#but got posted on the 15th instead

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

It is I, once again🤸🏼‍♀️ Congrats on finishing the witch(?? that's what we figured out it was right?? Something like that) fic!!!! I'm personally very excited about it💕

💋

Ahhhh thank you! LOL yup it is indeed the Witch AU, people figured it out! The hint was a lyric from the song I've Put a Spell on You.

I just posted it so people can read it now! Slid in under the wire but given that I wasn't sure I'd finish anything more in time for Halloween I'm delighted I could get this one posted when I'd originally planned!

[shivasdarknight]

Time for your regularly scheduled, "Killjoy Hour with Enya" because we're being a killjoy about Dawntrail (:

So first and foremost: fuck Square and the XIV team for taking this angle. We could've gone any direction and we're going with Colonizer The Adventure. They looked at what we did on the Steppe with Hien and went "let's do it again! :D"

Mandatory CW for racism as it pertains to the indigenous peoples of North America, Mesoamerica and South America, and discussion of the genocide enacted by Spain against Mesoamerica and South America.

(Sections and the first letter of each sentence have been bolded for ease of reading)

But to explain further: Square has a really awful track record with their take on Tural, the "New World", especially in their handling of the Mamoolj'aa that are in Eorzea. This has been an issue since ARR and has been frequently criticized due to their extremely anti-indigenous writing. The way they handle the Eorzean tribes (which have been known as "beast tribes" and "beastmen" for a good part of the past decade that XIV has been around, I Should Not have to explain to you why that's deeply problematic) is an issue in its own right, but I'll only touch on what we've seen of Tural in the game itself and why this doesn't bode well for Dawntrail.

Let's get the obvious one out of the way first, this fucking shit:

For those unaware, this is the New World set. It's a craftable gear set from Heavensward that players can wear as a goddamned costume. I shouldn't have to be saying this in 2023, but this set has caused a great deal of controversy because it's a bastardization of plains tribe regalia. Square never should have added it to the game, but here it is and players constantly wear it in further offensive glams.

The only instance of this set being used with NPCs is in the Blue Mage quests and what we see of the Whalaqee. Again, to those unaware: the ARR Blue Mage quests are an extremely racist storyline that plays into white savior narratives and more offensive caricatures. The only representatives that we get to interact with of the Whalaqee are a little boy in this outfit (who's also extremely pale), and two Mamoolj'aa who are the lackeys of Martyn, the job trainer for Blue Mage - a white man! Further, the magic is notably not from Eorzea and is instead a cultural practice of the Whalaqee that Martyn took and turned into profit, and he's who you're supposed to work for. You are - yet again - considered a master of the practice, and this is written in mind with a default white man in mind considering Meteor being the stand in for everything. There is in-game appropriation of cultural practices, clothing, and tools but it gets worse the further you go into them.

The main plot of the ARR quests is that the Whalaqee are dying from a plague brought toTural by Martyn and other researchers with the Arcanist's guild 🙃 There were two trips: one to study Blue Magic, and one where people from the first trip went back because they found ceruleum in the sacred lands of the Whalaqee and began drilling for it. But remember: you only get to meet the Whalaqee through the two Mamoolj'aa and the Whalaqee child. The fate of the tribe rests in an Eorzean's hands because they put the medicine behind a bet for the further profit of Ul'dah. Win the carnival and make the owner a bunch of money and you get the medicine; lose, and they go raid the place for ceruleum and wipe out the tribe. It's a deeply offensive storyline that turns past and ongoing horrors that indigenous peoples - especially those of North America and Mesoamerica - have faced and are still facing into some trivial goal for a questline for a joke job that's solved through the white savior trope.

Then, of course, there's how the Mamoolj'aa are generally treated. Like the other ARR tribes and anyone the game doesn't consider civilized, their dialogue is written in broken speech patterns to reflect "lower intelligence." They're one of the only ARR tribes (next to the Qiqirn, who only got that somewhat through the SHB Qitari quests) that haven't gotten any kind of humanizing that the others have seen over the years (and even then, that's only been recently). Throughout ARR-HVW storylines, they're portrayed as extremely aggressive, are often throwaway mercs for hire around La Noscea, and they have them use this "cultural dance" of theirs that's described as extremely suggestive and is frequently used to sexually harass the white women of Eorzea. They're also seen in the Wanderer's Palace (Hard) as "aggressive barbarian" types who enslaved the Tonberries, which were originally the Spoken of Nym (so y'know, predominantly white society that became malformed and gangrenous tonberries). And your job as the Warrior of Light is, naturally, to exterminate them. There's other stuff like the naming of abilities they use (frequent use of barbarian/barbaric, which in it of itself is problematic), the totems and standards that you're actively encouraged to destroy, the shaman stuff + the fact that again: they're the only ARR tribe that never got the same kind of humanizing lens that tribes like the Sylphs got early on, or like the Amalj'aa got only recently.

Dawntrail looks to be as if it might be that humanizing effort that began in Stormblood and was most prominent in 5.X (ARR-SHB tribe side quests don't count as it's side content, not MSQ), but of course there comes the problem: beyond them never treating the Mamoolj'aa with any respect in the content we already have, they've already framed 7.0 as you meddling in the rite of succession for this new area. An area that is ruled by a two-headed Mamoolj'aa that we have to help overthrow (which is not new, as a two-headed Mamoolj'aa was already shown in The Wanderer's Palace (Hard) - but that one was portrayed as brutish, unintelligent, and played into inbred stuff as...the final boss of the dungeon who gets a special end dungeon cutscene to showcase the Tonberries brutalizing his corpse). And again, this plot thread isn't new! We already helped Hien do that to the Steppe back in Stormblood! This is yet another instance of the game treating imperialism and colonization as a fun thing for you to get in on, especially since they're using the setting and the getting to the setting as a summer vacation.

The fact that they are framing Dawntrail as summer vacation-like is insidious. You are a party of fantasy Europeans sailing to fantasy Mesoamerica/South America to meddle in their governing process.

And let's quickly go over that: the fact Tural is the "New World" as you search for "a city of gold."

These names are rooted heavily in European colonization. The idea that Europe is the "civilized Old World" and that the Americas were the "uncivilized, waiting-to-be-conquered New World" is what drove the colonization of the region, especially in Mesoamerica and South America. The term "New World" is inseparable from white supremacist narratives about the colonizers that engaged with the peoples of the Americas. It's bad enough that XIV introduced Tural as "the New World" to begin with and populated it with a fantasy race that's characterized by violence, a lack of intelligence, and sexual harassment + a gross caricature of North American plains nations, but they have now made it into the destination for the Scions' "summer vacation adventure"? So that you can go do an imperialism there, too? They even framed it as some tropical paradise as if that's not an extension of how colonization of these regions is perpetuated today through the tourism industry.

The other term - city of gold - was a myth that was used as the excuse to ransack Mesoamerica and South America. You've definitely seen it, as that was the entire plot of Road to El Dorado. It was under this pretense that Spanish colonizers decimated indigenous populations in the search of glory and gold. The search for the "city of gold" in the "New World" was a mass genocide - enabled through widespread massacre, and a vicious plague that wiped out 80% of just the population in Mexico alone.

In Mexico, the pestilence reached the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan, before its fall in 1521. Pathogens also reached Peru, inciting a civil war among the Incas. Both of these situations were extremely favorable for Spain. The plague—cocoliztli—was the most devastating post-conquest epidemic in large parts of Mexico, wiping out somewhere around 80 percent of the native population.

(from "How Aztecs Reacted to Colonial Epidemics" by Richard Herzog on JSTOR)

This is not a subject to touch upon lightly in any respect. And for XIV to use it for their "fun adventure in a foreign land" is deeply inappropriate and frankly disgusting. But is anyone surprised? This is the same company that ignored the demands of the Saami council to remove the offensive Far Northern attire from the store.

What I'm disappointed the most about, however, is the number of fans chomping at the bit with angles about a tropical tourist destination, taking the summer vacation angle the devs are actively encouraging, and even stuff with pirates (do not get me started on how white pirates contributed to colonization of the Americas). As a friend put it very aptly: how do you see "new world," "city of gold," and a fleet of European ships sailing towards fantasy Mesoamerica and not get skeeved out at the prospect? This isn't something you should be excited about because they're having us role play imperialism Yet Again. But this time, it's all to the tune of "tropical summer vacation in a foreign land". And y'all are excited to join in?

I don't want the expansion to turn out this way. We barely have any information on this, I understand. But what I've laid out here is what the game has already done with regards to Tural's pre-7.0 depictions and what they've shown they want to continue perpetuating. If Dawntrail turns out to be somewhat decent (and it better be better handled than Thavnair and feature fewer white people populating the countries that are inspired by black and brown cultures), then fine. But as it stands, Square has not given us any reason to trust them in how they've handled their indigenous stories leading up to 7.0. This entire concept is rife with the potential to be extremely offensive and extremely racist, and the main takeaway most fans seem to have from this isn't that this is a gross depiction of indigenous cultures, but instead a fun summer vacation with the Scions?

Really?

[faedotexe]

Moonlike marbles, pink blemishes Like craters on their surfaces - From port to starboard they roll And it hurts as they move - Their quiet heartbeats On the synthetic floor (Careful not to hear the rattling at the door)

The column that holds the place, It strains against every step or Breath - Growing gardens of bones on its wing, Blossoming with bubbles of white Translucent chrysanthemums - in grapes So heavy it might fall.

They wear cowls And flowing capes And skin-tight, dimly coloured suits And drape themselves so they won't Know that they have skin: They shiver at mirrors And shiver at the wind.

They built stairs Leading to nothing - to forget Which doors open where. They taped windows to the walls With masking tape - too weak to hold The weights of both looking Within or peering without.

Sitting on cratered wood, they hold onto Strands of vines, and stalks and grains All turned to black, streaked with silver veins - Smelling of soil and colder ash - ( Harvests have been scarce - Distant thunder blessing baskets With a mere pound of stars)

The roots have grown Into knots, and on the knots Lakes of mold, and in the mold Those eyes await, wide awake. As the roots twist and grasp The wood burns and breaks and Screams in the secret tongues of the second sky.

There is this drumming In the stone of the column In the glass of the dome (where they painted the stars) It comes as the tide and breaks with the waves - It leaves in a sigh - and paints with a hush - The sand in sleeping greys, the coast with a burning brush In colors that left their name to a world of scars.

They wear hoods, Short black vests, Shoes that look like shoes and Pants that look like pants. They go from east to west and sing A song that leaves no trace - But when they stop - the dream is dreamt, and the tears are wept.

They push viscous sludge into The rotting metal tubes That run from the cellar to the house, Green and smelling like strawberry. (Artificial and sour, from a fizzy drink Forgotten in the fridge.) They push with hands and feet through dark aluminium grates.

As it goes down, the tubes Spasm and contract - So they keep pushing with their hands, They keep pushing with their feet, Until it goes down and down and they sit. (Then they buckle as the tide comes back And their hearts spill - in a geyser of bile black.)

None of them has the strength To lift hammer or titanium nails. They limp back and forth Grabbing papers and putting them down Forgetting where they went or why they would drown. So the roots will knot and the tubes will spasm - And the column will crack and the marbles will roll -

But look! Look at the painted sky over the house! Full that it is of all the colors from the waves! And the shells in cradles, the chitin in the tombs! In porcelain sets and golden shimmering wounds - Brimming with shades taken from her breath on your neck, From the hand in your hair - Sure, the house will someday fall, But the house hasn't fallen - that day hasn't come yet!

25/09/24

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS... with the slytherin boys

leona-hawthorne

hi hi hi!!! i decided to take a small break from my 1k celebration and work on this instead. i wanted to post this like a week ago but i didn’t know if i was going to actually do it or not. little disclaimer that not all the fics actually have anything to do with christmas lol. anyways i hope y’all enjoy 🤍😚

dates are subject to change

navigation other masterlists

comment or dm if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

december 1st. fluff.

whiskers and whizbees mattheo riddle

— being an animagus has its pros… and its cons.

december 4th. fluff.

kiss it better theodore nott

— he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his.

december 7th. smut.

love potion mattheo riddle

— when he’s all over you after a love potion gone wrong… aka pussydrunk!mattheo!

december 15th. smut.

slow down! mattheo riddle

— mattheo’s got a little crush on you, but you keep running away every time he tries talking to you!

december 16th. fluff.

salty theodore nott

— theodore is so down bad that he is physically unable to tell you when your cooking is bad.

december 18th. smut.

time out lorenzo berkshire

— sometimes, it’s just obvious how badly your boy needs a small punishment.

december 22nd. smut.

what’s your type? theodore nott

— theo is smart, but he’s an idiot when it comes to taking hints. sometimes, you have to just give it to him.

december 23rd. fluff.

he’s mine! mattheo riddle

— it seems to be a little hard to get into the christmas spirit when your little sister is hogging your boyfriend!

december 27th. smut.

wrapped in red lorenzo berkshire

— surprising your beloved boyfriend in your favorite festive colors…

december 28th. fluff.

grandpa glasses mattheo riddle

— how could you possibly resist teasing your boyfriend when he looks like he stole dumbledore’s glasses? you can’t!

december 31st. fluff.

is it new years yet? theodore nott

— after the shittiest year of his life, theodore turns to you to make his new years one of a kind.

current taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

(striked out users are ones i couldn’t tag)

[httpsserene]

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰/𝐥𝐧𝟒

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you’re upset with the switch up the internet has pulled on you. a few years ago, everybody was saying you were too pretty for lando, but now they’re drooling over him? you will not be letting this slide.  📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: fluff. mild angst. humor. twt users being twt users. reader is a fashion designer (not important but mentioned). reader is also wild af. brain-rot. not beta-read. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smau. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: spice girl • aminé

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: in honor of lando's birthday :) look y’all—i saw one tik tok edit that was like “why is lando kinda…” and i audibly said KINDA???? and then i got mad like, how are people just noticing how fine he is. and then i saw another one that was like, “oh everybody thinks charles is the prettiest on the grid…but now introducing: lando” and i almost threw my phone across the room :) so this is inspired by me flexing that i have always thought lando was fine, and that i’m also mad that i have to share him. loves, this is complete brain rot and it took me years to recreate these ig posts for some reason; have fun reading !!!

all pics are from pinterest/op's

want to be added to my taglist or submit a request? send me an ask!

all of my posts can be found from my table of contents

anything on your mind? talk to me!

twitter • three years ago, 2020

instagram

yninstagram • three years ago, 2020

liked by landonorris, mclaren, maxfewtrell, lewishamilton, and 16,175,978 others

yninstagram lando norris is the man i want to spend the rest of my life with. he’s perfection personified. the most soft, kindest, sweetest, considerate, and funniest man has allowed me the privilege of being his girlfriend. i’m forever thankful that we get to grow together. he’s the cutest, hottest, and prettiest boy to ME–and that’s all i care about, and that’s all you need to accept. i don’t give a FUCK about your opinions on who *i* should date. i’m the only person who’s decisions matter concerning my romantic relationships. why the hell should y’all bitches who don’t even use their own photos for their pfp’s and use a k-idol’s face instead, dictate who is hot or not. it’s incredibly vein, disgusting, and immature behavior from people who think they’re my fans. acting like jealous school children isn't cute; i was never your property. it’s hilarious too, considering some of y’all are grown women DOUBLE my age talking shit about my business–go worry about why your kids don’t want anything to do with you anymore.

tagged landonorris

view comments

yninstagram matter of fact, go ahead and change your little profile pictures to real pictures of you, i don’t want to see any filters. then we can all see that all y’all want to do is spread insecurity stemming from your own self-hatred 🙂

yninstagram and while i have you all here, my winter season clothes will be restocked on the 15th.

comments have been disabled.

twitter • imessage • 2023

instagram

landonorris • august 24th • zandvoort ⚑

liked by yninstagram, mclaren, carlossainzjr, and 547,930 others

landonorris back in my favorite place

view comments

yninstagram first!! stay back hoes 🤺🤺

➥ user being called a hoe by y/n is not what i expected this year

➥ user she has notif’s 😭on 😭 for 😭 lando 😭

yninstagram how r u so HOT 🥵

yninstagram that sweater is mine now 👺

➥ landonorris i can just get another for you love

➥ yninstagram …i want this one lan🫤

➥ landonorris okay it’s yours 🫠

user neither of them have any backbone when it comes to each other

➥ yninstagram as it should be 😤

user might have to trip and fall into lando’s arms this weekend

➥ yninstagram i’m flying in tomorrow rethink your plan 🙂

➥ user i think i’ll avoid lando like the plague this weekend 😅

➥ user smart decision babes

landonorris • september 12th

liked by yninstagram, lnfour, tumitravel, and 425,395 others

landonorris coming in hot @ tumitravel

view comments

yninstagram come in me—i mean come home to me haha 😳😊

➥ landonorris babe please not in front of the sponsors 😧

➥ tumitravel oh no pls don’t stop for us 🫣 we stan y/n

user i saw this photo shoot LIVE!!! lando was so sweet, he signed my hat for me, and he smells so good 😩😩

➥ yninstagram i’ll chop off your nose and then you can be voldemort for halloween 👺

user i don’t know if i want to choke him or have him choke ME

➥ yninstagram how about me choking you

➥ user omg i’m down for a threesome 😳

➥ yninstagram choking you to death :)

➥ user i don’t wanna play this game anymore

landonorris • september 18th • singapore ⚑

liked by yninstagram, mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 950,706 others

landonorris whatttaaaaa weekend ❤

view comments

yninstagram GODDAMN

carlossainzjr vamossss landito ❤️💪🏼🏆

➥ landonorris ayyyy 🧡🥳🥳

➥ yninstagram my boysssss 🥰

yninstagram that’s my boyfriend 🤤

➥ landonorris last photo is just for you 😋

yninstagram so proud of you baby, i’m running out of room to put all these trophies <3

➥ landonorris v happy to be your trophy husband

user i’m in love with this singapore haircut 🤤 thank you for not fucking it up lando 😅

➥ yninstagram mmm yes, i’m thrilled it’s still long on the top 😍 it gives me something to tug on

user surprised y/n allowed him to post that last one

➥ yninstagram he doesn’t need my permission, but i get to see him naked so i rdc

user quadrant helmet it so beautiful! i want it to stay 😭

➥ user i want him to fuck me with it on

➥ yninstagram out of pocket…but completely valid honestly—delete your account 😊

liked by landonorris

yninstagram carlando 1-2 makes up for the war i’m fighting in these comments

mclaren • novemeber 8th

liked by landonorris, f1, yninstagram, and 97,293 others

mclaren pulling up fresh with @ landonorris

view comments

yninstagram not pictured: @ landonorris pulling up to OUR flat

➥ user y/n said “he’s coming home with meeeee”

f1 does he come with the jacket👀

➥ yninstagram no, but the price of me folding you like a lawn chair is included in shipping & handling

➥ f1 i’ll go sit down 😅

➥ user she’s fighting the f1 main??? this is mentally-ill behavior y/n!!!

yninstagram mclaren admin go stand in a corner and stare at the wall

➥ mclaren they made me post this!!! i would NEVER risk upsetting you ma’am 🙇🏼‍♀️

➥ yninstagram no talking from the timeout corner 🫵🏽

user we don’t care about the jacket. which organ do i have to sell to buy an hour with him?

➥ yninstagram both kidneys

➥ user but you need at least one kidney to live?

➥ yninstagram how,,,unfortunate

user model!lando always glowssssss

➥ yninstagram it’s the 9 step skincare routine i have him on, you can follow steps 1-8 on his ig

➥ user what’s step 9?

➥ yninstagram kissing me 🤭

lando.jpg • novemeber 13th • with my wife ⚑

liked by yninstagram, carlossainzjr, mclaren, team_quadrant, and 976,234 others

lando.jpg lucky to have found you so early in my life. you're my best birthday gift.

tagged yninstagram

view comments

yninstagram posting my side boob on the jpg account? forgiven since you called me your wife 🥺

➥ lando.jpg thought i’d start practicing your future title, mrs. norris

➥ yninstagram come back to bed. you can start practicing giving me your kids too.

user i want y/n to bury my head in between her boobs

➥ lando.jpg no. i sleep there also—you’re blocked 🤗

danielricciardo as long as i’m the godfather, i can forget i’ve ever read this 🤮

➥carlossainzjr get in line mate, i’ve called being baby norris’ godfather ages ago

➥maxverstappen wait your turn mates, clearly i am the correct choice for godfather

➥maxfewtrell ah, i believe you lads have forgotten my existence

➥yninstagram baby norris doesn’t exist yet, no need to fight to the death rn 🙄

➥lando.jpg i’ll convince the mrs to have four, for my racing number and so you each have a godchild 😅

user y/n may have won the war, but i’ve won the battle—bisexuals have been fed today!!!

➥user girl, i’m straight and i’ve zoomed in on the last photo an unhealthy amount of times

➥user i diagnose you with y/n-sexuality it’s incredibly common in humans

liked by lando.jpg

oscarpiastri you two are made for each other 😀

➥lando.jpg this sounds like an insult 🙂

➥yninstagram i thought kids under 13 weren’t allowed on ig

➥oscarpiastri you’re not even a year older than me @ yninstagram

mclaren mama y papa

➥ yninstagram still on timeout.

➥ mclaren :(

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | December 9th-15th 2024

I cannot wait for the Christmas holidays!! Only one week of work left!!

Complete

All The Lights Are Coming On by Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt)/ @sharpbutsoft (Post-S8A, Christmas | 1K | General): What good is having a key to your best friend’s house if you can’t use it to spread a little holiday magic?

from here on out by Wildehack (tyleet)/ @wildehacked (Eddie comes back from Texas | 1,5K | General): Eddie’s been back from Texas for three days, and Buck’s not done being giddy about it.

the sweetest possible lie by Wildehack (tyleet)/ @wildehacked (Future Fic, Pre-Buddie | 2K | General): Chris’s fifteenth birthday falls on a Tuesday, and it couldn’t be more different from last year.

i’ll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams) by wafflesofdoom/ @capseycartwright (Christmas, Eddie goes to Texas | 2K | General): It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls. Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.

You don’t have to outrun the bear (I’ll fall over for you) by paleredheadinascifi (Getting Together | 3K | Teen): “What the hell was that?” Eddie demands, standing up from where Buck just pushed him onto his ass. “It was gonna hit your head!” “So, what? You thought you’d just volunteer yours instead?” Eddie scoffs. “Yeah,” Buck shrugs. “I have a hard head.” Or, 5 + 1 times Buck stood between Eddie and danger, much to Eddie’s befuddlement.

& such by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (85K | Teen): prompts and spec fics and codas and all the works jumbled mumbled into one place.

Chapter 21. eddie on plane (Post-S8A, 3K)

Mr. Movember by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Hockey AU, Established Buddie | 4K | Explicit): “Why are you staring at me,” Eddie asked with a laugh as they got ready for their game on November 5th. His mustache was already looking thick and sexy, unlike Buck’s which was still a little patchy and definitely too blond to look good right now. “I like the mustache,” Buck said with a shrug, trying (and failing) to sound casual about it. “Oh, you do?” Eddie stopped buttoning his shirt so he could turn around and look at Buck directly instead of in the mirror. “Y-yeah,” Buck couldn’t take his eyes off of it and here in the safety of their bedroom he was allowed to look, so why should he stop. “If you manage to keep out of the box tonight, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me and my mustache.”

slide it in, right to the top by oklahoma/ @queerdiazs (PWP, S8A | 4K | Explicit): “What’s it like?” he asks softly. Buck tips his head to the side and meets Eddie’s eyes, lazy and buzzed and pretty. “What’s what like?” Eddie swallows, face prickling red with heat, and says, “Fucking a man.” The worse taste weird on his tongue, foreign but good. Welcome, like it’s time or something. “What’s it feel like?” - After Buck shows up at Eddie's door with a six pack, Eddie's mind begins to wonder. A bottle of tequila gives him the courage to ask for something he wasn't aware he's been wanting.

‘Cause I Need Touchin’ So Primal by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Post-S8E6: Confessions | 9K | Explicit): “Hey,” Buck says warmly into the phone, tucking it between his shoulder and ear with a smile at his lips. “Fuck,” Eddie muttered harshly into the phone, his voice rough through the receiver. “Eddie?” Buck called out, frowning. He lowered his phone from his ear to check the call, and yeah, still connected, full reception. He raises it back to his ear and catches the tail end of a noise, a choked-out groan. “Are you okay?” “Buck,” Eddie panted, his breath coming out in heavy exhales. “Buck –” Grabbing his keys, Buck makes it to the loft door, jacket half on when he stops dead in his tracks, phone still pressed to the side of his head as he hears Eddie in his ear. “Yes, Buck, yes, yes, please, yes –” *** Or, Eddie accidentally, sort of, maybe has phone sex with Buck for roughly five seconds, and Buck spirals about it until Eddie finally ends up in his lap.

now i don't hate california after all by jaekyu (PWP, Getting Together, Eddie comes back from Texas | 10K | Explicit): Eddie’s been waiting for months. He can wait a little bit longer.

🔥 Somethings Said (to turn you inside out) by taegyungie (Post-S8A, PWP | 12K | Explicit): Eddie tilts his head. “Why are you being so weird, Buck?” It’s funny to Buck that Eddie has to ask; one finds out his ridiculously hot best friend is now also sleeping with men, one begins thinking about sleeping with said ridiculously hot best friend. It just makes sense, right? So it almost offends him, a little bit, that Eddie is the picture of cool right now. Has seeing Buck in such a deliberately sexual context not altered Eddie’s brain chemistry, too? Does Buck need to update his Grindr profile? or, Buck catches Eddie on Grindr and now he can't stop thinking about it.

🔥 bad luck to talk by jaekyu (FWB, Misunderstandings | 14K | Explicit): Just before Eddie tells Buck he loves him, he’s pretty sure they’ve been building up to this for months. Just after Eddie tells Buck he loves him, he realises he’s deeply misunderstood this entire situation. And Buck? Well, Buck didn’t even think they were dating. (Aftermath, and then: the road less travelled, with the benefit of hindsight.)

at this fork in the road (I want the path that leads me to you) by kabnd/ @polkadotk804 (Post-S8A, Eddie goes to Texas | 24K | Teen): It is at that moment that Eddie realizes that he has a choice. There are two roads ahead of him. Two paths. Two potential futures. One with Buck at his back, and one with Buck eight hundred miles away. Eddie knows which one he wants, but he just needs to be brave enough to ask for it. OR: In one series of events, Eddie asks Buck to come with him to Texas, in another he doesn’t…but whatever steps they take, Buck and Eddie always find their way to each other and bring Christopher home.

WIP

Finding Mr Christmas by JJK/@trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Canon Divergent, Reality TV, Christmas | 4/? | 24K | Teen): "Welcome to Finding Mr Christmas! You’re all here chasing the same dream, to star in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and over the next few weeks we’re going to be putting you through your paces to see which of you has the most star quality and that ‘it’ factor that makes you shine above the rest." 🎄🎄🎄 An AU where Buck and Eddie meet as contestants on Hallmark's Finding Mr Christmas competition (and fall for each other).

can’t fight the moonlight by coldbam/ @coldbam (Werewolf Buck, Canon Divergent | 1/2 | 10K | Explicit): “Apparently I stole his very special mug,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “I know you guys keep saying he’s all bark, Buck’s a real sweetheart, but I'm starting to worry you all just have terrible judge of character,” Eddie half-jokes. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “What the hell is his problem?” “Full moon tonight,” Chimney says with a smirk, chewing his gum like he’s proud of himself for that joke. * Or, everyone works at a wolf sanctuary and Buck is a werewolf.

Snickerdoodles of Longing by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S8A, Demi Eddie | 1/2 | 14K | Mature): Eddie piles up all his baking supplies and tells him, “All yours. Whatever you want to make. I’ll get more of anything if you need it. We should have plenty of flour though. I got you five bags.” Buck’s head snaps toward him. “Five bags? You got me five bags of flour? The little two pound ones, right? Or the five pounders?” “No, the tens. Like that one.” “You bought me fifty pounds of flour?” “You’re the one who decided his coping mechanism for loneliness was snickerdoodles and sourdough. I’m just being supportive. Since you’re my wingman and I’m yours or whatever you said when you stole my tablet and my realtor call.” Buck smirks. “More like saved your call.” More like saved Eddie’s everything but who’s counting? ~ Eddie decides he needs to move to Texas and slowly unravels as he comes to terms with how he really feels and what he's losing.

there is no road by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Post-S8A, Eddie moves to Texas | 2/6 | 24K | Explicit): Years ago, almost a full decade, Shannon had asked him to move and Eddie refused because he was trying to build a life for himself again. Eddie knows if he asks Buck, he’ll get that same refusal. Worse, Buck could say yes and Eddie would be uprooting Buck from the very life he built for himself. He doesn’t ask, and Buck doesn’t offer, and they pack up Eddie Diaz’s life in Los Angeles into cardboard boxes. Or: Eddie moves to Texas. Buck buys his house. There’s a love story somewhere in here.

Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 9/? | 55K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

[spotsandsocks]

A Place for You, Next to Me Chapt 1 and 2

Buck finds out that Eddie doesn’t really ‘do’ birthdays so what’s a best friend supposed to do, obviously he can’t let Eddie think he doesn't care. So he makes a plan to celebrate and it’s a good plan, it really is and is it really his fault if one little thing goes wrong with their booking.

It’s certainly not his fault that Eddie’s reaction to the unexpected problem would turn a pleasant weekend away into an agony of temptation.

A tale of pining and love and only one bed.

Fans of only one bed shenanigans - this one’s for you.🥹🌈🛏️🎂🛏️🥃🥃🥃🛏️🤯😍🌈❤️‍🔥 Chapt 1&2 today 3&4 tomorrow 💕

Now I was half way though writing this when @bobbysfirehose posted this stunning piece of art that blew my mind away (all their art is magnificent btw so go check out and shower with love) and with permission I tried to describe the pose towards at the end of the fic because it was just perfect for the situation, so you have a nice visual to go along with the words.

Eddie hadn’t expected any reaction at all, least of all the one he’s getting. Standing in his kitchen he watches Buck process the information he just casually mentioned as part of thier conversation about Chris’ next birthday.

“Are you serious?” 

His best friend is standing there with his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, a puzzled frown on his brow, it’s adorable and amusing and God he loves this man so much. Eddie however is wise enough to look away and keep the sentiment out of his voice.

“Yes I’m serious, Buck. I’ve never done anything special to celebrate any of my birthdays.”

If anything that simple statement makes matters worse, Buck's mouth opens and shuts. He looks like a goldfish, apparently he’s managed to render him speechless and that’s quite an impressive feat.

Eddie takes another sip of beer to hide his smile as Buck flounders. The other man is looking horrified, “Your 15th? That’s special right?”

He shrugs. “Dad was away. We did some stuff at church, nothing big. I got a cake.”

“What about 18?  Or or your 21st?” 

He throws Buck a raised eyebrow, “Think about that for a second.”

A pained look crosses his friend’s face “Oh.” Then his nose crinkles “ Oh.. I don’t think I want to.”

Buck sounds upset. Eddie can just imagine what he’s thinking, how he’s comparing the life that he himself had between 16 and 21 with the one Eddie had. The tragic sympathy emanating out of sad pools of blue is a bit much though, it really wasn’t that bad. Yeah, he didn’t get a lot of time to be young but that’s ok he got other stuff instead. He ended up with the best kid in the world so he can’t really complain about missing birthday celebrations. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, so my life’s been a bit different than yours, but that’s ok . Still got cake, even got a balloon once.” 

His joke falls flat, Buck looks devastated .

“Honestly, all completely normal, I promise, don’t freak out on me.”

He moves around him heading back to the couch and if he touches his arm on the way past, well it’s a tight space to squeeze through. Buck’s own fault really, for filling so much of it. His friend's voice follows him out of the kitchen. 

“But nothing since you got old?”

Eddie turns just so Buck can appreciate the eye roll, “I'm not exactly old Buck, I’m the same age as you.”

“Are we sure about that?” 

Abruptly Buck’s mood shifts and he’s teasing, humour replacing the tragic look that had been there only seconds ago.

“You do kinda look older than me. Pretty sure I spotted some gray hairs on you the other day.”

Eddie glares and throws a handy cushion without aiming. Buck catches it easily and grins, before taking another swig of beer. Eddie tries not to watch his lips or his throat too closely.

[vettelsvee]

GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PART 5: I'LL NEVER LEAVE... NEVER MIND [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

goodbyes are bittersweet masterlist | wattpad f1 masterlist | ao3 | ask anything or let's talk!

ferrari sebastian vettel x ex gf!female reader

word count: 4437

summary: after not seeing each other in almost five years, seb and y/n finally meet with just one purpose for her: telling seb they have a 4 year old daughter. will y/n be able to tell him?

warnings: mentions of sex. i think nothing else but i literally cried while writing this. i recommend that you listen to loml by taylor swift while reading this hehe

taglist: [ @saltycomicsanimalssalad @hc-dutch @mycenterfold @simplyamberj @spitesfvl-blog @jaydaaasworld @lottalove4evelyn @zoeyjadetice2010 @jehun @ferralari @cosmoscoffeee @mcmuppet @myescapefromthislife @sleutherclaw @youre-on-your-ownkid ]

a/n: i'm finally back! sorry you had to wait this long to get a new chapter but writers block had me going like crazy, as well as my mental health in general. i had something else planned for today BUT be aware of what I'm posting tomorrow since you might like it! christmas is coming soon and i have a surprise ready for you. let me remind you that feedback and reposts are truly appreciated. and also comment me your thoughts and theories on the story pls! missed you so much guys, thank you for everything, love you all <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

May 15th Heppenheim, Germany

“Y/N, remember that you need to be careful with what you say to Seb. I know you want to tell him about Emily, but also consider whether today is the right time. Imagine if…”

You stop listening to Hanna the moment her lips utter your daughter’s name. Instead, your mind started creating a thousand different scenarios about what could happen when you saw your ex-boyfriend today. Your gaze remained fixed on the mirror in your room.

You only returned home five days ago, but it felt like an eternity.

You knew perfectly well why, or rather, you knew perfectly well who was to blame for your distorted sense of time: Sebastian Vettel, of course.

The trip to London felt like a fresh start. While the main reason to go was your meeting with Capital Records to discuss what your near future might hold, you considered it as an opportunity to rethink what you wanted to do with your life from now on. 

You had just turned 30, and the only thing you longed for was to start this new decade with a clean slate in every possible way. That, of course, included facing your past mistakes and recognizing your faults, one of which you might be about to commit today.

Hanna acted as some sort of mediator between you and Seb because, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to send him even the simplest of messages. The driver seemed to understand, as he told Hanna not to worry, that he understood, and that all you needed to do was show up without standing him up. 

Despite having agreed to meet at your house, you decided to dress up a little to present yourself in the best way possible. After spending far more time than you’d like to admit choosing what to wear, you settled on a light blue knee-length dress and white Converse sneakers, with a bracelet your daughter made (or better said your mother made, just Emily took credit for).

"Y/N, are you even listening to me?"

The reflection of your best friend in the mirror startled you. You turned towards her, trying to maintain the calm you’ve lacked since returning from London. Exactly five days that have felt like five years.

Like the five years since you last saw Seb.

"Hey, cat got your tongue or what?" insisted the blonde. "Seriously, Y/N, I want you to be speechless, but preferably when you and Seb take the conversation from the couch to the bed and he makes you scream his name again just like he used to do when..."

"Hanna, for God's sake, shut up! Seb and I are only going to talk about..."

"I know, I know, I was just trying to make you laugh. You know I like to..." 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

If you were restless before, pacing back and forth in your room, checking that there was no trace of Emily in the house for Seb to find, now you were frozen like a statue.

You looked at Hanna, and she looked back at you. You shrugged, but Hanna just put her exaggeratedly unfriendly faces.

"Hanna, no..."

"It's Seb, Y/N! It's just Seb, for heaven's sake," she interrupted, and you cut her off just as fast.

"It's the Seb I haven't seen in five years!" you stammered, feeling the anxiety taking over. "Seriously, Hanna, this was a very, very bad idea. I don’t even know why I asked you to tell him to come and..."

"Because he's the father of your daughter, and your only goal is to tell him!" she yelled, trying not to raise her voice too much but failing miserably. You hoped to God Vettel didn’t hear that.

"Hanna..."

"Since I know you're not going to open the door, I'll do it myself. Stay here or come down, do whatever you want, but I'll tell Seb to come find you because clearly, you can't handle welcoming your guest," she declared.

Without saying anything else, she strided out of your room. You could only follow her, practically tripping down the stairs, legs trembling like a teenager on her first date. Your pulse was pounding in your temples, while your mind kept screaming at your body to calm down.

As soon as you stepped onto the ground floor, you saw Hanna opening the door. Her cheerful voice broke the silence, asking Seb how he was and, to your surprise, inviting him in.

You inched closer, not quite enough for them to notice you. Then you stopped, inspecting Seb from head to toe, as if you didn't already know every inch of his body by heart. Even though you were used to seeing him on TV and social media daily, it felt like you haven’t seen him in all this time you’ve been out of touch. He was wearing a slightly worn-out white t-shirt and jeans. His hair was perfectly trimmed, though a bit longer on top, and his beard, probably several days old, was what caught your attention the most, looking just the way you liked it.

But what really captivated you was the bouquet of yellow tulips he was holding, just like he used to bring you for dates or whenever it was a special day for either of you back when you were dating.

You swallowed hard, guilt washing over you as you thought, for a fleeting moment, about him handing you a flower bouquet before you told him you were having his baby.

"Hi..."

You thought your whisper was too soft to be heard, but it was quite the opposite.

Both Seb and Hanna turned to look at each other, then focused on you, still standing in the entryway. Your best friend tensed up slightly, but you tried to reassure her with a slight movement of your hands. The expression on your ex-boyfriend’s face seemed to light up at your small intervention, even if it was minimal.

“Well, Seb, I'll leave you with Y/N. I have a few errands to run…” Your friend tried to excuse herself, though both of you knew it wasn’t true. “See you later for a drink guys!

She winked and quickly slipped out, shutting the door behind her before either of you could even say goodbye.

Now, it was just the two of you, alone.

Seb looked at you again, and you couldn’t help it but get lost in the blue of his eyes. The situation felt strange. You used to cherish every moment of being alone together, but now you didn’t even know how to say a simple "hello." 

You once trusted him completely, and now you were unsure whether to offer him a drink or tell him that you have a four-year-old daughter.

“Hi, sunshine,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Hi, Seb.”

He took a step towards you, slowly moving closer. You noticed how his gaze shifted from the flowers to your eyes, as if he was searching for some kind of answer from you. His eyes reflected a mixture of nervousness and tenderness, stirring a whirlwind of emotions inside you. 

He didn’t have to say it, you could see it in his eyes. He was afraid of how you’d react to this gesture, this little detail that used to drive you crazy, but now… you didn’t know how to feel about it.

You, on the other hand, were utterly stunned. 

How, after all this time and how cold you ended things, could he still do this? How could he still remember?

“These... are for you,” he finally said, his voice low and shaky. He handed you the bouquet, his hands trembling.

You met his gaze, and the way he looked at you was filled with fear, insecurity, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of tenderness. He didn’t need to say it out loud because you knew him too well. He was afraid of how you’d react to this gesture.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, taking your time to smell the flowers.

You couldn’t hold it in. Tears began to blur your vision, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

He noticed. Even though you didn’t want to, even though you didn’t feel capable of getting close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek or maybe even a hug, Seb did it anyway.

“It's okay, Y/N,” he whispered. “It’s okay...”

But it wasn’t okay… it was far from okay.

Sebastian Vettel was here, once again, standing in front of you, and possibly back in your life. The boy you once considered your best friend, the best friend you fell in love with, the driver you always supported, and most importantly, the father of your child, was back in your life in such an unexpected way that it still felt surreal.

“I don’t know...” you tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. “It feels surreal that after everything, after such an empty goodbye, here we are, together again,” you confessed. “It’s weird seeing you in front of me in the flesh and not as pixels on a screen.”

“Y/N…”

“I’ve missed you, Seb. So much.”

You knew your honesty didn’t catch him by surprise, because he felt the same way. That’s what hurt the most.

“I missed you too, Y/N. I really did...” he said after a moment, wrapping his arms around you, and you pressed your face against his chest.

“Seb…”

“Don’t overthink it, really,” he interrupted gently. “I’m not here to talk about the past or blame anyone,” he paused, letting out a breath before continuing. “I just want us to go back to who we were before we were together. But, if I’m being honest, we’ve been in love with each other for so long that I can’t remember a time when you weren’t my everything.”

Your lips trembled. The weight of his words was too much for you to handle, at least today, in a first encounter where you haven’t even spent ten minutes together.

You felt awful. You felt shattered inside knowing that if you were in this situation, it was because of you.

“Well, Y/N, tell me…”

“No, no,” you quickly interrupted, grabbing his arm and guiding him to sit on the couch. Immediately after, you rushed to the kitchen to grab the drinks and snacks you spent all morning preparing. “You tell me first. Even though I’ve seen you on TV, I know you’re very private about your life, you know... You never share anything with the media, and well, you don’t even have social media so… How are you?”

He let out a short laugh as he picked up a bottle of water and a cheese-and-salmon toast.

“Well, to be honest, I’m doing much better than when you left me,” he revealed. It didn’t surprise you. After all, it was what you expected him to say. “You must have had your reasons for breaking up with me, and after all these years, I’m not going to ask why you did it. But I won’t lie to you… you left me shattered, Y/N.”

“Seb, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” he cut in softly, making a gentle gesture with his hand to calm you down. “Like I said, I’m not looking for an explanation or an apology. I just want you to know how I felt. Mentally… damn, Y/N, you broke me, and I completely lost myself, but at the same time, that’s what gave me the strength to win the championship in 2013,” he looked away from your eyes, shifting his gaze to the wall. Nervously, he started playing with his fingers. “All I could think about was you and that, maybe, there was a chance you were watching...”

“Of course I was, Seb,” you said softly, trying to hold back the tears and keep your composure. “No matter what happened, I never stopped watching or supporting you. I’ve always been, and will always be, your number one fan.”

He nodded, a bittersweet expression crossing his face.

“That year, everything I did was with the thought in mind that you were watching and, somehow, it helped me move forward. But… 2014 was when everything fell apart,” he admitted. “Red Bull wasn’t the same anymore, or at least, I didn’t feel the same way. I wasn’t winning, Daniel was beating me… I felt like I had lost everything, including you and, with time, I started to feel like I had no reason to stay with the team or maybe even in Formula 1. Until Ferrari offered me the contract.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Unlike any regular sports fan, you found out through Heike when you were out for a walk with Emily.

“When I was given the chance to sign with Ferrari in 2015... Y/N, really, that’s when I realized it wasn’t the end. That’s what I needed to move forward. I think I mentioned it to you on WhatsApp, but I don’t know if you remember…”

You swallowed hard. Of course, you remembered. He told you just before the news became public, before his mum told you, but you didn’t know how to answer him or if you really should do it. The demons in your head made you think it was a joke, even just an excuse to get closer to you. And you also felt that if he did sign with Ferrari, it would open a door you had closed because you weren’t ready to face the truth.

Just like you were doing now.

“I remember, yes,” you murmured, unable to look him in the eyes.

“When I didn’t get a reply from you I decided not to push it. That’s when I realized you didn’t want anything to do with me. Yet I kept sending you stuff as you might know…”

“That’s not it…” You could barely speak. You were as broken as he was. “I read the message, Seb, but… I burst into tears and didn’t have the strength to reply. I didn’t want to give you false hope when I wasn’t ready to… I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already had,” you confessed. “I knew that if I spoke to you again, I’d hurt you again. And I’d hurt myself too. I couldn’t do that to you, Seb.”

He nodded, looking for some kind of affirmation in your gaze.

“At first, I felt really out of place on the team, you know? And I felt that way for a long time,” he revealed. “It was completely out of my comfort zone, and I felt like I’d never fit in. But little by little, Kimi, Maurizio, and the team made me feel like family. It’s strange to think about it now, but I can’t imagine being with any team other than Ferrari.” You agreed with him, from what you had seen on TV, it was clear he felt that way. “Fighting for the world title with them this year and having a real shot at beating Mercedes… I never thought I’d get to this point.”

You looked at him with a mix of admiration and nostalgia. This was the Seb you knew, the Seb with ambition, who always desired more and more. The Seb who never gave up.

The Seb who didn’t break down, even when he had every reason to.

“I’m so proud of you, Seb. I’ve always been, and I always will be. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course, Y/N,” he looked uncomfortable. Quite a bit, actually. “Well… enough about me. You know I don’t like talking about myself… What about you? What have you been up to all this time? My mom told me a bit, and I’ve seen you a few times, but…”

More than not knowing what to say, you sensed he didn’t want to intrude too much into your life.

You swallowed, trying not to get more nervous than you already were, because now, you supposed, was the moment to tell him about Emily.

“Well, not much has changed, really,” you started, unsure of what to say. “I’ve been in Heppenheim the whole time, except for a couple of trips to Berlin, but nothing unusual,” you tried to smile, but your mind kept circling around the fact that you had to tell him you had a daughter. “I’ve been working at the bar and writing music. To be honest, since we broke up I’ve had a lot more inspiration.”

And since I gave birth to Emily, you thought.

Seb didn’t say anything. You figured he understood. After all, he had thrown himself into his career to cope, while you had poured your emotions into writing songs about the story you shared to cope with grief.

“Now things have changed a bit,” you continued, trying to sound more upbeat to push away the painful memories. “Ever since Red went viral… I swear, I uploaded it without expecting anything, but the reaction…”

“The song is amazing, Y/N. Of course it went viral.”

“I’ve been offered a record deal,” you blurted out. “A few years ago, I met Niall Horan at the bar. You know, the guy who was on that band, One Direction…” Seb nodded, his eyes wide, encouraging you to continue. “He told me he was traveling to find some inspiration for his solo career, and I guess Heppenheim seemed like a good place for him to visit.”

“Wait, wait… a record deal?”

“Apparently, Niall told his label that I was the voice behind Red, and, well… Capital Records offered me a contract,” you explained. “They called me to have a meeting in London, which is why we couldn’t meet up last time…”

His face was calm, unreadable, though his mouth had curved into a big smile. He didn’t seem surprised, and you knew there was a strong chance Hanna had told him everything.

If that was true…

“I hope you accepted, Y/N.”

“Well… actually, I didn’t. I turned it down.”

His smile faded for a moment, and his expression became completely serious.

“You turned it down? Why? Sunshine, this is an opportunity…”

“Yes, I know it’s an amazing opportunity, but I can’t accept it. Not right now.”

You figured this was the moment you should tell him the real reason behind rejecting such a big deal, which included a tour if you sold a certain amount of CDs.

Sebastian kept staring at you, which only made you more nervous. You tried to gather your thoughts, searching for the right way to tell him you had a four-year-old daughter, but you couldn’t find the moment.

You couldn’t just drop it on him now, after all, this was your first real conversation in almost five years.

“Y/N, darling…”

“I can’t take the risk when the only thing I’ve managed is to get one song out of all the ones I sent to the label to go viral,” you half-lied. It was true that you didn’t want to talk about it yet, but you were also insecure about your music. “As much as I’d love to have an album, to fill stadiums and have people singing along to my songs, I can’t take that risk.”

“But, Y/N…”

“I’m not sure all the songs on the album would be successful, Seb.”

“Y/N, you have no idea what you’re going to regret if you let this go....”

“No, Seb, I know exactly what I’m doing, really,” you shook your head, firm in your decision. “This is the best thing for me.” 

And for Emily too, though you didn’t say that out loud.

Seb remained silent for longer than you would have liked, as if trying to process what you’d just told him. Then, he stood up, crouching down to your level, and taking your hands in his, he said:

“Alright. If you think your songs aren’t good enough, sing one of them to me.”

“What?” you asked, confused.

“If you turned down the record deal because you think your songs aren’t good enough for the world to hear, sing one of them to me.”

His tone, though calm, was direct and insistent.

“Seb… I can’t. I’m too embarrassed,” you laughed nervously.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, gently rubbing your hands with his thumbs, just like he always did when your anxiety was at its worst. “It’s just me. I’m still the same after all these years.”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let it go until you gave in. It was Seb, and he always got what he wanted from you, even when you didn’t want to. In the end, you gave in, carefully standing up from the couch and heading towards the piano at the back of the room, gesturing for him to follow you.

You carefully slided the bench back, lifting the lid as you sat down. You positioned your hands, starting to play the first few chords to warm up, ensuring your memory flawlessly recalled the piece.

“This is song number 5, like your driver number... It's called loml.”

You continued playing, finally giving way to the song.

Who's gonna stop us from waltzing   Back into rekindled flames?   If we know the steps anyway   We embroidered the memories   Of the time I was away   Stitching, ‘We were just kids, babe.’   I said, ‘I don't mind, it takes time.’   I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed   I felt aglow like this   Never before and never since.

Your voice shook as you began to sing, but you kept going, holding on to what your ex-boyfriend had told you about how he knew it was about him. As you settled into the song, you started feeling more comfortable, just like you did when you used to sing for Seb. Though you couldn’t look at him because you were absorbed in the key, your fingers delicately moving over it, you could feel his eyes on you.

You shit-talked me under the table   Talking rings and talking cradles   I wish I could un-recall   How we almost had it all   Dancing phantoms on the terrace   Are they second-hand embarrassed   That I can't get out of bed?   Cause something counterfeit's dead.

Tears started falling from your eyes as you approached the final part of the song. Memories of your shared history flashed through your mind like a movie. Your vision was completely blurred, and you felt a tightness in your chest that was overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, almost impossible to keep singing. Somehow, though, you fought to hold it together, just as you did the day you said goodbye to the man now sitting beside you.

Oh, what a valiant roar   What a bland goodbye   The coward claimed he was a lion   I'm combing through the braids of lies   ‘I’ll never leave’... ‘Never mind.’   Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire   Your arson matches your somber eyes   And I'll still see it until I die   You're the loss of my life.

Silence filled the room as you played the final notes. With your hands still resting on the keyboard, you looked at Seb. Once again, you didn’t know what to say to him, and you knew he didn't either. He was motionless, running a hand through his hair, probably trying to process what he just heard.

Y/Ni, this song... it’s about us, isn’t it?”

“It might be,” you admited, unable to lie to him, at least not about this.

He sighed. You could tell he was affected; you knew it the moment his tears began to form, just as yours continued to flow.

“You should rethink the contract,” he said firmly. “This song deserves to be heard by more than just me, your parents, and Hanna.”

“I can’t, Seb. I just can’t…”

“Can I sit next to you?”

You looked up and saw him gesturing to the bench. Confused, not sure what to do or say, you shifted a little, making space, and he sat beside you. Seb didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, offering a comfort that felt wonderful but also caused you to crumble a bit more inside. 

You surprised yourself by resting your head on his shoulder.

“Why are you so determined to convince yourself you don’t deserve this opportunity?” His tone was soft, just like the way he stroked your hair. “Do you really think you're not good enough to be a successful singer?”

“It’s not about being good enough, it’s that I’m not,” you whisper,ed your throat tightening. “I’m not a good person, Seb, and it’s only a matter of time before I screw up again and hurt someone, just like I hurt you.”

“Does this… have something to do with the second date in your YouTube channel username?”

You stood your head up, staring at him in confusion while trying not to panic.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your username,” he repeated, moving closer. “I figured out that the numbers represent two dates. I know for sure that one of them is June 15, 2006, the day we started dating, but the other one… I don’t know what January 12, 2014 means for you because we weren’t talking by then, but it must be important. And based on what you just said…”

Your eyes widened in shock. You were paralyzed, not knowing how to react. 

How could he have noticed something so… insignificant? How had he connected the dots and figured out the dates you had in mind when you created that account?

You thought this would be the perfect moment to tell him that the second date marks the birth of your daughter, the daughter you had together; that on that day, while you were in labor, he was at the hospital waiting for some exams results and he was talking to your dad, who couldn’t contain his excitement about his granddaughter’s arrival and had to keep it a secret from him.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. You need to regain his trust first. You and Seb needed to rebuild the kind of relationship you had before you became the love of each other’s lives.

“Seb…” you trailed off, unable to continue. “I swear, on everything that matters to you, I’ll tell you, but right now… I just can’t.”

He looked at you for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. You knew him better than you knew yourself, and you knew he was persistent, that he needed an answer, but you also knew he was respectful and wouldn't push you.

“That’s okay,” he said finally, a bit resigned. “I understand, it’s fine. I’m not asking you to tell me now if you’re not ready, but I want you to know that when you are, I’ll be here to listen.”

You looked at him, grateful, and nodded without saying anything else. 

You both sat at the piano bench for a while, in silence, listening only to the sound of your breathing and the melody of the song replaying in your mind, as intrusive thoughts overwhelmed you.

“If I waited almost 19 years of my life to be your boyfriend, I can wait a little longer, it doesn’t matter the time you need, for you to tell me,” Seb finally spoke, and his words broke you a little more than you already were. “Let’s be friends again, what do you think?” he offered, giving you a small smile. “Let’s take things slowly, like maybe we should have done when we first started dating. You know…”

“Slowly, no problem,” you repeated, smiling back at him.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders at his words. Maybe you were not at the peak of your relationship, and maybe you’d never got back there, but at least you were working together to turn your story into something new.

“You know what, Y/N? I’ve always felt like our story wasn’t over. I don’t just mean that romantically, but in a broader sense,” he said quickly. “We have a whole lot of history, and now is when we’re going to start writing our second book.”

“I know, Seb. I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since I said goodbye to you,” you confess. “That day, goodbyes were bittersweet, but I knew it wasn’t the end and that I’d see you again.”

Before the year ends. I’m telling Seb Emily is her daughter before December 31st.

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Doodles Made by a 6-year-old Boy Named Onfim, from Russia, c. 1240-1260 CE: created nearly 800 years ago, these drawings were scrawled onto the homework/spelling exercises of a little boy in Novgorod

Over the last 75 years, excavations in and around Novgorod, in Russia, have led to the discovery of hundreds of documents dating back to the Middle Ages. These documents were made using pieces of bark from the local birch trees; they include letters, notes, spelling exercises, shopping lists, receipts, and legal documents, among other things.

The most famous examples are the panels that contain the writing exercises of a 6-7 year-old boy named Onfim, whose work was often accompanied by drawings of knights, fantastical beasts, battle scenes, and depictions of himself in various forms.

These are just a few examples:

Birch-Bark Document no.199: on the back of a panel that had been used for his spelling exercises, Onfim drew this picture of himself as a wild beast, writing "I am a wild beast" in the center of the drawing; the beast is also shown holding a sign that says "Greetings from Onfim to Danilo," likely referring to a friend or classmate.

Birch-Bark Document no.200: Onfim began writing the Cyrillic alphabet at the top of this panel, but he then stopped to draw a picture of himself as a warrior on horseback, labeling the figure with his name; the drawing shows him wielding a sword while he impales his enemy with a spear.

Birch-Bark Document no.202: the boy's mother and father are depicted in this drawing, which accompanies another writing exercise.

Birch-Bark Document no.206: Onfim began to copy a liturgical prayer (the Troparion of the Sixth Hour) onto this strip of bark, but he apparently got distracted after writing just the first few words, and started drawing a row of people along the bottom of the panel instead.

The examples above are just a few of the many documents that have been unearthed in Novgorod (now known as Veliky Novgorod) and its surrounding areas. More than a thousand birch-bark manuscripts and styli have been found throughout the region, suggesting that there was a high rate of literacy among the local inhabitants. Most of these documents were created during the 11th-15th centuries, when Novgorod served as the capital city of the Novgorod Republic; they had been buried in the thick, wet clay that permeates the local soil, in conditions that allowed them to remain almost perfectly preserved for hundreds of years.

I know that Onfim's drawings are pretty well-known already, but my most recent post involved a very similar writing exercise/doodle from a child in Medieval Egypt, so I just thought I'd post some of Onfim's work, as well.

Sources & More Info:

Institute of Slavic Studies at the Russian Academy of Sciences: Birch-Bark no.200, no.199, no.202, no.203, no.206, & no.210 (the site is in Russian, but can be translated)

Institute of Slavic Studies: Full Database of Birch-Bark Documents

The New York Times: Where Mud is Archaeological Gold, Russian History Grew on Trees

Russian Linguistics: Old East Slavic Birch-Bark Literacy - a history of linguistic emancipation?

[jokeroutsubs]

📝ENG Translation: Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

Article written by Ajda Gregorc, published in the November/December 2024 ELLE Slovenia Magazine. Print and digital versions of the magazine are available for purchase.

Scans and English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by @weolucbasu and a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Full article translation, scans, and Spotify link are under the cut 👇

🎧 Article available in audio form on Spotify.

Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

With Kris Guštin, the music author and guitarist of Joker Out, we escaped to another side of music, and with that, to his other passion. We talked about style and everything connected to it. There will also be no shortage of this in the band's third album, titled 'Souvenir Pop', which is released on the 15th of November—one week after the issue of Elle you’re holding now. How perfectly synchronised we are!

PHOTOS URŠA PREMIK, STYLING ALENKA BIRK

At Ljubljana’s Moderna Café, on a fresh but lovely autumn Tuesday, when everyone’s still at work or in school, he arrives in a dark green jacket with a checkered pattern, awesome trousers, and her necklace. This time, the menu is not serving music and life, but matcha and "all things fashion." I’m in a regular trench coat and a white T-shirt, but luckily he doesn’t judge people by their style—instead, the style might be what piques his interest to converse, if it's good, of course. Besides, he's the one being interviewed. So, let’s begin! AJDA GREGORC

Interviewer: When did you first discover your personal style or the field of fashion? Was it in childhood or a bit later?

Kris: I roughly divide my life into two periods: before I first held a guitar, and after. When I really got into playing and ventured into music, my world opened up in all areas. Discovering fashion definitely falls into this second period, so the post-high school era. To be completely honest, my style in high school wasn’t something I’m particularly proud of today. (laughs) My girlfriend and I still have a photo of me wearing cargo pants and a black sweater, which is a proof she truly loves me, since that look was far from the best choice. (laughs)

When did it evolve from just a aesthetic impression to self-expression?

My first contact with fashion as a form of art or expression was during our band's first music video or fashion shoot, when I realised that this is also something you need to consider as a musician. At first, it seemed to me like a fairly peripheral element, but as our career developed and we met new people who gave us more insight into this, I began to understand its significance, what I could personally gain from it, and what we as a band could gain. This quickly developed into standard practice. I was increasingly exposed to fashion; we had more and more costume rehearsals and stylings, and two years ago, we even got our first proper stylist. And then I really committed to it—at around nineteen or twenty. Before that, my philosophy was always to "just wear whatever I first find in the closet," but then I shifted to "I'll wear things that would make me stand out from others". But this process was a long one.

So, your style development with the band inspired your personal growth too? I’ve always wondered if a young person is compelled to mature in every area when so many 'big things' happen all at once, as they did for you.

Maybe you do "grow old" in terms of personality sooner. Yes, at first I wanted, and still want, to primarily express the difference or uniqueness that I feel inside myself through music, but then I discovered that this goes very much hand in hand with fashion, so I started looking for my expression there as well. Today, it's almost an equally important part of my day.

Which fashion ideas or directions attract you? You’ve probably encountered a lot of inspiration during your travels on tour, right?

Definitely, but speaking purely origin-wise, I think I’m just like any other rock musician—we draw from the rock aesthetic of the ’60s and ’70s, which was also very "in" when my fashion awareness was born. Back then, around 2016 to 2018, here were a lot of flamboyant shirts on the music scene, with a slight hippie influence, which was the starting point. Only later did I start getting interested in slightly more modern clothes. When I was younger, I found myself in street fashion, that sort of Eminem-esque, hip-hop vibe, so very baggy clothes, which I then began to reject when I made the shift toward the ’60s and a slightly psychedelic aesthetic. It makes perfect sense, as humans tend to jump between extremes. When I had worked through that style, I started discovering the aesthetics of the ’80s and late ’90s, which was also reflected in music at the time. The best example that comes to mind is Dua Lipa’s previous album, which was in the style of the “new ’80s,” and the fashion matched that as well. Today, the early 2000s style has come back, but I haven’t fully decided whether I like it or not. As a musician, I was, of course, initially inspired by other music groups. Arctic Monkeys were a big inspiration for us both musically and visually, as was the whole British rock scene, including bands like The Kooks and Oasis. That entire aesthetic has always been strongly present with us. I doubt there’s a single inspiration board at our shoots that doesn’t include a photo of one of those bands or, for instance, the Beatles. And that aesthetic has always been close to my heart, too.

Rockers have always been associated with more masculine fashion elements, while in recent years, many male musicians have been experimenting with more feminine style elements (for example, Harry Styles and Lenny Kravitz). David Bowie was already the one who back then started to blur these fashion boundaries. You, too, wear such pieces and dare to stand out with them.

It happened quite naturally, as the stylists we worked with always chose slightly more “unmanly” clothing for me. This doesn’t necessarily mean women’s clothing, but rather somewhat more androgynous pieces, which I quickly embraced. I found them interesting and appealing because there’s a lot of fresh expression in that style that I don’t find in traditional men’s clothing, though I don’t want to overdo it. I also started experimenting with them personally, choosing many more varied colours. For a while, I was very fond of pink, and lately, I’ve been playing around with orange. On the cover of the album 'Demoni', I wore an orange-pink sweater.

Are we, as an audience here, already mature enough for a musician to present his feminine side through fashion? Does that require courage?

It does, there will always be people who won’t understand you. But for me, when it comes to the stage or a shoot, I’ll wear anything, and if I feel good in it, I don’t worry about what someone thinks. When I walk around "in civilian clothes," however, especially in Ljubljana, I am still aware if I’m dressed somewhat "untraditionally." There’s a certain boundary that I still need to break within myself. On stage, it’s easier because it’s not necessarily a hundred percent my expression; I’m playing a certain character, but personally, sometimes I do need some courage to show up in a particular style. However, the awareness of being different is stronger in Ljubljana than in other parts of the Western world. For example, I never felt that way in London, but still, our capital isn’t the worst when it comes to this.

Speaking of influences, what about other artistic or cultural movements?

I love art deco, the aesthetics of the '20s and '30s, though it doesn’t influence my daily life. In terms of photography, Damon Baker’s black-and-white style is beautiful. The vintage camera aesthetic has recently won me over, which will also be reflected in our band. Musically, over the past year, I’ve been listening to old Italian chansons and older French music, chansons as well, so I’m clearly feeling very retro this year. (smile)

Will the third album visually stand out from the previous ones then?

Yes, it will be very different. In the last two, we used a lot of colours, but there won’t be as many in this one.

Style can be an excellent tool for expressing an artist's authenticity, but with increasing success, the artist can also become its slave; the line is thin. Do you ever feel the pressure of having to express your fashion style in your private life as well?

No, I’ve never felt like my style owns me; it’s always been the opposite. I’ve always felt like I want more, like I want to dress even better than the day before, especially when it comes to my music career. Perhaps style only hangs over my head a bit when I have no inspiration and would rather wear sweatpants on an ordinary, relaxed day. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but then I do think about what would happen if I ended up somewhere in the middle of the city dressed like that.

It seems that Joker Out has developed a distinct style despite outside influences.

Yes, today we are already very complete in our style. Others have definitely had an influence on us, and I think it’s great that each of them tried to express themselves through us – it was interesting to experience how Joker Out was seen by Ponorelli, and how Andraž Drobnič or Karlo Kirri did. Of course, there is a difference in this, but it also aligns with the development of our music and aesthetics, so all these influences are very welcome.

How much of your personal fashion identity is therefore reflected in Joker Out?

Maybe, as someone who is not an external observer, I can't answer that, but I can say that I was always one of the first to give feedback to the stylist when we were creating our outfits, approving moodboards, and so on. So, I have definitely shaped our style in a direction that suits me. On certain "blind stylings," when we just dressed up, I quickly threw something on myself and then helped look for pieces for the other band members.

What about this photoshoot, where Alenka Birk took over the styling? Did you let her take the lead with her tactics, or did you collaborate on fashion choices? How did the communication go?

I didn’t know Alenka, who, by the way, is an excellent stylist, before. She was recommended by Urša (the photographer, ed.). Later, she confided in me that she had also worked with my father. Alenka focuses on elegant men's fashion, which is a departure from this more fluid fashion; and this suited me because I had never really been photographed in a men's suit, jacket, and tie. I wanted to try something new. I hadn’t seen the outfits before the day of the photoshoot when we met in her small studio in the morning. There were nine of them in total, and we only swapped out a piece or two in at most three of the looks.

This is more of an exception than a rule in fashion photoshoots. Does that mean you felt good in them?

Yes. In some more so, obviously, but in others, you have to trust the people you're working with. When I first look in the mirror, I always keep in mind that if something isn't optimal, it doesn't mean it won’t work well on camera. Even if the pants are too short or creased, it's still worth photographing them, because the photo can be edited later, whereas on stage, it's a different story, and everything has to already be perfect in the mirror. Working with Alenka was very simple; we clicked really well, and I will definitely work with her again.

How linked are your confidence and the way you feel on stage with your styling?

Very connected. As a musician, you want to enjoy yourself as much as possible on stage, and the people who come to listen to you and pay for the ticket deserve to see you at your best, which means you have to feel good in every aspect.

You recently attended Ljubljana Fashion Week. Which of the local fashion designers do you like to follow?

As far as the Slovenian fashion scene is concerned, I’m still quite the beginner, so I only knew the designers we had worked with. This was my first time visiting the Fashion Week.

Which shows did you watch?

On the first day, all of them. I didn’t like everything, but what stuck in my mind was Sarivalenci¹ with their somewhat "country club", Lana Del Rey vibe, and golf moment. I also really enjoyed the Belgrade Fashion Week, as there was an obvious Balkan touch, which I would love to see more of in Slovenia.

¹Sarivalenci is a Slovene high fashion brand created by fashion designer Sari Valenci.

You are a fan of vintage clothes and second-hand shops. What do these pieces have for you that new ones don't?

Honestly, I don’t know if there’s an objective explanation why. I started getting into it because it was popular, and at the same time, it gives you the feeling of getting a more unique piece. At the same time, you're shopping sustainably and not contributing to the production of unnecessary new textiles on Earth, which is great, but I would be lying if I said that’s my main motivation. What I like the most is the experience of "flipping" through clothes, where each piece is different, like a treasure hunt, compared to regular stores where you "flip" through the same clothes in different sizes.

Did your mum, who comes from the Netherlands where people have been aware of this for many years, introduce you to this concept?

I wouldn’t say we talked much about it at home, but I literally lived it. This is probably true for Slovenians in general – almost all the clothes I had as a child were from older peers, or I would take something from my dad, too. When I was done with wearing the clothes, my brother would wear them too. Every piece of clothing that came into our house was passed around, which is a great practice, and it’s still like that today. My sister "stole" half of my sweaters, my mum sometimes takes something too, Maks borrows jackets from my dad, which I’ve also done myself. It's like we all share one big closet! (laughs)

So you have influenced each other’s style in your family, or rather, you still do so? Who has otherwise had the most influence on your style in the past, and who does today?

I don’t remember ever looking at my parents as role models in this regard, as I didn’t really think about it back then, but they definitely influenced me, at least subconsciously. When I see how my mom dresses today, I see parallels with my own style, so she probably did influence me, perhaps more than my dad. As for street style, which I mentioned at the beginning, it might have been inherited from my uncle, my aunt’s husband from the Netherlands, who wore loose sweaters and listened to hip hop. My mum also had an uncle from the Indonesian side of the family, whom I never met, but he was very eccentric. Some of his clothes made their way to us over the years, and when I looked at these pieces in the closet, I was fascinated by how they reflected his personality. Asian fashion became a bit closer to me because of this, and I might even explore it someday.

The heart necklace you wear all the time, even today, is from your girlfriend. Do you ever dress your girlfriend or does she dress you?

My girlfriend is very fashion-oriented and has played a big role in my fashion development. She has always encouraged me when I tried new clothes that, at the time, seemed more radical to me. In this way, she partially shaped me. We also really enjoy shopping together. She dresses me more often than I dress her, which means I ask her for opinion. There have also been times when we’ve dressed the same when it comes to basic pieces; we’ve never really styled each other, but there will probably be time for that in the future.

Where do you like to go for vintage pieces in Ljubljana? Did you find any gems while on tour across Europe?

Textile House Vintage Shop is, in my opinion, by far the best in Ljubljana. The next one is Humana on Stritarjeva street, where I find something every now and then. Abroad, we’ve visited many vintage shops in Dublin, Paris, and London. In the latter, I always go to Brick Lane, which is a street with vintage shops in the east side of central London, where the more hipster area starts. The downside is that it quickly becomes quite an expensive experience.

What kind of information can you deduce about a person based on what they’re wearing? Who, in your opinion, is truly well-dressed?

A person’s style is never a reason not to engage in conversation with them, but it is a very strong stimulator of my interest in that person. If I think someone is really well-dressed, I automatically assume they might think similarly to me and be interested in the same artistic, musical, or visual directions, so I’m more eager to talk to them. However, I’ve often met people who didn’t seem interestingly dressed, and later realised they were amazing people, even if they dressed completely casually.

Your audience expresses itself very differently in terms of fashion, as your parents also mentioned in a recent interview for Elle. How do you as a band perceive this?

Yes, what they meant was that it is no longer the case that you have to be "appropriately" dressed for a rock concert. When we observe the audience from the stage, I would say that the most typical thing for our time is that we are no longer genre-bound. Not just musically, but also in terms of fashion. 30 or 40 years ago, you would see people at a rock concert in leather jackets, black shoes, and jeans, and that was it. Today, you have flamboyant outfits with blue and green hair in one corner, gothic style in another, and of course, people in simple t-shirts and pants somewhere in the middle. And no one feels like they don’t belong; everyone sings our songs, and that’s really nice.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

❗Please do not repost without credit, and if you quote, please link back to this post!

[bqstqnbruin]

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?” 

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.” 

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving. 

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning. 

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other. 

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates. 

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life. 

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you. 

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason. 

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person. 

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately. 

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.” 

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.” 

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.” 

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to. 

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.  

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks. 

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car. 

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice. 

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.” 

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.” 

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was. 

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.” 

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know. 

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them? 

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.” 

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call. 

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice. 

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level. 

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that. 

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week. 

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles. 

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink. 

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway 

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.” 

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly. 

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.” 

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them. 

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway. 

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car. 

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.” 

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.” 

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.” 

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.” 

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.” 

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it. 

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now. 

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.” 

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.” 

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before? 

You call Lena while you were getting ready. 

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.” 

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you. 

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit. 

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door. 

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place. 

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front. 

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.” 

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car. 

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together. 

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his. 

“I have no idea, actually.” 

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?” 

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out. 

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view. 

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you. 

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you. 

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.” 

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine. 

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.” 

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.” 

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?” 

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.” 

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.” 

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people. 

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer. 

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today. 

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine. 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged. 

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.” 

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there. 

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first. 

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.” 

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.” 

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you. 

He was faking it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head. 

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you. 

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.” 

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others. 

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.” 

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time. 

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport. 

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park. 

“Can I admit something?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.” 

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.” 

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk. 

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag. 

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him. 

“No.” 

[strwbmei]

Kinktober : Level 2.

summary: as a loyal servant, you've grown tired of the archon taking your work for granted.

contains: gn reader, reader has a dick, anal, dubcon, brat taming, semi-public sex, spanking, crying, degradation, humiliation, you write on her, no aftercare, rough sex

pairing(s): furina x reader

a/n: uh. accidentally scheduled to post this for the 15th and just realized now. oops. hope the dialogue isn't too cheesy...

thats all for now, i'll be a bit busy this weekend so i can't promise that i'll be able to respond to asks/messages

NSFW below the cut !

"Unhand me right this insta-!"

"Shut. Up."

You had your Archon's wrist pinned to the wall; petite and feeble arms uselessly flailing as she made what could only be called a pathetic attempt at resistance. "Do you think you're getting away with this?! Just wait 'til this is over, you..!"

You roll your eyes. "Me? Do you even know my name?" You'd been such a loyal servant— obeying her every whim, working tirelessly because of the impossible demands she had set, and yet; she didn't even know who you were. Not once has Furina spared you a second thought. You were merely one of her servants. Hers to command and control as she pleased.

She let her mouth hang open for a second before closing it again, biting back a retort that she can't think of. "What's wrong, dear Archon? Aren't you going to fight back?"

Furina had always acted so high and mighty, but merely cornering her in a dusty, secluded warehouse had her feeling so weak and small— at least, in your presence. Wait, no— she's an Archon! What right did you have to treat her like this? You should be groveling at her feet for forgiveness if anything!

Though, as much as Furina wanted to... she couldn't deny how aroused she was getting. You scoff seeing her clench her thighs together. "Of course, this whole situation gets you wet. Fuckin' slut." Before she could make up a comeback, you let go of her wrists.

"Bend over and put your hands on the wall."

"I don't wanna!"

"I wasn't asking. Don't make me repeat myself." You ordered, using a tone full of authority that made Furina's heart skip a beat. She's been the one ordering and bossing people around for as long as she can remember, and she certainly doesn't mind, but she had no idea that giving someone else control could feel so... freeing.

Begrudgingly, she followed your orders; turning around and resting her palms on the dusty walls.

A second passed, nothing. Furina found a sort of thrill in the anticipation of what you'd do, but it was still nerve-wracking nonetheless. A few more seconds passed, and as Furina was about to speak, her words were cut off by a moan she didn't even realize she let out when you spanked her ass.

Her body threatens to lose its balance, knees faltering and hands slightly slipping. You rub the spot where you had hit in a mockingly soft way. "Aww, too much for my spoiled goddess?" You cooed into her ear; her frustration evident. Just then, an idea pops into your head. "Mm... I know, why don't we play a game?"

"Since you forgot my name," She looks at you with a confused expression from over her shoulders; heterochromatic eyes already glossy and wet with tears that threaten to spill onto her smooth skin. "I'll give you a name, instead." The game sounded simple enough, but the sadistic smirk you had on your face spoke volumes.

"From now on, I want you to refer to yourself as my personal cocksleeve. Not the Hydro Archon. Not Furina. When you're in my presence, you don't serve any other purpose but to take my cock. Got it?"

The Archon, the respected and feared Archon of Fontaine, meekly and hesitantly nods; so weak suddenly. Her obedience, though unexpected, pleased you— unlike her silence. What happened to the loud, irritating voice she used as she bossed and ordered you around? Where did all that strength go?

Slap.

Furina yelped. "I asked you a question." You're sure that her body would have tumbled over if you weren't holding her ass up. "I-I uh," Embarrassment filled her as she stuttered. Slap. "Yes..!" You snickered at her whiny tone, which you're sure wasn't on purpose.

You pulled her shorts down, a string of her slick connecting her cunt to her now ruined panties. Fuck. "Are you really getting wet from this?" You mock. Your finger ghosts over her entrance, and you can feel it throb and flutter around nothing.

"No, I'm not..! Do you really think that-"

Slap.

"I didn't give you permission to speak." The second you take a step back, it feels as if the weight of the world was lifted off of Furina's shoulders. "Tell you what, since I'm feeling generous..." This time, you slap her cunt, making her whine from the mix of pain and pleasure.

"I'll give you three seconds. If you run away, you can throw me in a jail cell or do whatever you want to me. But if you don't," Her ass is an angry red from the sheer force of your slaps, and you take it upon yourself to rub it in teasing circles before slapping it once again. "I'll humiliate and fuck you until you're a good-for-nothing slut."

"Three." You stay completely still, arms crossed as your figure loomed over the other woman. "Two." Furina stays unmoving, and you can see her cunt glisten with arousal. "One."

As she looked back over her shoulders, her stomach churned with both excitement and nervousness once she saw the sadistic smirk on your lips. "Fuckin' brat. You're fucking disgusting." Although your words sounded like you were insulting her, you couldn't be more proud to have the Hydro Archon bending herself over for you, wet pussy on display— all for a servant she never even gave a second glance at.

No matter how much Furina wanted to deny it; fight back... she was incredibly desperate and horny— and even if she didn't want you to know that, her body told you all about it. The weight and consequences of her decisions don't hit her— at least, not until she feels your thick cock, hard and as rigid as stone from her doing, resting on her back.

Just an hour ago, she was going on about her day as usual. Under no circumstances would she imagine that she'd be getting her ass pounded by you in a dirty storage room, praying to whatever other gods existed out there that you wouldn't get caught.

"Shiit..." The death grip you have on her waist doesn't relent, still as strong as it was before your first orgasm. How many times has Furina cum? None. It doesn't matter. She'll take any scrap of pleasure she can get at this point— she just wants to be filled. "So tight... just for me." You can feel her balance faltering as you slap her ass again.

And you don't even fulfill that. You're completely selfish; the only reason you chose to fuck her ass was solely because while it was tighter, she receives little to no pleasure. Plus, not many people can say that they've fucked an Archon in the ass. You wanted her to learn that she's merely a toy— and that it doesn't matter if she doesn't cum as long as you do.

At least, that was what you intended.

You chuckle darkly through heavy breaths, seeing Furina squirt and make a mess everywhere. "Seriously? You're cumming and squirting like a whore from getting your ass fucked? How pathetic can you get?"

Just then, a thought crosses your mind: how pathetic can she get?

Looking over at the pile of boxes next to you, you spot a marker on top of some documents that you hope were unimportant, seeing how some of Furina's juices got on them. You don't check to see if the marker is washable or permanent. You spread her legs even wider, and the last thing she hears is the cap getting removed before feeling a short, cool sensation on the back of her thighs.

"Every time you cum from me fucking your ass," Slap. "I'll write something on your body." Furina doesn't respond. She doesn't trust herself to run her mouth; remembering how that was the reason this encounter happened in the first place.

You lift her off your cock, making her whine at the loss of contact. She quickly realizes what you were trying to do as soon as you turn her to face the door. "N-no... please!" The Archon tries to make use of the rest of her feeble strength, kicking— though her actions tickled you more than it hurt.

"Oh, baby..." You cooed. Your tone almost reminded her of your meek, monosyllabic replies to her bossing you around— but now, there was an added sultriness and authority. "You can fight back all you want if that makes you feel better, but we both know you want this."

"Look. Even if you don't want to admit it, at least your body is honest." You rub on her still-sensitive clit, prolonging and coaxing out more of her orgasm. Tears start streaming down her face as soon as you bring her down on your cock, ass stretching to accommodate your size.

"Please, 'm sorry!... I'm... mhmff... Your personal cocksleeve is sorry! If we get caught..." Her words are cut off by a particularly hard thrust knocking the air out of her lungs. You smile at her words, but your pace doesn't relent. In fact, it gets even faster. "Oh? You know your name. I thought you were too dumb for even that." Besides, the way she clenched tighter once you positioned her in front of the door of the warehouse didn't go unnoticed.

She keeps on begging and apologizing through sobs and moans, feeling herself close to passing out with the sheer force of her incoming orgasm. With a loud sob, her body grows limp and her cum forms a puddle on the ground beneath you two.

"Tsk. All that talk, and she couldn't even last two rounds." You groan, laying her slack body on the floor. Her legs are trembling, and her thighs are a sticky mess. Her gaping hole is filled to the brim with your cum, just as it should be. There are numerous writings on her previously sacred body; namely words such as 'slut' and 'whore.'

With a few jerks of your cock, warm ropes of your cum shoot out and cover the woman beneath you. You zip up your pants, leaving her both physically and sexually ruined for the next person who would be unfortunate enough to find her.

╰┈➤ taglist ; @nbdaddykink , @teethoftheeditor , @roninraccoon , @commandercarbs , @sapphic-simp4015 , @truculentbantam , @vrachis , @dukemira , @arbiteriey , @krowbyss

[farfromstrange]

Mismatched Bridesmaid | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 2 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Deciding to go to your old college roommate's wedding turns into a bad idea when you suddenly have to function as a bridesmaid until you're paired with a very handsome groomsman.

Warnings: Fluff, attempt at humor, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "good girl", One-Night Stand, shameless flirting, kind of "horny at first sight", so cheesy it might make you hate cheese

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: I was wondering why this didn't post until I saw that I hit "save draft" instead of schedule, so this may come on time for some and too late for others, but I'm still awake, so it counts as the 15th. Also, when I wrote this it was after hinting at it on here, and I was excited at first, but I'm not too happy with it now because it's just silly and falls a little flat, in my opinion. This is why I went back in and edited a hell of a lot, adding some things, etc. Nevertheless, I promised to clear out the vault for this event, so this is it. I got inspired by seeing the She-Hulk clips when the episode with Matty came out. It may or may not be noticeable. We're also working with the Nelson, Murdock & Page narrative. Enjoy!

You are not made for white-veil occasions. 

While weddings, in their essence, symbolize unity while covering different facets of romantic beauty, they are also inherently stressful for nearly everyone involved in the proceedings. Over the years of adulthood, you’ve found that weddings tend to end in disaster when you attend—and you are not particularly fond of engaging in drama.

When your old college roommate sent you an invitation to her wedding in June, you considered responding with no. You’ve been close for a few years, but then you graduated, found separate careers, and then never talked again. You weren’t sure why she would send you an invitation until you called the number on the back of the card and you began catching up. She told you that she wanted to invite you because you were a vital part of her early twenties, and it reminded you that you are both adults and you have both grown beyond what you thought possible, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell her that you couldn’t make it to her wedding. Instead, you told her that you wouldn’t miss it for the world. That answer though seemed to have turned destiny against you. 

You were excited when you arrived at the chapel this morning, but as soon as your foot touched the holy ground, everything went wrong. Maybe it is because you’re an atheist and God hates you, or maybe Karma just really fucking loves toying with you. Either way, when your friend’s maid of honor—also one of the few people you hung out with during your wild college days—came up to you, looking pale and panicked, you knew that the curse you always bring to weddings was only continuing to wreak havoc. 

She said to you, “One of the girls got into a car accident on her way here. Don’t worry, she’s not dead, just a broken wrist, but that means we are one bridesmaid short. I need someone to step in before Janet finds out and cuts off my head for ruining her wedding day,” and she was deadly serious about it, too.

You knew that it was a mistake to come to this wedding, especially without a date or a plus-one to fall back on. 

You were so focused on marveling at the beautiful white and golden decorations living the aisle, fantasizing about the day you might be walking down one of those that you didn’t think anything could go wrong since everything had been going so right. You should have known better than to trust that treacherous feeling of excitement that you made sure to nurture before breakfast so you could enjoy the ceremony and the party afterward without making it dependent on the open bar—although that fact did help.

Instead of dreaming about free drinks though, you’re being squeezed into a satin green dress with a low cut in the front, and someone you don’t know is slathering burgundy lipstick onto your lips. They are purposely trying to turn you into a copy of all the other bridesmaids, and you hate it. You hate it so much you get the sudden urge to scratch your eyes out and tear the skin off your lips. 

Janet, the maid of honor, comes back up to you. She’s aged at least ten years since you last saw her when she pulled you away from the aisle. You feel for her. The entire weight of this wedding rests on her shoulders. 

She eyes you, checking your outfit, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank God, you’re hot,” she mutters. You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear it. 

“Thank you?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Alright.” She fixes the corners of your lipstick. “We need to pair you with a different guy than Miss I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Drive was supposed to walk down the aisle with. Your looks don’t match. You’ll get Kathy’s partner,” she says. “And we need to line up, like, now because shit is happening in five minutes, not a second later. We can’t give Bridezilla the time to kill us all.”

With a frown, you ask, “Is she aware at all of what’s happening?” 

Janet shakes her head. “No, and it’s better this way. Trust me.”

You stop questioning her. She knows what she’s doing. 

When she guides you outside to line up, you’re not sure what to expect. You don’t know the groom, and you don’t know his friends. You’re here on your own, and now you’re part of a bridal party that you are also barely familiar with, wearing a dress that you were forced into for the sake of aesthetics. You hate when something is reduced to aesthetics because beauty has many facets, and you would have walked down that aisle with anyone as long as you could get it over with. 

Until you see him. Strikingly dark hair in a perfectly cut tuxedo that underlines the muscles hiding underneath the fabric. His eyes are hidden behind round, red glasses that reflect the sunlight coming in through the already stained glass of the chapel’s windows. In his hands, he’s holding a white cane, leaning his entire weight on it as he waits. And he waits for none other than you. 

Janet paired you with the most beautiful man on this planet, you can’t deny that. The way he stands there, his sharp jawline on full display—he looks ethereal. Just looking at him makes you sweat, and you’re starting to panic. What if she made a mistake? You can’t do this. You can’t—

“Matt,” she says and shoves you beside him into the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen. 

Janet introduces you, and then she’s gone. She pushes you into the cold water, forcing you to learn how to swim. 

He tilts his head in your direction. “Hi,” he says. The sound of his voice resembles the purr of a black cat as it reverberates, but his grin reminds you of the Devil himself. 

Fuck. Me. 

You either did something very wrong to land here, or you did everything right. 

“Hi,” you stammer. One look at him, and the blood rushes to your cheeks. Your face is burning. 

He offers you his hand. “I’m Matt,” he says as if Janet didn’t already expose that to you.

Still, you take his hand. It’s the polite thing to do. “And I’m not supposed to be here.” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so stupid.

Matt chuckles. Even his laugh sounds bittersweet. Like dark chocolate. “I, uh, gathered as much.”

“I’m sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m not—this is really weird. I don’t even know what to say.” You pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, maybe that will make it less embarrassing.

His features soften. There is no judgment. You can’t see his eyes, but there is a certain softness about him that throws you off guard, but you no longer feel like you’re drowning. “If it helps, I’m only here because I helped the groom graduate law school by writing his essays, and he feels like he owes me, so…I also don’t want to be here,” he says, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses. You get a small glimpse of his eyes. They’re hazel. Beautiful. He has an aura that draws you in; it’s not just his physical beauty that strikes you.

This man—this magnetic force of a man called Matt—is a stranger. He’s a man you were paired with to walk down the aisle even though you were never meant to be a bridesmaid in this wedding in the first place. So many things are happening to and around you at once, and you can feel the flames starting to burn and sizzle away at your skin. 

You should pull yourself together. You shouldn’t stare at him. You shouldn’t listen to your heart which is hammering against your ribcage. But the emotions are already running high and you can’t possibly focus on anything else. He’s like a lifeline to you.

And God, you want him to put those calloused hands on your skin and take you to bed. But that’s not something to think about in a place of God. On the day of someone else’s wedding. Except that you can’t think of anyone else, and his proximity isn’t making the situation any better for you.

Another blush threatens to take over your features. “Oh, you’re a lawyer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have a firm. Nelson, Murdock & Page.”

“Here in New York?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, yeah. Me and my associates just reopened our doors to the public after a rough year.”

“Oh, that’s...cool. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. And what do you do, if I may ask?”

His interest takes you off guard, but you don’t hesitate to answer his question. You tell him your profession, and how you met the bride, and he listens without another word. No man has ever paid you this much attention before.

Though Janet meant it when she said that you will have to start walking in exactly five minutes, not a second longer. She passed by everyone, handing out bouquets. Green with hints of red and gold. It fits the theme. They’re beautiful, but the flowers within the bouquet become a problem when she hands you your own set. 

“Janet,” you stop her from leaving. “I can’t take these.”

“The fuck you can’t,” she retorts. 

“Seriously, I can’t. I’m allergic to Jasmines. I’ll sneeze.”

She glares at you. “Then fucking hold it.”

There is no arguing with her, and she passes by you to continue putting everyone in their places. You stare down at the bouquet, your nose already starting to itch. The smell alone is enough to make you nauseous.

To your surprise, Matt reaches for the flowers. “May I?” he asks, but he has already grabbed a hold of them.

“Sure,” you answer, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Hold this.” He guides the top of his cane into your hand.

His fingers feel along the red ribbon. He takes a whiff. There are so many scents that would be overwhelming even to someone without heightened senses due to a lacking fifth one, so you’re even more surprised when he finds the Jasmines without a struggle. He traces the petals just to make sure, and he quickly pulls the flowers out of the bouquet, tightening the ribbon around the now smaller girth in the process.

Tossing them behind one of the pillars in the corridor, he hands them back to you. “Here,” he murmurs. “For you.”

Words elude you. 

“Are you allergic to anything else?” The question is valid, considering you’re still not making a move to take the bouquet from him. 

You exhale a shaky breath, reaching for the flowers, and answer without missing another beat, “Weddings.”

That elicits a giggle from him. The sound is enough to make your heart melt. Does he know what he’s doing to you?

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of heels clicking against the marble floors stops you both dead in your tracks.

Your entire body recoils when the bride’s voice rings out, echoing, “Who the fuck mismatched my bridesmaids?”

A hand rests on your bicep, and you don’t even have to look down to know that it is Matt’s. He’s the only one standing to your right, anyway. He squeezes as though to let you know that you won’t lose your head, but you’re not so sure now that your college roommate is glaring at you in a white dress that reminds you of a pastry, and her eyes are full of fury. He can’t see it, but he would cower in fear if he did.

Thankfully, Janet pulls her aside, explaining the situation to her. 

“She what?!” she screeches. “On my wedding day? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, because car accidents respect timing when it comes to special occasions,” Janet counters.

You snort. Matt beside you digs his teeth into his bottom lip, but even he can’t hide his amusement.

“Oh, snap,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Shots have been fired,” he says.

“I think we’re witnessing a double homicide.”

“I’m not a very credible witness. I can only describe how it sounded, unfortunately.”

Your snort turns into a laugh. The bride’s head snaps around, and you go quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“If she decides to throw a punch at your pretty face,” Matt’s breath tickles your ear, “I can be your attorney and sue her ass.”

This time, you’re conscious enough to slap a hand in front of your mouth to stifle your reaction. “How do you know I’m pretty?” you whisper back between little giggles.

He shrugs with a smirk of his own. “I just know.”

He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, and you have no choice but to submit.

Janet manages to bring some calm back to her friend eventually, and then it’s showtime. Right on the second, it’s time for you to walk down the aisle, and you have never been happier about a strict schedule and someone adamant about keeping that schedule for the sake of all of your lives.

Your roommate has always been a very dominant personality, so you’re aware of the things she can do when she doesn’t get what she wants. 

An 80s pop ballad begins to play. You make sure to match your pace to everyone else but also make sure that you’re not running away from your partner.

You may have been a mismatched bridesmaid, but you can’t complain about the company. 

Against all odds, the service is beyond beautiful. It’s not often you get to stand so close when two people who seem to truly love each other make a vow to be there for each other for the rest of their lives. You can’t help but shed a tear. They complement each other perfectly. Is that ever in the cards for you? Will you ever be able to have what they have? Or will you always feel like you’re not worthy of this kind of unconditional love and endless devotion—of someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with you?

You look over at Matt. The hint of a cross necklace is starting to peek out underneath his dress shirt. Of course, he’s Catholic. 

He carries himself with such a grace that puts everyone else in this room to shame. Does he know that you’re staring at him? You hope not.

After the ceremony, you lose sight of Matt in the masses. He doesn’t owe you a goodbye, but you still feel a little disappointed when you return to the dressing room and finally peel the satin dress off of your very sweaty skin. 

At the party afterward, he’s still nowhere to be found. You give up. Not that you want to spend the evening with him anyway, but you kind of do. You drown your sorrows in a glass of vodka cranberry and a bowl of olives. They taste like rotten meat, but there are too many people by the buffet for your liking. The last thing you want to do is mingle and get asked stupid questions by people you don’t even know. So, you stay back, and you watch from afar as everyone is having the time of their lives not so far away from you, but far enough for you to breathe.

“And here I thought weddings were supposed to be a joyous occasion,” Matt pipes up beside you, and you twirl around in your chair to face him with wide eyes.

You didn’t expect to see him back here. “Hi!” you exclaim. “What’re you—I thought you left.”

“Nah,” he says. “I just had to take care of some things.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

Folding his cane, Matt lowers himself down on one of the chairs beside you and orders himself a beer with the bartender. “Let’s just say that I have an important court case coming up and I had to make a call.”

You take another sip from your drink. “That sounds a lot more exciting than my life, to be honest.”

“You are sulking at a wedding. Thinking about an ex?”

“More like life in general.”

“Ah, yes, the eternal fear of dying alone.” He raises his bottle to yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

A laugh escapes you. “That was cynical,” you say.

“And you’re not?”

He beats you at your own damn game, and he finally gets that smile he has been vying for. 

“Are you smiling?” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “Maybe.” But the smile is audible in your voice, giving you away.

Matt smirks, nodding his head. “Good girl.” 

The sharp vodka runs down the wrong pipe. You cough. Did he just—

He did.

He pats your back, and his hand lingers a lot longer than it should. He looks so smug. Pleased with himself. That part of him is stupidly attractive to you, even though you would usually hate such cockiness in any other man. But Matt isn’t like any other man.

You apologize for your reaction, but he should be the one apologizing to you for throwing you off your game. What is he doing? You can’t read him. You wish you could because that would make this so much easier, but that’s probably the point. He wants to tease you. He wants to mess with your head. He’s a dick. A fucking attractive dick that could tell you to do just about anything and you in your flustered state would go along with it without hesitations. That’s the kind of control he has over you, and you just met. It feels like a twisted form of destiny, but you can’t quite believe it. Yet.

“Do you always do that?” you dare to ask.

He frowns. “Do what?”

“Flirt with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests?”

A playful smirk plays on his lips.  

“It’s been known to happen,” says Matt.

You poke your tongue against the soft tissue of your cheek. “Cheeky,” you murmur.

“That’s also been known to happen.”

“What, being cheeky with—”

“—with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests? Yes.” He’s catching on quickly.

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, that.”

“I do have to say though,” he adds, and for a second you think he might ruin the joke instead of playing it out further, but Matt is full of surprises, “Out of all the mismatched bridesmaids I’ve met in my thirty-something years of, um, living, you’re my favorite so far.”

With your hand, you start fanning your face rather dramatically. “I feel honored,” you say. 

Again, he chuckles. “You should be.”

“Why, because you’re so irresistible?”

“I was going to say that I don’t like a lot of people because, you know, they’re dicks, but that works too.”

“Wow.” You take another sip. The liquor burns its way down your sore esophagus. “You have balls, man.”

“Is that a problem?” he counters with a question.

The answer comes naturally. “No,” you say. “I like it.”

“Good.” Hearing you clink the ice cubes against your empty glass by swirling it around, Matt concludes that you need a refill. “Can I get you another drink?” he asks.

The question sounds so innocent, but the look on his face renders you speechless. His hand inches dangerously close to yours on the counter, his knee brushing yours, and the heat shoots straight to your neglected cunt. 

Fuck this.

“You could do that, or we could skip that part and just…you know.”

One brush of your hand against his thigh, that’s all it takes for him to know. 

Pushing you through the door to his apartment a few minutes later, his lips are on you. The door falls shut with a loud bang, and he presses you against the wall of his hallway. 

His lips feel like a silky cloud of lewdness. The way he kisses you is utterly erotic. Your lips part in a delicious moan that he swallows with a grunt of his own. He swallows it all, shoving his tongue into the tight confines of your mouth, and exploring every inch he can reach. He tastes you. He consumes you. 

His hands desperately search for an ounce of bare skin. He’s tugging at your clothes, sliding and tearing them aside. Once his fingers finally brush over the bare skin of your stomach, he melts. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your leg hooks around his waist. You can’t wait. He has ignited a fire within you that no one has been able to light before. He’s touching you with a precision that puts your former lovers to shame. He’s paying attention to your every breath and heartbeat, and with every touch, he asks, “May I?” 

You don’t even make it to the bedroom. Once he has successfully removed the bottom half of your clothes, he falls to his knees. He is a sight to behold. The disarray of colors that shines into his apartment illuminates his face, bathing it in a selection of hues that bring out his best features. 

Matt has yet to take off his glasses, and you take the opportunity to tear them away from his face. You’re gentle though. You ask him, “May I?” mirror the question he has been asking you throughout the night, and after a thick swallow, he nods.

You caress his cheek as you remove his glasses, and when you finally see his hazel eyes in all of their glory, you have to bow down to capture his lips in a soft kiss. 

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So fucking beautiful, Matt.”

He whimpers. You could have sworn to have imagined it, but when you stroke his cheek with such a gentleness it almost makes him recoil in anguish, you know that you didn’t imagine the sound from his lips. You kiss it away. You kiss all of his insecurities away. You want him to feel as good as he is making you feel. You don’t know him, but you want to get to know him, and if he’s ready to surrender himself to you, you are more than ready to do the same for him. He can feel that with every brush of your fingertips and every kiss you deliver to his plump lips that taste like heaven and hell in itself.

Your words don’t leave him cold. His cock is aching in his pants—you take note of his impressionable size, which only makes you more excited for what’s to come—but he refuses to take it out. Not until you’re fully satisfied. To be honest, you could come just from staring at him on his knees in front of you, looking like he would lay the world to your feet and kill everyone who has ever dared to hurt you, but that is not enough for him. 

He needs the experience. Feeling your skin, tasting you, and breathing in all facets of your natural scent mixed with the artificial one from your shampoo. He can’t get enough of it. Of you. Of everything about and within you. He’s as attracted to your body as he is consumed by your soul. You’ve got him in a deadlock, but he would never complain about that.

You gasp when Matt grabs your thigh and throws it over his shoulder. Your panties are gone within seconds, torn on the floor somewhere. You’re completely bare to him. 

You want to warn him that you didn’t shave, but he doesn’t care. 

Before you know it, he has flattened his tongue against your pussy, and he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, reaching for support on the wall behind you.

He flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters before he sucks it into his mouth. 

His grip on your thigh becomes bruising. Matt eats you out like he has been starving for years and you are his first and last meal. He sucks on your clit, and he fucks you with his tongue. Your pussy is the altar he worships at. Your arousal is his holy water. He dives deeper and deeper into the wetness between your thighs, and he moans loudly when you pull at his hair.

“Fuck, Matt–” You’re clawing at whatever you can find. It feels so good. You’re higher than you have ever been.

The sound of his mouth working your slick folds toward eternal bliss is obscene and utterly sinful. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs. The pain grounds you in the here and now, making you focus on the tidal wave that is about to crash into you and tear you to shreds. 

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm takes over, and it takes you into another dimension. You come with a shout of his name. It’s nothing short of explosive. The orgasm drags on through his mouth on your clit, relentlessly sucking until the nerves jump, and you’re begging him to stop. 

His face glistens. With every kiss up your body, Matt marks you. By the time he has reached your quivering lips, he still tastes like you.

“You did so well,” he whispers. “Such a good girl for me.”

You exhale. Without his shoulders to hold onto, you would probably lose your footing. “You’re crazy,” is all you can say. 

He smirks. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“Regret coming home with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He lifts you with ease. “Then I’m going to make it worth your while.”

And when your back hits the soft mattress and silk sheets of his bed, you don’t doubt that he is going to make good on his promise. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[vamptarot]

What Is Tarot?

— an educational post

— ⭑.ᐟ I am aware many people have made posts like this before, however I still felt like creating my own take on it. What inspired me was a post where someone stated that tarot is fictional. Which is incredibly incorrect. Being misinformed is of course, fine, but they said it with such utmost arrogance and confidence that it annoyed me a little. If you are misinformed, not even educated on tarot as a whole, what gives you the right to be a tarot reader? You cannot guide people if you, yourself are wrong and have incorrect information and assumptions. That is what I would have liked to tell them, but unfortunately due to my then circumstances I did not. I also would like to follow the word of God, and He says to act with love, not hatred. So, instead of calling them out and possibly causing an unnecessary argument, I have decided to educate those who might be curious or confused about what tarot actually is as a whole. It’s your choice if you read this or not. I also won’t go into themes of religion, this will strictly be focused on tarot. I just wanted to share what’s on my mind. not proof read.

what is tarot?

Actually, my dearest, tarot was created in the 1430s - 1450s and was first called tarocchi. It’s a game similar to bridge.

They were created in Northern Italy, Milan. Although at the time it was a game, it was still considered a luxury. The cards were hand painted for wealthy people, not necessarily due to them finding joy in it, but rather to reflect their status. It was a symbol of being wealthy.

Although nowadays the standard of a tarot deck is 78 cards it started off with 56 cards, from which the fool was the odd one out, a wild card. - If you have a hard time understanding, think of the joker card from solitaire. -

It was only used as a form of divination at the beginning of the 18th century, aka the 1700s.

Now, there are several reasons whys this has happened, but I will try my best to explain it to you in simple terms. - Although I won’t be able to go into every detail as these topics are very complex and have a rich history behind them, so please keep that in mind. -

In the early 1700s French occultists made claims about their meaning and history. They were confident in their skills, abilities and knowledge. Due to them grabbing people’s attention this led to people making custom cards for the usage of cartomancy.

At these times Romani and Sinti people were heavily discriminated against. They weren’t allowed to settle, work, buy a house and were banned from most public spaces including ones where one can buy food and such. All because they originated from India. So, as a means to keep alive they turned to earning money with divination, creating opportunities for themselves in order to live.

Another reason for tarot in a form of divination becoming popular is due to conservative Christian’s spreading the misinformation of it being related to Kabbalah, the Jewish mystical tradition. Of course, that is not true, never was and never will be. However, they are said to have some parallels. That is as far as it goes though.

Now, you could be thinking to yourself, ‘if it was a game, then it’s not a real divination.’ You are wrong! Let me explain to you why!

Remember how I mentioned that originally it had 56 cards and was named tarocchi? It also originated in the 15th century. The tarot you know of today began in the 18th century, got popular in the 19th century. There is roughly about 300 years between the two events and tarot has evolved for 100 years. So one can argue they are completely different things. Even if they are not, that’s alright.

Objects created for non divination usage can still be used for divination despite the creator’s intent. I will present you with a few examples of this fact.

Some people use their passed on pet’s bones as a form of osteomancy. You throw em, if they touch it’s a yes, if they don’t it’s a no. Sounds pretty messed up, right? For some people at least, can’t guarantee everyone thinks the same. Regardless, that was a living being, a beloved pet. Yet, you can use it’s bones in order to practice spirituality.

If you watch youtube pick a cards this will be easier to understand, regardless, charms can be used as a form of divination. You draw different categories on a paper, throw charms at them, whatever it falls on will have a meaning to your question. Money charms on ‘future spouse’? They might as well be wealthy, or at least good with their money.

Or, if that’s not good enough think about witchcraft. You think every single little thing used for spells, jars, hexes and so on was created for the sole purpose of witchcraft? It wasn’t. Yet it works because it’s intentional, because the person doing them has talent for it, because they were gifted.

how do readers read tarot cards?

I will be honest with you, not all readers are gifted with being able to do so, but they sure believe they do. - Am I saying this out of pettiness? Perhaps, let me be. -

So, if you feel like something is off such as beating around the bush, being too nice, being too mean and so on please trust your gut. Not telling you to be mean to people or accuse them unprovoked, that’s something an @sshole does, and I know you are not one. - Watch out for AI readings though, they suck. -

Moving on, I would like to say that every single tarot reader reads their cards differently. Some only do by visuals, some only does so by meaning, some do by both!

Alongside this, every reader shuffles differently. Some let the cards fall out, some take whatever is on top, some take whatever is standing out of the deck, some let them fall and then organise them neatly.

There is many ways to do this. I personally let them fall out and consider both visuals and meanings simply because I believe that is the right thing to do. - One time, during a love reading they fell out in a heart. I thought that’s cute. - At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter much. I have had several friends with different methods than me give me really good and accurate readings. - Just be catious of people who spread it out and then pick the cards out themselves. -

The most important part is being gifted with claircognizance, or in other words having hella good intuition. - or “6th sense”, whatever you wanna call it. - I believe every reliable and accurate reader is gifted with this, regardless of them being aware or not. You can’t read tarot if you don’t understand what spirit is trying to tell you, let that be your own guides or anyone else’s. Perhaps even your tarot deck.

Often times though, this is not the only thing readers rely on. For instance, I have clairaudience, clairvoyance and clairtypity. I can hear, see and feel what you would during whatever situation I read for you. This is not unique to me at all, every reader has at least one of these, and usually several. I even saw people with clairgustance and clairalience! They can taste and smell what you would! Isn’t that awesome?~ I personally think it’s fascinating, it’s not something that I have ever experienced. It’s cool that there are people out there who can do this.

So, tarot readers read your situation with the help of your spirit guides and their own spiritual gifts that they carry within themselves. As for habits and methods, it varies from person to person.

That is a reason why so many different tarot decks exist! Different people are called to different things. - Plus it’s cool -

how do tarot readings work?

This is the main reason why this post was made.. let’s get into it.

You already know how readers guide you, so I will tell you how do the readings themselves work. What else are they based on. Honestly, the best way I will be able to tell this to you is with examples, so that’s what I will do. Maybe someone else can tell you in a much more detailed and specific manner, but I am not them.

Tarot always reads your current energy. You can look into the past with it, but regardless it reads your current state of mind, thoughts, views, feelings and behaviours.

If you read a pick a card or personal reading that is based on the future - ex.; future spouse - then it will still read on your current energy.

For example let’s say you ask ‘when will I meet my future spouse?’ but you stay inside all day, then it will obviously be a few years or so. However, if the next day you decide to go out more or just put yourself out there in the world more and actually commit to it this can reduce to months.

If it’s a reading on your past then the cards will pick up on what still impacts you, whether you are aware of it or not. Let’s say you ask about your first kiss, how will it be like? Your cards could say that it won’t be as romantic as you think because this and that situation still impacts you.

I sincerely hope that you get the point, as I did my best to explain it.

Yet, there is still a question, ‘if someone is talented, why did that one reading turn out inaccurate?’ well because things change my dear.

If you were to ask me now about the appearance of your future spouse I could say they have brown hair and be correct, but they could go ahead and dye it red 15 minutes after I said that.

Things change constantly all the time and there is nothing we can do about it. That’s just life. It’s hard to hear, it’s hard to swallow, but it’s something we have to accept at some point in time. We can control some things, but not everything.

Change is inevitable.

There is good sides of it, and there is bad. You just gotta live and let others do the same.

Now, for pick a cards it’s slightly different. Maybe, genuinely, something is just not meant for you and you are just meant to ignore that. Maybe it’s for the blond teen in Canada who is asking about that one cute boy in her class. If you read a pick a card reading that is accurate but there is that one thing that doesn’t make sense, consider that means something to someone else. It’s not a personal reading.

That is why disclaimers like ‘take it with a grain of salt’ and ‘leave what doesn’t resonate’ exist. Yes, some people take advantage of it and that’s bad, but they were created with a good reason.

end note.

That is all I wanted to say, I believe. Although I made this post to get something bothersome off my mind I sincerely wish that someone out there has found it useful. My goal was truly to educate so if you know who the OP of the claim was just ignore them. Hating on people for enjoyment is not only immature but is going to have a negative effect on your body, mind and soul. Which I would not like. Please take care of yourselves! Thank you for reading.

[therealmrsgojo]

Valentines special (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

Hi, everyone! Posting my personal favorite snippet on my fic I'd lie! you can click the link if you want to read the full version of it. summary: first time meeting itadori yuji, as gojo satoru's wife! warnings: canon-compliant, pregnant reader and drunk-in-love gojo.

15th of August, 2018

You find yourself in the kitchen, humming softly to the music playing in the background. The aroma of the spices and herbs fills the air as you chop the vegetables for tonight's dinner.

A small smile adorns your lips as you hear the servants of your home offer to do the chopping instead. "No, thank you. I find myself enjoying these lately," you politely decline.

The servants bow to you in return, watching in admiration, their eyes fixed on the elegant and glowing woman in front of them, the head wife of the Gojo clan.

As you continue your tasks, your phone rings, breaking your concentration. You wipe your hands on the tablecloth and answer the phone.

"How's my pretty wife doing, hm?" Satoru's voice greets you from the other end of the line.

"I'm doing well," you reply, looking back at the pot and stirring its contents. "I'm cooking our favorite dish. It's almost done, honey."

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Satoru's voice inquires with concern. "You just got off from work. If you're going to do the cooking instead of letting the helpers do it, why don't you quit your job for now and just wait for me every day with your pretty little face?"

"That's not going to happen, Gojo Satoru," your tone was stern and resolute. You continued by confessing, "I hate doing nothing. Simple things like cooking make me happy." He could hear the passion in your voice as you spoke about your newfound love for cooking.

On the other end of the line, he sighed deeply, realizing he couldn't argue with you. He knew that you were a determined and independent person and that it was hard to change once you set your mind on something.

Imagining your pouty lips, pleading eyes, and even a soft, simple "please" from you would make his knees buckle in defeat. He, the strongest sorcerer, was no match for you.

"And also, I wanted to give you a heads up that Megumi will be joining us for dinner tonight," he said, pausing a moment before adding, "Oh, and a new student of mine, too, if that's alright with you."

"Of course it's okay," you replied with a smile, "I appreciate you telling me beforehand so I can prepare. Do you remember the last time you brought Maki, Panda, Yuuta, and Megumi all at once? I was caught off guard and unprepared."

"I remember. Especially how you didn't kiss me for a whole day afterward because you were so upset." Satoru laughed, adding, "We'll be there soon. Love you ~ "

As the call ended, you turned to one of the servants standing nearby, ready to assist you at a moment's notice.

"Hana, please prepare some guest rooms for tonight," you said, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. "We might need them later for our visitors. Thank you." You patted her shoulder, seeing her nod, before she turned around to follow your orders.

After your engagement, the wedding came soon after, taking place a few months later. You and Satoru had decided to have a simple ceremony with only the most important people in your lives present. You wanted to honor the traditions of the Gojo clan that had fascinated you since you first met Satoru.

Following your honeymoon, you were named the new head wife of the Gojo clan. Satoru's parents had decided to move out, passing on the responsibility of running the family estate to you and your husband. This was a significant moment for you both, as it was a tradition that had been passed down through generations.

The other servants had kindly taken care of wrapping up your cooking and set the table for dinner. You stood in the kitchen, washing your hands; you couldn't help but feel satisfied with your small accomplishment.

Lost in thought, you suddenly felt a pair of soft hands tenderly caressing your stomach, a body pressing up against your back, and nose slowly breathing in the scent of your neck. The unexpected touch sends a shiver down your spine, but you quickly recognize the familiar touch of your husband.

As you turned around, you saw your husband's warm smile that lit up his face. He quickly bent down to one knee and nuzzled his face into your stomach, murmuring, "I missed the both of you." You laughed at his affectionate gesture as you lovingly caressed his hair in response.

"I'm not sure they can hear you yet, love," you conveyed with a gentle smile. "I'm just barely two months pregnant, 'Toru."

Your husband looked up at you with a pout on his face, making you giggle like a teenager. He then stood up, took your face in his hands, and pressed soft kisses to your forehead, nose, and lips. The warmth of his embrace and his scent enveloped you completely.

He then turned to you and said, "Hi, my wife," looking at your face with a loving gaze, as if he was seeing you for the hundredth time but still couldn't get enough of you.

You both heard voices from the dining room, and your husband took your hand, pulling you and leading you toward the two students you had been expecting.

As you entered the room, a pink-haired boy with a curious look on his face muttered, "Wow, it's so big here, Fushiguro," his eyes scanned the delicate features around the room in amazement.

"(Y/N)-san," Megumi noticed you first and walked towards you with a small smile. You embraced him, feeling happy to see him doing well, patting his back and giving him a quick peck on the cheek before letting go. "How are you, Megumi?" you asked him.

"I'm doing well, thank you, for all that food you sent to the dorms, too," he replied, his cheeks turning slightly red at your affection.

As you stood there, your husband caressed your hair and introduced you to the other student. "Yuji, this is my wife (Y/N)," he said, turning towards the boy staring at you in awe, his mouth slightly apart.

"Itadori Yuji, nice to meet you," he said, bowing profoundly and complimenting you on your beauty that made you and your husband laugh.

"Nice to meet you too, Yuji. Let's go eat now, shall we?" you said softly, patting his shoulders as you led him to one of the dinner chairs.

The dinner was filled with laughter and stories as you all caught up with each other. You felt happy to see Megumi and Yuji bonding so well, as they were a perfect mix. You also learned about Nobara, another student you wanted to meet soon. As supper ended, every one commended your cooking, and you suggested that the two students stay for the night, offering rooms that were ready for them. They agreed happily.

As you both retired to your quarters, your husband's face was pressed up against your stomach, his hands caressing your hips as he mumbled sweet nothings to your unborn child.

You ran your fingers through his hair, smiling at the sight of the strongest sorcerer alive baby-talking to your pregnant stomach.

"I love you, (Y/N)," Your night was spent tenderly, with sweet words lingering in the air between you and your husband.

The moonlight bore witness as you made love with each other, lost in your own world of passion and intimacy.

Note: Aaaand that's it! Happy hearts day everyone! Thank you for reading this.

"Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts."

xoxo,

Aurora.

[mikufigureoftheday]

Oh!! Oh!!! I got a good idea: are there any dessert themed Mikus? There's gotta be at least one, right? 🍰🍬🎂🍦🍡🥧🍨🍪🍩🍫

Oh man, there are lots of em (((＞＜))) linking/posting them all would take me a hot minute and make a loooonngggg post lmao

So, instead, I'll just give a brief overview and link some of my favorites

The Sweets Sweets is an entire series, but here are my personal favorite two

Then some misc ones

Hopefully, you enjoy these sugary sweet Mikus ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡