#but it was a fairly hilarious trip of 'oh my god'

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Poor Boy

Alright so, apparently the rule for me is going to be that I have to watch every Only Friends episode multiple times. Because the first watch through is just vibes and pure, unadulterated emotional reactions to whatever is being laid in front of me; and the second watch through I have to keep pausing the show every thirty seconds to make another observation.

I don’t know what it is about Episode 4s but they are always where everything starts kicking in to high gear for me. Now, not sure how many more academic papers I am going to be able to write for the bit for this show, but there are so many things about body language, about hands, about relationship dynamics, about drug use, etc that are swarming in my head at this point. 

In constantly talking some other tumblr users ears off about this show, @lurkingshan tasked me with writing a post about Only Friend’s seventh main character.

The POOR BOY shirt. 

Why? Because god are there already some juicy literal and metaphorical character dynamics at play with this shirt, (at least in my perception) and I have been commanded to discuss them, and if you have not realized it by now I love discussing my silly little gay shows. 

What is initially and primarily intriguing to me is the fact that the Poor Boy shirt ends up making rounds in the show. Sand gives the shirt to Ray → Ray keeps the shirt rather than returning it to Sand → Ray gives the shirt to Mew. 

To each of these characters, the shirt means something different, not only from a place of sentimentality, but from a literal, textual meaning. 

Sand

Sadly, we have not yet seen Sand wear the Poor Boy t-shirt, but he is the original owner. From my view, Sand’s relationship to the t-shirt is fairly simple. It is a literal translation of Sand’s own economic status. Sand is poor, and the Poor Boy t-shirt speaks directly towards his everyday reality. 

Sand’s decision to put Ray in this shirt feels petty. Sand is very aware that Ray is rich. (I mean, his first words to Ray when they wake up the next morning are “you’re up, rich boy?”) Now, obviously we cannot peer in to Sand’s mind about the fashion choices he is making, but the entertainment value of seeing this rich boy in a poor boy shirt was there. In this capacity, the Poor Boy shirt serves as a physical manifestation of the wealth disparity between Sand and Ray. Sand owning that shirt is a literal statement, Ray wearing that shirt is hilariously ironic. 

Or is it? 

Ray

We know (or at least can suspect) that Ray has some sort of alcohol dependence from the very first moment we meet him, based on his ascribed role as The Drunk. On the off chance the initial reaction was not “oh this kid is an alcoholic” the narrative continues to build that aspect of Ray’s character when his second trip to the bar also results in him getting plastered, and when he drinks from a flask in the middle of the day, and when he is constantly seen on screen with a whiskey glass in his hand. 

Now, I will not say that everyone who is an alcoholic drinks as a trauma response, but I will say that there are many people who use substances to cope with life stressors. So, when I see Ray with alcohol constantly, that is an indication to me that there is maybe something more beneath the surface of his party boy aura. 

We learn in Episode 2 that Ray’s mother died and he was present for her death (#trauma). [In case you didn’t notice, Ray’s mother died with an empty glass in her hand and empty liquor bottle at her side.]

Sand jokingly calls Ray out on his motivation for paying Sand to hang out with him: “Now I know. You’re a lonely spoiled rich brat. Your friends left you because they have lovers. That’s why you need a new friend. Your life is dramatic. Poor you.” 

Sand says it teasingly, with a smile on his face. But Ray? Ray turns his back to Sand, takes a long pull from his glass, and heads over to the record player.

Perhaps you know where I am going with this already, but I want to just take a second to review the order of events by which I am going to make my final conclusions about this shirt in relation to Ray. 

Episode 1

Ray is introduced piss drunk and hanging on to the edge of the toilet for dear life, he is quick to anger, he gets drunk at the bar again, he tries to drive home, Sand drives him back to his apartment, he wakes up in the Poor Boy shirt, he gets kicked out of Sand’s apartment for being a #rudeboy, Ray calls Mew, Mew wonders how he got to Sand’s place when Boston said he would take care of Ray. In short, Ray gets extremely drunk, is abandoned by all of his friends, taken home by Sand and as a result is adorned with the Poor Boy t-shirt. 

Episode 2 

Our first Ray sighting in Episode 2 he is sitting outside drinking a nip, alone. No one inside the hostel even questions where he is. Mew is the one that goes outside to check on him, calls out his drinking habits, and tells Ray “I can’t be your emergency staff all the time”. Ray sees Sand selling something on campus and follows him around. He breaks Sand’s plum wine bottles and then offers him 10,000 bhat to just hang out, drink, and listen to music. Sand learns about Ray’s dead mother. Ray goes wakeboarding with the rest of the college pals, Ray tries to help Cheum, makes her ankle hurt worse, and literally the only person that talks to him besides to tell him to stop (Chuem) and to question his ability to help (Top) (aka the only person who engages in casual conversation with Ray) is Mew. Ray has his second hang out with Sand, Sand calls out the fact that Ray’s friends have abandoned him because they all have lovers, he says he will be friends with Ray, and Ray and Sand fuck. 

Episode 3

Episode 3, Ray clings to Sand the morning after, offers to drive him to school, volunteers to handle the music for the pool party (much to the surprise of all of his friends). Ray then spends most of the rest of his screen time either flirting with Sand or simping over Mew. Top belittles Ray, Boston calls out Ray’s crush on Mew and calls Ray’s life dramatic, Ray is left alone at the party and runs in to Sand, offers to take Sand home, starts making out with Sand, and then interrupts the guaranteed dicking down that he just convinced Sand to make an exception for when he pulls himself fully and instantly out of that make out session to answer Mew’s call, pissing off Sand. 

Episode 4

Episode 4 opens with (yet another) show stopping performance by Khaotung (seriously this dude is a powerhouse) where we learn that Ray was at one point actively suicidal and made an attempt. We learn in a very short period of time there that Ray does not have a lover, a sibling, or family that he feels like he can rely on. Mew is his emergency contact because he is the only person who is consistently taking care of Ray. On the phone with Mew, Ray says “If I’m gone, I won’t be anyone’s burden anymore, right?” When Ray breaks down sobbing as Mew holds him, Ray says “No one loves me. I’m all alone. Everyone hates me. My mom never loved me. Her life was ruined because of me. She died because of me. She never hugged me like this, you know? I’m bad luck, Mew. No one loves me!” and it is at this point that we can look back at all these other interactions Ray has had over the three prior episodes and see that two years after his suicide attempt, he is still being called a burden by friends and strangers, he is still alone.

[As an aside: I want to make it extremely clear that there is a lot of juicy complexity to Ray’s dynamic with his friend group. I am not saying that his friends are inherently bad people for the distance they place between themselves and Ray. First, they are college students, second Ray has a lot of mental health and addiction things going on that they are not equipped to handle, and having to constantly manage a friend with an addiction, especially one that can make them escalate situations really quickly (see Ray ready to fight Sand in the bathroom within like, thirty seconds of talking) is challenging. But I am also not going to absolve them entirely of the kind of statements they make about Ray, when they don’t return his ‘i love yous’ when he’s drunk and when they call him a burden, because these are things that were such a strong part of his belief system that they are part of the driving thoughts he verbalizes when he tries to kill himself.]

While it took us fully four episodes to get there, we find that the Poor Boy t-shirt that Ray wakes up wearing in Episode 1, while inaccurate for his literal financial reality, is incredibly, aggressively precise and accurate to Ray’s emotional reality. 

Mew

Cutting back to present day in Episode 4, Mew has been picked up by Ray and brought over to his house to spend the night. Ray’s first action in the scene is to turn to the coat rack he has in his room, pull a white shirt from it, and hand it to Mew to change in to for pajamas. Ray asks Mew why Top didn’t pick him up and Mew states that he did in fact call, but Top was busy fucking Boston helping his dad at the hotel. Ray makes a comment about being a substitute and feeling forgotten when Mew is with Top, Mew tells Ray that he is his most beloved friend, and then he looks at the shirt, turns it around to show Ray and asks:

“Is this yours?”

Now, I assume Ray is aware of what shirt he gave Mew to wear, but there is something disconnected in what I am reading from Ray’s reaction to seeing Mew hold up the shirt. 

To me it seems a bit like Ray is...not surprised, but perhaps uncertain? He knows that shirt is Sand’s but he has spent all this time at the party trying to convince Mew that he isn’t interested in Sand, that there is no attraction between them, because Ray is still hung up on Mew and some part of him is hoping there is a chance. Ray lets Mew tease him “Poor boy, seriously? How dare you wear this?”

Ray remains quiet, until Mew once again presses Ray about getting together with Sand.

 “Why don’t you hit on Sand? I think he’s lovely” (preface- I do not know Thai, but I do know that ‘narak’ typically means cute. Mew definitely says ‘narak’ when he refers to Sand, but it is translated as lovely so the caption may not be completely accurate). “I want you to have a boyfriend. Dating a musician is freaking cool.”

Now, there are a couple things I see at play in this moment. First, I am pretty certain that Mew is still very much aware of Ray’s crush on him. I think the casual comments Mew makes about Top being the first person to make his heart tremble and how heavily he is pushing Ray to ask Sand out or even to just try to figure out if Ray does genuinely have interest in Sand are ways for Mew to kindly, gently remind Ray that he does not reciprocate any romantic feelings. 

Secondly, Mew is and will be commenting on traits that apply to either himself or adjacently to Ray. When Mew says dating a musician is freaking cool, we know he is referring to Sand who is actually a musician. But for Ray, who is desperately in love with Mew, is it too far of a stretch for Ray to believe that Mew’s sentiment may also apply to people with really strong tastes and interests in music?

Third, Boston has stirred up some resolve in Ray from the party, trying to convince him that he needs to tell Mew that he is interested, to even have a fighting chance at maybe getting Mew to date him. So he lies: 

“No. I don’t want to be in a relationship just yet. Besides, Sand isn’t my type.” 

Something I absolutely love about Only Friends so far is that no one is telling the truth 100% of the time, but also no one is lying 100% of the time and we don’t yet know enough about most of the characters here to be completely certain which parts they are being truthful about. Nick is lying to Boston, or at least keeping secrets from him (he did not tell Boston he bugged the car), but he will fully, easily, and readily admit to Sand that he bugged the car and recorded Boston and Top having sex. He will fully, easily, and readily admit that he is nasty and also that he isn’t trying to blackmail Top. Top will omit the information that he slept with Boston, but he will admit to drug use and pull a baggie of coke out of his pocket to show Mew. Some of my mutuals are still in debates around how much Top is lying, including whether or not he is telling the truth about the fire he was in as a child, etc. 

In this case for this scene with Mew, we know Ray is lying about not wanting to be in a relationship. He does want to be in a relationship…with Mew. But is he lying about Sand not being his type? It would certainly track, considering Ray was the one that initiated the sexual relationship between them and continued to pursue it. Yet at the same time, Ray is stopping in the middle of a make out session, disregarding Sand’s feelings entirely, and taking Mew’s call. And Sand’s lack of wealth is something Ray has exploited or tried to exploit on multiple occasions. (Which is in part why it is very important to recognize the second Sand realizes he may actually be enjoying Ray’s company, that he rejects all offers of money from Ray).

As Mew continues to talk, he continues to state advice that could apply to himself: “Don’t set your standards too high.” Ray is a drunken mess of a college boy, and if Mew is telling him not to set his standards too high, wouldn’t it also be possible that Mew could see Ray as a lower standard and still decide to date him? 

“Just date someone who loves you and takes care of you.” Mew is the only person that really seems to take care of Ray at this point. Boston abandoned him, Cheum doesn’t really interact with him all that much, Top hates him, etc. When Ray attempted suicide Mew said he loved him, when Ray attempted suicide Mew said he would always be there for him. Mew has supported Ray for so long, Mew has taken care of Ray for so long. And now Mew is casually naming the qualities of his good friendship to Ray as a recommendation of how to find someone to date. 

So to me, it makes total sense that Ray would try to kiss Mew and admit his feelings. 

But why is the Poor Boy shirt relevant to Mew? 

Because there is someone else we have seen take care of Ray multiple times already…

Sand. 

The OPB (original poor boy). 

Sand says he can differentiate between love and lust, but the ease at which he relents to Ray’s puppy dog eyes, the speed by which is is made upset at being abandoned by Ray, the safeguards he has in place that he is constantly undermining, we know that if Sand is not already in love with Ray he will be getting there fast.

In my opinion, the Poor Boy shirt acts not as any form of physical or emotional commentary for Mew’s state specifically, but serves instead as Ray subconsciously projecting Sand on to Mew. Despite how quickly and strongly Ray has been drawn towards Sand in recent episodes, despite the good vibes, and good sex they’ve had going on, despite their mutual attraction to one another and some matching interests, Ray has given this reminder of the first care Sand provided (despite throwing him out after Ray gave him an attitude) to Mew. And it’s not like Ray hasn’t had the opportunity to give Sand back his t-shirt. Ray and Sand have hung out there at least twice and fucked each other in Ray’s bedroom. But Ray hung on to the shirt, why? 

Sand’s shirt on Mew’s body is misplaced, either as a subconscious acknowledgement of his growing interest in Sand or as a way for Ray to physically place reminders of the care and attention Sand has been giving him on to Mew, who Ray is still crushing on, even as Mew has slowly started to pry himself away from the responsibility of taking care of Ray.

And as we approach the end of Episode 4, we see Ray start to realign his expectations, settling in to the reality that Mew has not, does not, and never will like him romantically. We are introduced for the first time, to a physical, tangible object that Ray owns that is connected to Mew and to Ray’s relationship with Mew as a result. Ray sits in the tub, the same tub he tried to die in two years ago, the same tub Mew held him in two years ago and told him he loved him and promised to always be there for him.

Ray thinks about what this pendant symbolizes, the words Mew told him when he gifted it to Ray: “You are the brightness, you are a ray of sunshine. You should be hot and lively.” Ray says at the beginning that his friends hate him, that he is all alone. So I don’t think it is a far stretch of the imagination by any means to say that Mew may be one of the first if not the first person in years to make Ray feel like he was loved, valued, supported, and understood. 

And it is not surprising as a result of that that Ray would fall in love with Mew, especially if Ray’s addiction has been ongoing for years and he has been a difficult person to maintain friendship with. 

Ray has crossed boundaries and suffered immediate consequences as a result, but those consequences included finally hearing directly from Mew that his feelings have not changed over the last two years. Ray is drunk 99.9% of the time, that doesn’t mean he’s blacked out by any means, but it does mean that frequently his judgment is going to be inhibited. It is highly likely, in my eyes, that Ray needed the direct admission rather than Mew’s gentle rejections over the last two years. 

With Mew finally voicing his regard of Ray as only a friend, Ray is now able to re-evaluate the advice Mew gave to Ray at the beginning of the episode, and consider who else (besides Mew himself) Mew’s statements might apply to. The answer, of course, was staring him in the face the entire time. With the Poor Boy shirt removed from Mew’s back, Ray is forced to understand the shirt more as a physical tie to Sand, like the keychain is a physical tie to Mew. 

(hehe this angle makes it look like it says Poo Boy or Poop Boy) 

Ray looks at the shirt and thinks back to the record shop not-a-date with Sand, the honesty Sand had with him, the ease at which Sand shared information about himself, his interests, the gentleness with which Sand treated Ray, even just placing the headphone on him. Ray thinks of the song they listened to together, titled เรา which translates to “we” and he makes his choice. 

Looking forward: I am curious if this shirt will continue to make its rounds, with Top having recently fucked Boston, there is also a total possibility that Mew is being branded as the Next Poor Boy whose life will fall apart as truths are revealed and consequences enacted. 

Thank you to @lurkingshan for edits and observations!

[nobodysdaydreams]

Doug Eiffel is hilarious and deserves his own series of radio shows

(Or my reaction to Wolf359's three untitled mini episodes!)

Welcome back dear readers! I wish I could react to more full length episodes, but life in terms of health and work load has not been kind to me (yep. I'm sick again). Fortunately, I was informed that these mini episodes can be listened to at any time and they are fairly short, so I'm gonna give it a shot! (If I was misinformed and am about to have a ton of plot spoiled for me, I apologize in advance!)

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Mini Episode: Adventure of a Lifetime

Ohhhh... a field trip into the mysterious rooms!

...this might not work out for you Doug, but I hope you find something useful.

Huh. Empty rooms. ...why do I get the feeling they aren't all empty?

Different shade of grey paint? Doug have you never played a video game? I mean, I haven't either, but even I know what that means.

Great, now he's locked in.

"I'm hungry, I didn't have breakfast, It's been five hours." WHY AM I DOUG 😂

Doug yeah the grey spot sounds pretty bad.

"Did you try pushing?" Hilbert is so done with him.

19 minutes? I'm not sure if that's funny because Doug is dramatic, or spooking because these rooms actually mess with time perception.

"You never mention this to anyone and I won't ask you what you're doing on this part of the station" Doug you really oughta be asking though.

Oh. That was it? Huh. Very short. I wonder what the next one has in store...

Mini Episode: Step One

Ah! More Doug! Why IS he going outside?

Hey, Doug. Do not speak badly about the commander. Trust me, the day will come when you realize Minkowski is the best commander you could ever have.

He stole her diary? Oh Doug...

"If this tape shows up in my murder trial, you'll know why I made this recording"

Imagine if Cutter tried to use this audio to frame Minkowski for Doug's death (he would. He'd drop it off at her husband's office like "sorry about your wife becoming a murderer. Apparently a disgruntled employee took her diary and she snapped").

Poor Doug. Scrambling to solve a mess he created in a very unsafe way because he can't ask for help or else he'll get caught? Why is he so dang relatable. Someone get this man to a doctor. He needs Adderall. And his daughter back.

"I have the perfect plan" oh dear. Doug, those words never go well for me either.

"Doug was great, I need to lighten up a lot" 😂

"She somehow saw through my forgery" oh poor Doug.

Are these episodes just Doug getting himself into situations? Because that's hilarious and wonderful.

Mini Episode: Space Rage

"Badass McAwesome" Is that Doug doing a southern accent? I love his radio shows.

Is he talking about Minkowski? Is he broadcasting that through the ship?

"Our God given American right to free speech and funny jokes!" Amen Doug 🫡

Oh my gosh he's talking to himself 😂.

"I'm stuck in this crappy job searching for alien life for 14 hours a day" "we've all certainly been there" I can't, please 😂😂😂

"There's this script you're supposed to broadcast" "sound like command trying to keep you down"

"I've been reciting every Simpson's treehouse of horror episode from memory" / "That's the way Abe Lincoln would have wanted it."

I love this. I love patriot cowboy Doug. 🤠 You can't be taking his freedoms!

"Fighting the good fight" aksjkfjsdlf;kj

Oh who is the sponsor this time? Oh Dr. Hilbert's seaweed coffee. "It's the only thing we have. It's the only thing we have."

"You're live. Let freedom ring!" Doug is the best honestly.

Oh dear.

"Okay you're taking me alive. That's all the time we have for today folks!"

Doug is iconic.

These were great. Short, but great. Maybe I'll try to listen to the Mission Mishap ones a few at a time so that I can still give you reactions, even if I don't have the time or health to give you the full length reactions you deserve dear readers. But don't worry. As soon as I have time, I will react to the rest of the series. Thanks for reading!

[stemmmm]

i got back from a week long trip so now i've had plenty of time to ruminate on things and im finally ready to see what the fuck this guy has been trying to cook

episode 7 post

ep1 ep2 ep3 ep4 ep5+6

i think i saw a drawing of this guy earlier today except he had boobs

so lion's pretty obviously supposed to be the baby from 19 years ago, right.

ay ay aY AY AY

oh bah, the way it started out as just the last word in caps for a couple lines made me think dlanor was disguised as shannon or something but nah shes just like a robot or possessed for something.

i feel like ive been told explicitly 15 times that beato was the original beatrice's daughter who kinzo believed was her reincarnated, as if this is the first time im being given this information

damn bro you look hideous

alright so we're positing that original beatrice was enough of a fascist that she stuck to mussolini even after the rest of the country gave up? ok.

alright alright alright we're talking about whether the axis were cowards based on whether or not they surrendered and how alright.

REALLY FUNNY FOR THE V/O TO STILL BE FULLY JAPANESE WHEN HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE SPEAKING ENGLISH. OH BUT "I CANNOT SPEAK ENGLISH" IS?

interesting that this beatrice is using the baby beato voice. I've been trying to get the logic of it, and the best I can figure is that its just... to differentiate? differentiate WHAT exactly, whether its between human beatrices or just the humans and the witch im not sure yet. but I miss her other voice :( the flashback we got of her earlier that I didn't mention also used this voice even though im fairly certain the original version didn't.

i get that its for plot contrivances because beatrice had to get here somehow but WHY on EARTH would someone bring their daughter on an armed military vessel in the middle of a massive war. also because i touched on it earlier i'd like to clarify, i get that the participants in war are not necessarily people who agree with any of it. and even then, your circumstances of birth and pressure from your family will put you in situations out of your control (given, thats what this whole thing has Been About). idk i dont want it to come across as i don't get what's going on or like im an idiot or something. i may also be a bit defensive because i haven't really enjoyed the reading process terribly much in a while and didn't appreciate some of the feedback i've gotten in regards to "just keep reading, you'll like it, youll understand" because i dont think its properly come across that i think i Do understand, im just squicked the fuck out by a lot of things in part 6 and so far haven't seen anything that would allegedly turn my opinion around that much. but there's still a lot left in this to go. im just. bored honestly.

REALLY funny how much "bice" comes off sounding like bitch. all my friends at home call me bitch

oh my god also hilarious. the golds in the submarine isnt it.

EVEN IF ITS A TOP SECRET BASE WHY THE FUCK DONT YOU HAVE A DOCTOR?

anybody else have to stop and hold their head for a minute every time wildly specific gun specs are listed for no reason whatsoever

anyways this fight over the gold is fun, i figured something was gonna have to happen that got everyone else off that island and left the gold, so this makes as much sense as anything. and feeling the drive to live despite it all after seeing genuine bloodshed for the first time is a little overdone but just fine.

*curb your enthusiasm theme starts playing* well at least he insisted on taking her to a doctor

ohhhhh we're confirming beato is really and for true kinzo's biological daughter *head in handssss*

PLEASE STOP PINCHING THIS MAN'S ASS!!!

oh my god, first acknowledgement that battler isn't here. i kinda figured since he's always been kinzo's mirror of sorts, he wasn't gonna be here because kinzo was alive. like there's no reason for that to be the case, but to me the logic felt sound. battler and kinzo haven't been in the same place at the same time, at least not in 1986. and it seems that will continue to be the case !!

STOP PINCHING EVERYONES ASSES

lion sucks, actually. wretched personality.

i was holding back on making a joke about how maria talks about beato the way christian billboards exclusively go on about how there's "evidence god exists" or whatever, but now she's reciting the bible word for word so i dont know what to do with my point but i have to share it now. i do like that her point seems to be that because maria doesn't have a father, she is jesus. good for you girl.

BEATOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. and with the voice! ok so definitely that's the witch's voice.

alright this whole scenario can be argued as maria having an imaginary friend about it but if that piece of candy that beato told her to keep as a souvenir and not eat is still in maria's bag, magic is fucking Real.

also beato telling maria to practice basic hygene as her witch traini-- *has a jimmy neutron style brain blast and remembers the 1 (one) shinto shrine i've visited* OH, NO THIS IS A SHINTO THING. OK HELL YEAH. more of beato the "western" witch using japanese magics. i see i see i see.

fellas i may just like witch beato

[hepbaestus]

Thoughts on Robots (2005)

I've got an essay to write and read papers for, so why not watch a film that I loved as a kid? Join me in my thoughts on Robots (2005)

This one's a long one so strap in.

I only learnt fairly recently that it's fucking Ewan McFuckingGregor voicing the protagonist in this film.

I watched this film so much as a kid and I didn't realise? How the fuck did I get into university?

RIP blue sky

Even the pigeons are robots

He's so happy about being a dad

The doors the shape of a lightbulb

The saxophone at "making a babies the fun part" how saucy

"I don't need to see the directions" every person ever with IKEA manuals

Rodney Copperbottom. What a name.

"this won't hurt a bit son" oh my fucking god

Hand-me-downs from cousin Jeffrey? What happened to him?

That poor drum

Oh god Bigweld's voice brings back memories and TIM. TINY TIM

The door's kinda creepy

That lil robot with the plate is me

This is where shit hits the fan I think, I don't remember

Fucking hell that really is Ewan McGregor

The small kid in a big city feeling, that's me whenever I'm in London

IS THAT FUCKING ROBIN WILLIAMS as Pinwheel Fender??? (Just looked it up and it is oml)

Pinwheel needs his money

Fucking tinman from wizard of Oz?

The garbled talking down a microphone ugh

My travel sick body would not be able to handle any of the trip to Bigweld Industry

It's always the small seemingly sweet ones that are so mean

Oh god it's him. It's Ratchet - I remember having a crush on him (this really foreshadowed my future fictional crushes - almost all of them being either the villain or just arrogant in a hot way)

Nice, eye of the Tiger playing

Oh no

Oopie. Falling through a window

The magnetisation of Rodney is dragging everything with him

So many layers to the city

Ooooo Underground by Tom Waits 1983, this song brings back memories. I do prefer the movie's cover (as expected)

The break time being literal seconds

Of course Ratchet's mom is a fucking spider

He's just doing what his mother wants him to do (she's emotionally manipulating him with what threats of doing the same to him as she did to his father)

This films fucking dark for 6 year olds, Jesus

Fiting over a foot with elegant music in the background, hilarious

Spanish football voice box, I remember this making me laugh so much

"I can't never find parts of my size" same dude

It's her (Piper - another character I had a crush on as a kid)

How did I not realise how gay I was as a kid? Like having a crush on the literal villain AND the cute sister of Fender

Piper's such a dork I love her

The good news is that he's been outmoded? Oof

THERES A FUCKING STAR WARS REFERENCE IN THIS FILM

That's one thicc ass

THATS NOT THE MEAN STEPMOTHER FROM A CINDERELLA STORY IS IT (just looked it up, that's Jennifer fucking Coolidge, the stepmom from another film that I loved as a kid)

So many iconic people in this film

Poor lamppost, the white tape where he'd died

"Only those with insurance..." No here has insurance buddy, if they did they could probably afford to buy parts

Such a people pleaser (same)

A literal operation as a reference to the game operation, this film is brilliant

A toilet saying you're number one. Don't know how to feel about that

Ratchet's mum is such a narcissist

Why does Rodney look kinda good in that outfit??

Au reservoir??? The incorrect French hurts

Singing in the rain reference?? Nice

The sweeper!! No!!!

"BAD BOT BUSTS BALL"???? they knew exactly what they were doing with that wording

The mini guillotine

The amount of dominoes on the floor must have taken ages

Mans is just surfing the domino waves

Good piece of advice? Give up.. solid advice right there

Sad talk time let's goo

The subtle bagpipes when Robin Williams is speaking with a Scottish accent

Revolution time babyyy

Robots ran so Avengers Endgame could walk

Wonderbot is so strong for such a tiny thing

"Herb Special edition" my heart

This gives me Tony Stark and Peter Parker vibes (in the fact that in fics, Peter is almost always the successor to Stark Industries)

An impromptu drag show with Fender nice

Overall score: 6/10 good film, very nostalgic

Film recommendations welcome!

[leafstranger]

Prompted by having a conversation with the Gaius cosplayer, @unseenphil, and a MU* friend, I bring you… musings on Fordola rem Lupis.

So, this started out at FanFest with the Gaius cosplayer and I (Fordola cosplayer) musing about where the two characters would be in Stormblood, and how amusing it’d be to see them on camera together, because…

ruthless pragmatists, the pair of them,

the potential for needling their allies (or one another) to a horrific extent,

their views on the Garlean Empire, and how they’ve changed.

Then @unseenphil, after I mentioned this conversation to him, pointed out that Fordola’s entire surname and her Ala Mhigan unit were both referencing Gaius’ ‘Black Wolf’ moniker, so it wasn’t as if Gaius was an unknown quantity to her.

This led to me squinting a bit, looking up the 4.1 cutscenes, and realizing that it’s entirely possible, probable even, that Gaius and Fordola have already met off-camera.

In the flashback the WoL and Arenvald witness…

Fordola’s mother tells her to hurry up or they’ll miss meeting the Imperial Viceroy.

Fordola’s father clarifies, after Fordola asks what “Lord Gaius” is like: “Lord Gaius is a great and honorable man who looks after all of Ala Mhigo. He’s very busy, and if we don’t hurry, we’ll miss our chance to see him.”

This could be interpreted in a few ways, but Fordola’s surname (either chosen or granted to her) hints that it’s more, that her father knew Gaius (and possibly fed him information before the Occupation, possibly as a way to survive Theodoric).

So, her ‘rem Lupis’ surname could be one (or more, because both she and Gaius tend to have multiple reasons for doing what they do, and twisty ones to boot) of the following things:

hero-worship of Gaius as a Garlean commander who actually valued Eorzean races equally on merit,

a calculated slap by teenaged-Fordola to the Garleans (who thought she was little more than a savage) and the Ala Mhigans (you want to call me a traitor, fine, I will EMBRACE THE LABEL by taking a surname referencing the leader of them here!) 

Or (and this one both has canon precedent and grants a hilarious mental image)… 

Gaius attempting to give Fordola some sort of power/protection, because no matter what that Imperial Guard did, I genuinely can’t see him being willing to allow a useful collaborator be stoned to death protecting a future Imperial citizen, and so Fordola’s father’s death would have left Fordola and her mother as (in the end) his responsibility. (And it’s not like he hasn’t shown that he’s willing to take on responsibility for subordinates who have lost their fathers, as witness his essentially raising Cid after Midas nan Garlond went off the deepend).

(The hilarious mental image is Gaius having to deal with Fordola as a kid except then it’s not really hilarious because Fordola’d be a very angry, sad kid by the time she and her mother wound up under his aegis.) But that in itself led to another realization:

Gaius and Fordola use the same gunblade style. This could be passed off as standard training, except we see Regula van Hydrus use entirely different movesets in the Aetherochemical Research Facility (if there are other examples of gunblade users, please let me know; that was the other battle-example I found).

Fordola uses the same flame-patch AoE in the Stormblood 4.0 MSQ that Gaius uses in the Praetorium in 2.X MSQ.

Gaius uses the Terminus Est ability in both the Praetorium, and a much more powerful version in the 4.3 MSQ. Fordola uses this in the 4.0 MSQ vs. the WoL, and later the WoL and Lyse just prior to her capture.

Fordola does not hesitate to take the gunblade when offered it by Zenos, meaning she’s had training in its use. 

Notable because: the Gunblade is a uniquely Garlean weapon (so we’ve seen so far, at least); Eorzeans under Garlean command tend to be given more brute-force magitech (Grynewalht, Rhitahtyn, NPCs in Garlean dungeons) or favour their own Eorzean weapons/magics. This reads as Fordola being given training by someone who no Garlean could really gainsay training her… 

… and it fits Gaius’ pragmatism to train an angry Ala Mhigan kid whose father was his subordinate, and for whose death Gaius  bears responsibility. Focus that anger towards training, towards the Ala Mhigans: outlet, and useful tool in one.

I’d have to look at the timeline to see if it actually works, though. Fordola’s 19 as of Stormblood, and seems to be 5-6 in the flashback; Gaius toppling Ala Mhigo was ~20 years before the current date.

To sum all of this up…

Fordola rem Lupis probably knows Gaius van Baelsar, aka The Black Wolf, fairly well.

Gaius may have felt somewhat responsible for Fordola when she was a kid, due to her father’s manner of death (essentially when he was a citizen of the Empire, protecting a future, productive citizen, and Gaius being a responsible Viceroy and canonically unbiased towards Eorzeans and very much a meritocrat)

He granted her (and her mother) citizenship and may have interceded to get Fordola trained on weapons she wouldn’t have been able to learn without him, if he didn’t do so himself.

Which leads to Shadowbringers conjecture:

Is Fordola’s character arc done?

Entirely possible. She’s resolved most of her conflicts/plotlines and is off giving Arenvald heart attacks while they deal with primals. 

HOWEVER!

The concept of an “implanted” or artificial Echo seems to be something the Garlean Empire – or perhaps the Ascians behind the curtain – would be interested in (especially with Elidibus apparently inhabiting Zeno’s body, which had two Resonant eyes, possibly powered by the remnants of Nidhogg’s strength?)

Gaius, going after Ascians, might also see it as a useful tool. Though canonically more prone to leaning on engineering or Magitek/ceruleum solutions than dabbling in the more-ethically-dubious biomagical-engineering that implanted the Resonant Eye in Zenos and Fordola…

So, I suppose it depends on whether these threads get picked up by the storytellers behind the game, or whether they’re left in the neat little bundle that wrapped up Fordola’s Stormblood arc in the Anniversary Stories.

[tanzaniiite]

ROAD TRIP • SEIJOH THIRD YEARS

requests: OPEN

warnings: cursing & stupid high school antics

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this idea has been on my noggin for so long omg, enjoy!

please reblog and reply, engagement is both fun & important ✨

[not edited]

this was fun, should i do more fics like this?

“Ugh, are we there yet?”

Oikawa whined looking out the window with a forlorn look as if he was in a music video. You glanced at Iwaizumi, who was at the wheel, snickering slightly as you saw his eye twitch in annoyance. The five of you decided to take a road trip, sort of like a last hurrah, for your last year of high school.

This originally started as a small trip that was planned on senior ditch day but Matsun and Makki wanted to do a road trip. And so, senior ditch day morphed into senior ditch weekend. Of course, none of your parents approved this, so you guys were in for an earful when you returned. But as Hanamaki stated, when you got a screaming voicemail from your guardian, “Live in the moment, worry about that later”. And despite that being terrible advice, you listened anyway.

The destination of your little road trip is Tokyo which was a five to six hour drive. Some might say that’s not too long but traveling with Oikawa it feels like an eternity. He was already complaining. That was mainly because he was upset that you got shotgun and he didn’t. Originally you planned on sitting in the back with the disaster duo but Hajime insisted you sit in the front with him. Something about you being the most tolerable. Iwaizumi was obviously the driver because he’s the most responsible out of you five. It’s weird to think you guys just planned this trip just a week prior.

“So what are we doing for senior ditch day?”

You asked setting your tray down and sitting in between Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Issei just scoffed lightly, “I dunno what you’re doing but I’m sleeping” He answered. Takahiro laughed in agreement. “Probably practicing” Tooru replied. You pouted at their lame responses, “Hajime please tell me you have better plans than these losers” You pleaded. Iwaizumi looked up from his notes, “Uh, I don’t know, I’m probably going to come to school” He shrugged ignoring your disgusted face.

“I know y’all are not serious. This is the last year we’re going to be together like this, we should do something memorable”

You declared crossing your arms over your chest glaring at your friends. “Ew, you sound like Oikawa, getting all sentimental and shit” Makki quipped popping a french fry in his mouth. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully. Oikawa hummed, “I mean they do have a point, let’s do something we’ll remember for years to come”. “Whatever, I guess I’m down” Matsukawa added rolling his eyes. The four of you looked at Iwaizumi, who mentally checked out of the conservation a while ago, waiting for his answer. “Count me out, my parents will kill me if I skipped school” He responded, causing the lot of you to groan. “Ugh, can you not be an upstanding student for like two seconds” You huffed leaning your head in your hand. Now the brunette looked up, “You guys know how my parents are, especially you Shittykawa” He stated, pointing his pencil at the setter. “Yeah yeah, we know how your parents are. Y/n’s parents are just as bad” Issei voiced.

You couldn’t help but internally groan, you remember how your guardians reacted when you brought the four boys to your house. “Don’t remind me. Senior Ditch Day is on a Friday, we barely do anything as is since it’s the end of the year” You said, “plus, you’re the only one of us that drives decently” You stated mustering up your best puppy dog eyes. Hajime looked at you before answering, “Fine, but if I get in trouble. You guys will be the ones talking to my parents”. And from there, the planning commenced.

Currently, you guys were only an hour out of Miyagi. Issei was already knocked out, Hanamaki was on his phone and Oikawa was sulking as per usual. “If you ask me if we’re there yet, one more time, I’ll have Makki push you out the car” He threatened his eyes never leaving the road. “Makki wouldn’t do that to me” Tooru claimed which caused ‘Hiro to snort. “Shut up, you know I will” He stated not even bothering to look up from his phone. Oikawa let out a dramatic gasp, “But we’re going 85 miles an hour on a highway!” He exclaimed. “Did I stutter?” Takahiro mumbled, still not paying any attention to his captain’s dramatics.

This was going to be a long four hours.

You woke up leaning against something super warm, you opened your eyes taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in the front anymore, from what you could see, it looked like Oikawa got his wish of riding shotgun. You sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “Oh, good morning sleeping beauty” Oikawa teased. You were too sleepy and disoriented to come up with a witty comeback.

“Why.. why is Issei driving?”

That’s when you noticed Iwaizumi was the warm surface you were leaning against moments before. “I got tired of driving, we stopped at a gas station and switched places” Hajime explained noticing your confused face, “and you were sleeping so we moved you to the back”. You realized that not only were you leaning against Iwa but your legs were propped up on Makki’s lap. You nodded slightly, still tired despite waking up from a nap. “We spoil them rotten, don’t we?” ‘Hiro commented pinching your thigh causing you to whine slightly. “Shut up” You mumbled leaning into Iwaizumi’s side once again making him chuckle. Matsukawa looked at you through the rearview mirror,

“That’s right, Y/n gets all grumpy when they’re tired”

“Issei… focus on not crashing the car, not on me”

Oikawa let out a low whistle, “Woah, catty much?” He asked rhetorically laughing slightly. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, how much farther?” You asked closing your eyes. Hajime glanced at his phone, “Two more hours” He replied. Tooru made a choked noise before turning around to face his childhood best friend. “Uh! They ask you if we’re there and get an answer, but when I ask, I get threatened?!” The brunette cried his eyebrows furrowing. The ace rolled his eyes, “Yeah, cause they’re not fucking annoying about it” He retorted. You pointed at Oikawa while laughing at his shocked face causing him to pout and crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Uh oh, I think it’s Oikawa’s turn for a nap” Makki joked. Matsun hummed in agreement, “Yup, Y/n gets grumpy and Oikawa gets bratty” He laughed.

“Ugh whatever, at least I don’t snore like a chainsaw”

“Says the man who can’t sleep in any other position besides fetal”

“Dude shut up! It’s comfortable!”

Iwaizumi sighed, already knowing this petty argument wouldn’t end anytime soon. He looked down at you, “Who are you messaging?” Hajime inquired, peering at your phone. “No one, just some first years in my DMs” You hummed noncommittally. “You still leading those poor kids on?” Hanamaki asked. Glancing at Makki you pursed your lips, “I’m not leading them on… I’m just entertaining the antics” You replied smiling innocently and batting your eyelashes. “Yo, remember when that one first year confessed to you in the middle of lunch?” Issei asked slowing at a red light. You sat up suddenly, “Oh my god yes! That was so embarrassing!” You exclaimed. “You were embarrassed? Imagine the kid when you rejected him” Iwaizumi countered raising an eyebrow. “The second-hand embarrassment was strong on that one” Takahiro agreed, “Y/n’s a heartbreaker,” He said shaking his head.

You gasped, “I’m not! I’m just not interested in people like three years younger than me” You explained defending yourself. “Well, your choices are limited, since all the people in our grade are scared of us for whatever reason” Tooru stated with his eyes closed and head leaning on the window, looking like he would clonk out soon. “Yeah cause y’all are intimidating as fuck” You claimed. Issei chuckled, “Mm, yeah we kinda are” He admitted. “If they really liked you, they wouldn’t be scared to confess” Hajime shrugged. You smiled widely, “Ok king! My fault” You laughed giving him a high five. “Wait but if we’re so intimidating how come girls are always throwing their panties at Oikawa” Hanamaki questioned.

“Cause he’s not the intimidating one, it’s mainly Iwa and Matsun”

“Matsun is not intimidating, he looks out of it half of the time”

“Not out of it, more like zooted”

You quipped, laughing when Issei playfully glared at you through the rearview mirror. “Bro, remember when Kindaichi found out we were going on this trip and asked to come?” Takahiro laughed. “Stop! Y’all are so mean to him” You said kicking Makki slightly with your foot. Matsukawa snorted, “No cause what did he expect us to say, “Sure buddy you can come!” Like dude nooo,” He mocked laughing loudly. You bit your lip in an effort to not laugh, “Stop this Kindaichi slander at once” You demanded holding back your own giggles. “Okay Y/n, are you saying that you would’ve said yes if he asked you?” The wing spiker inquired giving you a look. “Well.. no—” You started. “Exactly! You’re just as bad as us” Issei interjected.

“No, I am not! You two literally looked at each other and busted out laughing, you didn’t even answer the poor boy”

“Sorry… it was funny”

“That shit was hilarious”

Hajime cleared his throat, “Is Trashykawa sleeping? Haven’t heard him talk in a while” He asked drawing shapes into your shoulder absentmindedly. Matsun glanced at his friend who was definitely passed out against the window. “Yeah, he’s gone” The middle blocker responded.

“Should we draw on his face?”

…

“Oh absolutely”

The car was fairly silent now, you guys were nearing the end of your road trip and it was later in the day. The sky was littered with reds and oranges as the sun started its daily routine. The sunset was bold, radiant, and just plain mesmerizing, you couldn’t help but stare in awe. You sighed inwardly, “I’m gonna miss you guys” You uttered looking out the window. Your four guy friends looked at each other before looking at you. Iwaizumi spoke up first, “What’s there to miss? We’re not going anywhere” He asked. “I know that but who knows when the next time we’ll do something like this?” You whispered refusing to look at them because you knew you would start crying if you did. Hanamaki nudged your foot with his hand, “Y/n stop being such a baby, we’ll still see each other—” He started before you interrupted.

“That’s not the point stupid. We’re all going our own separate ways. Iwaizumi’s going to school in America, Oikawa’s going to fucking Argentina, and we’re all going to different colleges. This sucks ass, I finally have a group of friends I love and now I have to leave them—”

“Hey, what did we just say? We’re not going anywhere. So what if we’re going down different paths? Holidays exist Y/n, you think Iwaizumi and Oikawa are gonna stay in America and Argentina all year round? Plus me and Makki’s colleges are not that far from yours, I could probably walk if I wanted to. Now stop sulking, you’re bringing down the mood”

Issei stated his eyes never once drifting from the road. You sniffed and leaned into Hajime’s side more, “Jeez, sorry” You mumbled playing with your fingers. If the car wasn’t quiet before, it sure was now. No one knew what to say, it seemed too early to make a joke about it and it was a conversation none of you were ready to have. But despite not being ready, Oikawa still voiced his opinion nevertheless,

“Well would you look at that, Y/n really does love us. And I thought you hated me”

You snorted, “I do hate you” You teased making a face at him which he gladly returned. But his demeanor suddenly became serious,

“Adding on to what Mattsun said, we’re not leaving forever Y/n. Graduation is like three months away, we still have time to hang out plus we have the summer so there’s that. I know you love us and can’t possibly live without us but I think you’ll manage”

You blinked in response to Oikawa’s little spiel, “You are so corny” You huffed looking down so he wouldn’t notice the small tears in your eyes.

“Ah! So when I do it it’s corny, what about that whole pitch Matsun did?!”

“Hey, I wasn’t corny. I was being real”

“Please, as if, you were just being mean”

“It’s called tough love, it isn’t made for softies”

Watching the two of them go back and forth once again was entertaining. And when Makki and Iwaizumi joined in, it was just one hundred times better. But seeing your best friends interact with one another just made you realize how much you love them. And although this may be your guy’s last high school adventure, it wasn’t going to your last endeavor with this crazy bunch. You smiled slightly to yourself,

“Man, I really do love you guys”

tanzaniiite © 2021 — all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or copy. do not plagiarize. thank you.

[airi-p4]

Love in the sky

I wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers LBSC Sprint challenge - Meet cute week event and, once again, I got carried away and broke all the rules. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Prompt: Sitting next to each other on the plane.

Summary: Marinette is going to NY on an international flight for the first time. What she doesn’t know is that the one seated next to her is the popular new band Kitty Section’s guitarist: Luka Couffaine.

Thank you @livrever for checking it for me 💙

AO3

______________________________________

Marinette rushed through the aisle of the plane. She couldn’t believe she almost missed it! her first international trip to the US! Stupid alarm! Of course she was tired. She was so nervous she couldn’t sleep all night… until 5AM… and the plane departed at 10AM… and obviously she had to oversleep. *sigh*

Running, tripping and spinning on her feet, she finally searched for her seat. 38B - aisle seat. Her pink polka dotted suitcase was heavy, but thanks to the cabin attendant she could finally put it inside the overhead bin, while her backpack rested under the seat in front of her. All set, she let her weight fall on the seat at last and let out a deep breath as she fastened her seatbelt.

The doors of the plane closed, and the PA message started: Welcome on board… Security instructions… Marinette wasn’t listening. Her legs were uncontrollably shaking, and her fingers were fidgeting with the laces of her hoodie.

Those nerves and stress couldn’t be healthy.

She examined her surroundings, and, next to her, someone was sleeping. Someone, who appeared to be a young man, with a sleeping eye mask and a face mask on, messy blue hair showing under a knit hat and a blanket covering his body. Overall, it didn't give much more information about her plane's seat neighbor. Not wanting to wake him up, she focused on the rest of the passengers instead. Why were all of them so quiet when she felt her heart could burst out of her chest anytime?

The plane started its runaway and Marinette closed her eyes tightly when it raised from the lane. Once in the air, she started breathing again, but her heart was still beating fast.

"First time on a plane?" a masculine voice beside her asked.

She turned to her side, and looked at the person seated next to her. His eye mask was over his head now, and she could see his blue eyes clearly, while his blue bangs partly covered his eyebrows.

“Y- yes!” she squeaked.

“You’re making me nervous too. Calm down, it’s going to be ok” he assured.

“I- I know!" She said, but her body wasn’t obeying. “I’m sorry...”

The young man sighed. “Look, I’ve been on a plane many times. It’s safe. Why don’t you try to sleep? It’s going to be a long flight.”

“I- I can’t! I’m too nervous! I’ve never traveled alone before, plus my career depends on this trip! I can’t stay calm!”

“Why don’t you try listening to some music, then? It always helps me relax” the young man offered her a sympathetic look.

“Music…?” she blinked. ‘It could work’.

She plugged the earphones and put them in her ears. Then, she scrolled through the music programs on the touch screen in front of her. Classical music? For some reason, it only made it worse. Country music? Not her style. XY? Hell, no. Her eyes stopped at the name of a fairly new band: “Kitty Section”. She played the video called: “Kitty Section's Paris Live Concert”.

“Good choice” the man next to her said when the title started showing on the screen.

Marinette had heard about the band called Kitty Section. They had featured in most of her favorite magazines after they won Eurovision several months ago, but she wasn't familiar with their music. In less than a minute, she was hooked and forgot completely about her surroundings or her nerves.

“Wow!” she mumbled, mesmerized, and the man next to her let out a snicker.

The music was amazing- the rock vibes, their stage presence, the vocalists’ cuteness and high ranged voice, the accurate and insane drums, the gorgeous purple haired bassist… all of them sounded incredible. But the guitarist… the blue haired guitarist was extraordinary- unbelievably good. Not only talented, but also powerful, charismatic and incredibly handsome.

“They’re good, huh?” The man beside her commented and she nodded. She could tell he was smiling under his face mask. She nodded in agreement.

“I had never heard them properly before but damn- they are incredible” Marinette answered, and he laughed. Her fingers tapped rhythmically, following the beat of the song.  “But…" she continued, observing. "I think they could do better. There’s a margin of improvement,” she said with judging eyes.

“Oh, really? How?” The blue-eyed man asked, curious, resting his elbow on the arm rest to get a closer look.

“The costumes,” Marinette pointed out. Then, she reached her backpack under her feet and took out a sketchbook and a pen and started drawing. “The outfits could be improved if they added this, and this” she signaled. “And this-” She kept scribbling while the blue-haired man observed and listened to her suggestions. “And ta-da! Wouldn’t they look even better if they were like this?” She proudly showed him her designs, only to realize she was being embarrassing towards a stranger. “Ah, sorry- I got carried away…” She apologized. But the man took the sketchbook in his hands.

“Let me see,” he said, and she saw how his eyes examined every detail of her drawings. She gulped nervously. It felt like her skills were being tested. But the man took his face mask off and smiled. “Wow, that’s impressive. Fresh, charismatic, unique- and perfectly according to the band's style. I love them" he returned her the sketchbook. "You’re very talented. Are you famous? Do you take commissions?” He asked, and she looked at him speechless.

“I- I’m still a no-one… Is it really impressive?” She looked at him and blushed at the compliment.

“Yes, I think so. What would you do with this outfit?” He asked, showing him a photo of the same band on his smartphone. Her inspiration overflowed as she kept drawing and explaining her ideas. They kept discussing costumes and visual aspects of the band and chatted comfortably for a long time.

"I think Rose should go with something more… daring, bolder. She looks innocent but she's fierce inside. Of course, cuteness is her main trait, so I think she should combine both" she explained, coloring her design with colored pencils. "I think something like this would be perfect for her" she showed him her sketchbook and he was impressed. “As for Juleka-” She continued, turning to a blank page. “She’s so beautiful. I wish she didn’t cover her face so much, even if the mystery look is really attractive too…" She stopped drawing for a moment to admire the bassist on the screen. "Gosh- She's so gorgeous! I wish I was that beautiful” she commented.

“I think you’re even more beautiful than her, you know?” The blue-haired man casually said, and she shyly blushed with a 'no way' frantic arms movements. “What about the guitarist?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smug smile.

“Luka Couffaine? OH LORD SHOW MERCY- Have you seen him? And his eyeliner? It should be ILLEGAL to be this HOT” She said, convinced.

“Hmmm… So you like him, huh?” He teased, his smile widening.

“Who doesn’t, really?” She shrugged. “He’s literally the SEXIEST man alive. His eye contact with the camera could kill! Oh, and whenever he gets shirtless on stage or photoshoots? GOD- I almost get a nosebleed EVERY FREAKING TIME! He's TOO DAMN HOT" She fanned herself at the image. "Don’t you agree?" She asked and he blinked twice. "You like him too, right? You have so many photos of them in your phone! I bet he’s making you question your sexuality too, like he does with all my friends! How could anyone resist those blue eyes and his manly features, his soft looking blue hair and- his tattoos..." She looked away from her seat neighbor's blue piercing eyes, and focused at the smartphone screen again, to a close-up photo of Kitty Section’s guitarist. "How did you get these close-up casual photos...?” she asked, and then she noticed the tattoo on his neck. She looked back and forth at the man seated next to her and the one in the picture. ‘It couldn't be, right…?’ And at that moment, when he had a knowing smile on his face- one she knew too well-, she realized who he was seated next to on the plane. Her eyes opened as big as plates and she overheated. He was smirking amusingly at her reaction. “You- You- You are-? Lu-Lu-Luk- It can’t be…”

He nodded to confirm her suspicions and her jaw fell to the floor. “Hi. I think I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Luka. But I think you already know that. It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckled, straightening his hand for a handshake.

“Oh God, kill me now...” She mumbled, sinking on the table. Luka snickered.

“What’s your name?”

“Ma-Ma-Marinette… I mean- Marinette!” She felt his eyes on her and panicked. “Excuse me- I- I need a moment... This- This is too much- Oh My God...” She stood up and rushed to the end of the plane, not without tripping twice on her way there.

________________________

While Marinette was gone, the two ladies in front of Luka and Marinette’s seats turned to Luka. “Having fun?” They smirked, knowingly. He was chuckling, having real trouble to keep his laugh from escaping.

“Oh, God, Yes. This is so much fun." He wiped the tears that were forming on his eyes. "I think I’ve found our potential new costume designer” he continued laughing under his nose.

“Only that? I think there’s more...” Juleka smirked, and Rose giggled in agreement by her side. He couldn't deny it: his sister was totally right.

Behind Luka's seat, Kitty Section's drummer, Ivan and his girlfriend Mylene had been enjoying the show the blue-eyed pair had been giving. It was definitely more entertaining than any movie. It would have been perfect if they had popcorn to accompany their fortunate first row seats to the hilarious show. They also approved Marinette's designs.

Luka took the chance Marinette wasn't there to freely stand up, go talk to their managers and stretch his legs for a bit.

_________________________

Back at the end of the plane, Marinette drank some juice and moved to the bathroom. She was panicking in front of the mirror, talking to herself.

“OH. MY. GOD. I’m seated next to Luka Couffaine! For at least… 5 hours more!? And I just called him hot! And- And- he said I’m beautiful and talented! And- Oh my God, he asked me for commissions, right? This can’t be real- I-" her feet wiggled uncontrollably and she let out a long squeak. "Ahh… Calm down, Marinette! He’s human- A sexy human, but still human! He’s famous but very friendly, kind and nice. And fun! It’s going to be alright. Just- Avoid his eyes. That’s it. It’s dangerous. Don’t fall in love. You’re not a teenager anymore, you’re over that stage, right? Only a few hours more. You can do it. I CAN DO IT!” She convinced herself with a confident nod and returned to her seat, only to find Luka was gone.

She looked for him from her seat, at her surroundings, but he was nowhere to be found. She sighed in both relief and sadness as she seated.

For some reason, she was missing him. Which was stupid, considering they had just met! But his company was certainly enjoyable... And, moreover, it was FUN. More than she ever remembered having. And not only because she was passionate about fashion or music. It had to do with his aura, his personality, his gentle manners- just... Luka.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a moment” A voice said from in front of her. “My brother is stupid, but he’s a decent person. Treat him well” The purple haired lady winked, beside a petit blond lady.

“Jul-!” She covered her mouth with her hands to stop herself from yelling her name. “And Rose-!?” 'Oh, no! They might have heard what I said too!' She panicked again and the ladies giggled amused.

“Ignore my sister and her girlfriend” Luka returned, and her face flustered when she noticed how tall and well built he was (not that she didn't know that, but it hit differently in first person). “Can I get back to my seat?” He politely asked, pointing at the window seat.

“Ah-! Yes! Of course!” She stood up so suddenly she tripped and fell on Luka’s chest. She immediately moved away in embarrassment, falling back instead, and Luka had to hold her again to avoid her imminent fall. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you ok?” He asked in concern, and she shyly nodded. Luka reluctantly let go of her and returned to his seat and Marinette settled back to hers.

Wait- Was that a blush on his face?

“Here” Luka offered her an envelope. “I don’t know what your plans in NY are but, here’s a VIP pass to our concert next Sunday. There’s also our contact card inside. I want you to consider the idea of working for us. Your costumes are impressive. We discussed it, and we want you in our team” Marinette had no words- totally speechless. Could she be this lucky? “What do you say?” Luka asked with a hopeful tender smile that made her weak.

“I- I’ll think about it. And- Oh God- I’ll totally be there for your concert” She blushed and Luka smiled kindly at her. Suddenly, she started searching inside her backpack, and took out a business card she offered him. “This is my contact. I- I have a fashion event next Monday. I would love you to come, if you can make it. Send me an email and I’ll get you some passes”

“Wow! That's impressive. I'll try to make it. Thank you, Marinette”

Marinette could hear her heart beating faster. No looking in his eyes, dammit. They kept talking for a while, enjoying their time together until they fell asleep out of exhaustion, Marinette’s head resting on Luka’s shoulder. He woke up earlier than her, but didn’t have the heart to wake her up until lunchtime. She looked like she really needed that rest.

When he left half of his lunch untouched, Marinette scolded him. “You have to eat! You’re too thin! Those abs and arms need consistency! Proteins!” She pointed at a photo of him shirtless and flustered again in embarrassment in realization. “Ah-”

Gosh- it really was fun, Luka thought, chucking. It was hard not to laugh out loud. Everything flowed so naturally it was unbelievable.

Damn. He didn’t want the plane to ever land.

“Marinette” he called, during their coffee time, and she looked back at him, redness still on her cheeks. “The plane will land soon but- Even if you don’t accept our offer… Is it possible for us to meet again? Out of business? Like this?”

Marinette flustered at his implications. “Do- Do you mean-?”

“A date. Would you go on a date with me, Marinette? Or just as friends, if you prefer. I like you, and I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun with anyone else” He took Marinette’s pen and one of his ‘Kitty Section’ contact cards and wrote something behind it. “These are my personal telephone number and email. We'll be in NY until Friday next week. It would make me very happy if you contact me, whenever you prefer, anytime” He said, securing the card in her hands.

Marinette blushed, looked at the card with glowing eyes, and then at his honest loving stare. Was it even possible that the man everyone was gushing about was asking her out? But this had nothing to do with his stage persona. Luka was someone she more than enjoyed spending time with. Naturally, quietly, assuring… She had no doubts about her answer.  

“I want to meet you again, too” she stated, and wrote her personal number under his wristband. “I’m free on Wednesday” she shyly smiled, and his smile widened.

“Wednesday is it, then. I'll manage to find the time. Just for you." He smiled happily and only then she realized how deep she had fallen.

Ah- she hadn't wanted to fall in love. What a way to fail her own determination… But she couldn't complain, not at all.

And he felt the same way.

Luka and Marinette's hands locked together, and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes, smiling at each other.

“Why don’t you kiss her already, dumbass?” Juleka called, and Marinette blushed. “He won’t kiss you if you don’t give him proper permission, you know? He’s very considerate despite his looks. Tell him already”

“Jules… Why don’t you mind your business and make out with Rose instead?” He shushed his sister and Rose giggled, embracing Juleka. Luka returned his attention to Marinette. “Sorry about that”

“It’s ok… I-” She started, looking at his thin lips. “Will you kiss me if I want to? Because I think I do...”

“You do?” he asked, and she shyly nodded and he smiled softly, making her heart flutter.

She closed her eyes and he leaned closer to give her a sweet kiss on her cheek. She pouted a little, in disappointment, but he told her that, if she really wanted to kiss him, that would be the perfect excuse to meet him again and make it more special, like a beautiful lady like her deserved. Marinette understood his reasoning and agreed with it, despite the slight disappointment she felt she would have to wait a few days to get the chance to kiss him. Nevertheless, both of them happily smiled while their fingers remained interlaced, chatting and enjoying their time together the rest of the flight, until the plane landed and they had to unavoidably say their farewells.

“Thank you for everything, Luka. I forgot how scared I was of planes thanks to you and- I’ll see you soon?”

“I really hope so. I still owe you something, right?" He winked and she blushed happily. Luka gave her a final discreet and quick kiss on her knuckles. "Gosh- I miss you already...” He added, and Marinette felt the urge to cry. She dropped her bag to hold him in a needed embrace. He gladly reciprocated her gesture. Despite neither wanting to separate, they forced themselves to. "I hope I see you soon, Marinette"

"Me too, Luka…" she wiped her tears and waved, as the band started walking away.

When the arrivals doors opened and all the camera flashes blinded her, she understood why Kitty Section members always wore sunglasses in airports. They were more popular than she could have expected. She understood why he had refused to kiss her outside of the plane, but he still saluted her before disappearing in the multitude of fans and paparazzis.

On the other side, Sabrina, Audrey Bourgeois’ assistant, waited for her. She had almost forgotten about her own business. But now, she found the motivation she had lacked. If she was willing to be with Luka, she had to become the best. She wanted to make a name of herself, more than ever. And her meeting with Luka certainly boosted her confidence.

Unexpectedly, her trip to NY had already become one of her most memorable experiences yet. And it had just started! She couldn't wait to spend the rest of the week in the city.

[neakco]

The Lost Temple ch. 2

Ao3 Ch.1 Ch.3 Masterlist

Marinette doesn't fully trust the American Heroes but knows that she probably needs their help.

Tim doesn’t trust these two teens that are definitely hiding something.

Yet they made camp together anyway.

Ch.2 Sleepless Night

It had taken longer then they would have like to figure out a watch schedule. While they had both agreed to an alliance, neither group trusted the other.

 

Finally a compromise was made. Each group set their own schedule. Marinette and Adrien agreed to each do half the night. While the Trio took one 2 hour shift each.

 

Adrien would take the first 3 hours and would be starting his shift with Superboy. Impulse had the 2nd watch which he would share with both of them before she would finish out the night with Red Robin.

 

Marinette was a little nervous, she knew Superboy had heard Plagg earlier. They weren’t used to others being able to hear as well as her Kitty. She was lucky that her bond with Tikki allowed communication via emotions.

 

She stared up at the stars, at least this wouldn’t be the first time she had gone without sleep for a mission. She glanced briefly at the tent the American heroes had set up. It looked cramped. She was quite happy with her blanket.

 

Her and Adrien had tried using tents before but he preferred to sleep up high and she enjoyed the connection to the plants she got on the ground. It always allowed her to feel more rested, even if, like tonight, she didn’t actually sleep.

 

Adrien came to let her know it was her turn so she rolled up her blanket and went to join Impulse.

 

The boy never seemed to stop, he constantly dashed back and forth as he talked non-stop about everything.

 

“Doesn’t that drain your energy?”

 

He stopped short as if he had forgotten she was there. “No, well yes, but II can quickly get back to civilization for snacks.”

 

She nodded as the hero began to move around and started talking about his favourite snacks. She had an idea to run past Red Robin once he joined her on watch. She would suggest it to Impulse but she had a gut feeling that would be a bad idea.

 

 

Tim woke a little early for his turn and crept towards the trees in order to observe Marinette and Bart.

He was a little surprised that she seemed interested in the one-sided food conversation. At least he had assumed it was one-sided until she chirped in with a question about Bart’s preferences on French pastries. He didn’t expect the girl to become so offended when Bart told her he didn’t like croissants.

 

Tim decided that it was close enough to his watch and stepped out of the shadows.

 

Impulse flew into the trees in his surprise while Marinette hadn’t moved. Had he lost his touch? No, she may not have jumped but he noticed she had a hand to her back where it hadn’t been before. He concluded that she had probably reached for a weapon.

 

“Seriously Rob? I love you but that’s just mean.”

 

Tim smirked, “Maybe next time you will pay attention.”

 

“You’re a bat, doesn’t matter how much I pay attention.” Bart grumbled as he waved goodnight to Marinette and headed off to find his sleeping bag.

 

Tim turned back to Marinette and was shocked by the level of malice being directed at him. “What did I…”

 

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Her voice, while harsh, was soft and filled with concern. “I could have killed you. If it was Adrien you had startled you wouldn’t be alive.”

 

Tim swallowed his retort. Normally he would think it hilarious that this tiny enigma thought that she or her delicate looking friend could hurt him, but there was something there. It was the way every sound stilled at her anger, the way his gut yelled at him to run. Putting all this together with their first conversation, he began to wonder if the two teens had been granted power by the gods.

 

Marinette was taking deep meditative breaths. “You are lucky I analyze before reacting.”

 

“Sorry. I had figured you had a sixth sense.”

 

She eyed him, “You were testing a theory?”

 

“Yes. I like to know what my allies are capable of and it’s not like you two have been very forthcoming.”

 

It surprised Tim to see her relax at this rather than get angrier.

 

“The decision to share isn’t really up to me or Adrien. I assume it is similar to your identity, unless what I've heard about Batman is wrong.”

 

Tim laughed quietly while keeping an eye to their surroundings. “We actually tell people our identities all the time, people just assume we are joking.”

 

Her eyes widened, “That works?”

 

“Well it works if the public's image of your two personas are vastly different. People will believe what they want no matter what you tell them.”

 

He was about to ask if she was thinking of becoming a hero when he noticed her darkening look. Unlike before where it had been anger mixed with concern, this time it was mixed with sadness and pain.

 

“You okay?”

 

“People really do believe what they want.” Her eyes turned wistful and she looked up into the trees. “Really shows you who your real friends are.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” How was he supposed to comfort her? Alfred would probably offer her hot chocolate and sweets.

 

“No, it all happened years ago. I am mostly over it.”

 

Tim let out a sigh of relief, at her look he tried to smile kindly. “No offense but I was raised by the most emotionally distant people and I really had no idea what to do if you started crying.”

 

The sudden laughter surprised him. That wasn’t a normal reaction. He frowned as he watched her try to stifle the sound.

 

“I'm sorry, it’s just, well, welcome to the club.” She started laughing a little bit harder and maybe a bit more broken. “Adrien can tell you some stories. Well I can two, but mine only start a few years back. I don’t have a life's worth like he does.”

 

“But why is that so funny?” He frowned harder trying to understand if he was the joke.

 

He jumped and threw a batarang that thankfully missed when Adrien suddenly dropped out of a tree and landed beside him.

 

“Where we come from it was always better to laugh instead of giving in to emotional distress.” He turned to Marinette, “You okay M'lady?”

 

“I just,” her giggles increased slightly, “strays, it’s always the strays.” She giggled a bit longer before stopping suddenly and glaring at Adrien, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

 

Tim could see the blonde visibly gulp as he lied poorly, “bathroom. Going back to sleep now. Bye.” He quickly left back into the trees and took off roughly in the direction of camp based off the rustling.

 

“You two are very strange.”

 

“Says the talented human commanding literal super humans.” She snorted. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you think Impulse could quickly map out the jungle for us?”

 

“If he can keep himself from tripping over roots and snakes then maybe. Why didn’t you ask him?” Tim was curious. She had spent an hour with Impulse, there had been plenty of time.

 

“I figured you were the leader and I would have to ask no matter what. Mostly I was worried he wouldn’t be able to but pride would cause him to say yes anyways.”

 

Tim tried to study her expression but it gave nothing away. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

 

“Simple, Impulse acts like a younger Adrien.”

 

 

Marinette thought back, Chat had been so free. She missed those times. Unfortunately reality had hit them both fairly hard. She doubted if they could ever be that carefree again.

 

“I would deny your assessment if I could.” Red Robin leaned back against her tree and typed into his arm. She hadn’t realized there was technology integrated into the suit. She was almost jealous.

 

A holographic map of the jungle was displayed floating above his arm so she leaned forward to gain a better look.

 

Red Robin pointed to a small area causing a dot to appear  “This is our camp.” He gestured to highlight a portion green. “This is the area we checked yesterday. My initial reports showed activity in these areas.” This time the highlighted red, or brown in the areas that overlapped with the searched area.

 

She hummed in thought, “Add another kilometer to the searched radius. Adrien split off a couple times yesterday.”

 

She could see his eyes shift to suspicion briefly but he complied anyway

 

“If you knew that then you never needed Impulse to make a map, you wanted him to find the enemy.”

 

She nodded but stayed silent and observant. It was kind of nice watching someone else think like she does.

 

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if Impulse was capable of stealth. “She watched him remove the searched area from the map in order to zoom in on the rest.

 

“You have a plan.” She was grinning, she could already tell what he was thinking.

 

The way he looked at her screamed that he knew that she had already figured it out. She was happily surprised when he decided to continue explaining to her.

 

“I propose that we split up. My team has trackers to keep track of our own whereabouts and comms to communicate. I think Superboy and Adrien take this route.” A Blue and red line appeared on the map. “While we take this path more to the right.” This time the line was red and black. She knew they were supposed to represent his colours but they worked just as well for her. She bet Adrien would have a laugh.

 

“I'll have Impulse cover this middle area in between our groups to cover any gaps and act as a runner in case we need anything. Anything to add?”

 

She bit her lip. These were heroes, she could probably trust them, at least a little. Plus Adrien wasn’t able to sense the temple’s magic. “How good is Superboy's x-ray vision?” Damn it, she thought she had fixed her word blurting problem.

 

Red Robin seemed surprised by her words, “What? Why?”

 

She chewed on her lip a bit more before she felt Tikki's reassurance. “What I am about to tell you is secret enough that it could very well get you killed. Are you sure you want to know?”

 

She watched his face carefully. There was hesitation, doubt, curiosity, and finally that thirst for knowledge that got her into trouble constantly.

 

He finally shrugged, “Just an average day for me.”

 

She smiled but dropped her voice into a serious tone. “There is a temple here that was lost underground years ago. No matter what else happens I can not let anyone get the knowledge and treasures it holds.” She remembered some of the things the monks had told her and Adrien without ever actually explaining what the temple was guarding. “If these people find the temple first then best case scenario has them taking over the world.”

 

Red Robin's voice was low, “And worst case?”

 

“They destroy the entire universe as we know it.”

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

[spockandawe]

OH RIGHT, I also have to follow up on The Healer Demands Payment!

Because oh my god, you guys

This is the most fun I’ve had with a cnovel in EONS (by eons, I mean like. a week. I'm an impatient binch). I was just poking idly around on novelupdates, and I tripped across an absolute GEM, and I need to scream about it. Which I already did once before, so I’ll try not to rehash things too-too badly, but I hit the end of the translation and blew through into MTL, because how was I supposed to stop? I’m still not caught up with MTL (not that it matters, since the story is ongoing), but I trust this author to take me good places, and I’m about 99% positive the author is deliberately playing with genre-based storytelling conventions, if a little more subtly than svsss. 

I’m going to get into more spoilers as I go along than I did last time, all things revealed fairly early, but if you’d rather read it cold (a++, do recommend, but not critical for reading pleasure), hit up that post instead of this one. But these first couple paragraphs aren’t super revealing.

The premise!! Meng Qi is a healer. Her first time living her life, she tried to charitably do good and heal the people around her in need. However, like every time she tried to treat a guy, circumstances were such that everyone thought she looked suspicious, credit was given to her shijie, Lu Qingran, and then all the guys went off to moon over Lu Qingran. Meng Qi does her own thing for a while, and even picks up a shizun who she adores, and who is her research partner developing all kinds of revolutionary new medical techniques. When she eventually died (I still don’t know how, but it definitely looks like Lu Qingran was swooning into the arms of the man who did it), Meng Qi was told that Lu Qingran was beloved by the heavens. Then... Meng Qi woke up, age 17 or 18, just as she entered her sect, but with all the theoretical knowledge that she accumulated in her past life.

When our story begins, the first of Lu Qingran’s love interests has just entered the scene. He staggers back to the sect, carrying Lu Qingran, badly poisoned after encountering a magic beast in the woods. Meng Qi knows how to treat him. But she’s also aware that yeah, after she did this last time, she slaved away from a week, and passed out in exhaustion, just in time for Lu Qingran to wake up and say she saw ~someone~ in their sect’s uniform in the forest just before the beast attacked. Meng Qi is all set to be locked in jail for three months until someone gets around, finally, to clearing her name. Meanwhile, clown prime, Chu Fengtian, is busy mooning over Lu Qingran and ignoring all the work she did to save him.

Yeah! She’s not super interested!!!!!!!!!

So she thinks about this for a little while, and decides that the best way to extract herself from any kind of karmic entanglements is to make sure any work she does is just a pure, simple exchange of goods. So... she says she can treat him, and she charges him money. A lot of money.

He’s angry and embarrassed and has to sign an official IOU, her sect is upset with her, but her sect also knows that treating this poison is beyond their capabilities, so they’re like ‘yeah, whatever, humiliate yourself, i guess!’ She doesn’t, because she is a good and clever girl, and as Chu Fengtian’s humiliation fades, he seems to.... gradually realize that Lu Qingran shouldn’t be the object he orbits. Meng Qi charges him money for everything she does for him, all the different pills and such, and he’s, uh. He’s starting to get into it, and I am living.

I won’t lie, whenever I talk about this book I’ve been framing it as accidental findom harem acquisition, and I’m not wrong.

Now, at this point, Meng Qi kind of has a grasp on what Events ought to be transpiring, and is managing along. That gradually fades as the plot progresses, but it’s an early element. She acquires an injured baby tiger she wants to heal, who, uh, is definitely actually a member of a royal demon clan trapped in beast mode (and baby mode). To treat this tiger, she needs expensive-ass medicine. And now, our girl has additional motivation to extort the men around her (mostly) for everything they have. She also accidentally runs into another of Lu Qingran’s eventual love interests, Qin Xiumo, recovering from the aftermath of a failed heavenly tribulation, and in a really bad way. She... can treat him. If he pays :3c

(Lu Qingran almost steals credit for Meng Qi’s work, again, and this is the point where I start to wonder if there’s some kind of.... legit gravitational field around her that’s altering people’s perceptions, because this is a terribly consistent pattern. The Dreamer In The Spring Boudoir had a toxic white lotus of its own, but what she was able to do isn’t the same as Lu Qingran, and the way people eventually break free of orbit around Lu Qingran and realize that things are Strange is fascinating)

And now here is where I was like OHHHHHHH.

Because the moment Chu Fengtian gets Qin Xiumo alone, he’s like ‘right, you and me, we both remember our last lives, right? we remember how lu qingran got us killed? and how meng qi got caught up in that all trying to help us and died too? let’s NOT do that again’

MULTIPLE REINCARNATORS WITH MEMORIES OF THEIR LIVES

And here, I have to copy over this one bit again, because it made me go yeeeee out loud

“Meng Qi.” Qin Xiumo smiled. “You should always remember one thing.” He turned to look at Meng Qi. “If someone betrays and wrongs you in the future, don’t try to talk reason, just kill them.” He paused for a moment, then slowly said, “I know you can do it. As long as you don’t feel soft-hearted.

Qin Xiumo took a step towards Meng Qi. The mountain wind stirred his black robe, but he kept staring at her eyes. With a low whisper, he softly spoke every word. “Including me…if one day I betray you, bring you harm, just kill me without hesitation.”

Okay now

So

Here’s the funny thing

Because Meng Qi was not treated well by any of these love interests before, she’s totally willing to be pleasant with them, but like........... respect? what respect? the two boys out themselves to each other immediately, but they have no clue that meng qi remembers anything, and it’s hilarious. Also they start immediately getting into baby slapfights over who she’s charging more for certain services. Is it that she doesn’t care about you and only wants to talk money with you, or is it that hey, why did she charge you ten times as much for the same service??? The answer is yes. Also, Qin Xiumo offers to repay her with his body almost right away and she’s like No Thank You, and the moment their financial obligations are repaid, she’s like OKAY BYE, and it’s great.

Virtually every major character who’s been added to the party or exists on the outskirts of the party has won me over. Xue Junwen? A treasure. Su Junmo? A++++ gossipy fox bastard, would die for him. Sikong Xing? WONDERFUL fox lesbian, also a treasure, deserves the best girlfriend in the world. Pei Mufeng? BEST BOY, needs to tell me ALL his secrets!!!! Ji Wujiong? Absolute Bastard, my favorite lad, absolute treasure of a terrible man. I love him. And Meng Qi’s mysterious once-shizun is also floating around now, and is WILDLY jealous of who this ““shizun”” that she respects from her past could be.

The story has this balance I really, really like, where all of the major women who have shown up have either been absolutely delightful creatures or fascinating I-can’t-tell-if-they-know-they’re-toxic antagonists, and all the men have been SOME variety of clown. It’s so good.

And I’m speculating so hard about everything that’s happening!!! Why do three human lads appear to remember a past with Meng Qi, while at least two demons who were very involved with her definitely don’t? Meng Qi is getting SUPER good at arrays, but the narrative makes a point about how a ton of knowledge about arrays was lost in both the human and demon realms. So........ tell me more about the devil realm? Why have you told me so little about the devil realm, I’m getting suspicious! What the FUCK did all that internal damage to both Ji Wujiong and Yun Qingyan?? Are those wounds on Ji Wujiong’s face perhaps........... tiger claws? Do they have anything to do with a baby tiger’s injured paw that wouldn’t close until Meng Qi saved up for a ton of medicines? HOW MUCH DOES PEI MUFENG REMEMBER, and did he promise to go to the starfallen sea because of his PAST LIFE remembrances of meng qi? Why is he immune to propaganda lu qingran?

And also, last time I posted, I mentioned the strict stages of cultivation as my biggest downside in the novel. That’s still probably the case, but now, I’m invested. The conceit that Meng Qi’s theoretical knowledge far outstrips her cultivation is a fascinating one, and the story leans into it real, real good. Especially once Ji Wujiong got involved and started teaching her about arrays, and she wasn’t just leaning on rote lessons from the past to get by, it got so interesting. And some of the cultivation trappings that never really clicked for me are much more interesting in the context of a medical cultivation novel, like, I have never once cared what a spiritual sea is, but once it turns out that Ji Wujiong’s internal damage involves damage to his spiritual sea? Yes?? Tell me more?????

I’m genuinely shocked and delighted that I’m so invested in this book, because I only expected it to be a light, casual read from the start. I was looking for something to kill the time, not something to distract me while I’m supposed to be working, but I love it so much. I’m in the middle of wrapping up a story arc and pausing for air before I press on through the mtl, but I’m already planning to loop back to the beginning and read again and look for hints as soon as I finish. This is so GOOD. It was such a surprise how fun it was, but I love it so much!!

[deathvsthemaiden]

Prince Harry, Prince William, Waver Velvet, Diluc Ragnvindr, Jeremy Fragrence, and Childe (Ajax)....uwa I spelled Diluc's name right on the first go!

THE DISGUST THE VISCERAL DISGUST I AM FEELING AT EXACTLY HALF OF THESE.... ur too good and dependable I LOVE u *sniffles* 😔🤕

Harry:

Yikes full stop. Yikes. || I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? || I Do Not Deserve How Could You Do This? Hmm? Et tu, Brutus? 😐

Ok listen being royalty esp modern royalty immediately cancels out any beauty god gave you in my eyes. All the poetry I wax about how there is something to appreciate in every face and body is null and void here. If we take the Some Guy approach and look at him objectively (impossible but I’ll humor you in the name of love and not being a spoilsport).... nothing I feel nothing. Maybe a whisper of contempt and a little voice in my head going “we should avoid him he’s not going to add to our life.” But that’s. IT.

William:

Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him. II I’m Far Too Sane And Pretty For This?

*by this point I am shaking and crying from psychic damage* see above 👆🏽😐

Waver Velvet:

Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But. I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty (I Suppose) Like If He Floats Your Boat Epic But I Might Not Attend The Wedding || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him.

his younger self awakens big sister instincts in me meaning he would be SO fun to tease and annoy + root for + naively hope he grows into a fine young man. At that young age he is not yet broken so there is no fixing to be done, but I certainly could help set him straight! Like a bonsai 💚 he’s more sinless and (unintentionally) funny and full of promise than his other selves.

His adult self however awakens the misandrist in me. I wanna come up to him unprovoked and tell him to smile or else bc that’s the only time he’s handsome imo.... also when he has vulnerable moments like being sad the shoes he bought with his first ever paycheck got ruined 🥺 or when he gets all triumphant and carefree ever so once in a while, like in the first ep of Case Files... what I mean is sometimes his prickly hard cranky veneer cracks and I catch a dazzling shimmer of handsome but... not often enough for my liking 😑 for my favored pixelated men I get a genuine kick out of their being disgruntled (sign of true love) but his grumbling just makes me want to file for divorce and we’re not even married 😐 like can you imagine road tripping with this man? I can’t I couldn’t I will not! And omg I don’t think you could make him say stuff like I love you without feeling like you’re pulling teeth... I don’t have the patience to reach that point with him. We’d be so bad for each other and not even in the fun way... his sharp way of dress and penchant for red and long hair and passion for certain subjects are just not enough to salvage him for me, if I want to be subjected to a short tempered man all day I have a father 😩 also he has the kind of sense of responsibility that would doom you if you married him I feel. Like admirable but also what the fuck dude. Taking on all of Kayneth’s debt w/o batting an eye? Mr Velvet what about your hypothetical wife and children.... like I can’t imagine him stopping to think about them in such a scenario... he’d have to marry someone like Melvin (or Melvin himself) who would get a kick out of that brash decision and support him and I’m the wrong dame! He feels like if he had a family and he grew into old age, he would end up one of those foreboding slightly frigid patriarchs w/ short fuses who have hearts of gold but you have to dig so long and hard that by the time you have reached it you’re youth has passed you by and your fingers are worn to the bone and you’re tired... so tired..... you should’ve listened to your mother and married that nice doctor within your ethnic group instead... he’s been a widower for a few years now, hasn’t he? Has a summer home in Vienna and a very nice curly beard? Last time you stalked his FB anyway....

Also his little friend Melvin is hilarious but I could never allow him into my home on the reg. I refuse. Reines is on thin ice and reminds me too much of my sister in some ways... Literally the only person he is oft surrounded by that I would not only be chill with but delighted to have over is Flatt Escardos. Love that wild little man, he’s a brilliant riot. But also a bit of a danger to himself and others I think? Idk I barely read FSF bc the niqabi character design pissed me off to hell and back and then some 😔💔

Diluc Ragnvindr:

Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him. II You Absolutely Deserve Him, Bestie 🥺🤲🏽 (heartfelt + sincere)

Oh he’s pretty enough.... like def not an ugly man! But as you yourself often correctly say he’s just Some Guy! When you tell me why you love him I absolutely understand how he captivated you 🥺 but I personally am too wild of heart to be ensnared by so sober (ahaha get it? Bc he owns a tave— whatever nvm v_v)/ and stable a man.

Jeremy Fragrance:

Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I Could See The Objective Appeal If He Never Opened His Mouth But I’m Too Smart To Be Taken In By Some Conventionally Pretty Features And Some Muscle™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him.

I scroll past his vids fairly fast the same way I often scroll past spider pics that make it on to my dash despite my best efforts.... when I decide to watch his videos I regret it so much and can barely finish. The way he talks and acts and the things he Just Says sans hesitation make me so uncomfy... so performative and out of touch in the unfun way and aggressive... why isn’t he an actor why couldn’t he be named Jeremy Drama... then I could lie to myself and go it’s okayyy Hiba it isn’t real I’m sure he’s sane behind closed doors 😖 anyway I couldn’t willingly stay in the same room with him for 5 min I COULDNT! I’m v confident our priorities and moral compasses are polar opposites and have you heard the way he talks about women? 🤨 I would honestly. Prefer Patrick Bateman. Not even kidding bc at least that man isn’t real and has successfully made me laugh and gets Big Mad over the dumbest stuff so I can mock him before he kills me. Also I think I could outsmart Bateman but... what does one do with JF other than... keep ur distance. Like I’d never trust either BUT. Yeah.

Childe (Ajax):

Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him.

HES ERRATIC.... IM ERRATIC.... CAN I MAKE IT ANY MORE OBVIOUSSSS<3 no but rlly I love a lively straightforward man and he’s got red in his character design + is often pictured with whales? And his galactic themed suit of armor is nice 😳 he’d be fun to hang out with and divorce on grounds so outrageous and absurd we both find it hilarious ✅ like I don’t think I’ll ever love love him esp since all my knowledge of him is second hand but he sounds like a blast 💥

[yetanotherfilmkid]

TV Shows I’ve Binged During Iso & Brief Thoughts on Them

I noticed lately that I have been watching far more series than movies so I thought I’d share a few thoughts on what I’m watching at the moment.

High Fidelity - I loved this show so much that I watched it twice (once by myself and the second time with my friend, Ethan). Definitely the standout feature of the show is the soundtrack, it sent me on a 4 week Bowie-Bender both times, and Rob’s outfits (much time was spent with Ethan discussing her killer style). I definitely recommend this if you’re a music lover.

Fleabag - Fleabag is competing to be my favourite show of all time. Even though I personally believe that season 2 was (eeeeever so slightly) better, the whole show is funny and brash and sad and relatable and I want to just loop it in my brain forever. High Fidelity and Fleabag are cut from the same cloth in subject/format but I think Fleabag does a more intimate job of it. This is easily one of the most satisfying shows ever, the character development is beautiful and doesn’t feel forced. Also, fourth-wall-breakers, take notes. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is just an amazing writer and actress, holy hell. 

The Good Place - I accidentally binge-re-watched all 4 seasons in 6 days (oops). I don’t even know where to begin on how much I love this damn show. It just keeps getting better as you go along, even though the first season is phenomenal, the rest just ...improves?? It’s genuinely hilarious (“I love you too, egg” has had me cackling at 3 am like a madwoman more than once) and the discussion on ethics and humanity is just *chef’s kiss*. It’s not often that you see a show with decent and insightful commentary on morals, politics, humanity and the good and evil binary; multiple POC in leading roles; genuinely good humour and aesthetics and set design that deserve love. Everyone should watch this show.

Community - This was another re-watch for me (Ethan recommended it to me a couple of years ago) but it has always held a special place in my heart. Much like The Good Place, the heart of the show runs through the idea that humans, together, are better and will make each other better people. I could continue to be sentimental about the characters but that wouldn’t give me enough time to gush about the several other beauties of the show for example, homages to classic movies, Donald Glover, the many 3%er jokes, paintball episodes, Troy and Abed doing literally anything, the absolute absurdity of the show, the list is infinitely long and it’s only a matter of time before I accidentally summarise each individual episode. #SixSeasonsAndAMovie bitches ✌

Love - Ethan and I watched this together and it was pretty fantastic. We both agreed that Gus and Mickey were kinda overrated as a couple and as human beings but even so it was a fun and wholesome watch. We spent multiple hours bitching about all the characters, especially Gus and Mickey, and occasionally the writers. This is the kind of show you watch because you’re super invested in the side characters and have a reluctant soft spot for the main characters, but as a whole is entirely lovable. (Bertie deserves better).

Midnight Gospel - Midnight Gospel is an absolute trip to watch. Animating a podcast was a really cool idea but how can we possibly make it cooler?? By animating groovy space creatures in psychedelic palettes of course! The whole show is sensory overload in the best way possible and I want to re-watch it asap because there is so much to absorb in such a short amount of time. Even though the early episodes are totally awesome, the last few episodes are my favourites by far as they feel more personal and not gonna lie, I cried in the last episode. I really hope it comes back for more seasons because it was a really strong start.

Normal People - I read the book and then counted the days til the series came out. I’m not joking. I loved this adaptation a lot. It paid a lot of respect to the book but managed to divert comfortably into its own medium too. I was super worried they’d turn it into a flowery teen romance series and I’m infinitely grateful they didn’t. Ethan thought that the series was actually an improvement on the book whereas I love them both equally. The two highlights for me were the cinematography, the shots were so damn pretty, and the pacing of the script, it left a lot open for the audience to sit with and think about before moving on. It’s probably one of my favourite adaptations of a book ever.

Unorthodox - Ethan and I watched this most recently and this is another one everyone needs to see. I’d like to start this by saying I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Hasidic community portrayed in any media before which was really interesting, I feel like majority of devout followers in media are Christian so this was an interesting learning point for me. Unorthodox was really beautifully made and, most importantly, it was made by people who genuinely care about the story. The absolute standout was the amount of raw emotion packed into it all. The characters don’t even need dialogue for us to feel what they’re feeling. Shira Haas did a phenomenal job portraying Esty. I think it’s also important to remember that it’s not an indictment of religion, but rather, an exploration of Esty’s personal relationship with God and herself. Just thinking about this show makes me want to talk about it for hours

One Day at a Time - I watched this one with my sister @juicebox-baby and holy crap it is extremely wholesome. It’s your classic family sitcom but it’s also super heartfelt and inclusive. Full disclosure, I cried like an absolute baby on like 5 or 6 separate occasions. At times, the writing feels like it’s trying to cram too much in and as a result, the arcs can feel a little bit rigid but that’s fairly easy to look past in favour of the really sweet family feel. Also I have to take a second to say that Abuelita is a gift to humanity.

Killing Eve - Phoebe Waller-Bridge is back. Can Jodie Comer and Sandra Oh please get all of the awards for having stupid amounts of talent? Not to quote the ads but they really do have killer chemistry and it’s a little offensive how amazing they are. I don’t normally go for murder/espionage shows but there was something about this one that had me completely hooked. Even my mum (who falls asleep during every. single. show.) managed to stay awake almost the whole time and was nagging me to watch the next episode with her. 

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

A Writer’s Guide to Viewpoints

Most of us know that there are three major viewpoints from which stories are told:

First Person -- “I tell my own story with the pronoun ‘I’ because I’m just so damn awesome.”

Second Person -- “You are a character in this story, and you can’t do anything about it.  If it makes you uncomfortable, tough shit.”

Third Person -- “He muttered himself and pulled the blankets over his head, wishing this asshole would stop narrating his life.”

Those are the three viewpoints, and that’s all there is to it.  Just pick your favorite, and you’re ready to go.  Right?

Well.  Not exactly.  

You see, my fellow scribblers, there are actually multiple sub categories of each viewpoint -- beyond even the “Third Person Omniscient” or “Third Person Subjective.”

To be specific:

First Person:

First Person Informant

First Person Reminiscent

Unreliable

Second Person:

Reader as Character

I Substitute

Third Person:

Objective 

Limited 

Multiple Selective Omniscience 

Omniscient

This might seem overwhelming, but fear not!  Each perspective is fairly easy to break down, and ultimately, apply to your own work and understanding of literature.  This post will elucidate each.

So let’s take charge of our narratives and delve in, like the active protagonists we are.

What is the First Person?  

I’m sure we all know this, but a First Person narrator tells their story from the pronoun I (or sometimes we, though this is quite rare.)

The different factions of First Person narration are somewhat under-discussed -- certainly not as widely known as the Third Person Omniscient versus Objective viewpoints -- but, as these examples prove, they do exist.

As you read, you’ll likely think back to your favorite narrators, and realize that not all First Person viewpoints were created equal.

The First Person Informant:

“I’m telling it like it is.  As it’s happening.  I’m living in the moment, and watching it unfold with you.  Look at us, charging blindly into the future together.  Isn’t it exciting?”

This dude conveys the events as they transpire, or appear to transpire, in the present.  There’s no “once upon a time” for him.  Merely the unfurling now.

Examples:

“Vampires in the Lemon Grove,” by Karen Russel

“In every season you can find me sitting at my bench, watching them fall.  Only one or two lemons tumble from the branches each hour, but I’ve been sitting here so long their falls seem continuous, close as raindrops.  My wife has no patience for this sort of meditation.  “Jesus Christ, Clyde,” she says, “You need a hobby.” 

Russel’s narrator – a world-weary vamp navigating the tribulations of eternal love and insatiable bloodlust in an Italian lemon grove – is an excellent example of a first-person informant.  He isn’t telling us about the lemon grove as it was, but as it is.  The lemons fall before his eyes as they fall before ours.  We are in this lemon grove together.

“Natural Selection,” by Jacob M. Appel

“The stolen baboon.  On the evening news, she’s an irrelevancy -- a simian mug shot tucked between National Hairball Awareness Day and an interview with the Boston Strangler’s Children.  Six hours later, she’s lounger on the sofa in our living room, smacking together her protruded lips, scratching her back on the damask.  Suburban Tampa is apparently far more fun than a lab cage in Atlanta.”

Here, we are transported directly into a father’s dilemma after his well-meaning yet painfully naive and somewhat spoiled daughter “liberates” a mistreated lab baboon -- a decision that could effectively ruin both of their lives.  The informant perspective amplifies the reader’s suspense, as we are in the moment with him and can only discover the outcome by watching events unfold (or skipping pages.)

“What I Do All Day,” by Hellen Ellis

“Inspired by Beyonce, I stallion-walk to the toaster.  I show my husband where a burnt spot looks like the island where we honeymooned, kiss him good-bye, and tell him what time to be home for our party.”

This one is just great.  We are transported into the perspective of a seemingly chipper, affluent housewife as she quietly goes insane from suffocating domesticity and the horror of a meaningless life.  And, emphasized by the informant perspective, we feel all of this with her!  It is characteristically brilliant and hilarious satire from Ellis’s brilliant and hilarious collection, American Housewife.

The First Person Reminiscent:

“It was on a dark and rainy night when I decided to tell this story.  I tell it as I remember it, after these events have transpired.  Let’s look back on them together.”

In this perspective, the narrator is looking back on events after they have happened.  He isn’t describing these events as they unfold;  he is telling a story.

Examples:

Life of Pi, by Yann Martel

There are actually two reminiscent narrators here.  The titular Pi, and the author who has elected to tell his story.  

“This book was born as I was hungry.  Let me explain.  In the spring of 1996, my second book, a novel, came out in Canada.  It didn’t fair well.  Reviewers were puzzled, or damned it with faint praise.  Then readers ignored it.  Despite my best efforts at plating the clown or the trapeze artist, the media circus made no difference.  The book did not move.  Books lined the shelves of bookstores like kids standing in a row to play baseball or soccer, and mine was the gangly, unathletic kid that no one wanted on their team.  It vanished quickly or quietly.”

So opens this immensely clever novel, which, in all regards, blurs the lines between allegory and reality.  However, most of it is narrated by the eponymous Pi, who becomes this author’s muse.

“I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.”

Here we have Pi, reflecting on his spiritual and allegorical companion, Richard Parker (an oddly named tiger whom we come to love as much as Pi does.)  Pi’s retrospective narration allows for the clear-sighted view of his complex feelings that can only come with time and distance.  Thus, this reminiscent narration enhances the power of the narrative.

The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

My feelings towards J.D. Salinger are somewhat negative (I recommend you watch the documentary Salinger to figure out why) but this book is timeless for a reason.  This opening line offers up countless questions that leave you thinking long after you turn the final page.  Moreover, it impeccably establishes the voice that will carry us throughout its meandering narrative.  Catcher in the Rye would not be the same without its reminiscent narration, and this line establishes that.

Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”

This opening line makes me somewhat sick to read, because, of course, it is the floral soliloquy a frothing, rabid pedophile, about a “four feet ten” twelve-year-old girl.  But, as a piece of art, it is still remarkably done -- the perspective of a monster, putting himself on trial before an imaginary jury, and telling a story that is invariably partial towards his warped perspective.  Once again, the retrospective is integral to this grotesquely fascinating narrative.

The Unreliable Narrator:

“I am the King of the Lizard People, and no one will acknowledge it but me.  Don’t believe me?  Too bad.  I’m the one telling this story, and you have no choice but to believe my dubious rendition of these events.”

It’s widely debated as to whether this should be its own category.  Why?  Because all first person narrators are inherently unreliable.  We just have little choice but to take their information as it’s denoted to us.  Oftentimes, they win our trust;  but other times, it is their unabashed unreliability that makes the narrative memorable.

Don’t believe me?  All of the past three examples were unreliable narrators.  And I examine several more in my post on types of unreliable narrators here.

In the meantime, let’s move on to the oft-underrated Second Person.  

What is the Second Person?

This highly controversial viewpoint uses the pronoun “you.”  Most people associate this perspective with amateur fanfiction or pretentious purple prose, but let me tell you:  when this perspective works, it is stellar.  And I’ll explain why.

The Reader as a Character

“You’re walking down the street, and you realize the narrator is talking about you.  Maybe you like this.  Maybe you don’t.  The narrator doesn’t care.  The narrator is a cruel and indifferent god.  You put in your headphones to tune the narrator out.  The narrator finds this incredibly rude.  You can’t escape me, motherfucker.” 

This is what most people think about when they picture a Second Person Narrative.  Okay, not this specifically -- being frank, most people probably think about reader-insert fanfiction (which can be amazing as well.)  This viewpoint asks the reader to imagine themselves as a character -- usually the main character -- in the narrative.

Examples:

“This is a Story About You,” from Welcome to Night Vale, by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Craner

“‘This is a story about you,’ said the man on the radio. And you were pleased, because you always wanted to hear about yourself on the radio.”

Even if you’re unfamiliar to this podcast, I highly recommend you listen to this episode (or read the transcript) immediately.  It shows you virtually everything reader-insert can be, and what a remarkable effect it can have.  It virtually envelops you in this perspective, this town, and this surrealistic reality. 

“The Young Immortal,” by Brooksie C. Fontaine (me!)

“When it started, it was the February fourteenth of 1945.  An American plane was hit in the engine by Japanese fire, fell from the slate gray sky like a shooting star.  Its blazing red reflection ignited the swell of colorless water.  And then it was gone, taking with it all the color in the world.

In that plane was my fellow air force pilot.  The love of my life.

You.

I know what you’re thinking:  you weren’t alive in ‘45, and you weren’t a man.  Well, I’m gonna tell you you’re wrong on both counts.  You’ve been a man before.  You’ll be one again.  It doesn’t matter to me, so long as it’s you.”

This one is unique, because it includes both the First Person Reminiscent (the eponymous immortal narrator) and the Second Person Reader as Character.  The reader is in the perspective of the narrator’s oft-reincarnated love interest, and so I decided to include it as an example. 

The “I” Substitute

“You were fifteen when you realized you could only get hard if you were thinking about carnivorous dinosaurs.  Not me.  You.  This has absolutely nothing to do with me, and I resent the insinuation that it does.  This is your problem, dino-fucker.  This is your story.  This is about you.” 

This one’s interesting.  The narrator is in denial, and using the second-person to distance themselves from the events of the story.  It is a substitute for the First Person, and a thinly-veiled one at that.

Examples:  

“Freaks,” by Alden Jones

“From the cluster of mourners, Kristen’s mother had emerged; she strode towards you.  Her straight brown hair was limp and flyaway.  She wore the expression of an animal who wanted to devour you.  Her eyes were cushioned by the bluish puffed skin beneath them, but they flashed hot with fury.

‘You,’ she said.  She pointed her finger.  She began to gallop.  ‘You think you see something no one else sees?’  she called.  Mourners turned to watch her progress towards you.  Heather took a step away.

You dangled the camera by your side.  You froze.  You did nothing but watch the thing happen.

‘YOU,’ the mother said, charging.  ‘YOU.  YOU.’”

These are actually the concluding lines of this haunting story from Jones’s collection, Unaccompanied Minors.  I had the pleasure of hearing her read this story for my graduate program;  in the Q&A afterwards, she explained how the narrative, and the characters’ mentality throughout the story, depended on the Second Person.  “It was a different story without it,” she said.  

“The Other Person,” by Nathan Leslie

“You write the story in the second person.  It’s your go-to point of view now.  You like it’s edge, its resonance of irony, even if your story lacks said irony (it adds irony).  You makes anything possible.  You is the new me.” 

This one is simultaneously hilarious, sad, and strangely invigorating.  It encapsulates the deep trenches of insecurity that come with being an author, and whittles them into sharp, sly satire.  The “I” Substitute doesn’t just emphasize the story;  it is the story.  This story would not exist without it.

Now that I’ve successfully changed your mind about the Second Person (and if you still don’t agree with me, you’re wrong), let’s move on to the ever-popular yet difficult-to-master Third Person. 

What is the Third Person? 

You know what the third person is, but I’ll suspend my disbelief and pretend you don’t.  It uses the pronouns he, she, or they, but the perspective can be virtually anywhere.  Which makes the Third Person such an interesting thing to explore.

Third Person Objective

“She slaps him.  He touches the red mark her ring left behind, and stares at her with wide eyes.”

This one is also known as The Dramatic, The Camera Lens, or The Fly on the Wall perspective.  It describes the events as we would view them, with no inside information into the thoughts or motivations of the characters.  What we see is what we get, and we have to discern the characters’ feelings based on what they say and do.

Example: 

“Meanwhile.  A Conversation,” from American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

“‘Miz Crow?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘You are Samantha Black Crow?’  

‘Yes.’

‘Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, ma’am?’

‘Are you cops?  What are you?’

‘My name is Town.  My colleague here is Mister Road.  We’re investigating the disappearance of two of our associates.’

‘What were their names?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Tell me their names.  I want to know what they were called.  Your associates.  Tell me their names and maybe I’ll help you.’ 

‘...Okay.  Their names were Mister Stone, and Mister Wood.  Now, can we ask you some questions?’ 

‘Do you guys just see things and pick names?  “Oh, you be Mister Sidewalk, he’s Mister Carpet, say hello to Mister Airplane?”’”

In this unique and hilarious chapter, we witness an exchange between (bisexual icon) Samantha Black Crow and a minor villain who has been assigned to track down the protagonist.  We aren’t privy to either of the characters’ emotions or thoughts, or even their actions, yet we can discern all of it from dialogue alone.

Third Person Limited 

“She’s had enough of his bullshit.  Something in her snaps, and her open palm collides -- hard -- with the side of his stupid, stupid face.  He touches the red mark she left behind, staring at her like he can’t believe she actually did that.  Good.  Maybe that’ll teach him to stop being such an pugnacious fuckwad.” 

This one is tethered to a specific character, whose thoughts and feelings we are aware of.  However, we are not inside the mind of the character in the same manner as a First Person narrator.

Examples: 

American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

“Shadow had done three years in prison.  He was big enough, and looked don’t-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time.  So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife.”

Though American Gods features an impressive diversity of perspectives, we spend most of the book tethered to the lovable ex-con Shadow Moon.  We are never trapped inside his head, as we would be if the story were First Person, but we know what he is thinking and feeling.  He is our viewpoint character.

The Giver, by Lois Lowry 

“It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened.  No.  Wrong word, Jonas thought.  Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen.  Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice.  He had seen it both times.  Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and then a second later heard the blast of sound that followed.  Then one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane.”

Lois Lowry’s timeless, haunting dystopia is introduced through the guileless eyes of twelve-year-old Jonas.  We are aloud to see the world from his perspective, but the distance of Third Person Limited allows us to feel the horror of each situation with more clarity.  Lowry demonstrates how to utilize POV to one’s advantage, similar to how Neil Gaiman uses Third Person Limited to enhance the horror of his masterful modern fairy tale Coraline.

Multiple Selective Omniscience 

“She decides she’s had enough of his bullshit, and slaps him.  Hard.  Hard enough that her ring leaves a red welt on his cheek.

He feels his eyes go wide, and he touches the side of his face.  He keeps waiting for her to apologize, but her eyes are narrowed and her lips are pursed.  She doesn’t look sorry.”

The viewpoint shifts between characters.  It can be extremely effective, as long as we are aware of when the proverbial camera changes angles.

Examples: 

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith

First of all:  if you haven’t read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, do it.  Do it right now.  It is the piece of classic literature I recommend to everyone who hates classic literature, because it’s devoid of all of the traits that make people hate classic literature to begin with.  It has oodles of complex, idiosyncratic, autonomous, and tough-as-hell female characters, bad language, and frank discussions of sexuality, poverty, and classism.  Read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  

Anyway.  Though its protagonist is Francie Nolan, who, like the eponymous tree, perseveres and thrives against insurmountable odds, the viewpoint bounces around an immense deal, between Francie’s family and neighbors to the most minor side-characters.  Because of this, many people believe that the true protagonist is Brooklyn itself, and the people in it. 

The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, by Ayana Mathis 

This is a captivating, gut-wrenching book, similar to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in its highly effective depiction of poverty.  The book follows the children of Hattie Shepherd, a formerly young and optimistic mother, who lost her firstborn twins to an easily preventable disease in the aftermath of the Great Migration.  The viewpoint changes with each chapter, showing the perspectives of each of her children and how they are haunted by this loss.

The Vacationers, by Emma Straub 

A far cry from its poverty-focused predecessors, this book focuses on the problems of the affluent and privileged.  It is, however, a deeply interesting read, as it swerves between the perspectives of the titular vacationers after a patriarch’s fore into adultery threatens his family and marriage.

Omniscient 

“She decides she’s had enough of his bullshit, and to his surprise, she slaps him.  Hard enough that he feels her ring leave a red welt on his flesh.

He touches his cheek in shock, and stares at her, awaiting an apology.  But she isn’t sorry.  All she feels is satisfaction.” 

Just what it sounds like.  The character is an all-knowing entity.  Or Lemony Snicket.  Perhaps both. 

Examples:  

Everything I Never Told You, by Celeste Ng

“Lydia is dead.  But they don’t know this yet.”

Celeste Ng’s beautiful and haunting novel begins with the wordless affirmation of the narration’s omniscience.  The narrative knows things the characters don’t, though it doesn’t always choose to relay its secrets.  In this case, it doesn’t answer the mystery of Lydia’s death until the very end -- an answer that the characters themselves will never discover.

The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.  Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat:  it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

Tolkien’s book shows us how useful omniscience is for worldbuilding.  He doesn’t need to cleverly sneak this exposition into Bilbo’s dialogue;  he can tell it to us outright, and immediately draw us into this world while doing so. 

Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

“Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it was created at all and didn’t just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being between ten and twenty thousand years ago.  By that same token the earth itself is generally supposed to be about four and a half thousand million years old.  

These dates are incorrect.” 

This delightfully Pratchett-esque opening immediately puts us into a -- literally -- godlike perspective, in which we are given insider information about the start of the universe.  It immediately establishes the tone of this amazing novel:  one in which life and creation are too important to be taken seriously.  And for this purpose, this uniquely omniscient perspective is the only way to go. 

That’s all I’ve got for now, my fellow scribblers!  As you contemplate perspective, just think about how different the same events would look from a two disparate viewpoints.  Even if two people are sharing a moment, that moment is different for both of them.

The perspective isn’t something you tack on to your story.  Oftentimes, it defines your story.  So choose carefully, and don’t be afraid to explore!

Happy writing, everybody!  <3

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 7: The Promise

This is chapter 7 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy! Discord link here.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo (briefly), Ranboo (briefly)

Word count: 3184

Cw: lying, guilt, discussion of death, light angst, implied suicidal thoughts, discussions of loneliness, mentions of food

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur had after this, tried his best to pull himself together. It was one of those things he’d been fairly good at for a while, even if it always left a poor taste in his mouth. He was about to leave, when Ghostbur had added a worried. “What about Tubbo and Ranboo?” which led Wilbur to quietly wander back inside, and mumble an excuse. Though before he left again, he hesitantly added. “How long was I gone?”

“Just now?” Tubbo had asked.

“No no, how long was I dead?” Wilbur said, feeling his own words settling darkly in his throat.

“Oh.” Tubbo said quietly, feeding Michael another fork-full of steak, “About half a year I think.”

The words sent a shiver down Wilbur’s spine, because at least Ghostbur’s grasp on the passage of time was much more unreliable. “Half a year…” Wilbur repeated.

Thirteen and a half years had passed in the train station. He’d been counting the days, so he was certain.

Half a year had passed right here, in the world of the living, because the universe really loved to play cosmic jokes on him.

Right before Wilbur left, Tubbo handed Wilbur some enchanted diamond armor that was battered around the edges. Wilbur absentmindedly accepted without a fuss, because he was a little too frozen to keep any sort of emotional expression. And then he had wandered off once again, despite Tubbo’s protests. That was why he didn’t like telling people when he left. It always provoked protests.

Once Wilbur was finally certain he was alone, standing by a snowbank, he spoke again, “Half a year.” he just said, “I’ve only missed half a year, and yet they’ve missed thirteen and a half of mine.”

“I think it’s been longer, now that I think about it.” Ghostbur pondered.

Wilbur chuckled dryly. “Hm?”

“Yes, I’ve been here for a long time now.” Ghostbur said, “A couple of months I think. Even before you started talking to me.”

Wilbur tasted the bitter words, as he looked as he watched the white snow covering as far as his eyes could see, “Ghostbur…” he near-whispered, “Are my replies ever delayed?”

“Well, it takes you a little while to reply sometimes, but words can be tough! You’ve had problems apologizing, so I figured it was the same for normal words too.” Ghostbur just said.

Wilbur wasn’t sure if what he let out was a sob or intense laughter. It sounded colder than the ice around him, and held only bitter aggravation, and a bit of dry humor. “Time passes differently.” he stated, “Of course time passes fucking differently!” he exclaimed, letting out his arms, gesturing vividly, as he looked down at the ocean. His head was making so much incomprehensible noise that didn’t come from Ghostbur at all. So many thoughts and so many lost causes, that he had no clue how to grasp.

He was Wilbur Soot. Creator and destroyer of L’Manberg. He’d been gone for thirteen and a half years, also known as six months or so, and he had a ghost inside his fucking head. He’d waited so fucking long to get here, and he had so many things to do, and yet all of them appeared to dissolve into incomprehensible nothingness the longer he spent there. 

“Are you okay?” Ghostbur asked, clearly worried. 

Wilbur groaned in frustration, because he didn’t need this. He didn’t need another confrontation, that made him feel his blood pumping uncomfortably through his body. Then, after a moment of silence that must’ve been many more moments to Ghostbur. He laughed again. “I’m fine!” he said, almost unsure if he was sarcastic, “This is grand!”

“Are you sure?” Ghostbur asked, “I-I really don’t mean to doubt you, but when you were on the ground before, and covering your face, I was almost certain something was wrong.”

Wilbur’s laughter ceased. “How did you know that?”

He hadn’t made many sounds. Not too many of them anyhow, but perhaps he’d believe it if Ghostbur had still heard it. What didn’t make sense however, was the specification that Wilbur had been on the ground and had covered his face, because certainly Ghostbur wouldn’t have heard that.

“I… I saw you?” Ghostbur said, as if he was unsure of himself, “Like when you were really cold and Phil gave you that golden apple?”

Pieces began to click together in his mind, and while Wilbur didn’t dislike a good puzzle, this was sort of an unsatisfying kind, “Can you always see me?” Wilbur asked.

“No.” Ghostbur said, “It’s nice when I can, though. I haven’t seen anyone in a long time. People were right when they said you look like me! But, the times I’ve seen you, you didn’t seem very happy.”

“Okay okay okay, let me get this straight...” Wilbur said like a series of huffs, waving his hands vividly to the sides, as if it helped clarify, “So not only can you hear me, and communicate with me… You can also feel what I feel to an extent, and see me sometimes.”

“I think so?” Ghostbur tried, sounding a little more desperate the more Wilbur spoke, “I don’t know why no one else responds when I talk but-”

“Ooh my God, no one can hear you, Ghostbur!” Wilbut exclaimed with more sharpness to the words than he’d intended, “You’re speaking into a void, and somehow I’m picking up on it. Because I guess we’re connected or some shit!” 

Because apparently, Wilbur had to spend more than a decade alone, and Ghostbur was forced to spend an eternity in Wilbur’s head. Both of them drew the short end of the stick. Yet, he didn’t know who’s was shorter. Ghostbur could experience life without having to directly put up with people. Yet, an eternity was much longer than what he went through.

“...oh.” The words were quiet, so quiet that a gust of wind would have covered them easily. “I- Is there a way I can go into their heads? Don’t get me wrong, I love being headbuddies with you! I…” Ghostbur sighed, “I miss them.”

Ghostbur’s loneliness oddly paralleled Wilbur’s. Both couldn’t connect with those that had value to them, and were stuck with each other at the end of the day. Tears managed to come to his eyes, but he wiped them away quickly, “I’ll be there for you.” The words were quick and mumbled to the point where he thought he didn’t even say them, but Ghostbur’s gasp of surprise revealed the contrary. 

“Really?! Oh my gosh we can be experience buddies! Is there an alternative to that, it’s just a bit of a mouthful.” Ghostbur giggled, “It’s sorta like friends, but more right?”

“I suppose so.” Wilbur found a small smile on his face from Ghostbur’s excitement.

“Like friends with benefits! Tommy talked about them once.”

Wilbur almost tripped as he burst out in a laughter that he tried to quiet down, “Gh- Ghostbur-” He could barely get anything out as he laughed. 

“What’s so funny about being friends, Wil?” Ghostbur’s voice was laced with a hint of aggravation that Wilbur found hilarious. The poor ghost really didn’t have his knowledge. 

“No no, it’s a little-” Wilbur tried to calm his laughter and form a straight face, “It’s just a little different than that.” Wilbur was glad Ghostbur couldn’t see his tomato red face.

“Oh, wait, was I supposed to say best friends? Tommy said he used to be that withTubbo! He looked a bit sad afterwards, so maybe best friends aren’t a good thing.” Ghostbur’s discouraged voice hurt Wilbur that it should’ve. 

Wilbur tried to imitate Ghostbur’s usual optimism, “Best friends are really good, but what do you mean that Tommy used to be best friends with him?”

“I don’t remember much of it.” Ghostbur admitted, “It was a bit after he came back from the prison with Dream, I think?” he made a strange noise, “I don’t know, my head is all fuzzy.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said at first, thinking the words through. He tried to look through his own mind, because vague memories of a life that wasn’t truly his, lingered. He thought back to limbo, and those fleeting months, with a familiar face, and tried to connect it with the faded puzzle pieces from Ghostbur’s time among the living. While it made Wilbur’s heart drop, there was a part of him that understood something, and the thought of Tommy returning even after such a short amount of time filled Wilbur with recognition. “After he was revived,” Wilbur stated quietly.

There was a strange silence from Ghostbur, and Wilbur was confused at first, until he heard a small whine from the other, that was covered up quite quickly. “I don’t… I don’t like that word,” Ghostbur said, “I don’t like it anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked, raising an eyebrow, “What’s wrong with it? Isn’t it right? Or-” he stopped himself, but didn’t have time to correct himself before Ghostbur spoke again.

“It’s like death to a ghost.” Ghostbur explained, a hint of melancholy in his tone, “I used to want that! The server needed a strong leader, and you would’ve been perfect for it! But then Tommy returned and…”

“And what?” Wilbur asked after a moment, the words coming out quicker than he’d anticipated.

“I…” Ghostbur tried, the words almost being drowned out by the strained voice, “I don’t remember.” he added, with a little more confidence.

Wilbur’s memories were still hiding from him, yet the implications of Ghostbur’s words left a strange hint of tension in the back of his chest. He tried to shake off the feeling. “Do you forget a lot of things?” Wilbur asked, curiously.

“Oh yes!” Ghostbur said, “I usually… Usually I only remember the happy stuff. Mine and… Mine and yours.”

“Oh?” Wilbur said, even if partially knew that part already. He hadn’t truly considered it much before though. The fact that this ghost was, in fact, made from a part of Wilbur himself, however small. How this was someone that had been shaped by the good alone. That sort of positive outlook wasn't something Wilbur related to at all, and what did that say about him? “Good,” he just said, unsure what else to add, instead just taking note of it for himself.

The two of them remained quiet for a little, or perhaps a lot for Ghostbur, though Wilbur didn’t like thinking about it. He had to, but he didn’t like it. Wilbut Soot, supposedly dead, now back regardless, and with a ghost inside his fucking head. And what was he supposed to do with that?

It was painful in a sense, to have someone there, who he knew was lost. Who he knew he couldn’t save, and who he had told himself he would get rid of somehow. Because Ghostbur wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to spend eternity alone, just as Wilbur had spent thirteen and a half years. It was the only thing that should’ve been reliable in such a situation, and perhaps Wilbur should stick to it. What choice did he have? “I need to get you out of there.” he said, before realizing he’d said it out loud.

“Huh?” Ghostbur said suddenly, a bit of excitement creeping in, “Do you mean it?”

Wilbur paused, “Well… I…” A million thoughts were creeping through his mind every millisecond of hesitation he went through. All of his past deeds, all of the past betrayals, and all the plans he had for the future, that would happen eventually. The way Wilbur just was, whether he liked it or not. The realization he’d had way back then, that perhaps he was the villain of the story, and perhaps he had no choice in the matter, when his beliefs had settled down where they were. The way Wilbur had promised to be there for Ghostbur, and how he knew that promises were more meaningless than most things in life, but that Ghostbur didn’t have enough experience to know. “I’ll try.” Wilbur said, the words committing to something, though he wasn’t sure what. 

“Do you think I can get out of here?” Ghostbur whispered in awe.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Wilbur said, because a little hope was good, for himself and for the ghost, though too much of it, would only serve to wreck the purpose. “I’ll try to get you out.” he said, hardly believing his own words.

“Does that mean we could talk in person? And I could see everyone again?” Ghostbur asked.

 “Maybe.” Wilbur said non committedly. “We’ll have to look for more information about this whole thing. Who knows? Maybe there is a way.”

“That would be amazing!” Ghostbur exclaimed, and Wilbur could practically hear the smile through the words.

Wilbur didn’t smile much, but simply exhaled slowly. “What would you do, Ghostbur? If you came back?” It was a strange question for him to ask, but one that entered his mind nonetheless. For meaningless smalltalk perhaps, though it was something he genuinely wanted to know, because it was a difficult question to answer, wasn’t it?

“Hmm.” Ghostbur said thoughtfully, “Well I guess I would tell Friend I missed him.”

“No no.” Wilbur said, “I mean like long-term.”

“Oh! Well, I suppose I would tell everyone that I missed them!” he exclaimed with twice as much excitement.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. He realized the ghost only ‘lived’ for six months, his definition of long-term was much different than Wilbur’s. “What did you like doing while you were here- other than having friends.” Wilbur quickly said the last bit to avoid an answer he’s already heard.

“Well… I liked taking care of Friend? I’m not sure if that counts as ‘having friends’ though. Music always seemed neat, but people got sad whenever I did it.” Ghostbur’s melancholic tone transitioned to a hopeful joy that was on the edge of denial, “But I’m sure when I’m back I’ll find lots of fun things to do!”

Wilbur shivered. The armor helped protect against the cold, but it wasn’t an ideal situation nonetheless. “Is Friend someone in particular?”

Ghostbur gasped, “Oh, Friend would love you, he’s nice just like you are, even if the both of you have a little bit of attitude.”

Wilbur faked being offended, “I do not have an attitude.”

“Hmm, I haven’t known you for long, but I’ve got the feeling you have one.”

Wilbur sighed quietly. A moment fell silent in the air. Wilbur’s eyes drooped slightly. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but he was tired. Tired enough where he could fall asleep in the snow, but he knew how dangerous that was. “Well, if I’ve got an attitude then you do too.”

Ghostbur was about to counterclaim his point when he continued, “‘Cause you’re in my head, and therefore you’ve got an attitude as well.”

Ghostbur huffed, “But if you think about it, I’m not really in your head. I’m at this weird train place that you don’t like. Wait- why do you not like it? Is it something in particular or do you just not like anything?”

Wilbur wished his silence could speak for him, but Ghostbur continued, “It would make a bunch of sense if you didn’t like stuff in general. You don’t seem very happy and you leave stuff for no reason. Like this weird place! I mean- it’s a bit… empty in here but it’s not as bad when you’re here.”

Wilbur didn’t know why, but something pulled on his chest when Ghostbur said that. He should have scowled and said he didn’t want Ghostbur’s thoughts anywhere near him, but the ghost… the ghost tricked him somehow. The ghost must’ve whispered into his ear when he wasn’t paying attention since he barely acknowledged what he said, “I’m going to get you out of there.” It was said with a warmness and sincerity that surprised Wilbur.

“That would be nice. Maybe then we can be together and do friend stuff?” Ghostbur’s voice held a deepness to it that Wilbur guessed was from his tiredness rubbing onto the ghost.

Wilbur chuckled, “Yeah, friend stuff.”

Ghostbur hummed happily, “Best friend stuff?”

Wilbur exhaled out of his nose as a laugh and continued walking forward. There wasn’t much in front of him, mostly a barren white landscape. The scenery almost reminded him of when he saw Phil for the first time in thirteen and a half years- well, now six months apparently. The idea was still new to him.

“Wilbur?” Ghostbur’s voice held something Wilbur couldn’t identify. Almost a cloudiness of sorts that made his words slightly transparent and muddled. 

“Yeah, Ghostie?”

“Can we do best friend stuff? It’s okay if you want only friend stuff.”

Wilbur quietly giggled, “Yeah yeah, we’ll do ‘best friend stuff.’” Wilbur felt a strange resistance within himself. The words seemed sharp to him despite his tone being soft. It turned and lingered in him in a way that reminded him of an unpleasant nostalgia- one filled with a sorrow that never left. 

Why was Wilbur even agreeing to such a false promise? He didn’t have a clue how to get Ghostbur out, and yet he was promising what to do when the ghost returned to the overworld. He realized he didn’t even think if the ghost returned. Perhaps Ghostbur’s naïveness was rubbing off of Wilbur. 

But Ghostbur didn’t have anyone else, so he might as well pretend for his sake. Wilbur could hear the enthusiasm from Ghostbur’s voice, “Great! I’m so excited to get out!”

Commensalism symbiosis. One species benefits while the other is unaffected.

False hope. Ghostbur benefitted while Wilbur should’ve been unaffected. There shouldn’t be any guilt that got heavier with every step he took. He should’ve been unaffected for Ghostbur’s sake. He should.

But now, there was at the very least a matter at hand to acknowledge. A temporary plan, that Wilbur could work towards, so he could finally get started on all the things he wanted to do. So, Wilbur took a shaky breath, and let it out as if that was enough to clear his mind. “Alright then…” he said, “Do you remember anything we might be able to use? Any places that could help us?” 

Ghostbur hummed in deep thought. “How about L’Manberg? There used to be books, and- oh, isn’t it the place you woke up when you came back? I think I remember something about that!”

Wilbur nodded and smiled widely. “Yes, of course!” he jumped down from a pile of snow he’d been standing on, and looked towards the nether portal. He paused before he spoke, “To L’Manberg it is.” He swallowed something in his throat, not too fond of the idea of entering the nether once more.

Having a purpose again felt nice however, because Wilbur strived so wonderfully when he had one of those. Perhaps he could ignore the dark thoughts, and the grim inevitability. Because Wilbur knew how to get what he wanted. Whether it was to declare an independent nation or to reduce it to a crater in the ground.

[fanfictionaries]

Your Little Ritual

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X female reader

Summary: You and Bucky have started your own weird little ritual when it comes to being stuck in hotel rooms on missions. At first it’s fairly innocent. Until it isn’t.  

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mutual masturbation

Author’s Note: Inspired by THIS audio because...damn. Listening to the audio with the story is advised!

I have no beta reader. So I apologize for any typos or grammatical errors. I didn’t go over this very in-depth. I just really wanted to get it out. 

***

It had all started very innocently, this weird little ritual you and Bucky now shared. Never in your life did you think it would have propelled into what it was now. You swore by that. One night, after a complication with the mission plans had arisen, you found yourself in a hotel room with Bucky awaiting further orders. Steve had informed you that a response on how to proceed wouldn’t come until the next day. He had told you to head to the hotel and sit tight while they tried to work through the logistics. No big deal. Things like this happened all the time. In fact, only a few months prior you had gotten stranded in Belize with Sam and Wanda after you had discovered your intel was compromised. Seven days and nights in a bed bug ridden motel had put the three of you on such edge that you and Wanda had almost come to blows. And she was easily your best friend. A single night in a nice, clean hotel wasn’t the worst thing in the world. In fact, it could have easily been considered a mini vacation as you and Bucky had raided the vending machines that night before jumping onto the big king size bed and flipping on the TV.

You were digging into the assortment of chips, candy, and soda when Bucky asked you what you would probably consider to this day to be the weirdest question anyone has ever asked you.

“Hey (Y/N), what’s Wetter the Better? I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

You stopped, mid-bite into a twinkie, and looked over to him and then the TV. Sure enough, there on the channel guide was Wetter the Better playing from 9-10pm on channel 581. You couldn’t help but let a snort out through your nose as you bit down into the overly sweet cake and synthetic filling.

“That’s a porno Bucky Boy. I’d be more concerned if you had seen it. No one pays for porn anymore,” you stated bluntly, mouth full of twinkie.

“Seriously?” Bucky asked, looking at the television with a bewildered expression.

“Yea, with all the free sites online, why pay someone to watch people get it on?” you continued, taking another bite and picking out a bag of Doritos from the pile of junk.

“No. Not—I mean. You can get pornographic movies on TV? Can just anyone watch it or?” Bucky questioned, turning to you with a curious expression.

“Wait. How do you not know about porn Bucky? Haven’t you like…been around?” you asked, utterly confused by what was going on at that moment, “Like I understand why Steve might not know about it, but…”

“I know what porn is,” Bucky rolled his eyes, “Obviously I’ve heard of it. But I’ve never seen it. Most definitely didn’t know they’d just have it on the TV like this where anyone can see it. Children even!”

“Not everyone can see it. You have to pay for it. Here look,” you leaned over and grabbed the remote from his hand and clicked on the movie title. Up popped a screen asking if you’d like to purchase the channel for a flat rate of $20 a day. “I’m still confused. How do you not know about this? Porno channels have been around since before the 90’s and I’m pretty sure you were Winter Soldiering about the normal world then.”  

“Well yea, but I spent half of it frozen and the other half well…let’s just say he didn’t have much of an interest in sex, let alone watching others have sex,” admitted Bucky, scratching his neck and discretely looking back at the television.

“Bucky…” you lingered, unsure if your assessment of the situation was correct or not, “do you want to watch the porno movie?”

Bucky blushed, looking away from you.

“Oh my god! You do!”

“(Y/N)…” whined Bucky, obviously embarrassed.

“We totally can if you want,” you said, smiling from ear to ear at the poor man sitting at the end of the bed.

“What?” Bucky turned to you, his voice dripping with surprise, “Won’t that be…I don’t know, weird?”

“Only if you make it weird,” you shrugged, “You’ve lived a deprived life Bucky Boy. I think if you want to buy a porno movie in a hotel, you should be able to. Plus, sometimes they’re really cheesy and funny. We might get a good laugh.”

“Okay…okay yea. Let’s do it,” decided Bucky, grabbing a Baby Ruth and scooting back to sit against the headboard. His body almost vibrated in excitement as you proceeded to buy porn on Tony Stark’s dime and clicked ‘Play’.

And so, the night had gone as such. In the beginning, Bucky was like a teenage boy seeing a Playboy in his dad’s basement for the first time. He stared in wide-eyed amazement as the music began to play and the camera focused on the overly done-up, but impressively attractive woman on screen. Then, as it played on, very quickly did you both realize how incredibly ridiculous the movie actually was. Between bad dialogue, poor acting, and the obviously fake moans, the two of you were in tears. You laughed and joked around as you continued to snack and watch. Near the end, however, the movie took a turn and the last scene had become a little more believable and a little less hilarious. By the end, Bucky had cleared his throat and made a casual comment about taking a shower. You nodded, telling him to take his time. It was very clear that you both needed a bit of private time.

And so, a ritual had been born.

Every time you and Bucky found yourselves spending an evening together in a hotel room, it was expected that you’d end up watching a porno, laughing your asses off and then occasionally parting ways to take care of certain needs if required. It should have felt weird. It should have been weird. You both knew that. It was the reason you didn’t tell anyone about it. But still, you both seemed to bond over the act. Inside jokes were formed, good times were had. You liked to think of it as the oddest coworker team building exercise in the world. And that’s all it was.

Until it wasn’t.

That particular night had started out like any other. You and Bucky were stuck in a grungy little motel somewhere in the Midwest. You had raided the vending machines, you were sitting on the bed, as Bucky scrolled through the TV guide to find the porn channel. The only difference this night was that the bed was smaller than usual. Often you and Bucky had to get rooms with only one bed. The guise of a couple staying the night on a road trip was much more believable and did well to cover your tracks. However, you usually tried to get rooms with at least a queen mattress. Bucky was a big guy and you liked to flop around in your sleep. Or so he told you. But, the motel in question only had rooms with doubles left. And that was fine. You could both deal with that no problem.

“What’s playing tonight at the Skinemax theatre Bucky Boy?” you asked, crossing one ankle over the other as you took a sip of orange soda. You placed in on the side table next to you and hugged a throw pillow close to your chest.

“Well, we have what appears to be a parody of The Wizard of Oz or The Sex Therapist.”

“My vote would be for the second one. I actually like The Wizard of Oz, I don’t think I need it ruined by a bad porn parody,” you confessed. Bucky nodded in agreement, pressing play on The Sex Therapist and popping an M&M into his mouth.

“I can’t wait to see how bad this is gonna’ be,” said Bucky, getting comfortable.

“I know right? Probably some guy in glasses telling a girl the only way to cure her mental issues is to fuck it out of her,” you snorted, exchanging a look with Bucky. You were both fairly familiar with the bad porn tropes at this point. In fact, one of your favorite parts of your ritual was trying to predict what was going to happen.

The screen changed from the title to the opening scene and what you saw took you by surprise for a second. The main actor happened to look a little like Bucky. Not exactly, but the resemblance was still enough to make you feel slightly awkward. He wasn’t as muscular as Bucky, but he shared the same shoulder length brown hair and rough stubble over his jaw.

“Awww Bucky Boy, why didn’t you tell me you stared in porn on the side?” you teased, hoping to distill any tension. You turned to look at him, titling your head to the side in a condescending manner.

“Shut up, I could say the same thing about you,” Bucky pointed to the screen and you turned back to see a woman who sure enough kind of resembled you. She was a little shorter than you, but you shared the same hair and eye color, as well as similar noses.

Very quickly, the two of you realized that this was unlike the porn movies you usually watched. It was…good. Really good. The acting was believable. The plot was well thought out. The actors shared a genuine chemistry and it was...hot. Very hot. Then of course to top it all off, it didn’t help that if you squinted it was almost like watching you and Bucky having hot and heavy sex right in front of you. A heat began to pool in your stomach that slowly swirled and coursed through your body. Hugging the pillow in your arms closer, you made the embarrassing realization that your nipples were rock hard. The friction of the pillow against them made you squirm in your spot on the bed. Suddenly, you were very aware of Bucky sitting next to you, close enough to touch. You glanced over, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He appeared to be just as uncomfortable as you were. An obvious bulge starting to form in his sweats.

You cleared your throat, “Wanna’ get under the covers? It’s a bit cold in here,” you said, hoping to give you both an excuse to hide. Him, to cover his budding erection, and you to conceal the way your thighs clenched together. He graciously took the excuse, agreeing and slipping under the covers with you.

The two of you continued to watch, both afraid to admit that either of you were turned on by the movie in front of you. A pool of arousal was beginning to form in your underwear, as a particularly intense scene play on where the man had the woman bent over a desk as he spanked her ass over and over again. Bucky coughed into his hand, shifting under the blankets, his elbow bumping yours. At the contact, you jumped away from each other, Bucky muttering a few nervous apologies. It was clear that you were both feeling the effects of the movie in full force.

“You’re fine, um, this is…something,” you commented, your face heating.

“Yea, uh, yea. Very…well done,” said Bucky, not looking away from the screen.

“You know…” you began the sentence not knowing where it was going and surprising even yourself when you finished it, “if you wanted to…you know. I wouldn’t, um, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You mean…” Bucky started, looking over at you skeptically.

“I just mean, this is pretty intense. I would understand if you needed to take care of…things.”

“You mean if I wanted to get myself off,” Bucky chuckled, “You don’t see anything weird with that?”

“Well when you say it like that it is,” you rolled your eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I just go into the other room?”

“Because then you wouldn’t be able to watch the movie,” you responded, wanting to kick yourself. What were you saying? Why were you continuing to talk? It was like all the blood and common sense had left your brain and was now currently residing in your throbbing clit.

“You know what, never mind. It’s not like I was going to look or anything. Just a suggestion. Forget I—”

“Okay.”

“What?” It was your turn to look at the man beside you in surprise.

“Okay,” Bucky repeated himself resolutely before stammering on, “I guess, I wouldn’t mind either if you, ya know.”  

You nodded, turning your attention back to the screen. Neither of you moved at first, almost as if you were both afraid to be the first to take the other up on their offer. But then, the ache and need deep in your core began to overtake you once again as you watched the way the Bucky look-alike entered the woman slowly from behind as he bit her shoulder animalistically. Slowly, you lowered your hand down your chest and into your sleep shorts. At first you merely rubbed yourself through your panties, allowing yourself to press against your palm, letting the pressure give you some relief. You struggled to keep your breathing even, as you watched the two on screen pant and moan as they clung to each other, sweaty and wrecked. Your arousal was becoming so great, that the cotton material under your fingers was damp, molding to the outline of your folds. Eyes glued to the two gorgeous actors, you slipped your fingers below your last barrier and made contact with your wet sex.

A gasp escaped your throat as the pads of your fingers grazed your clit, the small bud swollen and sensitive. Bucky inhaled sharply in response to your small outburst. You stilled, embarrassed by the noise you had made and glanced over at Bucky as discretely as possible. Some of your embarrassment was dissolved when you observed the subtle movement of the blankets near Bucky’s groin. With a deep and steady breath, you turned your attention back to the movie and began to explore your folds. Dipping a single finger down, you collected some of your moisture and brought it back up, circling around your clit but not making direct contact. You teased yourself, building yourself as if you had all the time in world. The whole while, the weight of what exactly you were doing hung heavy in the air. You were in a bed with James Buchanan Barnes, your coworker and friend, watching a porno and masturbating. You’d never done anything like it in your life. No one had ever been present when you touched yourself. Even when you were in relationships. Equally so, you’d never been present when someone else masturbated. At least, not to your knowledge. It was such an intimate act. Intimate and incredibly taboo.

Before you knew it, your eyes were closed, and you no longer cared about the television screen in front of you. No, instead you allowed yourself to get off to the erotic scene around you. Bucky’s heavy breathing filled your ears, the small catches and strained noises he made spurred you on. That combined with the wet sounds from your centered had you so hot that it felt like you could combust at any moment. Reaching further down, you slipped a single finger inside of you and moaned lightly at the feeling, unable to stop yourself and really not caring at this point. It’s not like he didn’t know what you were doing.

Out of instinct, your legs spread, knees pulling up as you fingered yourself. That’s when it happened, your left leg made contact with Bucky’s bare thigh. Without thinking, you reached out with your left hand towards him, apologizing as your palm landed on his hip. You both stilled. Opening your eyes, you turned your head and met Bucky’s eyes.

“I…I um,” you struggled for words as you took in what you had just done. God, you had ruined it, “Sorry, I’ll—”

You went to finally move your hand away but were surprised when a cold metal hand locked around your wrist. You stared into the depths of Bucky’s blue eyes. He looked hungry, desperate, pleading. Licking your lips, you followed his silent command, pressing your hand back and firmer against his hip right where the material of his boxers met the exposed skin of his midriff. He closed his eyes with a shuddered breath and let his head fall back against the pillow. You stared at him for a few moments more, watching the way the blankets shifted as his hand moved up and down over his length beneath them. Eyes tracing his profile, you realized just how good-looking Bucky was. His features were a delicate mix of hard and soft, feminine and masculine. His plump lips were parted in pleasure and heavy breaths passed his lips as he continued to pleasure himself. A few moments passed before you realized that you had resumed your ministrations under the blanket. You had been so swept up in watching Bucky that you hadn’t realized just how much of a mess you were. The slick between your legs was so great, your hand was soaked, slipping easily inside of you and throughout your folds. Bringing your hand up, you rubbed your clit lightly. Your left hand clenched, fingernails digging into Bucky’s hip.

“Fuck!” Bucky moaned, his head pressing into the pillow behind him, “Do that again,” he growled, his eyes closed tightly. You did as you were told, digging your nails into the exposed skin on his hip as you rubbed your clit. The sounds he made were so delectable, so erotic. They spurred you on, your own quiet moans falling from your lips. If you could make him moan like that from touching his hip, you couldn’t imagine the type of noises he’d make if you touched him. Actuallytouched him. Feeling bold, you slid your hand down until you reached him. Cautiously, you pushed his own hand away until it was only you wrapped around his hard length. The gorgeous man lying beside you gasped at the feel of your hand.

“Oh my god. Fuck, god!” he moaned, reaching out grasp your thigh in pleasure. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thigh, spurring on your own arousal. You now understood why the feeling of your hand on his hip had turned him on so much. The feeling of someone so close, but not quite there as you pleasured yourself was thrilling.

Bucky’s whines and moans filled the room, growing louder and more desperate as you continued to stroke him. Up and down. Up and down. You continued to pleasure yourself, your own orgasm rising and building. But it wasn’t nearly as important to you as getting Bucky there. You wanted to be the one to get him there. You wanted to hear the sweet noises he made when he finally toppled over the edge.

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes!” he growled out the last ‘yes’, the sound deep and guttural and oh so delicious. It pushed you further towards your own peak, but you wouldn’t, couldn’t finish until he did. You needed it. You released him, reaching your left hand in between your legs before returning it slick with your own arousal. Faster, you stroked him, twisting your wrist and swirling around the tip with just the right amount of pressure. The lubrication from your sex making it easier. Bucky seemed to agree as every muscle in his body seemed to tense. His fingernail dug into the delicate flesh of your thigh, sure to leave indentations later. But you didn’t care because with a few more harsh pulls, he was cumming. The warm wetness of his released covered your hand, dripping down your arm.

“Fuuuuuck yes! (Y/N) oh my god,” exclaimed Bucky.

The sensation of his warm seed mixed with the sound of his release sent you over the edge. You tensed, fingers stilling over your clit as you rode out your own orgasm. Electricity shooting throughout your whole body as you spasmed and shook.

The two of your lay there, catching your breath before you finally extricated your hand from Bucky’s softening erection. You let it fall onto the mattress beside you, your body heavy and satisfied. Bucky’s hand remained on your thigh, rubbing up and down soothingly. Turning your head, you found him already looking at you, a satisfied smile spread across his face.

“So, can we make that a regular part of hotel porno nights?” asked Bucky, causing you both to let out small chuckles.

“Yes. It’s definitely part of the ritual now.”

Everything Tag List:

@caffiend-queen

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Come On So Heavy || Joe Mazzello x fem!Reader

summary || you like your friend joe. you really like your friend joe. but you don’t know if he likes you back. maybe all it takes to find out the truth is a little (a lot) of liquid courage.

rating || explicit (18+ only). do not read if you are under eighteen. semi-public sex, unprotected sex, sex while under the influence of alcohol

word count || 3.8k

author’s notes || i stumbled across this half-finished fic while looking for something else, and decided to finish it off and post it! hope everyone is doing all right with social isolation. the title is from ‘get down, make love’, bc of course it is. this fic is... she’s a real messy one. i usually don’t write or post unprotected sex, but both people in this fic are very drunk. enjoy their shenanigans, but please don’t use this as guidance as to what safe sex is lmao. also this gif just too good not to use for a drunk joe fic sdfjsdflkdfsa

masterlist

     You raise your hand, and rap your knuckles on the door. You can hear the sounds of a pregame coming from inside, and, in a few seconds, the door in wrenched open.

    It’s Joe, unexpectedly - this isn’t his house - and your heart leaps so dramatically in your ribcage that it feels like it almost jumps out of your body entirely. “[Y/N]!” he crows, throwing his hands into the air, and you immediately know that he’s already had quite a bit to drink.

    “Hey, Joe,” you say with a grin.

    “Come in, c’mon.” He takes you by the wrist and tows you inside, and you have to kick the door closed behind you, because he just keeps on dragging you until you’re in the living room. “Look who it is, everybody!”

    You wave hello to your group of friends, and everyone greets you enthusiastically. The room is scattered with empty bottles and cans, and there’s a half-finished bowl of chips on the coffee table.

    “Can I get you a drink?” Joe asks, and he’s standing closer than he normally would, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and you suddenly forget how to speak.

    “Um– uh, y– yeah– no, actually, I brought my own. But thank you.”

    “Okay,” Joe says with a chuckle. He shoves a hand into his pocket, cradling his beer close to his chest. “You look, um– I like your…” He gestures vaguely to you with his beer.

    You giggle, and you kind of hate yourself for giggling. “My…?”

    “Your, like, everything,” Joe says with a grin.

    Oh, God, the butterflies. The butterflies in your stomach. They’re unbearable.

    “Thank you,” you say. Play it cool, play it off as a joke, don’t make it weird. “I also like your, like, everything.”

    “Oh, well, thank you very much,” Joe says, holding out his arms a little, like he’s presenting himself. He’s wearing nothing too unusual, just jeans and a nice collared shirt, but he could be wearing nothing but moth-eaten rags and you’d still be stupidly attracted to him.

    The way he looks at you makes you think that maybe he feels the same way about you. But you’re never quite sure. You’ve been crushing on him for over a year now, but you’re too scared to initiate anything. He broke up with his last girlfriend, Trish, almost a year ago, but it was pretty messy, and you don’t want to make him feel pressured. He hasn’t really tried dating anyone since then, so you’re fairly sure that’s an indicator that he’s still recovering.

    Which is fine. You’re fine with that. You’re fine to just be hopelessly in love from afar.

     The problem is you’re not very good at hiding it. Maybe Joe likes the attention, maybe he likes you back, you don’t know. You don’t like to think about it too much if you can help it – it’s too confusing.

    Whatever. You’re just happy to be around him.

-

    By the time you’re all heading to the club, not a single person is sober. Barely anyone is just tipsy anymore – you’re all drunk. Not blackout by any means, but the security at the door gives you all the hair eyeball before reluctantly letting you into the club.

    You can’t remember the last time you went out clubbing. As soon as you walk in, you suddenly remember why. The ear-splitting music, the crush of people, the sticky floors, the stupidly long lines to the bar. Not to mention the price of drinks.

    But then Joe’s hand is on the small of your back, and he’s leaning in to yell into your ear, “Want a drink?” and suddenly maybe the club isn’t so bad anymore.

    Joe buys you a shot, and you knock it back in one. He raises his eyebrows, impressed, and you give him a scathing look that you hope conveys, That really isn’t something to be impressed with. He has a shot himself, and pours it down his throat, and only coughs and winces a little bit. He gives you an expectant look, and you make a face and shake your head. He pouts and gives you the finger, and you laugh.

    You lean into him as you laugh. Luckily, you can blame it on the alcohol. You end up on the dancefloor. Joe likes to pretend that he can dance, but it’s not really the sort of dancing that suits a club, and he always takes himself a little too seriously when he does it. But you think it’s sweet that he puts in the effort.

    Then he gets that look in his eye – that look that tells you he’s about to do or say something that he thinks will be hilarious – and he shimmies closer to you, and then turns around so his back is to you, and pretends to grind on you.

    You scream and flail away, laughing and pushing him off you. “Joe!”

    He grins delightedly, ever so pleased with himself, and you hide your face behind your hand. He takes your hand and tugs you a bit closer. “Not up to scratch?” he teases.

    You shake your head. “Terrible.”

    “What?”

    “I said, you’re terrible.”

    “What was that? You said you’d show me how to do it properly?”

    You gape at him and take your hand back to smack him in the chest, and he laughs.

    “You couldn’t handle it,” you say.

    Joe’s eyebrows raise, and he says, “Think I could.”

    Oh, no, now you’re getting turned on, and you know you should diffuse the situation, because it’s probably just the alcohol talking and Joe doesn’t really like you that way, he’s just flirting for the fun of it, and you don’t want him to do anything he’d regret, and now you’re taking this far too seriously when all he’s doing is just having some fun, stop overthinking everything and just relax for once.

    “Oh, you couldn’t handle anything I do,” you say challengingly.

    You’re almost nose-to-nose now, and your body feels hot, and your heart is racing like a stallion. You’ve stopped dancing now, but you don’t even feel the people moving around you, bumping into you.

    Joe’s eyes drop to your lips, and half of you is screaming that you should stop this, and the other half is screaming at you to go for it, but then the decision is taken from your hands when someone spills half their drink on Joe, and he flinches away from you, spitting out a curse.

-

    “Yuck,” Joe whines. You’re both in the outside section now, where all the smokers hang out, but at least it’s marginally easier to talk, and the cool night air is helping dry Joe’s shirt. The beer’s all down his side, and on his arm, too, although he’s already been to the bathroom to wash it off.

    “What a jackass,” you say in sympathy.

    “Yeah.” Joe grimaces, and shifts. “Gonna smell of cigarette smoke too.”

    “Yup.” You sigh. “This is why I don’t go out anymore.”

    “Mm.”

    The tension from before is gone entirely, which, despite yourself, is really fucking frustrating. You’re still horny, and the alcohol is not helping, but you’d gotten yourself all worked up, and now there’s no outlet for it.

    You rub your hands over your thighs. “Do you know where the others have ended up?”

    Joe watches a group of people across the way laughing and talking. None of them can even stand up straight. “Nope,” he says.

    “Just us, then.”

    Joe looks to you, and there’s still something lingering in his gaze. “Could be worse.”

    Your stomach flips. “Guess so.”

    “Can I buy you another drink?” he says.

    You snort in amusement. “You wanna go back in there?”

    “I want some more alcohol. Gotta make some sacrifices.”

    When you re-enter the inside area and the crowd is once again suffocating, he reaches behind him and takes your hand.

    When you reach the bar, it takes him a while to let go.

    You buy the drinks this time, despite his protests, and you find yourselves on the edge of the dancefloor, not quite in with the crowd, but still very much in the dancing zone.

    The extra alcohol really starts to hit you a few minutes later, and you definitely feel unstable on your feet. It looks like Joe’s in a similar boat, and you’re both dancing, but it’s more just shuffling around, bopping to the beat, trying not to trip over your own feet.

    It doesn’t take long for you to find the nearest wall to lean against, pretending it’s all part of your plan to try to do something sexy, some hot sliding down the wall or something, but really you’re just tired of standing properly. Joe’s still swaying in front of you, and you don’t think he’s really on beat anymore but it’s hard to tell.

    He tries to do some silly dancing against you again, but a blind man could see that it’s just an excuse to get near you again and make you laugh, and he’s only really half-committing to the joke. You laugh anyway and push at him lightly.

    “You don’t like it?” he says.

    “Hate it.”

    “Oh, man,” Joe complains. “I can’t win. What do you like?”

    “I like–” But, somehow, you manage to swallow the end of the sentence.

    “What?” Joe says, and he moves in close to you, and you know he could hear you just fine before, but it thrills you to know that he’s wanting to stand this close to you.

    Unthinkingly, you slip a finger into the waistband of his jeans, tugging him even closer. “I like a man who takes charge,” you say into his ear, although you’re not quite sure why you say it.

    Joe pulls back, searching your face with somewhat glassy eyes. “Yeah?”

    You nod, biting your lip. The world swoops and swims around you.

    Joe licks his lips. “Bit stereotypical,” he says, and it’s a joke, but he seems too distracted – or too drunk – to put in the proper effort to play it up for laughs.

    You shrug a shoulder. “Just how it is.”

    Joe props his hand against the wall beside your head, and, his eyes watching your face, his other hand brushes over your side. Your breath catches, and, seeing your reaction, his hand comes to rest more firmly on your waist. 

    You know that alcohol is a depressant, it’s meant to dull your senses, so why Joe’s hand feels more real and warm and firm that anything else you’ve ever felt in your life, you don’t know.

    “I’m…” But, luckily, you swallow that sentence too.

    Joe’s other hand moves from the wall to your other side, and you instinctively pull him closer. He’s pressing you against the wall, and you can barely remember how to breathe. You’ve never felt more turned on in your life.

    “What?” he says.

    Your hands rest against his chest. “I’m– I–”

    Then he kisses you.

    It’s not gentle, either. It’s rough, and hot, and messy and desperate, all right off the bat. You whimper against his mouth, wrapping your hands around his neck, and his hands tighten on your waist.

    Now you’re those people. Those people who make out in a club, far too passionately to be appropriate where a whole room full of strangers can see, but, Jesus Christ, you don’t care.

    Joe’s a good kisser, even as drunk as he is, and when he pulls away to kiss your neck, you think you might die.

    “Joe,” you say breathlessly. “Joe, I–”

    He hums against your skin, and raises his head. His lips are kiss-swollen, his hair a disaster from your fingers.

    In that moment, the only thing you can think to say is, “I’m really– I’m so– I’m really fucking... turned on. Right now.”

    Joe laughs, and kisses you once, then pulls away. “Don’t ask me why, but you’re really cute when you’re desperately horny,” he says.

    You smile sheepishly.

    Joe kisses you again, and one of his hands brushes along your ribs, just under your breast, and you whine shakily, needy, pressing into him. He moans, and you can’t hear it over the music, but you can feel the vibrations, and he reluctantly pulls away again to say into your ear, “C’mon.”

-

    You burst into the disabled bathroom, stumbling, and Joe grabs your arm to steady you. You fall into him, giggling, and he wraps his arms around you, trying in vain to shush you, but he’s laughing himself. Twisting in his arms, you throw hook your elbows over his shoulders and pull him in for a kiss, and the two of you stagger blindly to the nearest wall, teeth colliding, noses bumping.

    The breath is punched out of you when you hit the wall, but you barely even notice, clawing at the back of Joe’s shirt, rucking it up, getting your hands on his bare skin. He pushes your skirt up to your waist, and you moan breathlessly into his mouth.

    “You gonna fuck me?” you ask him as he breaks away to press sloppy kisses to your throat.

    “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough, and it sounds so hot that you have to close your eyes. But then the world spins, so you wrench them open again.

    You paw at Joe’s jeans. “Off,” you demand, and Joe sways away from you, frowning down at his jeans, yanking at the button. You shimmy your underwear down to your ankles, and when Joe glances up at you, his eyes immediately latch onto your bare cunt. “Oh… my God,” he mumbles.

    You absentmindedly, impatiently, start fingering yourself, just a bit, just wanting to feel good and get some relief. “Come on,” you urge Joe. “Want you in me.”

    Joe finally manages the button, and only undoes the fly halfway, shoving his jeans and underwear down to his knees, and pressing himself to you, kissing you passionately. His hand replaces yours, and you fumble for his cock, pumping it, playing with it, getting it hard, and Joe’s panting shakily against your lips, his fingers clumsily circling your clit. His other hand tugs at the strap of your shirt, pulling it halfway down your arm, followed by your bra strap, and he yanks your bra down your chest a little, shoving his hand inside to knead your breast. You arch into him, moaning his name, and he responds with yours, bucking into your hand.

    “Turn around,” he mumbles, and you do, shuffling, and he grabs your hip with one hand and pushes on your back with the other, bending you over, making you moan far too loudly, the sound echoing in the bathroom.

    You feel the head of his cock sliding through your cunt, just teasing, and you push your hips back. “C’mon, do it,” you say.

    “Tell me you want it,” Joe says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

    “I want you to fuck me,” you say. “Please, come on, I’m so…”

    “You want me to fuck your tight little pussy?”

    “Yeah, I want it.”

    “Fuck.” Joe moans. “You’re so wet.”

    You whine. “Joe, please.”

    Joe breathes out shakily, and then he pushes into you, and you both moan at the sensation. 

    You hold yourself up against the wall with your arms, and your legs are already trembling. You’re about to beg Joe to move, but then he does, pulling out and driving into you again, and you gasp, and then it’s all you can do to stay upright as he fucks you hard and fast. Moans and pleas and whines are tumbling from your mouth of their own accord, and your fingers grapple for something to hold onto on the wall, and every grunt and moan of Joe’s makes you weak.

    Then he’s slowing down, and he draws away, pulling at your shoulder. “Wanna see your face,” he says breathlessly, and you let him manhandle you, turning you around again, and he presses you against the wall, kissing you deeply.

    You try hiking one leg up over his hip, but it’s too hard to stay balanced, so you shake your head, and mumble against his lips, “Sink, sink.”

    “Huh?”

    “Fuck me over the sink.”

    You both stagger over to the sink, and the reasonably sturdy-looking island it’s built into, and you hop up onto it, grappling with your underwear, pulling it off over your shoes. You tug Joe close to you, between your legs, hooking your ankles over the small of his back, and he wraps an arm firmly around your waist, sinking into you again.

    You lean back against the wall to find a better angle, keeping one hand on Joe’s shoulder, and he leans forward, mouthing at the swell of your partially-exposed breast.

    “Fuck, Joe,” you moan, and your eyes focus on where his cock is disappearing into you, and you find yourself fixated on the sight. It makes your whole body feel hot, like your blood is on fire.

    Joe takes your arm, tugs you forward again so he can kiss you, and he pulls you closer by your hips. “Shit,” he gasps against your lips. “You feel so good.”

    You press your forehead to his, occasionally nipping at each other’s lips, like you’re trying to kiss but you’re too focused on the movement of your bodies together to really try. He speeds up, his hips snapping against yours.

    “You gonna come?” you pant.

    “Yeah,” Joe grunts. “Shit.”

    You wriggle a hand in between your bodies and start touching yourself, and your pulse spikes, and you whine.

    “Fuck, I’m…” Joe’s arms shake, his rhythm stuttering. “Where– where d’you want it?”

    “In me, want it in me,” you blurt out.

    “You sure?”

    “Yeah, it’s fine, just wanna feel it, fuck.”

    Joe presses a searing kiss to your mouth, and you’re rubbing your clit furiously with one hand and clawing at the back of his shirt with the other, and then he breaks away to bury his face into your neck, moaning brokenly as he comes inside you, and you grip him to you, wanting to milk every so drop from him, feel it all inside you.

    He pants against your skin, kissing your neck, and then he lifts his head to kiss your lips. “Shit,” he sighs, and his mouth is soft and pliant, his eyes warm on your face when he draws back to look at you.

    You haven’t come yet. You don’t know whether to say anything about it or not. But you give Joe a smile anyway, and give him a brief kiss of your own.

    He pulls out of you, and you make a small sound at the emptiness you feel. Joe kisses you again, and then his fingers find yours, and you moan as you realise he’s wanting to feel his come leak out of you, all over his fingers.

    You twitch, breaking the kiss. “Joe, touch me,” you beg.

    He does, his fingers clumsy in his drunkenness but confident and just the right amount of pressure, and he watches your face closely as he makes you tremble. He fucks you with his fingers, and the wet sound of it is obscene.

    “So fucking hot,” he breathes. “You’re so perfect.”

    “Joe, please,” you whine.

    “Yeah, baby, I got you, just relax.”

    You try to kiss him, but he pulls back. “No, I wanna watch you.” His mouth hangs open slightly, and you want to bite at his pouty bottom lip. “You look like a mess.”

    “I do?” you say.

    “Yeah,” Joe says. “Everyone’s gonna know that you’ve just been fucked in the bathroom. No way you can hide it.”

    His thumb plays with your clit, and every so often his fingers slide completely out of you, dragging up to your clit, rubbing it, teasing it, and then he presses his fingers back into you. Your orgasm is building slowly, bit by bit, and you’re powerless to do anything but let Joe do as he pleases. All you can do is moan and squirm.

    “Please,” you whine. “Please.”

    “Shh, you gotta keep quieter than that,” Joe whispers.

    You shake your head. “I– I can’t.”

    “You gotta try.”

    He massages your G-spot, and a gasping cry tears from your throat, your body shaking. “Fuck, please!”

    Blissfully, Joe speeds up, and you’re so close. “Joe, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.”

    He speeds up even more, and you grip his forearm, sobbing, and then finally you tumble over the edge, your orgasm pulsing through you, and you cry out, your hips bucking.

    Joe shushes you again, surging forward to kiss you, to swallow every noise you make, as he eases you through it.

    Your orgasm seems to take forever to settle, but when it does, you sigh on a small whimper, and your kisses grow deeper, less frantic, more controlled. Joe draws his hand away and tucks himself back into his briefs, then sets his on your thigh. His fingers are wet, sticky, but you don’t care.

    Finally, you and Joe break apart, and you meet eyes. You bite your lip, and glance away, almost embarrassed.

    Joe kisses your cheekbone. “So hot,” he breathes. “I’m so obsessed with you.”

    You laugh again, and bury your face in his neck.

    “Go on a date with me,” Joe murmurs, and you lift your head.

    “What?”

    “Go on a date with me,” he says again. “I wanna take you out to dinner.”

    Surely this is a dream. “Yeah,” you say with a grin, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Course.”

    Joe presses a quick kiss to your lips, and then there’s banging on the bathroom door and someone yelling something incoherent.

    You groan. “I don’t wanna go back out there.”

    “Then come over,” Joe says.

    You give him a look of suspicion. “What about that dinner first, hm?”

    “I’ll buy you food on the way home,” Joe says with a cheeky smile. “Or I can make you breakfast in the morning.”

    You sigh, and hum in approval, leaning in for another kiss. There’s another round of banging on the door, which interrupts you, and you frown at the door.

    “C’mon,” Joe says, and helps you down from the counter. You both tidy yourselves up as best you can, and then Joe takes your hand, and you wobble out of the bathroom. Joe’s head is held high as he muscles past the line of irritated people, and you hide your face in his chest.

    You both elbow your way through the club and out the door, and Joe calls you both a ride.

    “You’re so obsessed with me?” you ask him.

    He wraps his arm around your waist, and presses a kiss to your hair. “Mm-hm. Have been for months now. Glad you noticed.”

    “I… I didn’t think you liked me in that way,” you say. “I wasn’t sure.”

    Joe huffs a laugh. “Don’t know how I could’ve made it any more obvious,” he says.

    “Well, you made it pretty obvious tonight.”

    “And I’m about to make it really obvious a couple more times when we get back to mine.”

    You scoff, and shove at him lightly. He laughs, and ducks his head to steal a kiss. You twist in his arms to kiss him back.

[platypanthewriter]

The Prince and the Pauper (who drives an Uber) Ch. 3

Part One | Two | Three | Four

Steve was in the lobby of the hotel, surrounded by three people in black suits with little microphones on their lapels. He stood on a marble floor under a crystal chandelier wearing a silvery tailored suit, and Billy nearly turned on his heel and left, but Steve got a huge grin on his face when he saw him.

It was like sun to a moth, and Billy grumbled under his breath as he stomped over, his gaze firmly on Steve’s smiling brown eyes as he hunched his shoulders and ignored the assessments of everyone else in the lobby.

“There you are,” Steve whispered, putting an arm around him and squeezing as he took out his phone.

Billy leaned into it, taking a shaky breath as he found the warm strength of Steve’s arm way more comforting than he’d anticipated. “Jesus,” he whispered, and Steve paused, then tucked his phone away again, and put both arms around Billy, leaning back to lift Billy’s toes a little bit off the ground, and it was so tight it hurt his ribs a little, and so good he thought he might cry. Billy couldn’t breathe very well or move his arms, and Steve’s suit was probably wrinkling, but he just swayed a little in place, and Billy melted into the warmth.

He took a loud gasping breath, and then another, muffling his face in Steve’s collar, and swallowed hard. “Don’t ever put me down,” he whispered, laughing a little, and Steve rocked him a little more, kissed the side of his head and put him down, but pulled him in to hug his head and shoulders, stroking his hair, which was irritatingly warmer, and just as hard to breathe through for different reasons.

“How’re you doing?” he asked, and Billy groaned, slumping against him, and hugging him back. Steve was solid, and smelled like cologne and clean laundry, and his voice had a smile in it.

Billy's eyes stung. “You’re fucking magic,” he mumbled, reaching up around Steve’s back and wiping his eyes. “It’s your fucking prince magic, isn’t it. God. I lo—” he cut off, clearing his throat, as he realized he’d nearly dumped a whole truck of insanity at Steve’s feet. You just met him, he imagined his therapist saying. You don’t love him, and he certainly doesn’t love you. Billy took a long shaky breath, reminding himself not to cry just because he was shitty at raising a sister, too dumb to get a better job, one bad month from eviction, and Prince Goddamn Steve saw he wanted to be held until his bones creaked for mercy.

“Hrm?” Steve asked, after waiting, and Billy shook his head, pulling back.

“No, I’m—” Billy cleared his throat. “That helped,” he said, and his voice cracked.

Steve gave him a kiss in passing on the side of the head, squeezing him again as he lifted his phone and clicked past the lock screen. “I’m bringing up plays.”

“...theatre?” Billy asked, leaning into his warmth, and hacking out the ‘r’ like in long-ago French class. “You classy asshole—”

“No, how do I get to the movies?” Steve asked, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration, and Billy snorted.

“Theater ...the ‘r’ goes at the end, for movies,” he whispered, and Steve squinted at him.

“What? Why?”

“My sister thinks you’re a druglord paying me for sex,” Billy told him, starting to snicker again. “She’s convinced it’s counterfeit money—”

“What?” Steve asked again, covering a snigger himself. “Why would she—”

“I mean, I don’t have great taste, usually,” Billy admitted with a snort. “But that’s a low even for me.”

“Didn’t you explain?” Steve asked, but he was grinning, scrolling past movie ads.

“She’s not worried,” Billy told him, leaning into Steve’s shoulder as Steve pulled him towards the door. One of the people in suits came with them. “Kinda tempted to show up with something even weirder,” Billy whispered. “See where this goes.”

“Ooo,” Steve nodded, laughing, his soft hair shifting in the outside air. “Weirder than a huge stack of cash.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Billy told him, smiling, and a little high on his prince’s attention. He realized he couldn’t stop grinning, and watching Steve’s eyes spark mischievously as they talked, and Billy wished they were further back in the lobby, in the probably-marble bathrooms, where he could smush princes against stall walls. Steve licked his lips, and Billy was so hard he could barely walk, remembering the night before.

Even weirder, he wasn’t likely to get Steve’s lips on his cock, and he realized he didn’t mind.

“We’ll have to come up with something,” Steve nodded, frowning into the middle distance. “One of the kids I know has a pet iguana. You could get bags of dead crickets and hide them somewhere.”

Billy nearly tripped laughing, not because it was that funny, but imagining Max’s furious accusations. “Oh my god, I almost want to. She’s already all pissed off, she—she thinks—” he smacked Steve’s shoulder, cackling, “—she thinks you paid me for sex with counterfeit cash.”

“Why?!” Steve burst out, snickering harder. “Why would she even—”

“At least it wasn’t counterfeit crickets,” Billy wheezed.

“Like Jack and the beanstalk,” Steve nodded, his grin wide and silly. “Billy, did you prostitute yourself for crickets?”

“They aren’t fake crickets! He said they were magic crickets!” Billy shook his fist in the air, cackling. “They’ll grow into an iguana!”

“Is that good?!” Steve sniggered, and Billy couldn’t help it, he leaned in for a kiss, then froze as his lips, on a public street, brushed the lips of a foreign royal who’d intended to marry a woman the day before.

“Oh shit, I’m—I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, digging his fingers in to Steve’s shirt, but Steve leaned into it, hugging him close, and turning his head into the kiss with a soft noise in the back of his throat. Somebody whistled, but all Billy was thinking about was the fucking moment in Hallmark movies where the camera swirled around the couple, and probably some confetti or flower petals floated by, and the music swelled.

When Steve stopped kissing him, he nearly sat down on the sidewalk, and Steve and the like, Secret Service lady grabbed him under either arm, dragging him towards the parking garage until he stumbled back onto his feet.

“Holy shit,” Billy muttered. “Are you even out? Did I just blow your—did I out you, shit. Fuck—fucking hell. Why the hell didn’t that stupid bitch marry you. Kissing like that.”

Steve was still laughing at him, but he leaned in again, warm lips pressing briefly against Billy’s. “Don’t call her a stupid bitch,” he said, and Billy nodded vaguely, licking his lips. “And it’s fine,” Steve sighed. “We were gonna come out anyway. Bi rights.”

“...after you were married?” Billy squinted at him, and Steve shrugged.

“Nothing anyone could do, then.”

“What can they do now?” Billy asked, trying to walk sideways to focus on Steve’s face. “Who’s ‘they’? Shit—”

“Billy,” Steve stopped, yanking him close for another hug. “...thanks for picking me up.”

“Sorry I screwed up,” Billy whispered, slumping a little against him, and Steve squeezed him tighter.

“I didn’t see any cameras,” said the lady in the suit, and Billy startled. “Though if you want to keep this on the down-low, maybe don’t kiss on street corners.”

“This is Lynn,” Steve told him, and Billy nodded against Steve’s warm shoulder, then let go to shake her hand. “She has to come because it’ll be a shitty date if I get shot.”

“And once you decide where you’re going,” Lynn said, “—I’ll tell the boys, and they’ll meet us there.”

Steve shrugged, cocking his head to see Billy’s face. “Sorry.”

“No,” Billy shook his head. “Don’t get shot.”

“Be hilarious if somebody was into my sex life enough to put it on TV. Your sister might see it.”

Billy snorted. “She’d still think I made it up, somehow.”

“Why?!” Steve laughed. “What have you been telling her?”

“I didn’t tell her!” Billy groaned. “Okay, the last dude I brought home, he uh, he got up at three am and drank all the mouthwash, and then pissed on the kitchen floor—”

“Holy crap,” Steve said, staring at him, and Billy was fairly sure Lynn snorted as he unlocked the car.

“You’re way too good to date me,” Billy laughed, climbing in, and glancing over the dash. He wished his car had more useful alerts than “out of oil”—it’d be just his luck to have the engine fall out on the road with a prince in his car.

“...I’m not too good for you,” Steve said, frowning, and Billy snorted.

“I have the name of an ex tattooed on my dick,” Billy told him, backing out of the parking spot. “It’s misspelled.”

Steve snickered, but reached over and slid his fingers through Billy’s where his hand rested on the handbrake.

Billy decided he could watch Steve laugh all day, and spilled all. “I had to bail one out the other day because he fell down the stairs and broke his leg—”

“What?!” Steve yelped, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, eyeing the rearview mirror. “Get this, he’s so drunk he decides to get a taxi on his broke fucking leg, and he’s gonna go pretend he broke it at the casino so they’ll give him money—”

“What?!” Steve laughed harder, squeezing his hand.

“So he gets there and he can’t get up the stairs, so he yells at security, right, ‘Get me up the stairs so I can sue you! I broke my leg!’”

“Oh no!” Steve gasped with laughter, hugging his ribs as he slumped into the door.

“Yeah, he’s yelling, he breaks a security guy’s nose with his bottle—”

“Oh no,” Steve wheezed.

“And then he calls me, from the police station.” Billy laughed, rubbing his nose, and clearing his throat. “I’m trash, is what I’m saying.”

“You’re not trash,” Steve told him, yanking his hand over to kiss it, and Billy nearly ran a red light.

“Don’t do that shit when I’m driving,” he hissed, staring at the road. “Give me a heart attack.”

“I will get you used to it,” Billy’s actual prince said, his eyes narrowed, and Billy’s face heated until he wanted to hide it, and scream into something that would muffle the noise.

“Jesus on a cracker,” he mumbled, pulling up at the movie theater.

Steve was fascinated with the concessions, and Billy finally pulled him aside to explain the popcorn options while an exhausted teenage boy with six elementary school-age girls tried to get them to decide on a candy each.

Once they made it to the auditorium, Steve pushed the armrest between them up, and pulled Billy against his shoulder, and Billy lost track of the movie before it even started. His whole world narrowed to Steve’s breathing, the smell of his aftershave, and the feeling of his thumb gently rubbing between the bony bits of Billy’s wrist.

When the credits song started blaring, he startled awake. Steve laughed, squeezing his shoulders, and Billy squinted around. “...shit, I think I...missed the whole thing.”

“Another lousy date for the list,” Steve said, smiling a little uncertainly, and Billy let his head thump into Steve’s shoulder.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I suck—”

“I should have let you pick where to go—” Steve grimaced, and Billy couldn’t have that.

He leaned in to lick Steve’s earlobe into his mouth, and let it slide between his teeth, breathing, “No, but you maybe coulda let me get more sleep last night.”

Steve laughed aloud, tipping his head to catch Billy’s mouth with his lips. Billy hummed, letting his eyes shut again, leaning into soft kisses, and wishing the credits would never end.

The credits did end, the bastards, and the light came up in the auditorium while he was still pressed up against his prince, who started laughing. “We should probably go,” he whispered, and Billy pulled back, licking his own lips, and wishing they were still against Steve’s.

“Mmn,” said Billy, distracted.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, smiling. “Can you hear me?”

“Nope, too sexy,” Billy sighed, but stood, brushing popcorn off his lap. “Where to?”

“Dinner?” Steve suggested, and Billy had a brief, stomach-sinking image of himself in some Michelin-star rated place with seventeen forks, where Steve would order a tableful of things Billy didn’t understand, probably all enormous plates with a tiny flavored dab of foam—and something weird, like a live crustacean or a potted plant, that Billy’d have no idea whether he was supposed to look at or stab into. “What’s your favorite place to eat?” Steve asked, stretching, and Billy sighed with relief.

“Oh,” he said, thinking.

“We can get extra for Max,” Steve offered, cocking his head to watch Billy’s face. “So maybe somewhere she likes?”

“Shit,” Billy breathed, rubbing his face to hide how red it was as Steve drug him past the seats by his other hand. "She, um, she likes anything neither of us cooked. Basically."

“You hungry?” Steve asked, slowing to a stop in the lobby at the little quarter machines, for kids, that dispensed M&Ms and plastic rings and fake tattoos.

Billy shook his head, watching him pat his pockets. “...filled up on popcorn,” he breathed, as his actual prince fed a ten dollar bill into the change machine, and returned to crouch in front of the bank of machines with a double handful of quarters to contemplate the selection.

“Hrm,” said Steve. “What are these little parachute men?”

“Oh,” Billy wandered closer. “You, uh,” he cleared his throat, watching the tailored suit pull taut over Steve’s butt and thighs as he crouched, and over his biceps as he poked through the quarters. “You drop them from somewhere high up. The uh, the little plastic parachute um, y’know. It’s a parachute,” he said, staring down, as Steve laughed, flashing a grin up at him.

“Hrrrm,” said Steve. “Maybe Max needs one of these toys that you squeeze and their eyes bug out.”

“She doesn’t,” said Billy, wrinkling his nose. “I guess maybe she’d use it to threaten people?”

“Ohhh,” Steve said, nodding, and began feeding coins into the machine. “I should definitely try to butter her up some.”

“I think you probably just shouldn’t be a drug dealer,” Billy sighed. “Or piss on our floor. She’s not picky—”

“No, presenting gifts to the family of your intended is very important,” Steve said, cranking the machine, and holding up the plastic globe with a little bug-eyed dog in it. He was grinning wickedly. “I have to get her favor, so she’ll give me permission to court you.”

“Ha,” Billy said, not really feeling the humor. “How long are you going to be in town, again?”

“Oh,” Steve blinked up at him. “I’m really not sure.”

Billy nodded, smiling as Steve suggested buying them both plastic rings, and imagining it sitting in his room, where he knew he’d eventually throw it away, to stop himself poking at it like a sore tooth. Remember that time a Disney prince made you feel special? he’d think, feeling a weight on his chest.

“Or fake tattoos,” Steve said, watching him. “Maybe I need tattoos? You could put some on me.”

“Sure,” Billy said, half-listening.

Steve looked up at him for a long second, then dumped his remaining quarters in the tattoo machine and stuffed the tattoos in his pocket without looking at them. He stood, brushing himself off, and laughed uncertainly, watching Billy’s face. “Do you—d’you want to go back to the hotel?”

“Oh, are we done here?” Billy asked, snorting a laugh, and Steve bit his lips.

“We could go back to my room,” he said slowly, watching Billy’s face, and Billy sighed.

“Never mind about dinner?”

“It’s only fourteen hundred,” Steve said, and Billy squinted at him, then pulled his phone out.

Two in the afternoon. “Fair enough,” he said, half-wanting to suggest another movie, but also feeling like he was in a death scene in a movie that needed to be over already. “You...want me to drop you off? I got homework to do.”

“I thought,” Steve said, pausing, and then taking a slow breath, and making it look refined, unlike Billy’s gasps for air in his therapist’s office. “I thought—”

“What?” Billy asked, tired.

“Are you bored,” Steve said cautiously. “Do...do you want to go home?”

“No,” Billy said honestly, and his prince brightened again.

“Come back to my room with me?” he said, licking his lips, and Billy’s dick twitched in his jeans. “Then I’ll take you to dinner?”

“Oh!” Billy said, and swallowed, wondering whether it would be worse, or better, to have more memories to try and forget. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry I bored you,” Steve said, laughing nervously, and grabbing Billy’s hand to haul him towards the door. “This was dumb, let’s go—”

“It wasn’t dumb,” Billy sighed. “That’s not why I fell asleep. I just—I work a lot, I’m tired. And you’re really...comfortable.”

Steve laughed, but his hand in Billy’s relaxed, a little. His bodyguards fell in as they walked to the doors, but they stayed quiet, only Lynn saying, “Wasn’t a bad movie, actually, don’t know how much of it either of you two saw,” as she climbed in the back seat behind Steve.

Billy kept his eyes on the rearview mirror backing out, with a few glances at Steve. “Why’d you miss the movie?” he asked. “Did I snore?”

“No,” Steve said softly, looking away.

Billy felt weird prodding him about it with Lynn in the car, and then as soon as he parked Steve hauled him into the elevator and into a deep kiss, Billy’s shoulder blades thumping gently against the back wall. He tasted like a fucking prince, like some kind of classy tea mint he must have stuck in his mouth surreptitiously before they got in the elevator, and his fingers curled against Billy’s neck and collarbones, stroking his skin.

Billy gripped the railing thing behind him, gasping for breath in an onslaught of hot, wet kisses as he resisted the urge to yank his prince’s suit off right there in front of the security camera. He let himself be drug back to the room, staring off at the glass shower as Steve dropped his toys on a chair, his hands tugging at Billy's shirt like he wasn't sure whether to unbutton it or not.

“...want to take a shower?” Steve asked, pausing as he tugged Billy's shirt straighter, and Billy wondered whether he'd looked untidy the whole time. Maybe that was why Steve hadn't watched the movie, he thought, his mouth quirking. He realized his date looked like some kind of vagrant. “We can, uh, we can take a shower," Steve said, glancing up at Billy's face, then biting his lips. "Whatever you want to do.”

“You saying I need a shower?” Billy asked, half-serious, and Steve shook his head, stepping back to drop into a chair with a sigh.

“No,” he said. “I’m not...saying that, I just—”

“I can go,” Billy offered, and Steve spread his hands in a quick, jerky motion, the least graceful Billy had seen him, but he didn’t say anything. “...you just kinda seem like you’re done,” Billy admitted, biting his lips in a smile, and leaning back against the table as an excuse to clench his fingers on something.

Steve laughed, but he didn’t sound very happy. “I guess I am, then.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. “I haven’t paid you for driving yet,” he said suddenly, standing up, and sliding his phone out of his pocket.

“Thought this was a date,” Billy said, sounding sharper than he’d meant to. “I wasn’t going to charge you for a date.”

“Yeah, but it was terrible,” Steve laughed, hunching his shoulders a little. “And now you’re pissed at me, so I feel like—”

“Wait, shit,” Billy said, watching him. “No, shit, I’m—I’m not pissed at you—”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, smiling. He didn’t look any happier. “Okay, you’re not actually—angry, I just wasted your time.”

“No, no,” Billy let go of the table, and stepped closer to the man in the suit probably worth more than his shitty car, the actual prince standing glaring out the window, his shoulders tense because he thought Billy Goddamn Hargrove didn’t have fun on his date. “It was fun.”

Steve raised his eyebrows doubtfully, and Billy stepped close enough to grab his hand, then swung his leg over Steve's legs to sit in his lap. “It was fun,” Billy said, firmly. “Kind of a waste of money,” he admitted, cringing, “—I mean, I could have just nuzzled into your shoulder on-on our couch, while Max caught you up on Quentin Tarantino movies…” Billy tightened his grip on Steve’s wrist, imagining that. “—y-y’know, get a pizza. Curl up, um. Make—make some iced tea,” he said, feeling like an idiot.

“That does sound better,” Steve said, smiling down at Billy’s hand, tight on his wrist. He lifted his arm and kissed Billy’s hand, his smile wide and warm, and Billy’s heart pounded. Steve leaned up to kiss him, asking, “...what are you doing tomorrow? After school. I mean, if you—if you want. If that was an—an invitation, I don’t want to—”

“Jesus, yeah,” Billy breathed, forgetting he had a copy of 101 Best Cocktails under the back left leg of his kitchen table so it wouldn’t rock, his couch was a futon he and Max had dug out of the apartment dumpster, and sometimes water poured from the fluorescent light in the kitchen when their upstairs neighbors overflowed the sink. “Fuck yeah,” Billy said quietly, tugging his prince closer to lean in for a kiss. “Gonna teach you how to eat Oreos,” he whispered, and Steve laughed, relaxing in his arms.

Billy cupped his prince’s face, keeping his sweaty paws off the tailored suit, and kissed him, inhaling royally subtle cologne. He wondered what he smelled like, in yesterdays’ clothes that he’d worn all day in class, and in the bathroom at a bar, getting a blow job. Steve hummed inquisitively, and Billy realized he’d gone still against his prince, biting his lips together instead of kissing back.

“What now?” Steve asked, but he didn’t sound annoyed, just curious, and he slid his fingers through Billy’s probably-sweaty curls.

“Think I’ll take a shower,” Billy said, laughing. “I mean, why waste it? You can watch.”

Steve just looked back at him, cocking his head, then backed away, nodding. “Uh, okay?”

“I’ll put on a good show,” Billy promised, getting up to his t-shirt off over his head.

Steve took it from his hand and folded it, his eyes panning up from Billy’s stomach and chest, across his shoulders, and up to his face with a smirk, like Billy was really worth taking the time to look at. Billy couldn’t help it, his face heated as he shimmied out of his jeans and skivvies, making sure to give his prince the best angle of his ass, and then stand and stretch.

Steve got up and took the jeans too, leaning in to press an urgent kiss to Billy’s mouth, so firm it pushed Billy back a step, and he grabbed the royal lapels to steady himself. “You’re beautiful,” Steve said against his mouth, without a trace of sarcasm, kissing him again, and Billy swallowed back a joke about his standards.

“...sure,” he whispered, very aware he was good to look at, in the way fast food is delicious, but anyone eating it more than twice begs for something real. “That’s me.”

“You sure I can’t come in with you?” Steve asked, running his fingers down the sides of Billy’s neck, and across his collarbones, and taking a shaky breath.

“Sit and watch me,” Billy told him, kind of thrilled with the idea that his prince would wait, and watch, and enjoy it.

“If I must,” Steve groaned, leaning in to kiss him again, lingering this time, and Billy chased the taste of the mint against his lips, letting his eyes fall closed as Steve’s warm hands stroked his ribs. “You’re getting cold,” Steve whispered, his breath warm, and Billy’s cock twitched. “Go get warm, Billy.”

“Stupid idea,” Billy whispered back, leaning into him, and Steve laughed, hugging him, and running both hands up and down Billy’s back. “Fucking—idiotic—idea,” he mumbled against Steve’s neck, as Steve slid his hands down to squeeze Billy’s ass, pulling him closer. “Gonna get you all dirty,” Billy breathed.

“Do you want to show off in the shower?” Steve asked, between sucking softly at the tender skin under Billy’s jaw. “Or d’you want to go to bed?”

“Anything,” Billy mumbled, close to coming right there on his prince’s suit.

“Did you want a shower, babe?” Steve asked, gently, and Billy stumbled backwards, nodding.

“Shit. yeah. Shit. Keep your—keep your magic paws off me, christ. Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his face, and willing his erection down with thoughts of the rotten food in tupperwares he and Max had had to clean out of the back of the fridge to fit all the new groceries in. Groceries she'd bought with prince money.

“Magic paws off,” said Steve, dragging a chair over to sit facing the glass wall of the shower, and Billy’s hips jerked of their own accord. “Let me know when I can kiss you again,” he muttered, folding his hands tightly together as he sat down.

“...I can’t make you stay over there,” Billy told him, grinning as he reached in and turned on the water. “Come take what you want, if you want it.”

Steve squinted at him. “No, what? You—you said to—you’re not an it, what—”

“You know where this is going,” Billy laughed, examining the little bottles for shampoo. He’d just linger a little with the suds, he thought—he was way too eager to touch Steve’s skin again to fuck around with a long tease in the shower. “You wanna hurry me up, you can shove me around a little, I don’t care.”

“...what,” said Steve, as Billy stuck his head under the spray, and sighed, rubbing the the water over his skin, and thinking of Steve in the car the night before, pulling his shirt over his head so the shadow of the water rivulets trailed over his skin.

“F’you decide I’m so sexy you can’t wait,” Billy said, scrubbing the shampoo into his curls, “—you lose that cool and yank me out of here. Teach me not to fucking tease,” he laughed, glancing at his prince, who was staring at him.

“But...you wanted a shower,” he said.

“Yeah, but the worse a thing is that you’re waiting for, the less you wanna wait,” Billy told him, and Steve got up and came over, pressing his hands against the glass.

“You’re worth a ten-minute wait, Billy,” he said, frowning, and Billy laughed, shaking the water out of his curls like a dog as an excuse to shimmy his ass. "You're worth—"

“I dunno,” Billy called, closing his eyes to apply conditioner, “—does that make me worth the wait, or d’you just not want me all that much?”

The door opened, and Billy flinched back, laughing and wiping the soap away from his eyes to see Steve standing in the doorway. “I want you,” Steve said, his jaw set. “I could probably just—I could jizz in my pants standing over there, watching you soap up. But I’d never ever just—yank you out of the shower, what—what the hell.”

He sounded pissed, and Billy’s body responded, his cock jerking with excitement as his hands trembled, and his throat felt tight. “Don’t, then,” he said, ducking his head back under the water, and forcing a laugh. “...good water pressure in here.”

“Billy,” his prince said, and Billy all at once hoped he hadn’t noticed— hadn’t seen Billy nearly come on the spot at the idea that somebody might want him enough to hurt him. He dropped the soap, and laughed, crouching to scrabble for it. “Billy Hargrove,” Steve said softly, and Billy flinched again, and wondered if he should just drown himself in the shower. About right for Billy Hargrove, he thought, drowning with his mouth open under the showerhead, wondering if it was rain.

“...I’ll get you a towel,” his prince said, finally, walking off to return with a massive soft plush of a towel, and another trailing on the ground that he tossed in the puddle of water coming through the open glass door. Billy just stood there with his face under the showerhead, cursing himself. “...hey,” said the royalty that had picked him up on a whim. “You all rinsed off in there?”

“Yeah,” Billy admitted, turning the shower off, and wiping the water off his face. He leaned into the towel his prince wrapped him in, grabbing the royal face for a kiss. His hair dripped all over them, and Steve tucked it behind Billy’s ear, gentle again like he thought Billy was—was some terrified pussy, just because his hands were shaking so bad he could barely hold the towel.

Billy let it drop, pressing his whole naked dripping body up against Steve’s designer suit, and Steve stopped him, pulling his mouth off of Billy’s, and stepping back.

“Shit,” Billy mumbled, spinning away, grabbing his phone, and stomping off to the bathroom.

“Billy?!” came Steve’s voice, as Billy dialed his therapist, and then saw the time.

“Shit,” he whispered, and dialed Max.

“Brother mine,” she answered dryly, with an incredibly loud crunching noice he knew meant she was deliberately chewing into the microphone.

“Tell me I could—the-there are—there’s s-somebody out there that would date me,” he said hoarsely, “—that’s not a shithead.”

“What the fuck,” she said, in her growling register. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no,” he said, trying to even his voice out. “I’m—he’s being—nice. He’s just—he’s nice, and I’m—I’m spiralling, and it’s after hours for my therapist—”

“...she’s got a degree, though. I don't think I, um,” said Max, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, but you actually like me.”

“So does she,” Max said stoutly, and Billy smiled, leaning his face in his hand.

“See?” he whispered around his fingers. “You’re already doing it.”

“What am I doing?” she asked, suspiciously. “Am I getting paid?”

“You get to pick the next movie,” he told her, and she groaned.

“What the hell do you want to hear?” she asked. “There are good people out there to date? I dunno, you’re kind of an asshole magnet. I want to meet this one. Bring him home.”

“He’s being sweet to me,” Billy told her, and she hrrrm ’d.

“Like...patronizing dickhead sweet, or—”

“No! No, just…” Billy trailed off, his cheeks warm against his hand. “...y’know, this is stupid, I’m gonna go.”

“Fuck that. He’s being what, good to you, and you’re flipping your shit?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and the phone went dead. He pulled it away from his ear to frown at it, but the call was still connected, so he bit his lips. She came back in a burst of sound.

“OKAY,” she shouted in his ear, and he almost dropped the phone. “Jesus. Buttercream. You’ve dated like five hundred assholes, you moron, you had to hit the lottery eventually.” Billy burst out laughing, wiping the water off his face. “It’s true,” she growled. “You just ran out of dickheads to moon over. Congrats.”

“Okay,” he laughed, nodding. “...sure.”

“I think you should let me arrange a marriage,” she said flatly, and he snickered harder. “I’m not kidding. That’s what they did back in the day so some loser didn’t sweep in and break hearts.”

“Who am I marrying?” he asked, grinning at the floor, and she hummed thoughtfully.

“Dunno yet. I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll need the login for your Grindr account.”

“No,” he said, hanging up, and then texting thanks, shitbird

no problem, she texted back. nothing like listening to your brother on the shitter, talking about his love life

fuck you, Billy sent back. how the hell did you know

I KNEW IT she sent back, then, HAHAHAHA LOSER, get off the pot and a flurry of go get ur man and but if hes a prick ill kick his ass to next decade and Billy rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and stared at himself in the mirror.

He looked okay, he thought, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t as toned as he’d been before getting Max, but he shoved that thought down, sternly, imagining her left in that house, so her brother could have flatter abs. He had dark circles under his eyes, and assignments written on his hand in pen, and he didn’t look like anything special— but he looked okay. He could almost see why someone like Steve would want him—and Billy’d been right there, he told himself, as his stomach clenched. Billy Hargrove was easy, and Steve had wanted easy.

He’s not expecting anything, Billy reminded himself, thinking he looked pale. He knows what he picked up, he’s not expecting anything amazing. I’m good enough for a couple of fucks.

Billy took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders, running his tongue around his teeth as he practised his slowest smile. And fucking is something I’m really good at, he told himself. He winked, swaying his hips, and grinned, opening the bathroom door before he could second-guess himself again.

Steve’s head snapped up. He was in the chair where he’d sat to watch Billy shower, and he still had his suit on, so Billy sauntered over, and grabbed him by the tie. “Come on,” he told his prince, dragging him over to the bed. Steve came easily, smiling, but he clasped his hands around Billy’s as soon as they stopped, and kissed his knuckles, so Billy yanked his hand back, his face heating like he was a goddamn princess, getting seduced by a Disney prince.

“Stop it,” he muttered automatically, but Steve just cocked his head like he had no idea what he was doing to Billy just—just standing there. “Get on the bed,” Billy growled at him, pointing.

Steve glanced from the bed to Billy, blinking, and Billy tackled him, pinning him to the bed and kissing him. Steve hummed, smiling against Billy’s mouth like there was no place he’d rather be, but then he said “Billy,” and Billy ground their hips together, forestalling the obvious questions. Steve grunted, his back arching, but he grabbed Billy’s head, cupping his face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Jesus, shut up,” Billy shot back, then tried to cover it with another deep kiss, and Steve went all gentle with him again, tucking his hair back and stroking his thumbs over Billy’s cheekbones. Billy made a weird noise in his throat, feeling like—like he was a fucking child who’d had a cry, and shifted his hips again, trying to get with the program.

“Thanks for staying,” Steve said, and Billy told him to fuck himself, and started unbuttoning the fancy suit. He tugged Steve into sitting upright with the tie, and slid the jacket off, tossing it over his shoulder before sliding his hands up to undo the buttons on his prince’s waistcoat. His skin was lit by the sun across the bed, warm and freckled.

Billy was hard as granite, leaking down onto his thigh. He shifted off to the side, not wanting to drip all over Steve’s suit, but Steve laughed and pulled him down into a kiss. Billy grunted into his mouth, annoyed at his prince being so goddamn cheerful when Billy was trying to turn him on, and then he tugged at Steve’s probably-silk-or-woven-platinum-or-unicorn-fur shirt and found fucking cufflinks. “What in the shit are these,” he spat, and then, “I know what fucking cufflinks are,” before Steve could respond. “Are these—are these diamonds or some shit,” Billy demanded, yanking the cuff around to make Steve acknowledge his shame. “Did you take me to see a fucking Scooby-Doo movie in diamond cufflinks.”

“It wasn’t Scooby-Doo!” Steve laughed, trying to pull his arm back. “You didn’t want to watch that one!”

The poster Steve had pointed to definitely had the damn dog on it, but Billy’d fallen asleep before the previews were over, so he didn’t have enough evidence to argue the point. “Diamonds?!”

“My grandma says they’re lucky!” Steve shouted at the ceiling, with the air of one confessing a crime. “She gave them to me! They were my granddad’s!”

“Why were you wearing them today?” Billy asked, tugging them loose, and then getting up to sit them down, squeamishly careful, next to Steve’s wallet. “You wanted to get lucky?”

“I wanted to impress this guy I met,” Steve said, smiling a little self-deprecatingly. “Didn’t work out, I don’t think, but at least he’s still here. Thanks to my lucky cufflinks.”

Billy felt his face heating again, and his heart pounded in his chest, so he yanked Steve up by the tie again, focusing on unbuttoning his shirt. “...like you need lucky cufflinks.”

“I do,” Steve told him, catching his hands again, and before he could do any weird prince things and give Billy heart failure, Billy kissed him again.

“You don’t,” he whispered. “I’m yours as long as you want me.”

“God,” Steve whispered back, grabbing Billy around the back of his neck, and down on top of him, like it didn’t matter if Billy’s dick juice rubbed all over Steve’s shiny, gadjillion dollar tailored pants.

“Mmph!” Billy said, giving up, and just lying on top of Steve, who hummed, hugging him and rocking from side to side like a weirdo. Billy groaned, trying to recalibrate his brain on the fly to gay loser gets lucky with random hookup, because it kept readjusting to gay loser gets hopeless crush on the prince from Enchanted, cannot reciprocate love songs, and ends up in the after-credits comedy scene jacking off and crying, hugging a buffalo plushie with wings.

“...hey,” Steve said, stopping again, and Billy growled in frustration. “...are you sure you’re—”

“Stop asking whether I’m okay,” Billy hissed. “I’m fine, I’m fucked in the head, but I’m—I’m fine, jesus. I said I’m okay, are you going to believe me, or—”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Steve apologized, grimacing, and Billy felt even worse, lying in bed with his fairytale prince and biting his nose off when he tried to have basic manners.

“Shit,” Billy sighed. “I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re right,” Steve said, holding Billy’s face in his warm hands. “You’re right, if you don’t want to—I won’t—I’ll listen, I promise. I will, I won’t ask.”

“Shit,” Billy mumbled again, his eyes stinging.

“Could you promise me something, though?” Steve asked, propping himself up on the bed to peck a kiss on Billy’s nose, “—if—if something I’m doing is making you—if I make you—upset. Tell me?”

“Oh my god,” Billy groaned, dropping his face to Steve’s chest, and kicking his feet in anguish over Steve’s wide, earnest brown eyes.

“Like if I’m so bad at blowjobs I accidentally bite your dick off,” Steve said, dropping back to frown at the ceiling, as Billy burst into cackling laughter.

“What?! You think you wouldn’t notice? You sayin’ I got a tiny dick, Steve— mmf,” he squeaked as Steve yanked him up and kissed him, slinging a leg over Billy’s ass and hugging him close. He had nothing to worry about with kisses, Billy thought, his brain faltering at the sensations of Steve’s tongue, and his body shifting under Billy’s, and his fingers cradling Billy’s head. “...god,” he whispered, when he could breathe, and Steve grinned up at him, his smugness radiating.

Billy huffed, scooting up to teach him some things about kissing, and pressing him down into the bed—but he lost the thread of his thoughts again pretty quick at the feel of Steve’s tongue hot and soft in his mouth, and Steve’s lips smiling against his. “Jesus,” Billy panted, resting his head against Steve’s jaw as he caught his breath. “Get—get your pants off, christ.”

“You’d have to move, though,” Steve groaned against Billy’s mouth, his warm hands stroking over Billy’s ribs. “Seems like a pretty awful idea, from where I’m sitting—”

“It is,” Billy nodded, kissing him again, and grunting as Steve wriggled their hips together, their cocks rubbing through the silvery fabric. “It’s a stupid—mnng. Awful idea.”

“I’m made of bad ideas,” Steve sighed, his eyes full of earnest regret, and Billy kissed him. "Terrible ideas."

“It’s worked out well for me,” Billy whispered, crouching over Steve's hips to fumble with his fly, and kiss into his mouth. He was clumsy, trying to unbutton and lick into Steve's mouth at the same time, but Steve groaned, smiling, and propped himself up on his elbows to deepen the kiss.

"You absolute goddamn genius," he whispered, as Billy yanked at his belt, smiling too hard to properly kiss back.

Part One | Two | Three | Four