#anyway I need a break from everything ever

[cloudtransprncy]

One Night Only - Directors Cut

Jennie Kim X Male Reader | 8k words

One night. That’s all you ever get. By morning, she’ll be gone. You’ll tell yourself this was the last time. You’ll both know it’s not.

AN: Ya’ll might remember this if you followed me last year. Spent the last few weeks reworking it—call it the director’s cut. Also Jennie is still my ult and so her coming back into the light is great.

Consequence. The word sits heavy in your mind as you watch the city from your hotel window. Thirty floors below, New York keeps moving. Never stops.

You flick ash from your cigarette. Every choice has weight. You know this. You called her anyway.

Jennie's mouth is on yours, soft and demanding at once. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and expensive gin, sweet and sharp. Her full lips part against yours, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. Her fingers pull at your hair, just rough enough to send shivers down your spine. Between kisses she breathes, "This is stupid," but her body presses closer, breasts pushing against your chest, hips finding yours.

Commitment. You've spent years avoiding that word. Being tied down always felt wrong. You need movement, new cities, different faces. Maybe that's why things fell apart—she saw what you couldn't admit. You'd always choose the road over staying still.

Her skin burns under your hands, smooth and impossibly soft. When you slide your palm down the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, she sighs against your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I've missed this," she says quietly, like she's admitting something she shouldn't. You back her against the wall, pinning her with your body. She arches into you, head tilting back in invitation. You feel her pulse jump beneath your lips when you kiss her throat, right at that spot that always makes her grip your shoulders tighter.

The hotel room is all clean lines and empty space. King bed with white sheets. Bathroom with too many mirrors. Mini-fridge you've already raided. View of the city that probably costs extra. Your record label covers it, so you don't care.

As a kid, you'd search for Virgo in the night sky. Stars were constant when nothing else was. Jennie's like that. No matter how far you go, you always circle back to her.

In the half-dark, her eyes catch the light from outside. She's always seen through you, always known the parts you try to hide from everyone else.

---

She'll come. She always does.

You know she's with someone else now—an actor with a jawline made for billboards. In her world of flashbulbs and red carpets, he makes sense. But you were there first, and somehow, you're still not gone.

It's been a year since you ended things, if you can call it an ending. When you call, she answers. When she texts, you drop everything. Some connections don't break clean.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

A day between Chicago and Toronto shows up in your tour schedule. When you hear she's in New York for some event, changing your plans feels inevitable.

At sunset, you text her from your hotel room. The message is simple: Here for the night. Room 3045.

She replies with just a question mark. Your conversations have become this—shorthand that only works because you share history.

"I'm in the city for one night," you say when you call her. The silence on her end isn't hesitation; it's calculation. Background noise filters through the phone—glasses clinking, people talking.

"I got a room, for me and you" you add. "One night only." You hang up knowing she'll decide whether to come. You also know what that decision will be.

The knock comes at 12:17. Three quick taps.

When you open the door, your breath catches in your throat. Jennie leans against the frame, champagne glass dangling between her fingers, but it's her body that has your full attention. Her black dress hugs every curve like it was painted on, stopping mid-thigh to reveal legs that seem endless. The material stretches tight across her hips, then tapers at her waist before swelling to accommodate her breasts. The neckline dips just low enough to make your mouth go dry.

"Started without me?" you nod toward her drink, trying to sound casual while your pulse hammers in your ears.

"Needed something to get me here," she says, her lips curving into that smile that's haunted you for months. Her eyes are dark and knowing, lined with perfect black wings that make them look even more dangerous.

Jennie walks in like she owns the place, hips swaying with each step. Those knee-high socks hug her calves, leading up to a thin garter belt that disappears beneath her dress—a promise of what waits underneath. Her skin glows warm and golden against the black fabric. Her dark hair tumbles in loose waves past her shoulders, the kind of perfectly tousled look that makes your fingers itch to grab it.

Her perfume wraps around you—roses with something darker underneath, expensive and intoxicating. The scent that's followed you to hotel rooms across the country, lingering on your sheets and clothes long after she's gone.

She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. Her red-painted nails catch the light as her hand moves to your chest. "We shouldn't keep doing this," she says, but her fingers are already working your shirt buttons, knuckles brushing against your skin with each one. Her touch leaves heat trails down your torso. "It's not fair."

"When has anything been fair?" you ask. Her mouth curves into the smile that's always meant trouble.

"Never," she agrees, pressing her hand against your chest. "So we might as well take what we can get."

When she kisses you, it feels like she's taking something back, something she left with you months ago. Tonight, in this room, she's not the girl from magazine covers or someone's girlfriend. She's yours again, temporarily.

"It's been a while," she whispers against your mouth.

"Too long," you admit.

The door clicks shut behind her. You have until sunrise.

Something electric sparks between you the moment the door clicks shut. The air feels different - charged with memory and want. Your bodies remember each other before your minds can catch up.

You're on the couch in minutes, her weight settling into your lap like she belongs there. This kiss is different from the ones you remember - hungrier, more desperate. Her tongue slides against yours, and you taste gin and desire. Her body presses against yours, soft in all the places you've missed.

Your hands find her curves through the thin fabric of her dress. You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer until there's nothing between you but clothing. She moans into your mouth when you press your hardness against her. You can feel her heat even through layers of fabric.

Jennie breaks the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a second before it breaks. Her eyes are dark pools reflecting the city lights outside. They hold yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight.

"I've missed this, Owen," she whispers. Her voice is rough at the edges. She grinds against you, slow and deliberate, the friction making your breath catch. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you back to her mouth. This kiss is deeper, messier, with teeth and tongue and need.

Your hands slide under her dress, finding warm skin. The sound she makes when you touch her bare thighs shoots straight to your groin. You push the fabric higher, revealing more of her, inch by inch. Her breathing quickens as her hips roll against yours. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric, rubbing against your chest.

She lifts her arms as you pull the dress over her head. You toss it aside, forgotten before it hits the floor.

Moonlight spills through the windows, painting her skin silver. She's all smooth curves and shadows in the half-light. Her body is a map you once knew by heart - the slight curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. You take it all in again, relearning her.

Your hands can't stay still. You need to touch every inch of her, remind yourself that she's real. Her skin is impossibly soft under your fingertips, warm and alive. Each touch makes her shift against you, seeking more pressure, more contact.

The sounds she makes are better than any song you've written. Small gasps when you squeeze her thighs. A sharp intake of breath when your thumb grazes her nipple. Low hums of pleasure when you find a spot she likes. Each sound builds on the last, creating a rhythm that guides your hands.

You need to taste her. Starting at her collarbone, you press your lips to her skin. Salt and sweetness and expensive perfume fill your senses. She sighs, her head falling back to give you better access. You work your way across her shoulder, down her arm, learning the texture of her skin with your mouth.

When you reach her breast, you feel her whole body tense in anticipation. The skin here is softer, more delicate. You circle her nipple with your tongue, feeling it harden further. Your hand finds her other breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak.

"Oh my god," she moans when you take her nipple into your mouth. Her back arches, pushing more of her into your face. The taste of her skin goes straight to your head like strong liquor. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

Your free hand slides down her stomach, fingers spread wide to feel as much of her as possible. You trace the edge of her panties, feeling the lace against your fingertips. She rocks against your hand, seeking more pressure. You cup her between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. Jennie gasps, her thighs trembling as you press your palm firmly against her covered pussy.

"Fuck," she breathes, grinding down on your hand. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. The slight pain only makes you harder.

You move to her neck, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin below her ear. When you bite down - not hard enough to mark, but enough to make her feel it - she whimpers, her whole body shuddering. Your thumb makes slow circles against her covered clit while your teeth work at her neck, finding the spots that make her grip your shoulders.

"I forgot how good you feel," you say against her skin, your voice rough with wanting.

"I want to feel you too," she says, eyes locked on yours. Her pupils are blown wide with desire. Her hand traces up your arm, across your shoulder, around to your back. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving trails of sensation. She tugs at your shirt, impatient now. You let her pull it over your head.

Her hands are everywhere at once, exploring your chest, your shoulders, your back. Her touch starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She leans down to kiss your neck, her lips hot against your pulse point. Her teeth graze your skin, just hard enough to make you hiss.

As her mouth works its way down your chest, a thought flickers through your mind - does she do this with him? Does she make these same sounds, move in these same ways? The thought knifes through the pleasure for a split second before her touch pulls you back.

Nothing exists outside this room. Not her boyfriend. Not your tour. Just her hands on your skin and her breath in your ear.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie says, her voice thick with desire. She slides from your lap in one fluid motion, her body moving with practiced grace. She settles between your legs, her knees pressed against the hotel carpet, thighs spread slightly apart. Her hair falls forward, framing her face as she looks up at you through her lashes.

In the half-light, she's a vision – lips parted and swollen from kissing, chest flushed and rising with quick breaths, her breasts full and nipples still hard from your attention. The garter and stockings against her bare skin create a contrast that makes your mouth go dry.

She runs her hands up your thighs, fingers pressing into your muscles. Her red nails stand out against your skin as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. There's something almost reverential in how she tugs them down – slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Her eyes never leave yours, even as she licks her lower lip in anticipation.

The fabric slides past your hips, and your cock springs free, hard and aching. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she takes you in. She leans closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin. When she finally looks up at you, her eyes are dark pools of hunger and something deeper – a look that's always been reserved just for you.

"You can have it tonight," you say, your voice rough as her hands wrap around your cock.

"All of it?" Jennie asks with a smile that's pure trouble. Her eyes don't leave yours. You nod, unable to form words.

She leans closer, parts her lips, and lets a strand of spit fall onto the tip. The warm wetness makes you twitch. She uses her fingers to spread it down your length, coating you. Her hand starts moving in slow strokes that make your breath catch.

Jennie sweeps her hair to one side, giving you a clear view. She doesn't break eye contact as she moves closer. Her breath hits you first, warm against sensitive skin. Then her tongue, wet and soft, circles the head of your cock. Your hands grip the couch cushions.

When she takes you into her mouth, the heat is shocking. Her lips stretch around you as she slides down, taking you deeper than you expected. Her tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make your thighs tense. The wet sounds fill the quiet room.

She pulls back, only keeping the tip in her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, teasing the sensitive spot just underneath. Then she moves down again, a little deeper this time. The rhythm is maddening – not enough to get you there, just enough to keep you desperate for more.

Jennie pulls off completely, her hand still working you in slow strokes. She looks up, studying your reaction. Her free hand moves to your balls, cupping them gently, then rolling them between her fingers. The touch is unexpectedly tender compared to the hunger in her eyes.

"You like that?" she asks, knowing the answer. Her thumb traces circles at the base of your cock while her other hand continues its exploration. "You always did."

She leans down and runs her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Then does it again on the underside, where you're most sensitive. Your hips lift off the couch involuntarily. She smiles at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power she has over you.

Jennie takes her time, alternating between her mouth and her hands. Sometimes she focuses just on the head, sucking gently while her hand works the shaft. Other times she takes you deep, then pulls back to circle the tip with her tongue. There's no pattern to follow, nothing to prepare you for what comes next.

Her hand slides lower, massaging your balls again before moving even further back. The unexpected pressure makes your whole body tense. She watches your reaction with dark, knowing eyes.

"Hold my hair," she says, pulling off for a moment. She grabs your hands and places them on either side of her head. "I want you to watch."

With your hands holding her hair back, you have a perfect view of her face, of her lips as they stretch around you again. She takes you deeper this time, her eyes watering slightly at the corners. The sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

She pulls off but keeps stroking you with her hand, tight and slick with spit. With her hair pulled back, you can see everything – her flushed cheeks, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She looks like something from a dream you've had too many times.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" she says, her voice low and teasing. Her hand never stops moving on you. "Always calling me back. Always wanting one more night."

She takes you back into her mouth, just the tip, sucking hard before releasing you with a pop.

"You think about this when you're with other girls?" She speeds up her strokes, twisting her wrist in a way that makes your vision blur. "Bet you do. Bet none of them do it like I do."

Her words hit something deep inside you – a truth you don't want to admit. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling just enough to make her eyes flash. She smiles, knowing she's struck a nerve.

"That's why you keep coming back," she continues, dropping her head to lick a slow circle around the base of your cock. She moves lower, taking one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently while her hand keeps working your shaft. The dual sensation makes your legs shake.

When she looks up again, there's challenge in her eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Before you can answer, she takes you deep into her mouth again, all the way until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there, swallowing around you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation is overwhelming – wet heat and pressure and the sight of her taking all of you.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, and she hums in satisfaction around you.

Jennie works you with perfect focus. Sometimes she takes you deep, her nose nearly touching your stomach, staying there until she needs to breathe. Other times she pulls back to use her hand with her mouth, twisting her wrist in a way that makes spots dance behind your eyes.

Every few strokes she pulls off completely, gathering more spit, making everything wetter, messier. Saliva coats your cock and her chin now, catching the dim light. It should be gross but it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Time stretches and blurs. It could be minutes or hours. There's just Jennie's mouth, her hands, the heat building at the base of your spine.

She changes her approach, focusing just on the head, sucking harder while her hand works the shaft in quick, tight strokes. The new sensation makes your leg muscles jump. You feel yourself getting close.

"Fuck, Jennie, I'm—" you try to warn her, reaching to pull her head back. You want to make this last, to feel more of her tonight.

She slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting.

"You're giving this to me now," she says, voice raspy from having you in her throat. "And you're giving me more later." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Jennie doubles down, moving with new determination. One hand squeezes the base while her mouth works the rest. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingernails lightly scratching your inner thigh. The unexpected touch makes you gasp.

She takes you deeper again, moaning around you like she's enjoying this as much as you are. The vibration, the suction, the sight of her – it all becomes too much.

The orgasm hits you like a punch. Your vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure roll through you. Jennie doesn't pull away, keeping perfect suction as you come. She swallows around you, the motion extending your pleasure until you're gripping her shoulders to stay upright.

She keeps going until you're too sensitive, until you have to gently push at her shoulders. Only then does she finally release you, looking up with satisfaction in her eyes. A small drop of white clings to her bottom lip before her tongue darts out to catch it.

She reaches for your discarded shirt and wipes her mouth and hands, casual as if she'd just finished a meal. The sight of her using your clothes like this only adds to the intimacy.

Jennie rises to her feet in one fluid motion, her body unfolding before you. She's petite but perfectly proportioned - slim waist, delicate shoulders, toned legs that seem to go on forever despite her height. Standing there in just her knee-high socks and garter, her small, perky breasts catch the dim light. Her skin has a golden glow against the darkness of the room.

She steps between your legs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. Her slender fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers. The gesture is possessive, almost commanding. She leans down, her straight dark hair falling forward to frame both your faces, creating a private world. Her lips find yours, softer now but still hungry. You taste yourself on her tongue, salt and skin.

"I'm not done with you," she whispers against your lips. "You brought me here. We're gonna make the most of it." Her fingertips trace your jawline before she steps back, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the bed.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

Jennie moves onto the bed with natural grace. The curve of her spine draws your eye down to where her waist narrows before flaring into her hips. The small black thong she still wears cuts across her skin, the thin fabric disappearing between her cheeks in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

She positions herself in the center of the bed, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She folds her legs into a 'W' shape, showcasing their length despite her petite frame. The knee-high socks create a striking contrast against her bare thighs. The entire pose is an invitation you could never refuse.

Her hands begin to move across her own body, touching herself with slow confidence. She traces circles around her small breasts, fingers dancing across her skin with a self-assurance that's hypnotic to watch. In the dim light, every movement feels like it's meant just for you.

You notice how different she looks now compared to when she arrived at your door. Her carefully applied makeup is smudged around her eyes. Her hair, once smooth and perfect, is wild from your hands. She looks beautifully undone, more real somehow, and even more stunning for it.

She runs a finger across her lips, still swollen from taking you in her mouth. Then trails it down her neck and over her chest, drawing your eye along the path.

"Come here," she says, her voice low but commanding. She rolls onto her back, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the half-light.

Though still wearing her thong, the thin black fabric does little to hide what's underneath. As you move closer to the bed, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides it down her legs with deliberate slowness. The last barrier between you disappears as she kicks it aside.

With the same unhurried confidence, Jennie reaches down and uses her fingers to part herself. The gesture is both vulnerable and bold – showing you exactly what you've been missing all these months. Even in the dim light, you can see how wet she is, glistening with want.

You climb onto the bed, feeling the expensive sheets against your palms. The fabric is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. The mattress gives slightly under your weight as you move between her legs.

Jennie is breathtaking beneath you. Her skin has a slight sheen in the low light, catching the glow from the bedside lamp. Her dark hair fans out against the white pillows, framing a face that's haunted your dreams for months. Her chest rises and falls with quickening breaths, her small breasts topped with hardened nipples that beg for your touch.

But you're not rushing this. Not after all these months apart.

You start at her ankles, where the knee-high socks still cling to her calves. Your lips press against the delicate bone there, feeling her pulse beneath the skin. She watches you through half-lidded eyes as you work your way higher, placing open-mouthed kisses up her calf.

When you reach the top of her sock, you peel it down slowly, revealing more of her skin inch by inch. The newly exposed flesh gets special attention – your lips, your tongue, even the gentle scrape of teeth that makes her shiver.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's no impatience in her voice, just wonder.

"Appreciating the view," you murmur against her knee. "Been thinking about this body for months."

You move to her other leg, giving it the same treatment – slow, deliberate kisses that make her skin prickle with goosebumps. Your hands slide up her thighs as your mouth follows, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

Her inner thighs are softer, more sensitive. When your tongue traces the crease where leg meets hip, she gasps, her fingers flexing against the sheets. The scent of her arousal is stronger here, making your mouth water.

You detour, moving up to kiss her stomach, the dip of her navel, the subtle ridges of her ribs. Each breath she takes makes her abdomen rise and fall beneath your lips. You work your way to her breasts, taking your time with each one – circling the nipple with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, feeling it harden further.

"Owen," she sighs, arching into your touch.

Your hands never stop moving, exploring every inch of her like you're memorizing her by touch alone. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides – all of it perfect, all of it Jennie.

You make your way back down, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her stomach. Her breathing quickens as you move lower, anticipation making her shift restlessly beneath you. When you reach the neat strip of dark hair between her legs, you pause, looking up to meet her eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful," you say, your voice rougher than intended.

Her eyes soften for just a moment before that familiar challenge returns. "Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to do something about it?"

You answer by settling between her legs, pushing her thighs wider. You can't help but stare at the view before you. There's something almost reverent in how you look at her – taking in every detail, every curve and shadow. Her thighs part further, an invitation that needs no words. Between her legs, you notice she's not completely bare – a neat, dark landing strip of hair points down like an arrow, the contrast of it against her skin making your mouth water.

The scent of her hits you first – warm and musky and distinctly Jennie. You breathe her in, letting it flood your senses and cloud your thoughts. Nothing exists but this bed, this woman, this moment.

You lower your head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible second. The first broad stroke of your tongue makes her gasp. You take your time, exploring her with long, flat licks that cover her entirely. Her taste is familiar yet new – sweet and tangy and addictive. You could drown here and die happy.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips already lifting slightly to meet your mouth.

You switch to softer, more focused touches, tracing her folds with the tip of your tongue. Each pass draws different sounds from her – soft sighs that gradually build to more urgent moans. You map her with your mouth, relearning what makes her breath catch, what makes her thighs shake.

When you find her clit, you circle it slowly, teasingly, not giving her the direct pressure you know she craves. Her fingers find your hair, tightening in frustration.

"Don't tease me," she warns, but there's no real threat in her voice – just desire strained to its breaking point.

You smile against her before giving in, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. The reaction is immediate – her back arches off the bed, a strangled curse falling from her lips.

Your free hand slides up her body, finding the toned plane of her stomach. You press down firmly, holding her in place as your mouth works against her. The contrast of your hand on her abs while your tongue explores her most sensitive areas makes her writhe beneath you.

She's getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin as you work. You move your tongue in circles, then switch to quick flicks across her clit that make her thighs tremble. Each change in pressure or rhythm pulls new sounds from her throat.

"Oh god, right there," she gasps when you find a particularly sensitive spot.

You slip a finger inside her, feeling her heat clench around you immediately. She's impossibly tight and wet, her body welcoming the intrusion. You curl your finger to find that spot that always drove her crazy. When you find it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked.

"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You add a second finger, stretching her gently while continuing to work her clit with your mouth. The combination makes her hips buck wildly against your face. Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling almost painfully.

With each thrust of your fingers, you quicken the tempo, driving deeper into her. Her muscles clench around you rhythmically, like she's trying to pull you further in. Your tongue never stops its assault on her clit, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention.

"Owen," she moans, her voice breaking. "I'm so close."

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your fingers still working inside her. "You still think about this when you're with him?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Your thumb replaces your tongue, circling her clit as you watch her face.

She glares down at you, but her body betrays her, clenching around your fingers. "You're such a dick."

"But you're here anyway," you say, curling your fingers against that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "In my bed, not his."

Her breath catches. "Shut up."

You lower your head again, sucking her clit between your lips while adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her back arching. You can feel her getting closer – her thighs tensing, her breathing becoming irregular. Her entire body is flushed with heat, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim light.

You establish a relentless rhythm – fingers pumping while your tongue works her clit. The wet sounds of your movements fill the room, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans.

Just as she's about to peak, you ease back, slowing down just enough to keep her on the edge.

"Tell me you missed this," you say against her inner thigh, your breath hot on her wet skin.

"Don't stop," she pleads, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

You stay just out of reach. "Tell me no one does this like I do."

Her hands tighten in your hair, trying to force you back down. "I hate you," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"No, you don't." You circle her entrance with your fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Say it, Jennie."

She fights it for a moment, pride warring with desire. Then breaks. "No one does it like you do. Now please—" her voice cracks with need, "please don't stop."

The desperation in her voice sends heat through your entire body. You give her what she wants, diving back in with renewed hunger. Your tongue circles her clit rapidly while your fingers press firmly against that sweet spot inside her. The dual sensations push her toward the edge fast.

Her legs wrap around your head, thighs clamping against your ears as her body tenses. Your free hand reaches up to find her breast, pinching her nipple between your fingers. The added stimulation makes her cry out, her voice cracking with pleasure.

"Owen," she warns, her voice tight and strained. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you command, increasing the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needs.

Her breathing turns ragged, her moans more frantic. The muscles in her stomach tense under your hand as her body coils tight, ready to snap. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Her words dissolve into a broken cry as it hits her. Her back arches high off the bed, her body going rigid. Her thighs shake violently around your head as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Oh my God!" The words tear from her throat as her fingers pull painfully at your hair. Her body convulses beneath your mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. "You're so good at that, Owen."

She bites her lower lip hard, her neck straining as her hips jerk uncontrollably against your face. You don't let up, working her through the peak, extending her pleasure until she's gasping and writhing from the intensity.

The aftershocks ripple through her body like tremors, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Only when she weakly pushes at your head, too sensitive to take any more, do you finally ease back. You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her wrecked expression.

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks utterly spent, flushed and beautiful in her satisfaction.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks down at you, her gaze dropping to your obvious arousal. Without a word, she reaches forward and spits on it, her saliva glistening as she begins to stroke you. You groan at the contact, your body responding instantly to her touch. You don't let up, working her through the orgasm, only easing the pressure when her hand pushes weakly against your head, oversensitive.

You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her flushed face. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks up at you, a predatory gleam replacing the post-orgasm haze in her eyes. Without warning, she reaches for your cock and spits on it, her saliva mixing with the wetness still coating her lips from going down on you earlier.

"Now," she says, voice raspy and demanding, "I'm going to fuck you."

She doesn't wait for your response, just straddles your hips and positions herself above you. Her thighs flex as she hovers, teasing you with the heat of her center just inches away from where you need it.

"Tell me how bad you want this," she demands, one hand flat against your chest for balance.

"Just get on my dick already," you growl, grabbing her hips to pull her down.

She resists, maintaining control. "Say please," she taunts, her eyes challenging you.

You nearly laugh. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wicked smile, then finally sinks down in one swift movement, taking you to the hilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as her heat surrounds you. She's impossibly tight after her orgasm, still pulsing slightly from the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking big," she gasps, adjusting to the stretch. There's no sweetness in her voice – just raw appreciation for how you fill her.

Jennie starts to move, not with gentle rises and falls but with demanding, forceful motions. Her thighs flex powerfully as she lifts herself almost completely off before slamming back down. Each drop makes a slapping sound that fills the room, punctuated by her sharp gasps.

The sight of her riding you is mesmerizing. Her small breasts bounce with each movement, nipples hard and dark against her golden skin. Her stomach muscles visibly tighten with each rise and fall, showing off the definition in her abs that she works so hard for. Her hair, now completely wild from your hands, whips around her shoulders as she moves.

"Touch my tits," she commands, grabbing your hands and placing them on her chest.

You squeeze roughly, pinching her nipples the way you remember she likes. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, a string of curses falling from her lips.

"Fucking hell, your cock feels so good," she says, grinding down hard. "Tell me you've missed this pussy."

"Every fucking day," you admit, thrusting up to meet her movements. The force of it nearly bounces her off you, but she adjusts her balance, her strong thighs gripping your sides.

She leans forward, her hands braced on your chest. The new angle lets her grind her clit against your pubic bone with each thrust. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent marks that burn. Her face hovers above yours, her hair creating a curtain around you both. Sweat beads along her hairline, one drop sliding down her temple to her jaw.

"No one fucks me like you do," she admits, the words sounding torn from her. "No one."

With a surge of need, you move between her thighs, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrap around your waist, drawing you closer. Your eyes lock as you drive into her, taking control of the pace.

"Fuck, I missed this tight pussy," you growl, watching her eyes flash at your words.

"Shut up and fuck me harder," she snaps back, digging her heels into your lower back.

You slam into her, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust jolts her body up the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows like spilled ink. Her small breasts bounce with the impact, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Your hands move to her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her small frame. The contrast of your large hands against her tiny waist makes your head spin. You can feel her hip bones under your thumbs, the delicate architecture of her body beneath your palms.

"Like that? This how you want it?" Your voice is rough, almost unrecognizable with need.

"Yes—don't fucking stop," she gasps, her nails raking down your back hard enough to leave welts.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance as your bodies slam together. The taste of her—sweet with a hint of salt from her sweat—fills your senses. You break away to trail bites down her neck, leaving marks that will remind her of this night long after you're gone.

She arches into you, offering more of herself. You take advantage, moving to her shoulder, then her arm, leaving a trail of bites and kisses along her skin. The salt of her sweat makes your head spin. When you reach the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she lets out a surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," she pants as you run your tongue along the delicate skin of her armpit, tasting the most primal part of her.

In this position, you can see everything—her face contorting with each thrust, the way her stomach muscles tighten when you hit deep, how her lips part on silent screams when you find the perfect angle. Her hair sticks to her temples with sweat, dark strands clinging to her flushed skin.

Sweat makes your bodies slide together, the hotel room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. You grip her thigh, pushing it higher, opening her wider. The position stretches her leg up toward her chest, showing off the flexibility from her years of dance training.

"Harder," she demands, her voice breaking as you comply. "Fucking wreck me."

You reach down, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you as you pound into her. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown with arousal. "This what you came here for? This what you needed?"

Her breathing changes, becoming more ragged. You recognize the signs—she's close again. You adjust your position slightly, hitting that spot inside her that you know drives her wild.

"There!" she cries out, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You maintain the angle, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her body tenses beneath you, on the edge but not quite there.

"Let go," you urge, your thumb finding her clit. "Come for me again."

She shakes her head. "Not yet—not without you."

Something snaps in you at her words. Without warning, you pull out completely and flip her over in one rough motion. She gasps, surprised by the sudden movement as you manhandle her onto her hands and knees. Your hand lands hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries out, more in arousal than pain.

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as you position yourself behind her. Sweat drips down your chest, landing on her back as you line yourself up. You can hear her panting, waiting, her thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

"This what you want?" you growl against her ear, your chest pressed to her back, cock teasing her entrance.

"Yes," she hisses. "Give it to me."

You slam into her without further warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is primal—half scream, half moan. Her arms nearly buckle under the force, but you hold her up with your grip on her hair.

"Fuck!" she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

You establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust making her entire body jerk forward. Her hair is wrapped tight around your fist like a leash, forcing her back to arch at a severe angle. Sweat makes your bodies slide together, your skin slapping against hers with obscene wet sounds. The musky scent of sex fills the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Look at you taking it," you say, giving her ass another sharp slap that leaves a fresh handprint. "Always said you were made for this."

She looks back over her shoulder, her face a perfect picture of pleasure-pain, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you," she pants, but pushes back harder against you, contradicting her words.

The sight of her is overwhelming – her narrow waist flaring out to perfectly rounded hips, the elegant curve of her spine dipping then rising, her hair tangled in your fist. From this angle, you can see everything – the way her back hollows out, how her ass bounces against your hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you both.

You lean forward, running your free hand up her side to roughly grab her breast. The position pushes you deeper, making her gasp. Your fingers find her nipple, pinching hard as you maintain your relentless pace.

"Oh god," she moans, her arms shaking from supporting her weight. "Don't stop."

Her body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making her skin glow in the dim light. You can see the muscles in her back shifting beneath her skin with each impact, the way her shoulder blades move as she braces against your thrusts.

"Owen," she warns, voice strained with need. "I'm so close."

Her words push you closer to the edge. You increase your pace, chasing both her pleasure and your own. Each thrust now has purpose, driving deeper, harder. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your control slipping with every sound she makes.

"I'm close too," you admit, rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm gonna cum."

Her body tenses beneath you, muscles tightening as she approaches her peak. You can feel it building—the way she clenches around you, the trembling in her thighs, her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Oh my God, Owen!" she cries out, her voice breaking on your name. "Fill me up!"

Her orgasm crashes through her—you feel it in the way her body convulses, in how she rhythmically tightens around you, in the broken sounds that escape her throat. The sensation of her pulsing around you pushes you over the edge.

Your release hits with an intensity that whites out your vision—powerful, overwhelming, unstoppable. You empty yourself inside her, every pulse accompanied by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Her body milks you, drawing out every last sensation until you're both trembling from the force of it.

As the intensity fades, you collapse beside her on the bed, pulling her close against you. Your arm wraps around her waist as you press gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body still trembles with small aftershocks, her breathing gradually slowing to normal.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly. Despite the roughness of what just happened, she turns toward you with unexpected tenderness, her small hand coming up to cup your cheek.

She presses her forehead against yours, eyes closed, just breathing you in. A small, almost inaudible snort escapes her as she tries to catch her breath – a startlingly human sound that cuts through the haze of post-sex euphoria. It makes her seem more real somehow, more Jennie than the polished celebrity the world knows.

Her chest still rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeat a quick rhythm you can feel where your bodies press together. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, moving from your chest to your shoulder and back again. It's these quiet moments that always feel more dangerous than the sex – this gentle intimacy that makes you think of what could have been.

"Shit," she finally whispers, a small laugh bubbling up. She looks slightly dazed, her makeup completely ruined, hair a tangled mess. "I forgot how good we are at that."

You brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture is too tender for what this is supposed to be, but you can't help yourself. "Some things you don't forget."

She looks into your eyes and you see a complex mix of satisfaction and something deeper—a longing that mirrors your own. Her hair sticks to her face in damp strands, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Even like this—especially like this—she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As she lies in your arms, her breathing gradually steadying, you can't help but think about what might have been between you in another life—one where you could stay instead of always leaving. One where "one night only" wasn't all you ever had.

---

Hours later, once you’re sure she’s asleep, you slip out of the bed. The sheets make a soft sound as you untangle yourself from her limbs. She doesn't stir.

The hotel room feels different at 3 AM. Quieter. The luxury that seemed impressive earlier now feels hollow, just expensive emptiness. You find your sweatpants on the floor where she pulled them off you hours ago.

The balcony door slides open with a whisper. Thirty floors up, the city spreads out like someone spilled light across black velvet. You light a cigarette, cupping your hand against the wind even though there's no one here to see the brief flare of your lighter.

Inside, Jennie sleeps. Her small body barely disturbs the white sheets. In the dim light filtering from the bathroom, you can see the marks you left on her neck, her shoulders. Evidence that you were here. That this happened.

She belongs to someone else now. The thought should bother you more than it does. Maybe you're just used to it - this pattern of coming together briefly, then separating again. Maybe you've convinced yourself it's better this way.

You take a deep drag, feeling the burn in your lungs. It's cold out here in just sweatpants, but the chill feels necessary after the heat of her body against yours for hours.

You've never been good at staying. It's not a point of pride, just a fact, like your height or the sound of your voice. Commitment feels like drowning to you, always has. You've tried to explain this to her before. She said she understood, but the way she looked at you afterward told a different story.

Below, taxis crawl along streets like yellow insects. People spill out of late-night bars, laughing too loud. The city that never sleeps. You'll be gone from it tomorrow. Another show, another hotel room indistinguishable from this one.

You wonder if her boyfriend knows where she is tonight. If he senses something when she slips back into their shared life tomorrow. If he can somehow smell you on her skin despite the shower she'll take before going home.

The cigarette burns down to your fingers. You flick it over the edge, watching its orange tip tumble into darkness.

Jennie knows you better than anyone. This is the thought that keeps you up at night in cities whose names you sometimes forget. She knows your body, your sounds, the things that make you come undone. Worse, she knows the parts of yourself you try to hide from everyone else.

A melody forms in your head. Something slow and hazy, like smoke curling off a cigarette. Words follow naturally - about being in town just for one night. About needing her. About the room you got for just the two of you.

You mouth the words silently, testing how they feel:

I'm in town for one night,

one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Your fans will think it's just another song about sex. They won't know about the way Jennie looked at you when she came. How her body felt like coming home. How you're already planning when you can see her again, even as you tell yourself this was the last time.

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

The song takes shape in your mind, already feeling like a hit. Your producer will love it. Your label will push it. No one will know it's about her. No one except Jennie, if she ever hears it.

The city is turning blue at the edges when you finally go back inside. Morning approaching. Soon you'll have to leave for the airport, for the next city, the next crowd.

Jennie hasn't moved. You slide in beside her, your skin cold from the night air. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts toward your body heat, instinctively seeking you out. Her hand finds your chest, rests over your heart.

You wonder what she'd say if you asked her to come with you to Toronto. You won't ask. You both know the routine by now.

One night only. It's never enough. It's all you can handle.

END.

[thelov3lybookworm]

A Little Gift

Summary: Being late to a date is unacceptable, unless, of course, the reason for the delay is so adorable.

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Word Count: 1846

Warnings: none, just fluff and rhysie being an adorable brother 🥹

A/n: based on this request 😋 @knoxic BESITE I LOVED LOVED LOVEDDDDDD THIS IDEA OMG I LOVE THIS ONE SM HOPE U LIKE IT TOO🤭

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

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"Y/n, baby, are you sure you want this?"

Y/n pouted up at her brother, nodding. "He’s very nice to me."

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his forehead. He had been sighing a lot the past week, Y/n noted, since she told him the new HIgh Lord of Autumn had wanted to court her. Y/n knew none of the members of the inner circle liked the news, she could see the disappointment and doubt on their faces clearly. And it had saddened her deeply to know she had let down her family, who had been nothing but kind and loving to her after her parents and sister had passed.

Rhysand had been so loving, taking up the role of a doting big brother so seriously that at times people confused him for her father.

Not that he could have ever been as caring as Rhysand was.

Out of the three siblings, Ophelia had been the loudest, the cheeriest. She would always smile, no matter what situation she was in. Then was Rhysand, loud, but quiet when needed to be. And then Y/n, who barely ever spoke if it wasn’t in front of her siblings or mother.

And then Rhysand and Y/n were suddenly the only ones remaining alive, and she had drawn in on herself more than ever. The first few months, Rhysand was too busy wallowing by himself and trying to take care of the court, thrust into the new role of the High lord without preamble, to notice.

When he had, he had cried, holding his only remaining family tight.

Since then, he had made sure to give Y/n all the attention in the world, never raising his voice at her, knowing she could be ripped away from him too. He did not want to hurt her, when she was the only person who really mattered. He gave her everything she asked or, never saying no to anything.

So Y/n had known when she told him about Eris, that he would not outright refuse to acknowledge their budding relationship, nor would he get mad at her.

But he would try to talk her out of making a grave decision, in his words, and Y/n did not mind it one bit.

"I can’t imagine him being nice, in any world." Rhysand mumbled under his breath, glaring holes into his shoes as he paused his pacing.

"Rhys, can’t you just give him one chance?"

"One chance to do what, angel? Break your heart?"

Y/n leaned back in the armchair she was sitting in, waiting for Eris to show up so the two could spend time together, as promised in the letters exchanged the week before. She picked at the soft fabric of the skirts of her shimmery dark orange silk dress, chewing on her lip, trying to come up with something to placate her panicking brother.

"Y/n, he's late. The male can’t even show up on time. How can I bring myself to trust him with you when he is keeping you waiting?"

Y/n glanced outside, then back in her lap. He was right. Eris was late. Not too much, of course, but late nonetheless. It didn’t bother Y/n. She knew of the problems and responsibilities that came with being a new high lord, having seen her brother go through the same experience her lover was going through. She knew how meetings and tasks came up and demanded your attention even when you didn’t have time for them.

But Rhys wasn’t as willing to be lenient as Y/n, it seemed.

Once again, he sighed, dragging his hands down his face and walking closer to Y/n. She sat quiet, watching him move to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his.

"I just want you to be happy, Y/n. You are like my own baby, my child. I’ve seen you go through so much, so much pain, so many hardships, and I think you deserve to have a quiet, calm life where there’s no uncertainty. A life where you know you are loved, with someone who isn’t broken, who hasn’t been known to be hateful. I see Eris, Y/n, and I can tell his circumstances were not ideal enough for him to be able to afford being good, and I understand that. But what if his goodness now is overshadowed by his old habits? The things he’s been forced to do won’t leave him just like that."

Y/n’s eyes prickled as she nodded along, her grip tightening around her older brother’s hands. She understood what he was saying, of course she did. But that didn’t mean she wanted to accept it.

"I… I don’t-" Y/n paused, trying to understand what she even wanted to say.

"I’m not saying you shouldn’t court him, Y/n. Just- just be careful, yeah? Guard your heart until you are sure of his intentions."

Y/n nodded, leaning down to put her head on her brother’s shoulder. She blinked away the tears furiously while one of Rhys’s hands went around her, rubbing her back.

"Okay, enough emotional talk. Too much for my health."

Y/n huffed out a wet laugh, pulling away from Rhys to peer at Cassian, who pretended to gag and turned away.

"When did you come, Cass?"

"Yeah, why did you come, Cass?" Rhys stood, dusting off his pants and sneering at Cass, who offered him the kindest finger he owned.

"I came to see Y/n off. Where’s your mate?"

Y/n swallowed, glancing outside once more. "I don’t know."

His mouth dropped open in a show of exaggerated shock. "He’s making a lady wait? Absolutely horrendous."

Y/n shook her head, pushing to her feet, running her hands down her skirt. "It’s no big deal."

The next few moments passed quickly, as Y/n watched Feyre materialise in the doorway, Nyx and Nesta by her side. Then Azriel and Mor, and her brows furrowed. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for everyone to gather in the sitting room after breakfast on the holidays, lazing around until it was time for lunch, but… this gathering didn’t seem to be about that.

Were they all here to see her off?

Ridiculous busy bodies.

Before she could say anything about it, though, a knock drew her attention, and Y/n’s heart quickened, already predicting who it was.

But it was Rhysand, who hurried out to open the door.

"You’d think it was him going out with Eris." Y/n murmured, following him out into the foyer. Azriel made a noise of agreement, his arms folded across his chest as he walked behind her.

Y/n ignored his presence, pushing her jittery hands behind her hips, pressing her lips together before stepping fully into view of the door.

Eris wore a simple burnt orange dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow and two buttons undone, showing off his, evidently, hard earned muscles. Dark brown slacks clung to his hips and thighs, matching with the dark brown long jacket he had draped over his shoulders.

Just the sight of him was enough to make Y/n drool. But she forced herself to look away, to focus on what her brother was saying.

"You understand me?" Rhys said his voice low, menacing.

Y/n didn’t even want to imagine what he was trying to make Eris understand.

"I understand-" Eris paused mid sentence, his eyes moving to rest on Y/n, widening ever so slightly. His gaze moved down to her toes, then back up again, snagging on her hair before meeting her eyes, offering her a small smile.

Rhys didn’t seem too bothered by Eris’s sudden lack of words, moving away from the doorway to grab Y/n’s long jacket before turning to her, waiting. Y/n hurried to put it on when her eyes fell to the way Eris held his hands behind his back. Almost as if he was as anxious to see her as she had been to see him.

"What took you so long?" Y/n pushed one arm through the jacket Rhys held open for her as Azriel prodded, curiously watching at Eris.

His cheeks turned a light shade of red, the freckles dotting his cheeks standing out.

"I, uh… had a little something come up."

Azriel raised a brow. "And that is?"

Eris glanced at Y/n, before clearing his throat. "I wanted to get her a gift."

"And did you?"

Y/n whipped her head to glare at the spymaster. "Azriel."

"No no, he has a point." Rhys said, resting his hands on Y/n’s shoulders.

Y/n sighed, exasperated, and pulled away from her brother. "Let’s go, Eris. Ignore them."

He smiled, the indent on his cheek making an appearance as he pulled his arms forward. In them, nestled, was a small, golden little pup, eyes wide yet drooping, a messy little red bow adorning its neck.

Instantly, Y/n’s heart melted, a soft gasp escaping her. Her focus zeroed in on the little thing, her brother and Azriel fading away into the background until all she could see were the innocent eyes, the small body, the soft fur and the wagging tail. She stepped forward as he extended his hands, letting the pup sniff the fingers she lifted to pet the little thing.

"What is this?"

"Your gift?" Y/n didn’t look up, but she could practically hear the look on his face.

"Eris- you didn’t have to." Y/n mumbled, feeling her brother peek over her shoulder at the animal she gently took into her own arms.

He shrugged. "I knew you liked cats but I couldn’t find a kitten so I just- got you him. I hope you like him." He paused for a moment, and Y/n could hear his smile when he spoke next. "He certainly seems to like you."

"Like him, Eris?!" She lifted her head and drew the animal close to her chest, her lower lip jutting out as tears gathered in her eyes. His eyes widened, a look of alarm crossing Eris’s face as his shoulders stiffened. "I love him!"

He exhaled a relieved breath, his small grin making an appearance again. "Well, I’m glad to hear that."

"Aren’t you supposed to go?" Rhysand questioned. When Y/n glanced at him, he didn’t even look up at her. His eyes were fixated on the whining pup.

Her eyes narrowed. "He’s mine."

Rhys rolled his eyes, reaching out to take the dog whose tail wouldn’t stop wagging. "Go on, it’s almost dinner time."

Y/n wanted to argue, but he was right. They were running late.

"See you later then." Y/n kissed her brother’s cheek, who simply waved her away, too busy cooing over the golden fur ball in his arms. She dropped a peck on his little head, too, before turning to Eris and pulling the door shut behind her, sighing.

His eyes twinkled as he extended his arm towards her, head tilted.

"Shall we?"

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[seriousbrat]

how can lily be a good person if she married a bully?

I'm going to break this down because it does legitimately seem to be an issue for so many people. I received quite a few asks about this a few days ago so I'm just going to address it generally here. Apologies for the length of this, I tried to cover everything I could think of. Let's get two things out of the way first:

Firstly, if you truly believe James was an abuser, and you're seriously asking how a woman could ever marry an abusive man, this is indicative of a fundamental lack of understanding about how abuse works. This is victim-blaming rhetoric. Abusers are predatory, manipulative, and often extremely charming, and they have a specific methodology for ensnaring their victims. I highly recommend Lundy Bancroft's book Why Does He Do That for further reading on how abuse works. The reality is that women marry abusive men all the time, and it doesn't make them bad people. If you believe otherwise we simply have nothing to talk about here.

Second, the question of whether or not James ACTUALLY changed his behaviour is irrelevant here, so I'm not going to directly address it either way. The main thing is that Lily BELIEVED that he had changed, whether or not he actually did, and we know this from Harry's conversation with Remus and Sirius. We also know she wasn't aware of the full extent of the bullying, as she didn't know the details about the prank.

For the purposes of this I'm going to adopt the perspective that James never changed, had 0 character development, and was secretly a terrible person the whole time. To be clear this isn't what I believe-- but I think it's helpful to start from a similar place.

Onto the main points:

An overly forgiving nature can be a flaw, but it doesn't make someone a bad person.

Nor does it make them selfish. Even if I concede that James was irredeemably evil as a person, the fact that Lily believed him to be better than he was, even if she was wrong, makes her at worst naive, not selfish. In fact, I'd argue that it's a sign of empathising with someone too much, which is sort of the opposite of selfishness. We know that Lily had an overly-forgiving nature, because she demonstrates that with Severus when she's willing to overlook his associations with the worst people of all time. And as we know from the fact that her friends were openly critical of it, and that she suffered as a result of it, her friendship with Sev was hardly 'convenient' for her. That she forgave him and overlooked his behaviour, and defended him, despite the fact that it was actively inconvenient for her, indicates empathy (and probably too much of it) not selfishness. Being overly forgiving is an established character trait of Lily's, as she tells us she "made excuses for [Sev] for years." Making excuses for someone you love is a flaw, but not one necessarily rooted in selfishness. Again, it was actively inconvenient for Lily to make excuses for Sev. It's also a very human flaw, not one that makes her a bad person-- especially when you consider that Lily's capacity for forgiveness had its limits, as she demonstrated with Snape.

To forgive is an act of compassion... it's not done because people deserve it, it's done because they need it.

anyway with that buffy quote out of the way, lets move on

Lily owes Snape nothing.

I'm sure people will disagree, but, objectively, she just doesn't. They are not friends at this point. He has demonstrated consistently that he doesn't have enough consideration for her to stop rubbing shoulders with people who literally want to murder her, including a boy who attacked her housemate. So why is Lily expected to take into account his feelings and his history with James? Which leads right into:

It's a massive double-standard for Lily to be blamed for marrying James when Snape isn't afforded the same for associating with Death Eaters.

I mean, think what you want, but to me being a mass murderer intent on exterminating an entire subset of the population (talking about Voldemort and other DEs here, not Snape) is like, maybe, a tiny bit worse than being a bully in school. But what do I know. Snape willingly joined up with such people, knowing perfectly well what they wanted to do to Lily, the woman he loved, and everyone like her. If Lily's choice in husband makes her a selfish person, then by your own logic Snape is completely irredeemable and you should probably delete your blog about how misunderstood and babygirl he is.

Sometimes people marry or befriend terrible people.

Similar to the first point, lack of judgement is a flaw but not one that directly indicates selfishness. Again, remember, Lily believed James to have changed. She believed, whether or not she was wrong, that redemption is possible. It's extremely common for women to date and marry terrible men, unfortunately, and to be blinded to their flaws. There are many possible reasons for this. I guess you can argue that the desire to be loved is inherently selfish, but that still wouldn't make Lily notably selfish at all, rather just a normal human. Plenty of people have had the experience of dating someone who is terrible or being friends with someone who is terrible at some point in their lives, and it doesn't automatically make them terrible themselves. People make mistakes and have poor judgment occasionally. Her actions in SWM suggest she would not have tolerated nor validated any cruelty from James towards others, had she been aware of it. Anyway, once again if you're holding Lily responsible for James's actions you need to also hold Snape responsible for the actions of his buddies. If it's selfish for Lily to associate with a bully (who she believed to have reformed) it's straight up devoid of any humanity whatsoever for Snape to KNOWINGLY associate with people like Mulciber, Voldemort, and Bellatrix. I don't actually believe this btw, I'm just following the logic through.

Furthermore, it's completely unfair to blame Lily for, in particular, the past actions of her husband.

As we clearly see in SWM, she did NOT tolerate his behaviour during the years before they started dating. James's behaviour is simply not Lily's responsibility, and neither is Snape's. It's not her job to fix them nor pay for their mistakes, nor should she have to investigate and tally up all their past wrongdoings when making her own choices. If James was actively being a menace and Lily was just watching going 'teehee' I'd understand this more, but again, she was NOT aware. Based on her behaviour in SWM, this would be out of character for Lily.

Someone having a moral stance you personally disagree with doesn't automatically make them a bad person.

If your moral stance is that James's past actions are completely unforgivable, and you could not personally date someone who did what he did, no matter how he evolved as a person, that's perfectly fine. As I've established, Lily was not aware of any continuing wrongdoing, nor would she have validated or supported it had she been aware. Lily's belief was that the person she was currently dating was a good person. She believed in redemption and second chances. If you personally do not believe in redemption or second chances, I'd question why you even like Snape, but ultimately that's your prerogative. However, believing otherwise doesn't make Lily a bad person nor selfish, even if you personally disagree or think she was wrong. People are allowed to be mistaken.

Snape was probably less relevant to their lives than you think.

Like to be quite honest, they were fighting a war and priorities had shifted, as they often do in adulthood. Lily ended her friendship with Sev, and after Hogwarts James and Lily almost certainly had no association with him whatsoever. Is Lily expected to continually self-flagellate over Snape for the rest of her life? Is she expected to take him into account in every decision she makes, forever? Believe it or not James and Lily existed separately to Snape, rather than as extensions of his character. They moved on. Snape didn't, that's what makes him beautiful-- and yes there's a reason why Snape couldn't move on, but, again, that is not Lily's responsibility. It seems reasonable to me that, particularly given the extreme nature of her circumstances, Lily would take into account first and foremost the actions she observed from James in the present, rather than what he did in the past. See above re: Lily owes Snape nothing.

Being selfless, kind, or a good person doesn't make one perfect.

When I say Lily was selfless, I do NOT mean that she was flawless. If this is your takeaway I worry for you. Also, enough about the Virgin Mary lol. Anyway, humans are complex, and selfless people are capable of selfishness on occasion. Everyone is. A certain amount of selfishness is not only normal, it can be a good thing and necessary for protecting yourself. When Lily ended her friendship with Sev, it was something she was doing for herself, so in the most technical sense (and it's still a huge stretch) it can be viewed as selfish. Nobody is or should be 100% selfless all the time. So even were I to concede that she was selfish in marrying James (which I don't) it doesn't preclude her being a selfless person in general.

Being selfless, kind, or a good person doesn't make a female character 'unrealistic.'

What even is this argument, honestly. Like do you just not believe in the existence of good women irl? Suspicious. I would gently suggest that if you find it unrealistic (or boring) for a woman to be a good person, that's maybe something you should take a closer look at. If your automatic assumption about a woman is that she must have married a man for his money, I would also interrogate that belief.

idk she was a teenage girl, pls develop some empathy

once you come down from your podium in the unholy tribunal, it might be worth considering female characters (and women in general) as human, and not just avatars who simply react to the emotional turmoil of men. At absolute worst you could assume that she was tricked by James (which I still disagree with, but it's a slightly more generous reading) or was blind and naive. All of which are more understandable than, for some reason, assuming she was a conniving bitch who wanted to hurt Snape and selfishly marry into wealth. Ultimately her decision to marry James probably had nothing to do with Snape at all. She was 21 when she died. Bad judgment is common at that age, and it's not necessarily a product of selfishness at all. Look, I'd understand this whole thing more if everyone was in their 30s. But is it not the teenage girl experience of all time to date an asshole? Do you have no empathy for that situation? Like I said, I'm arguing this based on the idea that James was completely irredeemable; would an abuser not abuse his girlfriend too? Would someone who is evil and cruel in all respects not also display cruelty to his wife? Can you not summon up an ounce of empathy for a 17 year old who might have thought, as many young girls do, 'I can fix him?'

To conclude, I think that the idea that Lily marrying a bully makes her a bad person is just rooted in lack of empathy for her as a character. Despite spending hours dissecting every last thought process a man might have had, there's no attempt at all to try and understand Lily's motives, rather they're considered exclusively from the perspective of Snape's emotions. This is unfair.

I don't doubt that it hurt Snape's feelings for Lily to date and marry James. But Snape's feelings are no longer her concern. She owes him nothing. Sev called his best friend a slur publicly and joined an organisation that wanted to murder her, with no respect for her feelings at all. They are no longer friends, and he has no right whatsoever to expect her to consider his own emotional needs anymore, and her choices no longer have anything to do with him. Nor should they have.

Whether or not you think it was a mistake for Lily to marry James, that's Lily's problem. Not Snape's. If you truly believe James was a monster, logically it's Lily you should be feeling sorry for. The fact that there's no empathy for her to be found, and that people revert so quickly to the Top 100 Misogyny Classic of 'she must be a gold digger' speaks for itself.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - N

N is for your name on Wally's lips whenever he jerks himself stupid. It's for the nonsense newly flooding his brain—no longer just what are you wearing, but how you feel and what you think and when can I see you for things other than getting his cock wet.

It's for the fact that, as of fuck-knows-when, there's little to nothing Wally won't do for you if you look at him just right and ask oh-so-pretty. Never in his life has he been so consumed by someone apart from himself. He wants to know you, inside and out, back to front, top to bottom, and who the hell is he, where's the real Wally Clark? The Wally Clark who took girls home to bolster his ego. The Wally Clark who, "until Janet", never settled for one thing when he could have everything.

He assumed it was sexual tension, then sexual satisfaction, then sexual rampage, but, Christ Almighty, he can't get enough of you. It's never enough, no matter how many times he has you under him, over him, face to cunt, cock to mouth, around him inside you, limbs so tangled it's impossible to distinguish where one ends and the other begins.

What makes him more nervous isn't how addicted he is to the sex. It's how you've fucking nestled into his heart, brain, soul as much as he nestles into your body. The notion terrifies him—that he might be falling...down, over, backward, tripping over his own feet navigating shit he promised himself he'd never need. Yet, here he is, Wally Clark, wrapped around your little finger and you don't even know it.

He's in Janet's room, arguing with her as calmly as she'll let him, telling her to back the fuck off and stop sabotaging your chances to win an award Janet has Claire's money on. It's so fucked up. Nasty for the sake of it, because Janet's nabbed almost every number one spot she can get away with. Why can't she let you have one?

And Wally knows. Has a vague idea, anyway. You're naturally sweet, friendly, smart where you want to be, and willing to put in the work where you're not. A whole person with a nuanced sense of self that Janet loathes because she lacks identity. You're competition, and jealousy is poison in the wrong hands. Janet intends to softly kill as many of your high school accomplishments as possible before you graduate just to rub in your face how much better she is than you.

"Jesus, Janet," Wally bites, "She earned it. Let it go."

"Since when do you give a shit, Clark?"

Wally doesn't respond. Locks his jaw, crosses his arms, stares her down like he means business. Defensive.

Janet smirks, "I see the way you look at her, you know. Like you care." One step, two, and Janet's in his space, forcing him to her level with her nails in his scalp, "You don't get to have her—" LOL "—not unless I say so, and that'll never happen."

"This isn't even real." Wally reminds her, nudging himself out of her grip and taking several steps back. "I can end this whenever I want. Leave you to fucking rot on your own. We break up and you lose everything."

"Is that a threat?" Janet glares, but there's a hint of fear behind her eyes.

"Let her have the award." Wally narrows his eyes. "Do that and I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you could ever dream of. Dates, appearances. I'll start driving you to school like you wanted."

Janet considers his proposal and Wally swallows. What the fuck is he doing? The arrangement was exactly how he wanted it. Exactly how he could stomach it. Distant. Shallow. Virtually nonexistent in his mind outside of school. Now? It'll take up more time, energy, effort. But he saw how excited you were to be nominated, how much it meant to you that your talent was finally recognized, so he'll bite the bullet and adjust his terms.

Eventually, "Fine," Janet submits, sits primly in at her desk and dismisses him after negotiating details.

Wally finds you at your friend's house. The Nihilistic one with the permanent frown. Rhonda Something. It's apparently game night and he doesn't leave until you're in the car with him. No fight, just urgency and frustration and, yeah, whatever, a little bit of pleading.

He parks behind the Walmart and fucks you from below, hard and vicious, to avoid going nuclear. He hates Janet. Hates what he got himself into. Hates the whole fucking world except you. Beautiful, brilliant you. "I want you to come again, baby," He pants, numbing out so he doesn't come before you blackout from pleasure. "I know you can. That's it. Let me see how good I make you feel..." Bites your nipple, nips a mark into your neck, fucks you like he owns you, and then lays with you in the back seat for a while to remind himself why he let Janet win.

There's nothing in this world, too big or too small, that Wally wouldn't do for you. And that realization scares the living shit out of him. Too bad there's absolutely fuck all he can do about it now.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[huffelpuff210]

My Girl Part 2

Mafia Bucky X Reader My Girl Part 2

Summary: you never realized who Bucky was until a co worker points it out

You were currently in the bathroom of your apartment covering up the bruise on your neck, you were good at covering up bruises from your past, 

when your parents would beat the shit out of you, you had no choice but cover up the bruising, 

You sighed looking at the cover up if you didn’t know there was a bruise there you wouldn’t even know something happened. Last night Bucky brought you to his home where you got check out by one of his doctors he claimed turns out one of his doctors on his pay roll was your boss, 

after telling you it was just bruising, and to ice it he took you home, the look on his face told you he didn’t like where you lived it was a bad part of town, you knew that, everyone knew that, But you just brushed it off thanking him and getting out of the car, 

Bucky was currently sitting behind his desk looking at the file on you Nat dug up, many trips to the hospital as a kid, broken ribs, jaw, collapsed lung, damaged vocal cord, 

it didn’t take a doctor to know what the hell was going on there and just the mere thought of someone hurting you made him want to kill, hell it took all of his strength to not kill the bastards who decided to jump you, but what he didn’t expect was how you took out most of the men, that third man that hurt you he wanted to kill but he didn’t want to freak you out, 

Still it did surprise him, but after you were sixteen you just disappeared, your parents never filed a missing persons report your teachers at the school did, Bucky takes a sip of his whiskey, 

He turns the page, got your GED when you were finally an adult, went to community collage got your degree, and you have been working at the hospital ever since, 

He closes the file crossing his leg over the other, but begs the question where were you for three years before you resurfaced? 

He also didn’t like the part of town where you lived, it was no secret that part of town is dangerous for someone like you, you were small compared to him but you were a woman, probably around 5’4 by his guess. You were a small thing, but he loved it. 

He loved everything about you from your long dark brown hair to your green eyes, you were perfect for him, 

He looked at his watch it was around noon around your break, it was a surprise to him that Bruce was your boss so he had him give him your schedule, Bucky stood up walking out of his office, 

You were running around work like a crazy person you were about to take your lunch when another emergency rolled it, not like you had lunch anyway, 

“Y/N please report to the main lobby.” You hear over the speaker 

You sigh in frustration, just as you were about to the lobby one of your co workers grab your arm, 

“Do you have any idea who that is?” She asked nodding towards Bucky, 

“He helped me out the other night.” You says 

“That is Bucky Barnes he is the Mafia king of New York.” She says in a worried tone

“Mafia?” You asked 

“Yes, He is dangerous just be careful.” She says 

You nod

He couldn’t be any worse than your family, your father got so mad at you one time he beat the shit out of you with a bamboo stick, hurt like hell. 

You walk towards him, 

“Bucky what are you doing here?” You asked tilting your head

“Well it is lunch time, I was wondering if you would like to go out for lunch?’ He asked with a wicked smile, that smile seemed to probably get him anything if he wanted 

“And don’t worry about money or your boss, I’ll take care of it.” He says holding out his hand, you had a feeling if you said no he wouldn’t accept that answer so you take his hand you can’t remember the last time you went out to eat so you might as well accept his invitation 

“Besides I want to get to know the girl that took out two full grown men.” He says with a chuckle 

You chuckle as well, 

“It’s a dangerous city, a girl needs to know how to protect herself.” You say He smiles as he nods 

“Well I would like to hear it anyway.” He says 

for the first time in a while you smiled a real smile not one of the fake one’s you so skillfully mastered.

You just had one question, who was Bucky Barnes really?

[diaphanous-anchor]

WIP WEDNESDAY 🌞

Liam’s voice breaks the silence. “I don’t get why you work here.”

Theo tenses.

It’s an innocent statement, probably just an offhanded thought. But it lands like a weight in Theo’s chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, because what is he supposed to say? That he likes the quiet? That he needs the distraction? That he’s still running? That he uses this place as an escape from what’s really going on inside of him?

Theo shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “It’s a job.”

Liam watches him. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

Theo forces himself to keep his posture loose, to keep shelving books like he isn’t unraveling under the weight of Liam’s gaze. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Liam huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No,” he says simply. “I know you.”

Theo’s breath catches.

Because Liam says it with certainty. Like it’s a fact, like it’s undeniable.

“Right,” he says, forcing himself to scoff. “What exactly do you think I’d do then?”

Liam hums, blue eyes training thoughtfully on Theo’s form. “I dunno. Something shady. Never really pictured you as the job type. More the, steal necessities and live off the grid type.”

There’s no heat or accusation behind his words but the statement makes Theo tense anyway. Because he did do that for a while. Stealing, scavenging, plotting. It’s all he could do after everything. It’s not like he had anywhere to go. It seems no one ever bothered to notice that he was homeless. Just as he thought.

“Right, right. Evil chimera and all.” He says with a snort.

“Formally, evil chimera.” Liam corrects.

“Still evil.”

Liam doesn’t argue. He just keeps looking at Theo, like he’s waiting for him to say something real.

Theo doesn’t.

Instead, he snatches the book from Liam’s hands, plucks another off the discard pile, and shoves it at him.

“If you’re going to pretend to read, at least pick something that doesn’t suck.”

Liam blinks at the book in his hands, then at Theo, then back at the book. “This is a romance novel.”

Theo smirks. “Enjoy.”

[qoldenskies]

Thinking about Mind Meld and how Donnie was so confused about being burned by Raph

“Yes! Sick burn, Raph! Wait… you burned me. What’s going on here?”

Just like- being made fun of by Leo? Just another day? By Mikey? Unusual but also classic annoying younger brother behavior. But by his Raphie? Unheard of

If he couldn’t even comprehend Raph making fun of him how could he ever even imagine his big brother outright ignoring his begging and sobbing or hitting the door while yelling at him to shut up. How could he anticipate him chasing him down with the intent to kill

It’s unfathomable, unthinkable, and it happened

CC BRAINS AND BRAWN MY BELOVED AHHHHHHHHH

NGLLLL mind meld is one of my least favorite rise episodes, i really just do not vibe with it, but i do think its a very important one for donnie's character and also its probably the best canonical evidence for everything in caged lungs making sense. like even when he KNEW their minds were altered (by his doing no less lmao) he still reacted with so much dejection like a kicked puppy. i dont go to rewatch it a lot because i dont like it but CL incidentally ended up taking a lot of elements from it i suppose ,,,,, its like kid-friendly CL lmfaooo

anyways cc brains and brawn makes me absolutely deranged like chewing on drywall deranged because of how unexpected everything is for both of them. how both of them see their relationship torn apart by something they were both utterly helpless to, and every moment in cw they spend apart they yearn for each other. its more noticeable in raph's side (chapter 7 especially) because donnie has to intentionally shut out his thoughts of raph because he's a walking trigger, but its pretty apparent in his behavior just how much he always, always wanted raph there.

like they just missed each other so much :(

(ugghh something about this being the first time that donnie in his right mind calls for raphie, and this time raph gets to tell him what he always dreamed of wanting to under the curse-- dreamed about doing in retrospect. he wonders a lot if he could have, had he just had more strength. something about how in CL when he shut him down and hurt him he saw doing this as being strong enough to, and now that the curse is broken he thinks the fact that he hurt him was horribly weak, that he should have fought.)

and for both of them i think its made worse knowing there's something a little self-destructive about it. how raph yearns to be the kind of pseudo father figure he was for donnie before, even though being that kind of person for his brothers was exhausting and stressful and he was actively crumbling under that pressure-- while donnie wants to be useful to raph, he wants to work ceaselessly so raph can be proud of him, even though that was the exact kind of thing that nearly killed him-- the fact that even when raph despised him, was willing to kill him, donnie was willing to grovel anyway because he felt that somehow he could do something to make him proud, to be worth it to him.

both of them have a tendency to look down upon their past, pre-CL selves for being "ignorant", but i also think that they see it as this kind of idyllic, unblemished time of their lives where there wasn't any fear or caution or tension, and they could play these parts without having to worry about anything like this. which isnt true, they argued all the time and their roles were actively harmful to them, but what they have now is painful that they cant help but idealize that more than a little.

it huuurts that even healed there's this unbearable tension to their relationship because its so hard to have fun one on one now :( its just really hard for both of them to try and break that barrier, especially because they're so cautious around each other. they usually need mikey and leo to facilitate. maybe one day they'll just get to fuck around and be dumb together again </3 they deserve it

[crybaby-bkg]

“I’m terrified of trying those hitachi wands,” you offhandedly mention one night in a quiet laugh, while laying in bed beside Bakugou. you’re both on your phones, one last scroll before bed, even though he’s actually playing one of those old people games. he looks over, hair pushed back by a clip he stole from you.

“Why would you be scared?” he asks you, completes the last two moves of the game before he closes his phone and sets it on the table beside the bed. he turns all of his attention on you then, rolling over to his side to face you, and you do the same.

“Because those things are damn near weapons with how they render people useless for like, twenty minutes after they cum.” you snicker, thinking back on the video you had seen earlier in the day. the lady damn near ruined her phone with the wetness, and could hardly move for a good minute after.

Bakugou only stares at you, doesn’t say anything for a long while, but he has this look on his face. he’s thinking about something, but doesn’t open his mouth until he’s whispering,

“That’s crazy,” he kisses your forehead and mumbles an I love you before he rolls over and pulls the covers to his head. you only blink in confusion before you chalk it up to him being the shy little prude he’s always been, and lay down yourself.

the conversation goes forgotten as the weeks pass on, something you don’t dwell on much afterwards. but obviously, it hasn’t passed Bakugou’s mind at all.

“I got it in pink.” he tells you one night after he’s wined and dined you. that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him, but what was weird was how jittery he had been the entire time. this was why, surely, when he leads you to the bedroom and opens a neat little box with one of those wands you had completely forgotten about sitting prettily in front of you.

“Katsuki!” you laugh, hands covering your mouth before they cover your eyes in a mix of shame and shyness. “Why do you wanna see me laid out and twitching after using that thing?” you softly punch his shoulder, looking between his reddened cheeks and the wand he holds in front of you like an engagement ring.

“It’ll be hot.” he shrugs, mouth twisting this way and that in uncertainty, before he looks at you from under his lashes. “Wanna try it out?”

“Of course I do.” you answer back just as quickly, stripping from your clothes even quicker. it makes Bakugou laugh, taking his shirt off and his pants too, just to be safe in case you become a slash zone.

he tries it first with him sitting between your legs, just holding the wand there. he looks between your legs and then to your eyes, starting on a low setting and watches how you twist and thrive in the silken sheets. and when you cum, he thinks he can push you a little further.

he ups the vibrations, adds two of his fingers inside of you, crooking them until he finds that soft spot inside of you that makes you absolutely sob. you squirt all over him and he wonders if he should take his boxers off too (he doesn’t though; the thought of finding them tomorrow stained in you makes him damn near burst in his pants).

the next position is in front of your mirror on the closet, with your legs spread over his. Bakugou hooks his chin over your shoulder, holds your twitching thighs open as he keeps turning the vibrations up to the highest settings. you’re squirming and whining and whimpering for mercy, even though you cry even more whenever he stops.

the next time and the next time and the next, he’s got more fingers inside of you, his cock, another one of your favorite toys. he sets you in doggy style, even though he doesn’t fuck you, but keeps the wand between your legs. he likes the way your entire body shakes beneath him, collapsing, trapped between his weight and the strong vibrations that send you into another dimension.

the next day, you can barely feel between your legs, shaky and unstable for the whole day. but Bakugou makes up for it; he always does.

[amelikos]

Gibeon and Amethio key frames.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I was just thinking what a cool job this might be.. what if you were just the person who makes little still images of cute animal figurines doing various activities to post on social media...? like.. show up to work and just spend the whole day like "hmm... this table should be placed to the left a little.. let me set this miniature bagel down in this way... this tiny rabbit should be wearing a scarf", setting the backgrounds, the lighting, etc. ... dream job perhaps lol...

[kaurwreck]

It's actually really appropriate that bsd happened to me because I learned about the Sengoku period of Japan from Samurai Warriors. I was moé Oichi in the very first dream in which I exercised volitional control over the dream narrative and environment.

[sugar-and-spite]

made a lil house in minecraft

[milo-is-rambling]

I can’t even imagine living without anxiety. Like. How. What?

[killmymind]

i don’t think i’ve ever felt this lost in my life. tbh

[galacticlamps]

actually ascension needs its own post since that's the one with the most details to speculate over and im starved for soho talk so i will talk to myself if need be

First the cover again, because I kinda can't get over it:

my only thing is that I had been hoping we might get Lizbeth on a cover again since she's never been on one of the boxsets before, despite being the 2nd person credited on all 4 of them (even if that's just alphabetical, still, she's the only one of the four main characters who never makes the cover)

But letting that go...

I know we already kinda knew the brief for this one but damn I didn't expect it to go quite this hard. Maybe that's just because the Parasite & Ashenden covers were (comparatively) similarish to each other and I was so pleased with Unbegotten's, and then got so used to it as the placeholder for Ascension while they kept postponing it, I wasn't expecting anything this colorful or detailed or with what I can't help but register as Fun New Outfits even though these are still like, pretty damn basic as far as costumes go. Still, it's a different vibe from everyone in suits and trenchcoats on every cover, technically. (Oh the woes of being an audio fan such that two characters owning sweaters actually does qualify as new information)

On top of just being visually delightful though, I know we knew religion was gonna be a fairly big part of this one, but I didn't actually expect to get quite this much of it - though I'm glad of it for a number of reasons. The BF twitter already made the ineffable joke so I don't have to, but also yeah I did very much spend all of season 2 episode 4 of good omens half convinced Samuel Barnett & Dervla Kirwan were about to pop up around any given corner (if you will go around being gay supernatural and horrible at your messy bureaucratic jobs in midcentury soho then I'm sorry, this is where my brain's gonna go) - so, fuel to that fire. But in terms of actual important things, at least one of my Soho wishes looks to be being granted because we have a Rev Edward Folgate on the cast list, which must mean we're finally meeting Norton's father, even if his mother & brother don't appear (which they could, technically, I've definitely seen BF not list all the doublings on their cast tabs before). Religion, domesticity, and the nuclear family are all things that absolutely fascinate me when it comes to Norton's character, so getting any amount of story involving his father & his church is something I've been actively hoping for for a long time now.

(I will say I'm a tiny bit bummed Saffron Coomber isn't on the cast list to play Mia again, but I kinda figured she wasn't going to be since Greg Austin's Armitage, who's making his first recurring appearance after originating in Unbegotten, was listed ever since the boxset was announced - presumably if she was also returning, that would've been handled in the same way. But since Unbegotten ended with Lizbeth and Mia going on a date, I still held out hope. Who knows though, maybe things did go well for them and Lizbeth just has a better work/life balance than Norton so she can date someone without them getting dragged into every scifi plot. I know that's not a very common accomplishment for any Torchwood agent, but a gal can hope)

At this point I know I'm completely in the realm of speculation & even wishful thinking, but I'm really really hoping we get some more clues as to Norton's overall timeline in this one, and I have a feeling that even if there's nothing as direct as dates given, the events of a plot like this one are going to heavily influence my personal interpretation of it.

To say that life & death are major themes for the soho crew feels wildly reductive, but even by Torchwood's standards and taking into account its origins as a piece of media with Jack Harkness & his newfound immortality at the heart of it, the living/dead status of this bunch has always been fantastically up in the air to me. Obviously Ghost Mission introduced Norton as kind of a ghost before revealing more obvious ghostly characters later on to which the title might have been referring, but his being from the past did beg the question of his survival into Torchwood's present era all the same, which Outbreak later alludes to much more directly, and his habit of showing up via hologram in multiple stories only further obfuscates any certainty we might have about where & when he definitely can be said to be alive and well. Then you've got Lizbeth and Gideon both being effectively 'brought back to life' via paradoxes that prevented them ever having died in the first place. Again, they are very very far from being the only Torcwhood characters this happens to (for a sprawling EU, it's really rather impressive how often & in how many different ways Torchwood as a whole manages to circle back to being about like. chaotic undead queers at the end of every day. though I suppose that consistency is part of why I keep falling in love with its different iterations again and again). That's without even getting into the question of Norton's dubious fate in God Among Us - and I say dubious because I know some people take that to be his ultimate death, but I personally think that reading something as vague as that as having any kind of finality rather goes against the spirit of this whole world/series, not just because I want him to live. (There are obviously other ways to make him survive/reappear, but I don't see this as a River Song scenario where we can safely assume one of his earlier-released adventures had to happen at the end of his personal timeline). But wherever God Among Us falls for him, he does very much meet God in it - or at least, a god, since the sentinel in Unbegotten is also described as a god of sorts, and even if he doesn't ultimately have the status of the god Jacqueline King is playing there, Unbegotten is still full to bursting with ghosts/undead/came back wrong/echo characters to continue underscoring that life/afterlife theme.

So all things considered, even allowing for the fact that we know Norton's twin hobbies are lying about himself and abusing time travel to suit his own ends/ever-shifting alliances, I find it difficult to believe we could get through a whole 6-part boxset about religion & death without something providing some kind of compelling evidence about where this adventure fits in among his other run-ins with apocalypses and gods and ghosts and dead-but-still-here characters/creatures, so I'm very much looking forward to any further exploration on that front.

And lastly, and least intellectually, I really want to know what the hell 20th-century Torchwood's obsession with Reginalds is. Reading through the cast list, I had to do two separate doubletakes over the character 'Sir Reginald Peebles' - firstly, because I had Reginald Rigsby on the brain, this being Soho (and the other Troughton brother being so active on BF's releases for this same month) - and secondly, because reading this in conjunction with the announcement for the July monthly adventure in which the new main Torchwood guy of the 20s is apparently called Sir Reginald Dellafield, there was a brief moment where I took that monthly release to be a tie-in with Ascension. I don't expect it to be, but damn. was it really so popular a name?

anyways, catch me thinking about those stained glass windows for the next couple months I guess (and knowing Torchwood Soho, for a long long time after it comes out as well lol)