenty of care of himself even though he was still sleeping with a night light on and occasionally peeing his pants. Sherlock didn’t like Susan very much — he actually felt that way about pretty much everyone at that time, but with her it was especially intense because she’d spend the entire day checking in on him. He couldn’t just simply tune her out diving into the depths of his mind castle, because it was a guarantee she’d be there too, her high-pitched auntie voice asking him questions like, “Do you want some tea, Lockie?” or “Want me to read you a story?” Never mind the fact that she was merely doing her job, one which he was aware she was being paid for incredibly well (it wasn’t easy to find someone willing to accept employment in the Holmes residence those days): he wanted her out of his sacred place, expelled out of his house like a virus after an antibody attack.

 His will ended up being his way, in the end. Susan decided to quit after Mycroft put laxatives in her tea one day, and all of this happened because she had entered his room, without knocking, and caught him during one of his private costume sessions. Mycroft would sometimes spend hours alone in his room doing this — one day he’d be a king from the Victorian times, ordering the toys in his room to attend to his commands, and the other he’d be Britain’s first astronaut setting foot on the moon. Sherlock was never allowed in, even though he’d usually want to, much to his own dismay, and when his nanny caught Mycroft dressed up as Shakespeare in the middle of a reenactment of his own play, Mycroft decided it was best to put matters into his own hands. Or, really, the poor lady’s digestive system, which got torn to shreds after that tea. Sherlock was glad to see her gone, but it sadly wasn’t much long before another nanny stepped in to take her post, and the others after her blended together to create one amorphous being in his mind, all identities a dense cloud of memories he, to this day, associates with despair and annoyance.

 What made Susan stand out amongst them was the fact that she liked tarot cards. Sherlock always thought of it all as rather stupid and tried to avoid her “sessions” as much as possible, but sometimes she managed to catch him in the sofa, staring at the ceiling or memorizing the patterns of the paintings on the wall, and she’d say “let’s have a reading, Lockie! You’re not really doing anything much now, aren’t you?”, to which he’d have no reply. He’d sometimes run away to the garden, but other times he’d admit defeat and sit next to her on the dinner table, and she’d spread the cards and explain the meaning of every one of them, even the ones which weren’t chosen by Sherlock. Surprisingly, he’d sometimes find himself enjoying those moments, especially when Susan’s eyes would sparkle with excitement and he’d wonder if one day he’d ever feel that way about anything. She’d maneuver the cards with the utmost gentleness, like they were thin pieces of glass she could drop and break at any moment, and he’d almost let himself smile. He never would, though, because he was still a Holmes, therefore still genetically indisposed for such an act.

 Sherlock later in his life learned that Susan had died not long after she quit her job as his nanny. She was murdered by an ex-boyfriend who needed some money and was leeching off of her and the tiny, almost inexistent amount she had. She was stabbed eight times in her own living room, the very same Susan who would put an extra spoonful of sugar in his afternoon tea even though his mother’s orders were of strictly one. Sherlock hated himself the day he found out. When his mother told him over the phone, bile crawled up to the back of his throat and left in it a bitter taste that lasted until the next morning. Sherlock wanted to punch someone, punch himself. The murderer had already been caught by that point, but Sherlock wanted badly to be the one who had found him, perhaps because he felt like he owed something to Susan. He couldn’t catch his own eyes in the mirror for a while after that discovery.

 “I think I’m going to bed.”

 Watson blinks in surprise. “It’s five in the afternoon.”

 Sherlock wraps the belt of his robe on his stomach. “I am very tired.” He gives the reply as though it was an act of courtesy on his part, unneeded.

 “You said you were busy about three minutes ago.”

 He slumps his shoulders in a dramatic gesture like there’s a sudden weight on them he can’t bother to carry, and then straightens his posture again. “Haven’t you heard of procrastination, Watson? My being tired at this very moment doesn’t exclude my desire to sleep.”

 Watson narrows his eyes, bites his lower lip. “You’re planning something.”

 Sherlock fakes an appalled look. “I am going to bed. Think of that what you will.”

 He starts making his way across the living room and Watson says, “Tell me what you’re thinking!”

 “Ask your friend Spencer to tell you that! He’s a psychic, he’ll figure it out!” He’s halfway through the hallway by now, his screams reverberating against the walls.

 “You’re forgetting your tea!”

 “You can have it, it’s too sweet for me anyway!” is the reply before Sherlock closes the door and creates a vacuum in the room from the instant end of the conversation.

 Watson groans in frustration. “I could kill him. And I think I could get away with it. Except he’d solve the bloody thing in the afterlife. Oh, Watson, you were such a fool, left the clues right there for everyone to see!” He mimics Sherlock’s posh way of speaking.

 He picks up the mug Sherlock left on the table and takes a sip. “A perfectly good tea, also. That bastard.” Watson’s tone of voice is annoyed, but as he takes another sip, there’s a smile on his face.

[smoaknsnow6]

I just realized something. People SUCK. Never let anyone lower your self esteem. I mean i knew people suck (thats why i fight with everyone i meet) but you can never tell the toxic ones. I had a toxic best friend for 3 years until i finally stood up for myself and escaped. I mean yeah i ended up with a sad me for a few weeks but at the same time it was the best i felt in forever. And yeah a year later i was punched in the eye at school but i didn’t care, because i knew that was a true friend. A friend who is not afraid to help you out and put you in your place is a true friend. And yeah i played a prank on him the next day and made my make-up look like a black eye, but we laughed and i lied for him. My point of this is FUCKING STAND UP FOR YOURSELF NO MATTER THE CONSEQUENCES, YOU ARE GOING TO BE SEEN AS THE STRONGER ONE AS SOON AS YOU TAKE OFF THAT SHIELD AND TAKE OUT THE SWORD. (Not saying violence is the answer. But if you need to, watch videos of people falling off roofs HILARIOUS) if i could, i would ddstroy the ENTIRE internet. Social Media and days of feeling bad about yourself Gone. Political Wars on Twitter, Gone. Texting someone who is in the same place as you instead of talking, Gone. Interacting with people, back. Less depression, back. Talking about things and doing activities without the internet, back. Stop being followers of people and having your own opinion/voice, back. I used to have everu form of social media imaginable and i keep the accounts as proof, but getting rid of all but 2 made me feel so much better.

Snapchat- just another way to edit yourself to make you look like you had plastic surgery + another form of stalking where your friends are + another way to text people.

Twitter- once again as stated before, a place to start political wars where people team up and a place to ruin eachothers status while also trying to start what is called a “twitter thread”

Pintrest- A place to see your favorite memes and photos and to find stuff that fits your needs without being critized (probably one of the better and only good forms of “social media”

TikTok- A mindless place that keeps you on your phone for a majority if the day, makes you dumber, a place where people get famous for the dumbeat of reasons, (i mean Charli Demilio got famous for making dances. Michael Jackson was famous for being the 2nd king of Rock’n’Roll and the moon walk) (you have probably all heard of Elvis Presley, but i bet, no i know you don’t know any 5 of his songs, name and lyrics) and keeps your focus off of your life and the real world.

Tinder- A dating app which is just a lie to get you to look at hot pictures of men and/or women + its basically just like typing in a random phone number with your area code abd hoping you get lucky whrn you can just casually meet someone the old fashioned way.

Discord- yet again another place to text without the app being called “messages” a place where you can voice call which is another preinstalled app called “phone”

Facebook- (another reasonable app that people take advantage of) it was meant to keep in contact with long distance family and friends who you don’t have the number of. But this app got out of hand and became mildly unpopular, for “old people”, another potential war zone of older wiser more expirenced adults, and where the term “internet stalking” more than likely became a thing because of idiots who cannot for the life of them move the heck on.

Every “Fake Phone Number app” invented- You either have this to prank family and friends, make prank phone calls, or to simply have a fake number to 1. Stalk and talk to your ex. 2. Try and get back together with your ex. Or 3. To see if your current S.O. is loyal and if you really need to go to this extreme to see if thats true then you dont trust them and should probably end things while you can.

Instagram- lets start this and end this with Discord, TikTok, Pintrest, and Snapchat in a handbag. Where you also post highly edited photos of yourself, only the best lit and looking photos, and things to ruin others self esteem

And last we have Tumblr

Tumblr- (ngl, safest and scariest of all mentioned) it combines like features of Twitter, Instagram, snapchat, and pintrest, but is the most safe and loving of the LGBTQ+ community but also has some creeps and weirdos.

I went with some cold hard opinionated facts, but feel free to dig deeper into any of these apps and I guarantee you’ll find something

I cut down my social media to 2 apps, if you want to feel better and think you can do the same or better, get off your ass and do it.

This post could help people. You have no reason not to repost it, if you want to fight with me or tell me something that you think is wrong with this post but i know is completely right, go right ahead, i do not go down easy

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (27/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’m the slightest bit overwhelmed by how kind a lot of you are and how many people have become invested in this story. It’s the coolest thing seeing the happiness it brings some of you, even if I am stressing you out right now. Whenever I get a message about how a story has made someone’s bad day better, I get a little smile on my face. You are all awesome ☺️

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for being my beta! Don’t fret. She yelled at me a lot about this part of the story too, so it’s not just you guys and it does get better. 

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ 

-/-

Emma has never once complained about having off from work before.

Not once.

She has four days off right now. It’s four days of no baseball and no responsibility, and she has been looking forward to it for months ever since she first saw the time off on the calendar and marked it in a huge red circle. There’s nothing quite like having the ability to sleep in, not brush your hair, and lounge around in pajamas all day as you watch professional athletes hit tennis balls back and forth at each other at one hundred miles per hour as they play the US Open.

But there’s a bit of a sting to it all when two tickets to the semi-finals tomorrow are saved in her phone, and she hasn’t spoken to the person who bought them for her in three days.

(They’re in the nosebleed section so no one would notice them, and Emma remembers laughing out loud when Killian showed her the seats because she has no idea how they would even see the ball.)

Okay, there’s more than a bit of a sting.

It fucking hurts.

There’s always been a reason why she didn’t make plans so far ahead of time, not ones that require monetary and emotional commitments from her, but she’s been breaking all of her rules over the past five and half months. All of them. She’s made plans to go to Portland, to go to a wedding, to go to this idiotic set of matches that she would actually really love to go to.

All of them with Killian.

Emma should have known better. She honestly should have. Every time she ever made plans with Neal or Walsh or any other man that she was dating, they always fell through. They never held up. Either the relationship would endend, or the guy would fade away at the last minute. It didn’t matter. Every time she got her hopes up, they fell back to the ground and were crushed under the weight of her own disappointment.

Neal was the definition of flaky. He was always making these big plans with big dreams and promising her so damn much before ripping the rug out from under her so quickly that she barely even had time to brace herself before she fell flat on her ass. And the really shitty thing is that she didn’t even realize how awful it was that he was doing that to her because that’s what people had been doing her entire life – foster parents, social workers, childhood friends, her birth parents. That little seed of hope would be planted, roots would start to grow, and then it’d all be torn out of the ground. She was in a relationship like that for years and then fell into the same exact trap two years later.

Why would Killian be any different?

(Of course he is different.)

A laugh escapes her lips at that, one she didn’t give permission to, and all it does is make Emma curl into her bed a little bit more, wrapping her arms around her pillow and yanking the blankets further up her body so that the outside world can’t get to her. It’s just Emma, her laptop, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips that are most likely going to break her tongue out.

As it should be.

This is not how her day was supposed to go.

Not at all.

Killian was supposed to come over after his morning training, and he was going to spend time with her and probably Ruby, debating television shows and movies and eating whatever takeout he decided to bring on his way here. But Killian isn’t here. She doesn’t even know where he is. Probably not training considering he’s out for the rest of the regular season.

It’s what he told her, but it’s also what she’s read in about fifteen different articles online.

And what she had to post on her Twitter account as part of her job. Life is funny that way. You think you can avoid your boyfriend and all information about him, but she can’t. It’s part of her freaking job.

She couldn’t have kept herself from reading the articles online if she’d tried.

(She didn’t.)

There’s a knock on her door, a sound that Emma has been ignoring for most of the past few days, but she didn’t turn the lock when she went to get her chips two hours ago, so Ruby easily opens the door and walks into her bedroom. She’s got her hair pulled back into a ponytail and is wearing leggings and a sports bra like she just went to the Pilates class that Emma skipped out on.

She shouldn’t have done that.

Fueling her emotions into that would probably have been a much healthier way to cope. No, it definitely would have been. Exercise is better than stuffing her mouth with junk food even if junk food feels so much better at first.

Shit. She’s pathetic. But honestly, she doesn’t even care.

“Hey,” Ruby says quietly as she shuts the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Emma doesn’t respond, just curls herself further into her pillow like the pathetic person she is as a tennis ball is thwacked across the court and bounces up into the bottom level of the stands. But Ruby, never one to be deterred by anything, walks across the room and settles down on the bed behind Emma, wrapping her arms around her stomach and pulling her closer while Ruby’s chin rests on her shoulder.

It’s the most considerate touch she’s felt in days, and it’s the only time that someone hasn’t shown her pity or tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay. After she left the hospital, leaving Killian behind with her mind reeling and falling down a hole with no escape, Emma immediately went to her apartment and changed into running clothes before running until her legs wouldn’t work anymore. It was fifteen miles, something she’s done before, something that’s not even her personal best, and she thought that she could keep going.

She had to keep going.

But the adrenaline died out on her, all of her anger and rage and, frankly, sadness dissipated into barely being able to breathe, and she’d swiped her metro card and walked through the gates to get on the train that would take her to David’s house because she needed him like she hadn’t needed him in years. David is always the reasonable one, is always the one who makes her see things that she can’t see, but he wasn’t there. It was only Leo and Mary Margaret, and as much as Emma loves Mary Margaret, she couldn’t understand why Emma was so hurt by Killian lying to her.

It’s not what the lie was, though that is a pretty big deal. It’s the fact that the lie happened.

Over and over again.

She gave him her heart in all of the shattered and glued back together pieces, and as careful as he is with it, he still managed to add a crack or two.

How could she have ever expected otherwise?

Why did she?

Why does she still want him to be the one to help her keep holding it together?

David had eventually come home and seen her talking to Mary Margaret, and somehow, he just knew that she needed him to hold her for a little while. He did, cupping the back of her head with his hand and not placating her by telling her that everything was okay or that she shouldn’t be angry or anything else that she wasn’t quite ready to hear yet.

There were a lot of things she wasn’t ready to hear that day.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me sometime today?” Ruby asks, and Emma breathes out on a sigh, her stomach swirling in a messy cloud of anxiousness over the fact that Ruby has finally decided that Emma has to talk. She’s been waiting for it. She’s also been expecting a much more abrasive conversation. “I know that your legs probably still feel like shit from that crazed run you went on, but I feel like a walk would be good. Fresh air, exercise, maybe I will even stop and buy two dozen donuts. You know, really splurge and keep them to ourselves and not let Graham have any.”

Emma chuckles, and this time she’s kind of glad for it. It’s not a big belly laugh, but it’s something.

Baby steps are better than nothing.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a walk?

“Nope. It’s good to get our legs moving, work some of this laziness out of you. Plus, I fully plan on making us walk the full perimeter of Central Park, so we’ll have earned those donuts. If we haven’t died first because that’s a huge ass park.”

“You do realize that Bryant park is closer?”

“And that’s exactly why we’re not going there.” Ruby squeezes her again, pretty much hugging her, and it may actually make Emma’s heart swell. “C’mon, Ems. Indulge me for an afternoon, okay? It’s not like you to lay in bed like this. I don’t like it.”

It’s not. She’s already thought that. This isn’t her. She’s not the type of girl who lays around in bed because she’s upset that she and her boyfriend got into a fight, if that’s even what this can be called. There wasn’t exactly any fighting, even if her mind has managed to create the illusion that there was. Honestly, she barely let him get any words in besides his explanation of what happened. And she’s not the type of girl who cries and eats ice cream and wonders how life will ever go on.

There’s nothing wrong with doing that, but it’s not her.

And she hasn’t cried. That’s beside the point, though.

“It’s really comfortable in here, okay?”

“You’re moping.”

“Then let me mope.”

Ruby sighs and hugs her a little closer.

“Emma, I know that I might not seem like the most emotionally mature person at times, but I’ve been in a steady relationship for a long time. I know that things like this happen, and I know that after lying in bed for nearly three days now, you need to get your ass up. You’re not going to find any solutions at the bottom of that chip bag.”

“I hate Graham for helping you be so emotionally stable. You used to hate love.”

“It’s all the good fucking. I’m telling you. Knocked some sense right into me.”

Emma barks out a laugh and completely rolls over on her stomach, letting Ruby’s arms release her as she snorts into the pillow. “You are the worst,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the material.

“I am the best.” There’s a slap against her ass that has Emma jumping and rolling over again so that she nearly knocks over her laptop. “Now, go brush your teeth, put on some deodorant, and change clothes so we can take over the city with our powerwalk like the rich old ladies we’ve always aspired to be.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

It’s an actual blazing inferno outside, the heat curling up from the concrete to practically burn through Emma’s sneakers, and it makes her really not want to be out on this walk. But she knows that the faster she walks, the faster she can go back home and retreat back to her room. All she really wants is to go back to her room.

And get under the shades of the trees in the park. September needs to end and allow October to roll in so that she won’t sweat every time she steps outside. This is ridiculous.

It’s probably all of the salt and vinegar leaving her pores. What a thought to have.

If only eating strawberries or kale or something was a good emotional comfort food.

It’s a little over a mile to the park, and as awful as the entrance is all full of tourists and street vendors and people trying to sell her a guide to the city like she doesn’t know it’s on a grid system, Emma is thankful just to have the slight breeze and be away from the masses of people. She won’t admit it, not out loud, but Ruby was right to get her to get up and get moving. When she’s lounging around, her mind wanders to things that it shouldn’t wander to, and at least now she’s able to put all of her focus on putting one foot in front of the other and watching all of the people around her.

Why pay for Broadway tickets when you can watch people in Central Park?

The air-conditioning. Yep. The air-conditioning.

They walk for an hour, just a casual stroll that Emma keeps thinking should be a run, but the heat of the day becomes too much for her, her heartbeat going wild, and as soon as she sees an unoccupied bench in the shade, she makes a run for it, leaving Ruby to catch up from behind. It’s a bit ridiculous, but this is a golden opportunity to allow herself to sit down and breathe without anyone bothering her since most people in the area are concentrated around the boathouse and not the little beaten path to the side of it.

“I hate summer,” Ruby groans when she reaches the bench. “It’s the worst. I don’t care that it’s when all of the good sports happen. It’s too damn hot.”

Emma bends down to rest her elbows on her knees and cradle her head in her palms. “It was your idea to come out here.”

“Yeah, well, you were depressing me.”

She doesn’t say anything back, taking a moment to breathe and stare down at the laces on her shoes. One of them is about to come untied, but she can’t bother to fix it. There’s no point if she plans on never moving from this spot. The sweat that’s trickling down her back is going to keep her glued here anyways.

How the hell did she run fifteen miles the other day? What kind of rage-fueled adrenaline was that?

“Killian lied to me about his shoulder.”

The words come out without her permission. She doesn’t even remember thinking them. Her mind was blank and then all of the sudden they were there, escaping from her tongue and her lips and becoming part of the air that’s surrounding she and Ruby.

Emma is still staring at the ground. Her hand has also unconsciously found the chain around her neck, the one with Killian’s mom ring that he gave her as a good luck charm. She hasn’t been able to take it off. She wanted to, wanted to take away that reminder of him, but she couldn’t do it.

Killian wanted her to have one of his most prized possessions, and as mad as she is at him right now, she can’t take it off.  It means too much to her to have been given something like this.

“He lied to me,” she continues, taking a deep breath, though she’s not sure if it’s from the exercise or the emotions running a race in her mind and wearing down her nerves. “And I get it. He was scared. He – ”

“He didn’t want you to think less of him for being broken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mary Margaret told me. You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Emma chuckles, but it’s a weak one, before lifting her head back up so that all of her blood can return to its rightful place. She was starting to get worried it wouldn’t. All she can really focus on is how cool the metal of the ring is against her stomach.

“Unlike you have apparently become, I am not the best with my emotions,” Emma continues. All of the words she’s been holding up are bubbling up to the surface and ready to spill over and run rampant. “I’m pretty shitty with them, but Killian made me feel comfortable, you know? When we’re together, I do pretty okay sharing all of the broken parts of me. He knows a lot of stuff that not even you know, and I thought we were in the kind of relationship where we trusted each other enough to share the brokenness. And trust me, we have a lot of it. We’ve had…we’ve had pretty shitty lives at some points, and I am so mad at him for repeatedly not telling me that he was hurt and for not being smart enough to stop playing and get some help. It’s not that big of an injury, but it could have been. He loves that stupid game, and he’s going to lose it if he keeps doing things like this.”

Ruby reaches down and grabs Emma’s hand and wraps her fingers around her palm and squeezes so that Emma has to look up at the sky to stop the tears from finally falling. This is dumb. This is all so dumb, and every bit of it could have been avoided.

“I think though,” Emma continues, still blinking away the tears, “past the lying and this gut-wrenching fear that he’s going to lie to me about other things too, I’m mostly hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to me. I love him so much, Rubes. He probably has no idea how much I love him because I barely know how to express it, and, but I don’t know how to fully trust him if this is going to be a pattern.”

Ruby’s sighs, and Emma swears that she feels it in her own bones. Her heartrate has calmed down, something next to normal, and she no longer feels like she’s going to throw up. She was kind of feeling like that for a little while, and the guy sitting in the grass fifteen feet away from them reading a book in peace probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

“You’ve got to talk to him.”

“I don’t – ”

“You don’t want to right now,” Ruby finishes for her, and Emma twists her head to the side to look over at the lake instead of at Ruby. “I know. I got that. You have every right to be pissed off at him. You have every right to kick and scream and feel anger so deep in your belly that it aches when you breathe. It doesn’t matter what he lied to you about. If it hurt you, it hurt you. Case closed.”

“I know but – ”

“Nope, nope, you’re going to let me finish. I am on a roll, and you’re going to crush my momentum.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ruby squeezes her hand again before letting go. “Killian should not have lied to you. That’s just…I know we all tell little white lies, but this is obviously different. He shouldn’t have lied to you or to anyone. He should have trusted the people who he loves with the things he’s struggling with, but I don’t think this was about him not trusting you. He didn’t tell his family about any of it either.”

“They knew about the accident.”

“To be fair, Liam was there, and I think there’s no way Elsa couldn’t find out.”

“Semantics.”

“Very important ones,” Ruby points out. “I don’t – I’m not trying to tell you how to feel. I’m just saying that Killian didn’t do this out of malicious intent. He’s not Walsh, and he’s certainly not Neal. He is not spending his time trying to bring you down because he can’t handle being with a successful woman. I honestly think he’s scared of losing you and of losing the game, and that can make people do things that they wouldn’t usually do. You may not realize it, but I think you have become just as important to Killian as baseball is – if not more so. I know all about that ring you keep messing with and how big of a deal it is. Honey, he wouldn’t have given that to you if he didn’t love you. I’m not saying that fixes everything because it doesn’t. You have to talk to him and let yourself trust him if you think he’s worth trusting.”

Ruby echoes the words Killian said to her in Elsa’s office, the words that she repeated to Mary Margaret when she was trying to explain what was going on. They’re right. They’re all right, and she hates it. She doesn’t even know why. She should be thrilled that everyone seems to think that Killian didn’t set out to hurt her.

She thinks that too.

But Ruby is right in the fact that he did hurt her and right in the fact that she should be allowed to feel how she feels. How could she not with everything that’s happened to her in her life?

But she’s not thrilled.

And it’s dumb. Really, really dumb. Because she should want to get up from this bench and run to Killian’s apartment. It’s not far, maybe another mile walk, but she has absolutely emotionally exhausted herself to the point that talking about this more would be too much for her.

Talking everything out is still new to her, and when the stakes are this high, that pestering feeling that it’s all going to go wrong is continually building. Because what if Killian realizes that she’s more broken than he thinks too she is, and it’s all too much to deal with? Their relationship seems so simple on the surface and yet underneath it all…

Oh fuck.

Emma loves Killian so damn much, more than anything as he would say, but being together has never been simple. It’s always been a series of guesses and choices and an underlying hope that things would work out. She allowed herself to have that hope from the beginning, when she barely knew anything about him and when he’d fucked up with her already, and she should allow herself to have that same faith now that she genuinely knows so much of what makes up the ever-evolving person who is Killian Jones.

Tomorrow. She’ll talk to him tomorrow. Her stomach is still in too many knots for her to even think about seeing his face today and seeing the smile that always makes everything inside of her feel like it is floating on cloud nine.

Tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow because then she’s got to leave for Boston and Detroit, and she’s not waiting a week.

And she almost desperately needs to know how he’s doing. He’s got to be hurting, and she knows that she added to that.

“Can we go get those donuts now, Rubes?”

“Absolutely.”

The walk home seems swifter than the walk there, and it’s likely because Emma isn’t weighed down by the heaviness of a lot of things that are on her heart. Or maybe it’s because she does have donuts to look forward to. Today is going to be her last day of self-indulgence where she allows herself to mope and eat like all of the junk food in the world is going to disappear tomorrow. Because tomorrow she’s going to start eating actually balanced meals with things like vitamins and nutrients – most of the time – and she’ll hopefully stop feeling so sorry for herself.

That’s a bit of a gamble.

Ruby still makes a point of distracting her for the afternoon, obviously sensing that Emma is two seconds away from running away to her room and never emerging again, and while she contemplates that a few times throughout the day, especially when Graham comes home and kisses Ruby hello, she doesn’t.

In fact, she’s the last one awake and the only one to stay out in the living room. The only light that’s on comes from the TV, a tennis match still going on late in the night, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep she’s gotten or maybe it’s that feeling that happens when you’re alone at night and your mind starts playing tricks on you, but something gives her the courage to pull out her phone and text the person she’s been thinking about all day.

Emma: How’s your arm?

The bubble pops up immediately.

Killian: It hurts, mostly in the mornings, but not too bad. Lots of Ibuprofen and ice.

Emma: That’s good.

Emma: Not that it hurts. That it’s not too bad.

Killian: Yeah, I’m glad it’s not as bad as it has been.

Her heart may actually break a bit more at the thought of him being hurt all of this time. She’s been so mad at him, so frustrated with him for not sharing it with her, and she’s barely had any time to think about all of the pain that he’s been going through. Shitty move on her part.

It’s one thing to get injured and still be able to go about your daily life. It’s another when your livelihood depends on your body.

Killian: You should still use the tickets tomorrow. Take Ruby or David. I can get you an upgrade to sit closer since I’m not going with you now.

I don’t want to use them with anyone but you, she types, a little pathetically.

She doesn’t actually send that message. She can’t muster up the courage no matter how much truth is in the statement. Wine or whiskey or, hell, tequila are really tempting at this point to make herself feel a little less – upset, conflicted, hopeful even. But drowning sorrows in alcohol is no way to solve a problem, even if she’s done it before. It’ll only make her feel worse.

Emma: Can we talk tomorrow?

That text is riskier, means more, and is far scarier, and yet it’s the one she sends.

Killian: I’d like that.

Emma: Me too.

[imaginesforyourfandom]

Fan Exposure - Kelley O’hara Imagine

Kelley’s POV:

I was walking towards my hotel room with Crystal. A bunch of people were hanging out in (Y/N) and I’s room for a bit of team bonding. It was basically all of us hanging out and playing games together.

“So, are you going to tell (Y/N) how you feel?” Crystal asked all of sudden causing me to give her a wide-eyed look.

“Okay, you can’t just say that in the middle of the hallway where anyone can hear you!”

“Who’s going to hear me?” she said looking around motioning to the empty hallways.

“Literally anyone!” I said motioning to the rooms. “Besides, I am not. She clearly likes Tobin and I am not about to ruin that for her.”

“She does not. (Y/N) is practically best friends with Christen so she would never do that to her. Also, I don’t see her hanging off Tobin’s every word the way she does with you. She also laughs at all your stupid jokes when no one else does so…” I stopped walking immediately feeling defensive.

“My jokes aren’t defensive.” I said as we got to my room opening the door. We walked in and saw everyone hanging around the room. Tobin and (Y/N) were laughing about something which put me in a mood as soon as I saw it. I walked over to where Alex and Allie were sitting talking to Jess and Abby.

“You good?” Allie asked as I sat down with a frown on my face. I looked up and immediately tried to cover it up with a smile.

“Yeah I am good. So, what are we talking about?” I asked hoping they would let it go. I think they sensed that I didn’t want to talk about it because they gave me looks before continuing their conversation.

The night continued with my mood only getting worse the longer (Y/N) talked to Tobin. She talked to other people, but she was mostly talking to Tobin and only Tobin. Christen didn’t seemed bothered by the fact that they were attached to each other, so I was trying not to let it get to me. (Y/N) wasn’t even my girlfriend so, I literally had no reason to be upset. I know it is because I like her so much though. I have liked her since she got on the team and I don’t know how to just tell her how I am feeling.

Eventually, I ended up in a group with Tobin, (Y/N), Christen, Alex, and Allie. We were talking about the upcoming games we had and what needed to be done to win.

“You know some of our fans are so talented” Crystal said as she was watching those edits that fans make on social media. “I mean look at this…”

She turned the screen towards us, and it was an edit of (Y/N) and I as if we were together. It was some song that I didn’t recognize, but the way it was edited made it seem like we were really in love with each other.

“Let me see that” (Y/N) said as she took the phone and watched the edit again. “It’s got 500 views already and it was just posted not long ago. Kell, we are so popular.”

I smiled at her as she handed me the phone. I clicked on the comments and began to read them out allowed.

“I would die for them….they are so in love….can they just get married already...” I continued reading the comments as (Y/N) leaned over to read the comments with me. “We must be popular and apparently we are destined to be together.”

“I wish someone had told me.” She joked as I handed Crystal back her phone trying to hide the glare that was on my face. She gave me an amused smile as she immediately found another one and showing (Y/N).

“You guys should troll the fans.” Tobin said getting agreements from everyone around the room. “Like, post a picture together or something.”

“I’m sorry, not all of us are like you and Christen who post the same locations, but never the same picture.” I said earning a laugh from (Y/N) who nodded her head in agreement and causing Tobin to roll her eyes.

“I have an idea though if you are interested.” She said giving me a serious look.

“Pray tell” I said as she grinned at me. She explained her idea to me, and I immediately knew it would send the fans into a frenzy. “Let’s do it!”

She stood up and moved so that she was leaning against the back of the arm of the chair I was in throwing her legs over my lap. I sank down a little to give her more room. She then rested her head on my shoulder as we got someone to take a picture of us as we both looked at her phone. I had my hand rested on her legs and my arm wrapped around her waist. It looked quite intimate and had me extremely nervous. The picture was then sent to her as she tried to decide if she should post it on Instagram or twitter.

“Do an Insta story!” Allie said “It looks more casual that way”

“I can repost it too.” I said as she nodded her head. She hadn’t moved from my lap as she typed everything out on her phone. After she posted the picture, I went ahead and reposted it. Everyone had gone back to their regular conversations as (Y/N) sat on my lap waiting to see fan reactions.

“Oh my god…they are losing it. Do you think this is how Tobin and Christen feel?” she asked turning towards me.

“Probably.” I said resting my head on her shoulder. I didn’t want her to move because I was extremely comfortable. “What are they saying?”

“They are all freaking out. They are saying they knew we were together and that it’s just further proof.”

“Wow. That is crazy.” I said with a small smile.

“Not that crazy.” She said shrugging her shoulders. “We make an incredible couple.”

I felt the nerves return as she continued looking at her phone. I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean and I didn’t want to read too much into it, but it felt a lot like she was saying that maybe there was a chance we could be together.

“Yeah but we wouldn’t work as a couple” I said and immediately regretted it when she whipped around to look at me.

“Why not?”

“Because you like Tobin?” I whispered with confusion on my face.

“Excuse me…I what?” she said getting some of the attention from some of the other girls. She said a quick sorry before turning towards me and whispering, “Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me that…” I said as she gave me a look.

“So, you’re assuming?”

“I see the way you look at her and how much you talk to her…”

“She’s my friend and she also happens to be one of the only people who knows who I really like…” she said getting defensive. I frowned feeling like an idiot for assuming she liked Tobin.

“So, who do you like?” I asked as she crossed her arms. She was still in my lap so there really wasn’t any room for either of us.

“Well now I don’t want to tell you…” she said looking away from me. I pouted at her which only got me an eye roll in response.

“Come on tell me” I said poking her side. She shook her head at me. “Please!” she shook her head at me again, so I started to tickle her which seemed to be effective. “Tell me!”

“Okay fine” she said after a minute or two of me tickling her. I smiled in triumph causing her to shake her head in amusement. She got a serious look on her face as she starred at me. “It’s you. I like you. I have for a while actually.”

I starred in surprise as she played with her fingers. She looked nervous as I tried to form a coherent sentence.

“You don’t have to feel the same or say anything. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have…” she moved to get off my lap, but I immediately tighten my grip as I starred at her.

“I like you too” I said causing her to stop and stare at me. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you would react.”

“Oh” she said as we sat there for a moment. “Would you maybe want to go out sometime? We could talk more about this and figure it out completely…”

“Yeah I would like that.” I smiled which caused her to smile and kiss my cheek. She moved to get off my lap and I let her.

“I can’t believe you thought I liked Tobin.” She teased as I rolled my eyes. “Only eyes for you Ms. O’hara.”

I smiled as she went back to talk to some of the others. I sat there for a moment thinking about the fact that I had a date with (Y/N). I grinned and then got on twitter posting a tweet that said ‘best night ever’ knowing the fans would no doubt connect the two events that have been posted. Must give them some credit. If we hadn’t tried to troll them, then maybe we wouldn’t have confessed our feelings. All I know is I couldn’t be more grateful.

The End.