#great job dude that is TOTALLY what we were going for

[writing-whump]

Clueless caretaker

Dylan gets sick, the most serious Rip has seen him be. Emeto warning.

"Are you upset?" Rip said hesitantly. He was sitting in the armchair opposite the sofa where Dylan was sprawled on and felt weirdly like before a recieving a judgement.

Dylan sighed, hanging his head back on the armrest. "Look, man, I'm not upset. It's just...you were so freaked out about becoming the Executioner in summer-"

"Apprentice. I would just work as his apprentice."

"And now you are all down with it? Excuse me, if I'm a little confused." Dylna curled up around his side, an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

"It's just a job." Rip got up, fighting the urge to pace. "It's gonna give me direction and a place." He pulled out Isaiah's credit card from his pocket. "I can't be freeloading around for nothing forever." He already felt better agreeing, knowing these expanses, this apartment, the clothes on his back and food in the fridge would be his contribution too.

"You totally can. Watch me and learn," Dylan grumbled unhappily, closing his eyes.

"Dude, it's like 11 o'clock. Why are you so sleepy?" Rip said, eyeing the other wolf.

"Too many heavy decisions," Dylan said. Then he opened his eyes and forced up a grin at Rip's expression. "Jeez, it's not because of you, don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Rip said petulantly. "I'll fix you something to eat and then we could go to the underground gym together, yeah?"

Dylan turned his back to him, face to the sofa. "What, Isaiah is on vocation today?"

Rip didn't wait for assent, going to the kitchen island where he would have just as a good view of Dylan as in the living room. "They have some kind of pack event today. All three of them together. It's in Salzburg so it's gonna be a whole day trip."

"Look at how well informed you are. Assistant in full power."

"It's Executioner's Apprentice. And it's a pretty respected position, thank you." Rip rolled his eyes and began heating the milk for a improptu porridge. He already ate in the morning, but Dylan didn't and porridge with cocoa was his weak spot in-between all the shakes and meat.

"You sure you are not just doing it out of desperation? Why do you suddenly like Isaiah so much?"

Rip prepared the flour, eyes flickering towards Dylan. "It only took a few dozens of killing attempts, a few months of dedicated training and impossible patience and giving me a way out that doesn't involve the streets," he said jokingly.

"See? Desperation and inherit power disbalance."

"Power disbalance? You have been watching some weird Tiktaks again."

"TikTok. It's TikTok. And what do you mean I can't sound all high and educated? You try listening to my sister for a few minutes and you be spewing out new words too."

"Her talking always puts you to sleep," Rip objected.

"It worms its way into your subconsciousness," Dylan said, crossing his arms on his chest.

Rip shook his head, adding the flour to the boiling milk and big spoons of sugar. "You got some kind of beef with Isaiah I don't know of?"

"There is no beef, Jesus...." Dylan's voice trailed off into grunts, something about everyone being stolen away.

Rip stirred the porridge fondly. It wasn't like he could afford to get away with the same things as Dylan, but it was heartwarming to have someone so concerned about his wishes and wants.

When the porridge, butter and cocoa was ready, it wasn't hard to coax Dylan into relaxing and eating. Rip was about to call it a win, when Dylan's pace slowed down considerably and he wasn't even halfway done.

"What's wrong? Still too hot in the middle?" Rip asked, standing over Dylan's spot on the sofa.

Dylan stirred the porridge. "Nah, man, it's great. Really, thanks." As if to disapprove his words, he put the plate down on the table and curled back up on the sofa. His eyes were drooping.

"This is getting weird," Rip complained, looking him up and down.

"I'm feeling a little off, that's all," Dylan said, closing his eyes. "Go to the gym without me today."

"Did you play Xbox till 3 am again?"

"No, I didn't," Dylan stuck out his tongue at him. "Swear. Your sleep's too sensitive anyway, you hear the grass growing—how would I get away with a game?"

But Dylan was usually a ball of energy. Being sleepy this late in the day, no jumping, training or bouncing on his feet?

"I'm just gonna get a nap, 's all." Dylan hugged himself around the chest, knees tucked close. "Go, you are all needles to get out of the place."

That was true, but Rip wasn't about to admit it now that he got a hunch something was wrong.

Dylan sighed at Rip's undecision and grabbed his hand, pushing it against his forehead. "Here. See for yourself. Do I seem feverish to you?"

Rip's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus. "It's warm, but I don't really know when it's normal and when not. Do we have a thermometer?"

"Nope. Only that handgun thing that doesn't work. Mom promised to give me one of those real ones that work, but I forgot it at her place." The brown-haired boy wiggled his head against the cushion, eyes closing again, but he didn't look peaceful.

"I'm gonna ask Seline if- damn, they aren't home." Rip ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have a key to their place?"

"Can I have one?"

Rip threw out his hands. "How should I know?"

"We can get inside with the shadows."

"Yeah, I'm gonna be breaking into the Executioner's place, sure. No, thanks." Rip didn't know how he got into Isaiah's good graces, but he wasn't going to risk losing them. "What else is there that I can do?"

"Go to the pharmacy?" Dylan shrugged, then winced and added quickly: "Hey, that's not needed though, right? Plus, if I need something, I can get it, it's just a block away."

Rip turned away, painfully reminded that going to the pharmacy was beyond his limit of abilities. He could keep his cool around Isaiah's pack, even Hector and Arnie, so people he knew. Heck, he could probably manage around wolves pretty well now.

But around humans? That was still too risky and got his shadow going in an ugly way.

A pang of shame went through his ribs at the thought he couldn't even go and buy Dylan medicine if he needed it.

"Forget it, man, I just need to sleep it off."

...

Rip didn't end up going to the gym, instead working out on the trapeze stick that they installed together in the hallway.

He wanted to keep an eye on Dylan. The guy was so whiny for every single thing, and so loud and filling the room, that this quiet was setting off all the red lights in Rip's head.

Which was ridiculous. Were they on the streets, fever wouldn't even be something to speak about. Rip would opt to walk it off.

These city pups were so fragile, for real. His old self would have said that. Heck, his mind was still saying it.

So why was he so restless?

Attuned to all the little sounds of the apartment, cleaning up the floor and the dust for the seventh time...

So he could tell the exact moment when things started to get worse.

Dylan was groaning in his sleep. He was curling up on himself, so Rip covered him with a blanket. It was twisted in his grip and he was positively sweating, hair all matted and dark.

Rip crouched down next to him, wrecking his brain on what he knew about treating fevers and human kids.

Dylan groaned again, his eyes opening to slits. "Oh hey..."

"You are feeling worse, aren't you?" Rip said instead of a hello.

Dylan shrugged, corner of his Rip twitching. "Don't look so serious." He frowned, wrapping his hands around his stomach. "Damn, I'm freezing."

"It's warm here."

"For real, I bet I can see my breath."

Rip pushed his sweaty hair out of his forehead. "I think frying an egg on your cheek temp counts as fever. Tell me what to do."

Dylan looked at him dizzyly, like he needed time to process to question. Looking at him this close, Rip noticed the pallor of his skin, the shadows growing under his eyes like bruises.

"Maybe some water?" he croaked.

Rip nodded and almost jumped over the kitchen island in his hurry to get a glass of cool water.

Dylan climbed up into a seated position with difficulty, his hands shaking. Rip held the glass to his lips.

Halfway through Dylan coughed and gagged, the last mouthful of the water gurgling back up into the glass.

"Goddammit, sorry-"

"It's fine," Rip assured, bringing the glass away. "Nausous?"

Dylan grimaced. "Stomach hurts. The porridge's been sitting there like a ton of bricks."

"Is this from the fever or is the fever a symptom of a stomach flu? How does it work?"

Dylan let out a giggle that turned into a cough and another gag. He pressed his hand against his mouth, breathing deeply to fight off the nausea. "Don't know. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"I guess not." Rip shook himself internally, getting to his feet. "This is nothing. You will sleep this off in half a day. Go back to sleep."

They were not going to be panicking over a fever. He knew how whiny and dramatic Dylan could be. Better not take him seriously.

Dylan didn't whine though. He just nodded, pulling the blanket up to his chin and curled back up on the pillow with a shiver.

Rip stayed at his side, braced on the armrest. This time when Dylan woke up, gagging and heaving, he was prepared with a trashcan.

"Here, here, here." Rip held the bucket under his chin as Dylan's body rolled with heaves. He burped several times, bringing up a mouthful of white chunks. There was a dark map of sweat on his shirt, front and back.

Dylan coughed, stomach spasming. He wiggled out of the blanket, throwing his feet over the rim. "Need to- should go-"

Rip slid to the seat next to him. "Where should you go? Hey, trashcan is right here."

"Gonna make a mess- you don't like-"

"Sheesh, forget about that. I got you covered." Rip's voice softened. "You don't need to get up for this."

Dylan looked at him with a deeply set frown of confusion then nodded. There were exactly three seconds of peace before Dylan's body jerked forward and he was coughing up more creamy vomit.

Rip pulled the trashcan into Dylan's lap to catch the most of it, but some dribbled down his chin and down on his shirt.

Dylan was positively glowing with heat, all red in the cheeks, from the fever or the strain, Rip wasn't sure.

Rip rubbed his back as Dylan burped emptily over the trashcan, eyes all watery and glistening.

Dylan fell right back down onto the pillow. Rip fetched him another shirt and manhandled his limp form into a fresh one. The sick wolf was still shivering, although he was sweating like he got from a pouring rain.

Rip did the reasonable thing and tried to call. Isaiah first, then Seline. His phone and then Dylan's in case they didn't want to take his calls.

But no one was picking up. Jeez, did they not have signals at wolf meets or what?

He was pacing around the living room. Going through the cabinets didn't reveal any medications aside some lollipops for strep throat and aloe vera spray.

Why was it such a problem to go fucking shopping?

Of course it was a problem. Rip had money of his own since like last week. And he couldn't go somewhere with people, his shadow would freak out...

"Rip..."

The voice got his attention at once and Rip hurried to crouch by Dylan's side. "Yeah? I'm right here."

"My hands are burning..."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Rip grabbed for Dylan's hands under the blanket, turning it palm up to examine it. "It's not burning, it's okay-"

Then he noticed it. Red little bumps on the inside of his hands, like a rash, starting on his palms and continuing up to his elbwos.

"What are those things?" Dylan sounded more distressed and alert than when he was throwing up, voice going all choked up.

"Ehhh those...I'm sure it's nothing, D. I'm gonna look it up, okay?"

Dylan looked so close to tears Rip hesitated to get up. He reached for Dylan's phone instead and then climbed onto the sofa so he could hold Dylan in his lap.

"They say some infections and high fevers can cause hives..."

Dylan pressed his head against Rip's middle, clutching his hands to his chest. "I don't want them-"

"Shhhhh. They will go away on their own as the fever goes down. You got some nasty little virus that's all."

Dylan's lips were trembling. "They itch. Make them go away."

Rip sighed, experimentally touching Dylan's forehead. God, he was really burning up. He let his fingers linger, petting his hair. "It's gonna be okay, D. Relax. This is nothing."

"They are so ugly," Dylan whined, burying his face deeper into Rip's stomach.

Rip almost burst into a hysterical laugh. "Man, that's truly the least of our problems."

Dylan sobbed quietly, and Rip winced, wrapping his hands around the other boy and pulling him close. "Shhhhh. They are not, they are not. Hey. Stop that."

Dylan groaned, then looked up at Rip with wet lashes. "Isn't it disgusting?"

Rip screwed up his face. He had seen many many ugly and disgusting things, infected wounds, horrible burns, heck, the bitemarks lining up his own arms and neck...he was genuinely too desynthesized.

"No, I swear it's not, D. You couldn't be disgusting if you tried." He leaned over Dylan, combing his hair back. "See? Wouldn't be touching you if you were disgusting, right?"

Dylan watched him so intensively Rip worried a little he would burst a vein in his eye. Finally, he nodded and snuggled—snuggled!—closer. "Okay."

[sufficientlylargen]

It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Olórin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

[petew21-blog]

Friends with benefits

Two long time friends Trent and Brett. A classic story. Met in kindergarten and have been friends since. Grew up together. Spent their holidays together. Graduated together. But then stopped seeing each other as often. Why? Because adult life ain't easy. Brett had to find a job while Trent got into college, graduated and on top of that became a fitness influencer. Brett started his Twitch account and became a gamer, which he had time for, cause how he was constantly doing a different job, depending on what he could find. But both of them always took some time off for a beer with their buddy.

This is Trent

Although he doesn't appear like that, he is a 24 year old male with young looks

On the other hand Brett is also young, but his looks are a bit more mature. Maybe it's because of all the hair

This is Brett

So hairy.

Normal guys, right? Well something was about to change very soon

Friday, August 2nd, 5 PM

Brett:"Hey, dude. Wanna grab a beer later tonight?"

Trent:"Yeah, sure. I am down. Is 8:30 ok? I gotta finish a video"

Brett:"Oh yeah, totally fine. See you then"

Friday, August 2nd, sports bar, 8:33 PM

At the bar Brett waits patiently, only his leg is slightly shaking. Trent comes in through the door. It's kinda funny, cause Trent used to be really insecure and not confident. Now he looks basically like a god. But still, he has this cute shy looking guy whose face doesnt match his body and the fact that he's 24. Brett was kinds jealous, most of the people that didn't know him always thought he was older because of his looks. Trent had the opposite problem. Always had to show ID whenever he went. Yet Brett was probably more jealous about his life in general. He finished school, took great care of his body, which now could help him hook up with anyone he would set his mind to.

Brett:"Hey, maaaan. How are you doing?"

Trent:"Heyyy. Yeah good. You know, single influencer life, haha"

Brett:"The ladies must be driving you crazy"

Trent:"If only it were just ladies. Haha. You should see the messages some of these gay dudes keep sending me. It's insane"

Brett:"You tell me. They always send random shits to my chats while playing. But it's mostly dumb kids."

Trent:"I think we should find you a date for tonight"

Brett:"Nahhh, fuck it. I'm not in the mood. I just wanna chat with my bro."

After a few beers

Brett:"Shut up, you did not!"

Trent:"I swear. She came on to me without a word."

Brett:"So what did you do?"

Trent:"You think I put up a fight? Haha"

Brett:"Maaaan. I want this stuff to happen to me to. That's so hot"

Trent:"Come with me to the gym then, I bet more chicks woukd be into you if you would gain some muscles"

Brett:"You calling me fat?"

Trent:"No, just saying that all that body hair would be good to match with a good body. You're just a walking gorilla right now"

Brett:"Oh shut up twink! Haha"

They finished their drinks, said their goodbyes and went home.

Brett felt amazing. He really needed to get a beer with his best friend. He came back home, sat behind his computer and searched Dark web. He already knew what he was looking for. He wanted to mess with Trent. Just a another one of his pranks. All he needed was Trent's personal item. He found the body swapping website. He read the rules and conditions and filled out his and Trents name. The only next step he had to follow was to go to sleep. And so he did. Only taking off his shirt in the process and collapsing on the bed. Not even brushing his teeth

Brett woke up feeling better than ever. He was used to have a hangover by now, but today he felt great. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed the different sheets. He looked around. This is Trent's place.

Brett:"Trent?" he said, but he heard Trent's voice.

He turned around to get up

His body. He has a different body

Brett:"Holy shit. It worked" he said amused. He looked down at his now soft chest. He got up

Brett:"Oh wow. getting up is so different when you have these hard muscles"

He went to the nearest mirror. And there he was. Trent in his glory. Brett was so happy right now. His prank worked. He is now inside of his best friends body. And the pranks probably won't stop there. Now he can mess with him all he wants. But not now.

He looked from top to bottom how tall and slim his body was. "Almost no hair anywhere. Lucky guy"

He took Trent's phone and snapped a photo to send it to Trent in his body. He knew it would take a while for Trent to wake up so he proceeded in his exploration.

He felt his curly hair. "How come you don't even have widow's peak? So unfair" He traced his jawline, now with tiny baby hair that Brett wouldn't even call a beard. But his sight was now caught by those nice Calvin Klein's. He looked around as if there was someone in the room with him who would judge him. He pulled on the waistband

Brett:"Just as I thought. Also shaved" he grabbed his new dick, that was getting harder and harder by the second, when suddenly his phone received a notification. he let go of his dick

It was Trent. Brett:"Haha, this is gonna be good"

There was a photo of Brett's body, observing his hairy armpits in shock

Trent in Brett's body:"Hey. Got any idea why I am a gorilla now? And why that gorilla looks exactly like you?"

Brett:"Surpriseee. And fuck you"

Trent:"So this is your doing?"

Brett:"Yeah, I kinda wanted to prank you somehow for all the pranks and the gorilla jokes. Joke's on you ape man"

Trent:"Fuck you. So this is reversible?"

Brett:"Sure, man. No worries. We'll meet tonight at the bar again and chat how our day went?"

Trent:"I don't know how to feel about this, bro"

Brett:"Just try enjoying being another person"

Trent:"Do you realise there are some no go things including intimate stuff and hygiene?"

Brett:"Sure I do. I'm already holding your dick in YOUR hands right now"

Trent:"Dude! Not cool. I meant more stuff like shitting etc. But yeah, this too."

Brett:"I gotta say Trent. You have a very nice dick"

Trent:"I'll comment on your size when I find it in the bushes I guess. Have you never heard of trimming?"

Brett:"Keeping it natural, baby face"

Trent:"Fine, let's see each other tonight at 8, ok?"

Brett:"Enjoyyy" Hangs up

Trent:"Jesus, this guy. I hope he doesn't fuck up something or someone"

Starts observing himself. "I must say, It feels good to look like a mature man and not a teenager. All of this hair. And the moustache is hot too. I could never grow this thing"

Trent looked down and had a mischievous thought. "Well, Brett. Since you have already held my dick, I think it's time to step it up. Gonna see if you can last longer than I do" Trent said with a smile and whipped out his new hard hairy dick

Saturday August the 3rd, bar, 8:04 PM

Brett is sitting amused in the bar, eating chips on the table and drinking beer. Winking at the ladies looking at his direction.

A waitress came by his table:"Want another?"

Brett noticed his old incoming body:"Sure, and another one for my friend who just arrived. Thank you, sweetheart" he said as his flirtatious look almost seduced the local waitress

Trent:"You need to stop!"

Brett:"What? I was just flirting"

Trent:"Not that. Stop eating those chips. God knows how many calories you ate already"

Brett:"So you don't mind that I was flirting with her?"

Trent:"Nah, I don't care. I jerked off your dick for like the fifth time half an hour ago"

Brett:"What? You beast. I would have never expected that. Cool. You have a really good dick to jerk off too. I didn't expect to shoot so far tho. Made a bit of a mess"

A couple off bikers started eavesdropping to their conversation and turning heads

Trent:"You might want to quiet down, or we're gonna get beaten up for mistakenly speaking like gay guys"

Brett:"But you gotta admit that my body is not so bad, right? All the hair and everything. You like it"

Trent:"It's not bad, but I prefer being in my own body. I'm used to it."

Brett:"Ok, I'll pretend I didn't hear the part before about masturbation. But what do you say? We didn't even have enough time to see what the life is like in our new bodies. It's only been a day"

Trent:"And your point is?"

Brett:"Let's stay swapped for a while. We can swap back anytime we want. It's reversible. We know almost everything about each other, so pretending to be the other one will be easy. You'll just teach me your workout routine, I'll show you... what games to play and how to set up a livestream and we'll figure it out"

Trent:"Livestream? That's all you got?"

Brett:"Come on, man. We got nothing to loose"

Trent:"I don't know man. It's gonna be complicated. I agreed to leave for a few weeks to work at one of our gym branches in another city. And now you'll be the one that has to go. I think now is not the best time"

Brett:"So? I can update you about everything. We can chat all the time. We can call. And I got nothing to do. Actually, you might need to find some job for those few weeks. And there's never gonna be a better time then now. We're single, ready to mingle. So let's enjoy that month"

Trent:"You wanna stay swapped the whole tíme I'm gone?"

Brett:"Yeah, I'll be a fitness instructor/viral star and you'll ne enjoying my chill life"

Trent:"Chill life. Man, you won't even recognise your life when we'll swap back"

Brett:"So you agree?"

Trent:"Yeah, what the hell. I'll be a gorilla for a month"

Brett:"Deal. Now, let's see if you'll have a better game in finding a hookup then me"

Sunday, August 4th

Brett sends a text to Trent:"Why do I feel like my body still hasn't gone through puberty?"

Trent:"Piss off. Yours looks like it went trough yours several times."

Brett:"Nah, gotta be honest. I'm really enjoying this lean figure and hairless body"

Trent:"And my dick..."

Brett:"Haha, yeah and your dick. How are you doing in my body?"

Trent:"Feels pretty weird to be so hairy, but gotta admit it's a nice change. Like... feeling so manly"

Brett:"Yeah, but tip for that hairy stomach. Don't cum on it. It's really irritating to get cum from it"

Trent:"Never had the issue in my body, so yeah. Thanks for the tip"

Brett:"No problem. I had to try it out in yours haha"

Trent:"Doesn't this feel kinda gay to you? All the dick and jerk off talk. Appreciating each other's bodies"

Brett:"Nah. We're exploring, man. Who knows if we ever get that chance. Gotta enjoy it"

Wednesday August 7th

Trent:"How are you settling in?"

Brett:"Yeah. Pretty great. I just jerked off to some porn"

Trent:"Ew. I mean the appartement"

Brett:"Whooops. Sorry. Right. Yeah it's nice. Very clean. Very modern"

Trent:"It's yours only for a month so don't destroy anything there"

Brett:"It's kinda poetic right. New appartement, new body, new job"

Trent:"I don't see anything poetic about me playing games in front of a camera"

Brett;"Dude you have to. My fans are gonna wonder what happened to me"

Trent:"Fine. I'll log in tonight. By the way. Dude your feet smell so much when you work out."

Brett:"Work out? You took my body to the gym?

Trent:"Yeah. I had to show off these bushes somewhere, right?"

Brett:"Ahhh thanks man. Looking good"

Trent:"And I think oke girl was checking you... me out"

Brett:"If you can score than go for it. I'm actually late for a date. Or... how do you call it if you're just gonna have dinner and fuck?"

Trent:"Standard hook up man. Please be safe. Wear a condom. And watch our foe those carbs, man."

Brett:"Sure thing, bye"

Monday, August 12 th

Brett:"Dude do you like ever have to shave your face?"

Trent:"Sure I do. I just don't have to do it so often as you. Btw can I please shave off this moustache?"

Brett:"Absolutely not. You'll learn to love it and appreciate it. Just like I will your baby face"

Saturday, August 17th

Brett:"I have to admit I really love showing off your muscles man. I have been doing it constantly at every occassion. So many people turn their heads to take a peak"

Trent:"Yeah I get it. It helps with the confidence a bit"

Brett:"A bit? I feel like I can beat any fucker whk crosses me"

Trent:"Brett, please don't beat anyone in my body"

Brett:"Just kidding, man. How have you been"

Trent:"Well I tried being consistent with the gym. I think your body is doing pretty well"

Brett:"Daaaamn bro. I look good. You really do take care of my body really well"

Trent:"I was actually thinking I could offer this for money. Swapping with people, doing their routines and then swap back. But that's a talk for another time after we swap back"

Brett:"Yeha, sure. Cool idea. Anyway... how was the streaming?"

Trent:"I don't know, man. I think they are desperste for me to say your catchphrases, but they are so cringe."

Brett:"Nah, you have to do that. That's how you get into Tiktoks and become viral"

Trent:"Honestly. I can't wait to get back to my body and to my life back. So we will swap on September 2nd?

Brett:"Yeah. I suppose. Depends how the work will be etc. Anyway I gotta go man. Talk soon"

Trent to himself:"It feels like he's avoiding me with amswering more and more. Trent rubbed his hairy chest, recalling his sweet soft pecs that he missed.

Thursday, August 22nd

Trent:"Hey, man. How is it going?"

Friday, August 23rd

Trent:"Hey. I just wanna know if you're ok. I just wanna talk about the reversal."

Saturday:"please call me back as soon as possible"

Sunday, August 25th

Brett:"I'm ok"

Trent:"What the hell happened?"

Brett:"Nothing I just felt like I needed a break from phone and that stuff"

Trent:"Brett you didn't answer the phone for 4 days"

Brett:"Ok, I was avoiding you, cause I kinda fucked up and was afraid to tell you"

Trent:'What did you do? Is my body ok?"

Brett:"Yeah your body is unharmed. Nothing that bad. We just had a party in the appartement. Broke the TV and... I had unprotected sex with one girl. She didn't know if she was pregnant or not. So I was waiting. And congrats. You're not gonna be a dad"

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett:"I know. I'm so sorry. Won't happen again. Promise. I just got drunk once and it led to this. I'll be good now"

Trent:"Please, don't do anything anymore. I want to switch back"

Brett:"Nah man. We still gotta week to finish. You said until September 2nd."

Trent:"I didn't know you'd do something like this"

Brett:"Please Trent. I'm begging you. Just that one week"

Trent:"Fine. But don't do anything else!"

Sunday, September 1st

Brett:"Hey. Are you packed yet?"

Trent:"Hey. Not really. I planned on packing tommorow. You can come and help if you got time"

Brett:"Sure. I'll come by"

Monday, September 2nd

Trent arrives to the appartement. Brett is on the couch playing video games

The TV is new and there is a PlayStation on the table

Trent:"You didn't tell me you got back into gaming and that you bought all this."

Brett:"Yeha, I missed it. I thought to myself that you'd like it too. So I bought it. By the way. You should see how the fans dig it"

Trent:"Fans? You're live streaming in my body?"

Brett:"Yeah. The gamers are so into it when I'm flexing in the spare time. I even got a viral Tiktok already!"

Trent:"I think we should swap back, Brett. My life is out of your control now."

Brett:"I'm just using all the goods, man. You don't like my body anymore?"

Trent:"Stop changing the subject. I want to swap back"

Brett:"Ok... but on one condition"

Trent:"You want money?"

Brett;"Nah I want to have sex with my body. I want to have sex with you."

Trent:"You have lost your mind"

Brett:"Oh come on. Admit it, that you thought about it. Who gets the chance to fuck their body? To watch their body in the most animalistic moments from somebody else eyes?" Brett flexes his biceps to let Brett watch

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett stands up and goes towards Trent

Brett:"You know you want to kids thus face. To suck this hard dick" he says holding tightly his hardening bulge

Trent:"I... I do. I want to suck my dick"

Brett:"Atta boy"

They begin making out. The fast movements heading towards the bedroom could be described as chaotic, but for them it was a dance of passion. Brett was ripping his old clothes from his old body was all over his body, kissing his neck. Sucking each part of his skin

The kissed even more

Brett began to be more dominant. He gripped Trent's now receding hairline and pushed him down to suck his dick. Trent was choking. But did his best to swallow most of the shaft he now had. He had his dick in his mouth. He couldn't believe it. He is straight and he is sure of that. But this is absolutely different

Brett took his old body by the neck, choking him. "Say you love being in my body"

Trent:"Brett I can't breathe"

Brett:"Fine, let's do this the hard way"

He turned him around. Trent now on all fours. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready

Brett spit in his hand and spread it all over the head od his dick. Ready to penetrate his old hairy hole

Trent:"Brett wait... I... Ahhhhhhhh". Trent screamed in pain

Brett:"Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm just so horny. I love your body, Trent. I love every inch od it. Admit you like mine"

Trent:"Brett, please slow down"

Brett:"Naaah, you'll get used to it in a sex"

Trent:"Please, get lube or something"

Brett spit again to where his dick was penetrating Trent's ass. Brett:"Should do it"

Trent was still in pain, but now a new feeling was making him feel better. The pain was now... pleasant? He wanted to feel more. With every thrust from Brett. He felt like shitting himself and cumming at the same time

Brett:"Admit it. Admit you love being in my body" he sped up. Thrusting painfully.

Trent:"Yeah.... yes..."

Brett:"Louder"

Trent:"I do... I love your body. I love being you"

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm gonna cum. Turn around. I want to cum on your chest"

Trent turned around. He could feel cum leaking from his dick. And now he saw his old face like he never did before. Brett was so into it. His face was full of lust, rage and mischief.

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm cumming!"

The cum shot all over Trent. Not only on his chest, but also on his mouth and face

Trent watched in awe what just happened.

Brett:"Whew. That was a ride wasn't it? First gay sex. Am I right?"

Trent:"Brett... I?"

Brett:"Oh sorry. I have to catch my breath. You look so funny with my cum all over you. Haha. By the way. I'm glad you love your new body. You get to keep it"

Trent:"Brett, you said we would swap"

Brett:"Yeah I did. That's true. But after this little 'cum over your face' and 'dick in your ass' we made it permanent"

Trent watched in shock as his old body was still standing on top of him. Breathing rapidly and laughing.

Several months later

Hi my name is Brett. Welcome to my only fans channel. If you got any hairy request, hit me up

Brett in Trent's body:"Well this is just pathetic. Man, I knew you'd crumble. But this just seems you lost your mind"

Trent's massive colleague came next to him:"Hey, bro. What are you looking at?"

Brett:"Just looking how one of my friends threw away their life, kinda sad. But whatever. Their life, not mine"

Friend:"Hey, wanna grab a beer later this evening?"

Brett scanned his friend from top to bottom and smiled:"Sure thing. Be there at eight"

Brett thought about switching it up a little. That body would be amazing. But then he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. And flexed

Brett:"Nah. I'm Trent. And I'm keeping this body"

A request from messages (another one who waited for a LONG time, sorry guys) for @swappwas

Hope you like it :)

P.S. written late at night on a phone with a very irritating autocorrect, so please excuse the mistakes

[loulovingho]

Part 2 of my injured Tommy fic.

Tommy watched the clock with distain in his eyes. Every second that ticked by felt like it was mocking him.

Just another second since he left you. Another second since you drove him away. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He hated that stupid clock.

He also hated that his and Evan's bed was in the living room, and their hallway was covered in plastic sheets for the remodel, and that all their cabinets and countertops had to be lowered, and that he still had to have help when he took a shower or took a shi-

“Knock knock!” Eddie's voice interrupted Tommy's thoughts. Probably a good thing, he figured. He was very close to throwing his stress ball directly at the clock and, hopefully, shattering it to pieces.

“In here,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes afterward. Because of course that's where he was. He was never not in the living room these days.

“I brought new movies and...” his voice drifted as soon as he got a good look at Tommy. “What's wrong?”

Tommy sighed. “Please. It's not like Evan didn't send you.”

“Buck didn't send me. Why would Buck be sending me?”

“Because we fought.”

“Really?” Eddie asked, and if he was faking surprise, he was doing a really good job. “What about?”

“He's...” Tommy huffed. “He's trying to help me all the time and there's some things I wanna do on my own. Too much hovering.”

“S'normal,” Eddie replied. He headed over to the couch to sit.

Tommy turned in the chair to get himself into position to transfer. “Can you pull my arm up a little so I can get on the couch?”

Eddie leaned back, staring at Tommy. “You got it.”

“I don't really ever do transfers by myself, Eddie.”

“Good time to start. Come on,” he patted the couch, “this is way more comfy than the chair.”

“Eddie, I-” he gripped onto the armrests just enough to make himself squirm. “I'm really tired and I'd rather you just help me.”

“Mm. No.”

“No?” Tommy questioned.

Eddie nodded. “Consider it tough love. I know you're not tired, Man. You've got a look on your face that says you're ready for about four or five rounds of Muay Thai. Use up some of that energy to get yourself on the damn couch.”

Tommy wanted to scream. Forget the clock, he wanted to throw the stress ball right at Eddie's head.

He squeezed it harder instead, his nails digging into the ball. “Can you at least not look at me while I do it?” he asked, teeth gritted together.

“What's that matter? I've helped you shower.”

He glared up at Eddie, his cheeks turning red. “You're really pissing me off, Man.”

“I can see that.”

“Can't you leave me the hell alone?!” Tommy yelled. “Go screw up your own life again or something!”

Eddie didn't waver. Face didn't falter for a second. “The great part about us being friends,” he said, leaning toward Tommy ever so slightly, “is that you can't hurt my feelings the same way you can hurt Buck's. You can either stay a grump in that uncomfortable chair, or be a grump on this very comfy couch.”

Tommy huffed and puffed and was fairly sure if humans could breathe fire than there would definitely be some coming out of his nose. He angrily pulled the brakes on his chair, then used all the upper body strength he had to push himself up and onto the couch. It took awhile. A lot longer than he'd like to admit, actually, but eventually he was seated on the couch. He tugged on his sweatpants, straightening out his legs until his feet were flat against the floor. Then he leaned forward and released one of the brakes so he could swivel the chair off to the side.

“Hell yeah!” Eddie cheered, reaching over to smack his hand against Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy would've liked to still be angry with him, but he was too busy gasping for breath. He was also actually a little proud of himself too. “Sorry,” he muttered once he was able to speak again. “I didn't mean what I said. I'm just being an ass today.”

“No problem, Dude. So, why don't you tell me the real reason you fought with Buck?”

“I already did.”

“Please, that was total bull and we both know it. You fought because Buck's trying to help and you don't want it, yet you wanted me to help you? Plus, Buck's been hovering for two months now and you've never said a word even though you can do half this stuff by yourself. Transferring was one of the first things they taught you in the hospital. Real reason.” Eddie snapped his fingers near Tommy's face. “Go.”

“It's stupid.”

“Of course it is. Tell me anyway.”

Tommy ran his hand over his forehead, wiping away the thin layer of sweat that had settled there. “I...” his voice trailed off as he thought about how to say what he'd been thinking. “I feel like he's settling for me now.”

“Buck?” Eddie questioned. “You feel like he's settling?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so dumber than I thought.”

“Eddie.”

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Why would you ever think that?”

“Eddie, the guy he fell in love with was a firefighter pilot. Someone who flew through hurricanes and landed helicopters on capsized cruise ships. Not... this,” he said, motioning down at his lower half. “I don't even know what this is anymore.”

“Hm.” Eddie nodded his head, thinking for a moment before responding. “Gotta say, if that's how you feel about Buck, then I'm not sure you know him at all.”

Tommy ran a hand over his eyes, trying to stop them from burning. “That's the stupid part, Eddie, I don't feel that way about Buck. I feel that way about me. I know how irrational it is and I know he still loves me, but there's this voice in the back of my mind that always starts running its mouth.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I've got one of those too. Sounds like my mother.”

“I think mine's my dad. And me a little bit too.”

“What's the voice say?”

“A lot of things. Mostly, it makes me feel useless. I've always had a plan, Eddie, ever since I was a kid. There was school, and football, and knowing that the second I was old enough I'd do whatever I had to do to get out of my dad's house. Then I had the army, and flying, and after that I went right into being a firefighter. I did that for so long before transferring to Harbor and flying again, but I always had a plan. I was always somebody. I was something. Now I...” he sighed. “I don't know who or what I am. I don't know what to do with my life. And Evan didn't fall in love with that guy. He fell in love with cool, confident Tommy. Which makes me feel like he's settling now, because he could be doing anything.”

His eyes burned. He kept wiping at them, trying to catch each tear before they could fall. “He should be doing anything,” he said, lip trembling. “He's young, and smart, and so damn handsome. He should be living his life, Eddie, not working part time so he can be home with me.” He gave up on the tears, sniffling as they started to fall. “He spends every waking moment either working or taking care of me, and it's not fair to him. It's not.”

Eddie waited. Waited until Tommy's breathing returned to normal and the tears calmed before hitting him with a, “You know you're never gonna walk again, right?”

Tommy looked like all the air had been sucked out of the room. His eyes widened comically as he stared at Eddie, shocked. “I- I'm aware. Thanks?”

Eddie shrugged. “I'm just saying, this all happened like two months ago. That's it. Two months, Tommy. You don't have to have everything figured out yet. Hell, you've got a lot more figured out right now than I do at any given moment.”

“Doesn't feel that way. Feels like everything's a mess, and I'm a burden. We're having to use all my savings for the renovations, and Buck's taking care of all the bills while only working part time, and paying Carla to take care of me when he's working. Then he's coming home to do PT with me and cook for me and help me use the damn bathroom.” His voice cracked again at the last admission, but he cleared his throat and continued. “God, Eddie, he was so upset but he still asked if I needed to use the bathroom before he left.”

“So that's what it was all really about then?” Eddie asked. “You were just trying to push him away?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I think so. And I know this part isn't forever. I'll figure out the cooking once the kitchen is done, I'll learn new ways to exercise, we'll have an actual bedroom again, I'll be able to transfer to the toilet and into the shower. It's not that I mind the help, because you're right, I love the fact he takes care of me. I just hate that he has to. I don't want to hold him back. Don't want him to have regrets.”

“Man, your brain really is working overtime,” Eddie said, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “It's wrong, by the way, your brain I mean. Buck's obsessed with you still. Like, obnoxiously so. He's always looking at the clock, waiting to get home to you. He tries out PT exercises on us, researches meals that'll give you enough protein to keep up your upper body strength. Won't shut up about you on calls.” He laughed when he saw a smile playing on Tommy's face. “Seriously, last week we had this woman on a stretcher who happened to have a husband named Tommy, and Buck just lights up. Starts going on and on about how he has a fiancé named Tommy who has taught him all about monster trucks, and shown him all these movies, and is the coolest, and sweetest, and hottest, man he's ever met. No joke, Tommy, the woman asked if we could give her a sedative so she wouldn't have to listen anymore.”

Tommy laughed at that, some of the stress visibly leaving his body. “If you ask Carla, she'd say the same thing,” he admitted. “Evan's all I talk about, all day long. I know it has to drive her nuts.”

“You two love birds are meant for each other, whether your dad in your head likes it or not. And if you really think Buck's gonna leave you because of one stupid fight... you're dumber than I thought.”

“He's right.” The sound of Buck's voice made both Eddie and Tommy turn toward the living room entryway. “I mean, not about the dumb part. But, thinking I'll leave you.”

“I- I didn't hear you get home,” Tommy said nervously. He eyed Buck up and down, like he was expecting him to have physically changed in the last two hours.

“I was quiet, I guess.” He glanced at the wheelchair, then at Tommy on the couch. “You transferred.” It wasn't a question.

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I did. Took a hot minute, but I did it.”

“Did Eddie harass you into it?”

Tommy smiled softly. “It's a very effective method, apparently.”

“I'll have to stick around next time,” Buck replied, smiling back, “and take notes.”

Eddie's eyes shifted between the two of them, noticing that they couldn't seem to stop staring at each other.

“I think my work here is done,” he said, getting up and giving Tommy a pat on the leg. “See ya, Man.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Bye, Eddie.”

He squeezed Buck's shoulder as he passed by. “See you tomorrow.”

Buck smiled at him. “See ya.”

They stayed silent until the door shut, leaving the two of them alone.

“I'm so sorry I snapped at you.” Tommy inwardly cursed at the fact he couldn't seem to stop himself from getting emotional anymore.

“I'm sorry I hovered.”

“That's not... Evan, that's not why I really got upset.”

“Yeah, I figured. I've been here for a while, actually, I just... I haven't heard you open up like that since the accident.”

“Can you come here?” Tommy asked, patting his lap. As Buck walked over, Tommy held out his hand. Buck took it as he sat beside him on the couch, gently resting his legs over Tommy's. “I don't want you thinking I'm not thankful for everything you've done. I am endlessly grateful, Evan.”

“I don't want you thinking you're not enough for me.” Tommy looked down as Buck spoke, until Buck hooked two fingers under Tommy's chin and tilted his head up so their eyes met. “My love for you has never been based on your job, or what you're capable of. I love you. I love your personality, and your smile, and how you care about people, and how you always seem to know when I'm not okay, and how you listen. All of it. You still have everything that makes you you, Tommy. Everything I love is still right here,” he said, placing a hand over Tommy's heart.

Tommy reached up and placed his hand over Buck's. “We were supposed to get married today,” he said, his lip trembling.

Buck nodded, tears in his eyes. “I know.”

“Would you... Would you still want to?”

Buck froze. “Are- Are you serious?”

Tommy nodded. “I still want a real wedding, sometime soon. But, I really just wanna be married to you.”

“Eddie probably hasn't gotten too far yet,” Buck said, practically jumping up to pull his phone out of his pocket. “He could come back; be our witness?”

“Good idea. I'll get back in my chair so I'm ready when he gets here.”

“Need any help?” Buck asked, phone to his ear as he waited for Eddie to pick up.

“That's okay,” Tommy answered with a smile. “I got it.”

[whirlybirbs]

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

[writingstoraes]

hearty meals 🍳

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!chef!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: randomly got this idea so decided to do this first lolol lmk what u guys think! also this takes me back to charles cooking pasta and him saying it's still hard 😭

about: the dynamics of a really good chef and charles, who's well-known for being amazingly great at cooking.

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 1,560,394 others

charles_leclerc Sent out dinner invitations thinking only half would accept, here we are in complete attendance 😆 Kidding, it was nice to be with these people for a night!

Props to my amazing girlfriend for preparing the entire meal, from appetizers to dessert and even everyone's round two's. Sorry I'm not of more help, amour 😅

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly No one asked you to host dinner 🤨

charles_leclerc Be glad you got an invitation carlossainz55 Shouldn't have sent him one mate pierregasly I will come for you, Carlos

sainzlover i am once again going feral over 20 men who go broom broom this is so on brand of me

yourusername i'm sorry too actually

charles_leclerc Baby what yourusername i'm kidding, i love you 😘

lewishamilton Thanks for hosting, Y/N and Charles!

yourusername

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 342,103 others

yourusername cooked dinner for like 20+ hungry drivers last night 🍷 totally wiped out but i had such a good time! kudos to charles for being able to chop some parsley last night - he did a mega job :)

landonorris Sorry what were you saying I'm still in a food coma

danielriciardo Loved the food, Y/N! Glad you anticipated I'd be going for round three 😊

yourusername let me know how heidi likes the food i packed for her hahaha heidiberger LOVED it please always cook for us 🙏

carlossainz55 How hard can chopping parsley be

yourusername well it took your teammate a solid 20 minutes so you tell me 😆 charles_leclerc Please don't air out my culinary talents like this

sebastianvettel Thanks for cooking, Y/N! Loved the food a lot. You really exceeded Charles' description of your cooking, so please teach him 🙏

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, isahernaez, carlabrocker, and 209,239 others

yourusername charles and i made some of whatever this is last night 🍫

landonorris I don't believe in the "Charles and I" part

charles_leclerc That's literally the first two words? yourusername what's not to believe 😊

pierregasly Y/N come on come clean, you did that all by yourself

charles_leclerc I have flour on my face... pierregasly So? You're a mess in the kitchen, dude

sebastianvettel What exactly did Charles do?

yourusername sliced the strawberries and peeled the bananas.... landonorris LMAO KNEW IT carlossainz55 Laughing so hard this is the best day of my life

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, redbullracing, mercedesamgf1, and 674,293 others

scuderiaferrari A successful team dinner at Maranello all thanks to Chef Y/N and her team! All meals were truly exceptional and best believe everyone left well-fed and satisfied ❤️🧑‍🍳

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc My girl 🤍

yourusername thanks for the opportunity, ferrari! let me know when's the next one 🫡

arthurleclerc I hope Charles took home some of these

rarrigirl PLSSS WHAT ID GIVE TO EAT SOME OF Y/N's CREATIONS

culinaryenthusiast what can she not do omg she can bake too???

yourusername recently added to her instagram story!

charles_leclerc recently added to his instagram story!

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, scuderiaferrari, lorenzotl, and 1,842,294 others

charles_leclerc I am not the best cook so if anyone wonders what my participation is in the kitchen, nothing I just stare at the pretty chef and flirt with her every 10 minutes 😆

yourusername you sure are the best at that :]

charles_leclerc I know 😘

landonorris Is that in my kitchen....

yourusername oops landonorris You are so lucky you're my favorite chef

danielricciardo I miss Y/N's food when is the next dinner?

charles_leclerc Next year, probably pierregasly No? We're coming over on Friday

-----------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: tysm for reading <3

[livums]

Liv’s {Totally Optional Non-Mandatory Completely Voluntary} Pointers for Fleshing Out Character Relationships

Hi I’m liv e. and by middling demand I am going to blab a liiittle* bit about relationships.

So I will start by saying that I’m trained & licensed as a marriage and family therapist. So this is kind of what I do all fucking week. And I like this whole writeblr thing so why not make it fun and about fiction instead. LOL.

The purpose of this liiiiittle** post is to offer some ways in which you, a writer (great job btw!), might deepen your own understanding of the relationships between two or more characters in your writing. More specifically, by thinking a little deeper about how relationships function in real life.

These are ways in which I might conceptualize a relationship between people who seek my services as a clinician.

A small disclaimer: the VAST majority of my work is with couples (because I. prefer to see couples over families, lol), so this advice is coming from that perspective. Please keep in mind also that there are certainly infinite other ways to think about relationships. This is just the way I was trained. Or at least, the parts of my training that resonated with me the most, especially as I began writing more seriously.

My hope is that reading and practicing/toying around with these tips will help add another dimension to how relationships play out in your writing. So um. Cheers! Let’s chat.

*it’s not a little. it’s a lot.

**it’s a long post.

i. What I Say vs. What I Mean

When was the last time your partner or good friend pissed you off?

Maybe they were flippant about your feelings. Maybe they blew you off to hang out with someone else. Maybe they keep loading the dishwasher like a neanderthal.

And did you say to them, “Baby/honey/sweetums/bestie, it really upsets me when you load the dishwasher like that. I’ve asked you to do it X way several times, and it feels like you’re not listening to me, or that you don’t care about how I feel” ?

Probably not? Because, hello? (If you did, first try, then, wow! you’re a better person than i’ll ever be.)

You might’ve said “Dude, stop cramming shit in the dishwasher like it’s a fucking suitcase,” or “Haha, wow, again with the dishwasher. Awesome. No, it’s like, whatever.“ Or you might not’ve said anything at all, on purpose.

There is a tension that exists, there, in the CONTRAST between what we are thinking/feeling/meaning (e.g., I love you/I miss you/You hurt me) and what we are communicating via our words and actions (e.g., You never make time for me/You’re so lazy/You’re such a(n) [expletive of choice]).

That tension is ... really fucking interesting to read, huh!

Personally, I have a lot of fun watching the needs/wants/feelings of a character (that we might be privy to, as readers) get filtered through their unique... voice.

So say you write a character who is quite rough around the edges, and not very skilled in affection. They have a deep yearning to be close to [love interest], but they just aren’t accustomed to languaging their true feelings. Maybe we see how scared they are of putting their feelings out there. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying.

So instead of “I really care about you, [love interest]”, maybe it comes out something more like “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than follow me around all fucking day?”

And we, the readers, are like, wow! That’s not what you were thinking at all man! You’re so bad at this, that’s awesome.

So the point of all this is that it’s very helpful to clarify for yourself, in any meaningful interaction between characters in or soon-to-be-in a relationship:

What are the characters individually thinking during this interaction? What are the emotions that are present? How does it show in their body or their movements? Are they careful not to let these things show, or do they not notice at all?

How are they expecting this interaction to go? (Are they afraid something might go wrong? Are they looking for a certain reaction from each other?)

What DON’T they know about what the other person is thinking? What are their assumptions about how the other person perceives them--in general, and in this moment?

What is the GAP or the CONTRAST between all of the above and what actually ends up coming out of their mouth? Or what actions they end up physically taking (or not taking)?

Are the characters aware of their own contrast, here? How do they feel about it? Or, do they think they are being perfectly congruent?

In this way, you have the ability, as a writer, to create some devastatingly (or delightfully) poignant moments between characters. These are the moments that can really sell the reader on the relationship--its importance (why are you showing us this?) and its appeal (thank you for showing us this, this blew our tits off, etc).

ii. Tender Spots and How to Attack Them for Fun and Profit

So we’ve got issues.

What are the things that really fuckin get at you? Those topics that, when brought up, make you really upset and really defensive at like, mach speed. Maybe you’re insecure about your skills. Maybe it really bothers you when people see you as weak/unintelligent/a burden/unattractive. Maybe you have a rough and complicated relationship with a family member.

So these can be thought of as, like, tender spots (lol). You can also think of them as “raw” spots, sensitive spots, or triggers.

Figure out what your characters’ are!

This is another key way in which you can create deep and believable interpersonal drama--Character A (accidentally or intentionally) stomps all over Character B’s sensitive spots. So to speak.

A very cursory and relatively uncomplicated example of this in action:

Tasha and Mimi are two adults in a committed partnership.

Mimi’s got a real fucking chip on her shoulder about being seen as a burden--her father always went to great lengths to make sure she knew just how much he did for her, just how many opportunities he passed up in order to raise her, just how great his life would have been if she’d never been born.

Tasha is the oldest of five siblings. She was frequently tasked with their care, growing up. She did her best not to complain, as her parents were always very busy working to keep a roof over their head. So, Tasha did her part. She would’ve loved to rest and play and goof off like other kids and teens, sure, but it never felt possible with all of her responsibilities.

Mimi is suddenly injured and is unable to do certain things on her own that she had been doing before. Tasha goes about taking care of these things as well as taking on certain other tasks on her own that the pair of them may have tackled as a team before. Tasha feels stretched very thin by the workload, but is deeply concerned about how Mimi feels. There’s nothing to be done about the situation, she reasons, so there’s no point in complaining about how stressed out she is.

Mimi offers to help to the best of her ability, but Tasha is very concerned about her, and insists that Mimi rest and not exert herself. Mimi insists back. Tasha insists back back.

Mimi points out how stressed Tasha must be. Tasha agrees that she is stressed, but does not elaborate on her feelings. Mimi assumes that Tasha must think that she is a burden.

Mimi then becomes very emotionally activated--she is reminded, consciously or unconsciously, of how shitty it felt to have her father tell her over and over again what a burden she is, and how better off he would be without her. So this must be how Tasha really feels about her, Mimi accuses.

Tasha, who is very stressed but who cares very deeply for Mimi and her well-being, and who does not see Mimi as just a burden, becomes very activated in turn--she feels maligned and misunderstood. And now she certainly can’t talk about how stressed out she is, because it will only convince Mimi that she is right.

So Tasha is now convinced that she must continue to hold her feelings in in order to keep the peace--she’s reminded of her childhood spent taking care of others, and how she never felt allowed to express herself.

This example is obviously from a very zoomed-out view, chronologically, and is not exactly the way we would see it written in fiction (fiction is much more moment-by-moment and, well, exciting, usually). BUT we can see where Tasha and Mimi’s sensitivities lie, and how they specifically hurt each other with their behavior (unintentionally, in this case) by stomping RIGHT ON those sensitivities.

Readers love drama. And drama makes the plot go ‘round! So don’t be afraid to lay it on them!

In your (very good and compelling) writing, ESPECIALLY if you want to write engaging relational conflict, you would do well to clarify what your characters’ deepest sensitivities are. Consider the following:

What needs went unmet for them, growing up? A very cliche therapist-y question, but for good reason--our upbringing is where many of our deepest insecurities originate.

Additionally/alternatively, what do your characters understand to be their role in relation to other people? E.g., are they always the caretaker, the burden, the comic relief, the heartbreaker, the lonely hero, the boss? How did they first get this idea of who they’re ‘supposed’ to be towards others, and how was this reinforced throughout their life? Are they satisfied or dissatisfied with their ‘lot in life’? What do they hate about their ‘role’, if anything?

What sorts of situations might remind them of what they hate most about this role? E.g. ‘I enjoy taking care of others, and I’m good at it, but my partner gets upset if I discuss how stressed I get sometimes--I’m never allowed to express myself.’ How can you incorporate these situations into your story to create conflict?

How does your character respond when these sensitivities are triggered? Do they lash out? Do they retreat and get quiet? Do they ghost people altogether?

What do they think will happen if they are unwilling or unable to fulfill this role in their relationships with others? E.g., ‘My partner will leave me if I am not a good caretaker’, ‘Nothing will get done right if I’m not the one taking charge’, ‘If I don’t keep others at arms’ length, even if they say they love me, I’ll end up hurt.’

This is another way in which you can help your relationships really come to life! Anyways. Read on for more cheer and relational joy!

iii. We’re Attracted to What Hurts Us Sometimes, AKA Oops! I Ran into the Knife, Ten Times,

(less of a part 3 and more a part 2.5, but it was simply too long. so,)

So maybe you have a good idea of what your ideal partner/bestie looks like. It’s probably any number of positive traits: kind, considerate, good sense of humor, shapely posterior, ambitious, active, fun-loving, studious, etc.

What probably don’t make the list are things like: emotionally distant like my mother with whom I long to have a reparative experience.

Maybe you’ve witnessed (or been in) a relationship wherein all parties can be described as ‘just so bad for each other’. And maybe this relationship should not have lasted as long as it did (or shouldn’t be lasting as long as it is). And maybe you’re like--’Why are these assholes still together?’ Or, importantly: ‘Why did these assholes get together at all?’ The answer may surprise you! But more likely, it won’t.

Sometimes, we pick people on purpose specifically because they stab us right in the sensitive spot (again. so to speak).

(i should clarify before moving on: I am specifically NOT talking about relational abuse, here. That’s kind of an entirely different subject that is like. the cousin of this subject. In this discussion, I specifically mean relationships in which there is no major power differential--you’re just bad for each other. These relationships can be what we might call ‘toxic’, sure, and painful, but not abusive. The distinction is important, moving forward. ok ty)

[Author’s Note: I need everyone to know that I wrote and subsequently deleted 700 words here because I realized they didn’t make any fucking sense ok. let’s try this one more time.]

Essentially, it’s a known phenomenon among humans that, when we have experience with relational distress in the past (e.g. a partner who neglected you emotionally, or parents who disregarded boundaries you tried to set), we like to seek out similar people with whom to form relationships. Weird! But not really.

The human brain seeks closure and resolution--where we couldn’t get things to work out with our parents, or our exes, we try to get the same situations to work out next time, with someone new.

Let’s look at another example, together. Take my hand,

Suppose you write a character (Character A) whose mother was in and out of their life from a young age, and never seemed to prioritize them. Now suppose you are looking to craft a fraught or tragic or dramatic romance (or other relationship) with this character. Using what you’ve written of your first character’s backstory, you can do just that!

It’s perfectly believable, you know now, for your Character A to pursue a love interest (Character B) who has a tendency to... not want to stick around. Maybe this love interest seems to fear commitment and intimacy.

Now, maybe Character B in actuality has a very dangerous profession that requires that they maintain the utmost discretion, and be ready to flee anywhere at a moment’s notice. Maybe the fate of the city/kingdom/nation/world relies on B’s profession.

It probably doesn’t make them leaving all the time hurt A any less, though.

Character A, unconsciously or not, is determined to make things work this time around. As the relationship deepens, B is faced again and again with the choice--stay, for your love, or go, as duty commands. Maybe they’ve taken a vow for their profession that is no light thing. They leave, time and time again.

Character A, unconsciously or not, remembers this feeling--it’s an old one. Mother, time and time again, chose something else over them. It would be understandable for A to feel a deep anger towards Mom and B both. Maybe A takes drastic action to get back at B (action that is also, symbolically, retaliatory towards Mom)--maybe they cheat on B, or do something that endangers their own safety.

When all they really want is just to get B to stay.

It’s probably very clear now why it’s not so simple a thing for A to choose to date someone more consistent--this is something that goes beyond B alone.

In this way, you can very easily weave themes into the relationship(s) of your main characters. Maybe the story of A explores the pain of abandonment, or loneliness. If B is the protagonist, maybe the story explores the way we excuse our shitty behavior in relationships (maybe the job is a pretext--maybe they really are scared of commitment), or maybe it’s about the dilemma of duty over love.

Relationships don’t always make sense. Or rather, they do make sense, just in a different way than we might expect. You can use this understanding now to intentionally explore a number of complex relationship dynamics, and to create nuanced (but sympathetic) characters. As you do, consider:

In your existing characters’ relationships--what keeps these assholes together? Why do they have to be with each other, as opposed to anyone else? This is important, again, for selling the reader on the relationship, especially if it’s your work’s main relationship.

What initially attracted your characters to each other? Consider again from the previous section (what is this, a fucking textbook?) the historically unmet needs of your character(s).

How do your characters go about expressing their needs? Think again about CONTRAST here--what is the discrepancy between what the actual need is, and how the character seeks to fulfill it? E.g. ‘I need to keep B from leaving me, because it really hurts me when they go, so I’ll go risk my life just to keep their attention (rather than express this pain to them).’

What similarities, if any, exist between your MC’s relationships with the people in their present lives, and your MC’s childhood relationship(s) with their caregiver(s)? Could you expand on/deepen any similarities in your writing? What themes might emerge if you did?

iv. Change / The Arc

So you’ve got your work’s central relationship. It’s believable, it’s just the right amount of dramatic, it’s suitably tragic, and just all-around devastating. People will cry. Great job!

Now what?

Well, that depends--what ending do you envision for your relationship?

If they remain together, do they get the happily ever after? The happy-for-now? Is the reader left to wonder about whether or not their relationship will survive?

Do they not make it at all? Are they separated by tragedy? Do they crash and burn? Or maybe they try their best, but despite how badly they love each other, it’s just not enough?

Whatever the Point B of the relationship is, if it’s central to the work, you’re gonna want to have a clear arc in there. Or not, idk, I’m not your mom.

You might already know, if you inhale every piece of writing advice you come across (like me), what makes a compelling character arc. The good news is that it’s much the same with relationships! Kind of.

Systems (relationships) tend towards homeostasis. Without deliberate intervention, relationships want to remain the way they’ve always been. Just like people!

And just like characters, relationships need a reason to change. Like a catalyst, or a motivation. Whatever the hell you wanna call it.

It’s not always, like, complicated to figure out the driving force behind change in your central relationships. Sometimes the pieces fall together!

Pay attention to the characters within the relationship--as your characters progress through their arcs, their relationship will naturally shift. It will probably not look exactly the same as it did when it began--there might be similarities, of course (they’re not entirely different people.. usually. And there’s a beauty to bookending a story with the familiar, certainly). But in this case, the relationship can be thought of as an extra character, almost. It’s unsatisfying to read a whole story wherein a central character stays exactly the same. It’s further strange and incongruent for a relationship to stay exactly the same while the characters have like, achieved actualization or whatever.

Outside events can force change on a relationship, just as they do individual characters. A couple that’s close to Characters A and B get married--and A & B start to wonder what their future together even looks like. B’s company hires a fiiiine honey, who’s exactly B’s type, and A starts steaming about it. A pandemic ravages the nation, and to prevent the spread of the virus, A and B have to stay inside togeth

YOU GET IT ok anyways I’m fucking tired of writing. If you’re wanting to develop the arc of your MCs’ relationship(s), think on some of this:

Do your characters see any problem(s) present in their relationship? Are they all equally aware of the problem(s)? Do they agree on what the problem(s) are?

How secure are your characters in their relationship? If anything could possibly cause doubt and conflict to arise, what is it?

Where do your characters see their relationship going in the near future? In the far future? Do their visions align? If not, how do they differ? Do they even want the same thing?

Is the arc of the central relationship congruent with the arcs of the characters who comprise it? I.e. does the relationship remain exactly the same as it was when it started, despite the characters undergoing wild metamorphoses? Is the reverse true?

When you think about their relationship, INDEPENDENT of any ending you may already have decided, where do you see it going? Like, where do these people feel like they’re headed, realistically? Does this align with the ending you’ve decided on for them? If not, this doesn’t mean you’ve written a bad relationship or anything, it’s just a possible sign that some really intense shit might have to happen in order to shift their course, y’know? Or not--the world is your oyster and you are the God of your own creation!

What are you trying to say with your story, and do the arcs of the central relationships reflect that message?

final thots

If you read all that shit, thank you. I wrote it all in one sitting and posted it without proofreading 💜

In all seriousness, I want to emphasize that, although some of these aspects of relationships are most visible in rels with a lot of anguish and maybe even some toxicity, you by no means have to write this kind of relationship in order to make use of these tips. You could write a very Normal couple!

The idea is to offer you some avenues through which to consider aspects of your characters’ psychology and personalities, and how they mesh or clash with their partners’ or besties’.

Anyways I hope this was helpful. I love talking about relationships I could literally go on and on all day. Which I kind of just did so. lol.

I’ve been liv and I’ve got two main WIPs I’m working on right now: The Romance of the Demigods and The Marking Blood and they’re full of really really super normal relationships and examples of me definitely taking my own fucking advice.

Cheers and happy writing! 💖💖💖

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I feel like I owe Kim Possible a minor apology. In a recent post, I used Kim and Ron's romance as an example of how the love square should have been written. I've also talked about how Ron's the perfect example of a male comedy sidekick who is more than just a comedy sidekick because he's treated as Kim's perfect partner. I've probably mentioned Kim Possible other times, too, because it's such a good match for what Miraculous is trying to do.

Because I keep singing Kim Possible's praises I decided that I should rewatch the show to make sure that my nostalgia goggles weren't blinding me to some major flaw. So far, they weren't. If anything, I've been underselling the show. This is where we get to that apology I mentioned at the start.

Prior to this rewatch, I would have told you that Ron's importance wasn't really discussed until the later seasons because the first season of a formulaic kids show is almost always a testing grounds to see what works, so things can be a little rough. Plus Ron's importance isn't exactly something that you need to dive into early on when you've got a two person team. No one is questioning Ron's importance right out of the gate. He's there to be the comedy sidekick. No explanation needed.

Imagine my surprise when the plot of episode six is all about Kim and Ron getting into a fight about Ron excelling at their part time job while Kim kinda sucks, leading to Kim going to fight alone while Ron keeps working. Kim fails, Ron gets a call that she's in trouble, and:

Wade: Not important. Kim's in trouble. She found Drakken at inside giant Cheese Wheel but I lost contact. She needs help. Your help. Ned: Well, well, well. Looks like you've got a choice to make, Stoppable! What's more important? Your sacred duty as assistant manager or your role as goofy sidekick? Ron: Well, that's no choice at all. I guess it's time to say buenos noches, Bueno Nacho.

Dude doesn't even hesitate. Doesn't matter if they're fighting or if he's feeling underappreciated, Kim needs his help? He's there. Their fight can wait until after Kim is safe. This is why I love Ron. Total dork, but you can't ask for a better partner.

Ron's rescue attempt initially goes south, but instead of getting mad, we get this genuinely sweet moment:

Ron: Guess that wasn't much of a plan. Kim: Not as great as your Bueno Nacho bathroom-break chart. Ron: I gooned on assistant-manager power. You were right. Kim: I did resent your superior burrito technique. You're entitled to excel. Forgive me? Ron: Duh! Forgive me? Kim: Totally.

Boy do I love these two! Their friendship was so genuine right from the start. This whole episode is just oozing how much they care for each other, it's great!

After this moment, they save the day with Ron playing a big part in Kim's plan because right from season one, season one, the writers understood that Kim could never be shown to win when Ron wasn't around.

As you may have guessed from the cheese wheel line, the plot of this episode is pretty absurd even for Kim Possible. That's been the case for all of the early episodes, but I think that the plots are going to improve as the seasons go on because I remember the later seasons having much stronger plots. We'll see if that proves true. Even if the plots stay kinda weak, I've still gotta give full credit to the writers for their early character work. They really understood Kim and Ron's relationship right from the start, didn't they? And in a show like this, that's the most important element to get right.

Don't worry, I'm not going to flood your dash with Kim Possible love, I just had to take a moment to appreciate how good the character work was here. They really did want Ron to feel like more than Kim's goofy sidekick and they pulled it off while sticking to the show's absurd writing and formulaic structure. As Miraculous has shown, that isn't something that just naturally happens. It takes effort, so I had to take a moment to gush because I don't get to gush about good character work often while running this blog. I hope this also makes it clear that, when it comes to writing, I'm not looking for perfection. I'm just looking for a good time. So far, that's what this rewatch is giving me.

[britany1997]

Fate Yields For No One

Chapter Three

Hey besties! I hope y’all enjoy the next installment of this series!!! This one is gonna have a lot more lore, and plot developing so I hope you like learning a bit more of how things work in this AU:) Thanks for all y’all’s support on this fic!

Poly Lost Boys x Fem Vampire Reader

Reblog to support my writing, and comment to tell me you’d like to be added to my Taglist for this fic, or my main Taglist!

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two

California, 1986

Paul’s eyes widened as he realized who you were to him. You wished you could have stopped the word that fell from his lips.

“Mine.”

No.

‘This can’t be happening,’ you thought to yourself as you fought your instincts to keep the same word Paul has uttered to you from bursting out of your own mouth.

Even if you could ignore the fact that this man had been hitting on Maria not five seconds ago, this wasn’t what you wanted for your life.

All the big choices in your unlife had been largely dictated by some dude with a god complex. How could this guy be any different?

You refused to trade one captor for another.

The handsome blond man stared at you in shock, seemingly surprised as you were at the sudden twist of fate that had brought you two together.

Though as his shock wore off his lips seemed to curve into a smile and his hand moved to touch your cheek.

You panicked.

You recoiled sharply from his outstretched palm “Oh my god I totally forgot I have to go stock things in the back, so nice to meet you, bye!” you rambled quickly as you raced to escape from behind the desk.

“What?” Paul’s brow furrowed in confusion. He moved to stand in front of the swinging door, your only escape from behind the desk.

You glared at him, “you’re in my way…”

“What?!” he repeated with more frustration than confusion, “but we’re…I mean we-”

“I know what we are,” you told him, “and I don’t care. So can you please move aside so I can do my job.”

Paul’s jaw dropped.

You sighed and pushed passed him.

“Hey!” he called after you.

You ignored him and kept walking, desperate to be anywhere but next to him.

“This isn’t over you know,” he promised you.

You scoffed as you pulled at the door to the back room, “seems like it is.”

You slid in, slamming the door behind you and pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.

Despite what you’d said to Paul, you knew you hadn't seen the last of him.

You were determined not to breathe a word to Max about anything that had transpired that night.

He’d never really told you anything about mates, you suspected because he’d never found his own. You couldn't predict how he'd react, and you wouldn’t let him force you into anything else.

Which meant you'd have to figure this out on your own.

As the sun rose and Max went to bed for the day, you scoured the shelves of his home library for anything that could give you more information.

You slunk away to your bedroom with a mountain of books. You secured your black out curtains, preparing to stay up all day researching.

What you found terrified you.

Humans swooned over the idea of soulmates, they spent their lives searching for someone who’d complete them, one person who was perfectly suited for them.

But this wasn’t an original human creation. They’d stolen the idea of soulmates from vampires.

Many scholars thought when a human transformed into a vampire, they lost their soul.

From what you could gather, this was a myth. Instead, when a human became a vampire, their soul wasn’t taken from them, but tethered to another of their kind.

You read this was a facet of vampirism that had developed over time out of a necessity for more vampires. Great.

You’d also read that, as bats had multiple partners, vampires could have more than one mate. You didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

When you’d read the first text from cover to cover, you picked up a new one.

You found that the mates aspect of vampirism was inherently instinctual, which is why Paul had called you his, and why you’d almost done the same. He couldn’t help it.

You read, to your dismay, that your soul was intimately tied to his in a way that could never be severed. Your entire beings belonged to each other.

This was bad.

You continued to the next book, cringing as you read that from this point on every denial of your connection would only hurt you. Without Paul, a part of you would always feel empty.

Now that you knew you were “meant for each other,” every moment without him would hurt just a little bit. You could not exist the same way without him. He was yours, you were his.

Fuck that shit.

You didn’t need anyone to give your life meaning. You belonged to yourself and no one else.

You pushed the stack of books aside in a huff. They tumbled to the ground but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You would fight to be the master of your own fate, whatever it took.

You were apprehensive to return for your shift the next day for fear that you'd be confronted by the persistent blond vampire.

However after two days with no sign of Paul, you began to relax. And after two weeks had passed without a trace, you had pushed the whole ordeal out of your mind entirely.

Instead, you turned your focus to Maria.

The two of you were constantly scheduled together as Max could never find anyone else to work the night shifts. You spent almost every waking minute with the girl that had quickly become very important to you.

And once Max had seen you'd connected with Maria, he felt the urge to supervise you less and less. It wasn't long before you were permitted to work your shifts without his imposing presence.

But work was a term used pretty loosely as you always seemed to do more talking than working. It wasn't like you had tons of customers, who even needed to rent movies at three AM anyway?

Besides, you were all too eager to spend each night hearing every seemingly insignificant detail of Maria's life.

Every good grade she'd gotten at school, every party she attended on the weekends, every fight she had with one of her siblings that always ultimately ended in apologies and hugs, you wanted to know it all. You were content to listen to the sound of her voice ramble on for hours.

She was just as eager to know you, and though you couldn't tell her everything, you could tell her enough.

Maria listened intently, wide eyed and hanging on every word as you related stories from your time in New York city.

Five siblings meant Maria's family didn’t get to travel much. You gasped when she admitted she'd never even ventured from the state of California.

"We'll go together one day," you promised her, "I'll take you everywhere, I know the city like the back of my hand!"

Her laugh rang through the store, prompting your lips to turn up into a bright smile, her joy was contagious. "What a dream that would be," she sighed wistfully, you could almost see the stars in her eyes.

"I mean it," you said seriously, "you and me, together in New York."

Her smile grew, "you and me."

As the work week came to a close, you shoved the last VHS back into place, moving to wipe down the counters as Maria flipped the switch to turn off the neon "OPEN" sign that hung on the front of the store.

You checked your watch as it flashed 6:00AM, sunrise was fast approaching and you were cutting it close.

"Damn you're working late," you realized as you wiped down the counters, "I thought I was by myself tonight."

Maria smiled sheepishly and you barely caught sight of the blush that rose to her cheeks, "you were."

Your eyes widened, "you stayed late for me? you didn't have to do that..."

"I wanted to," she replied as she bit her lip.

You dropped the rag and spray bottle, walking to stand in front of her from across the counter, "why?"

She blushed once more before her eyes fell to the ground, "I don't know, I just..." she looked up, "I like being around you."

As you stared into the eyes of the beautiful woman before you, you were presented with an opportunity. An opportunity to choose for yourself, to take control of your own destiny.

You didn't choose to be cursed with an eternity of seperation from the souls of your family, you didn't choose to be a vampire, you didn't choose Paul and you certainly didn't chose Max. But you could choose Maria.

"Maria," you whispered, leaning in till your noses were almost touching, "can I kiss you?"

She beamed before caressing your cheek with the back of her hand, "I thought you'd never ask."

You leaned in and her soft lips met yours.

Note: I promise the next chapter is going to be focused on all the boys, thanks for being patient I promise it’ll be worth it😌

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[screamforyani]

make you proud

pairing ↠ gf!ethan x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ angst, smut, macher!reader, mc has a panic attack, violence/character death, logically mc would be around sam’s age but we’re gonna ignore logic for the sake of you being a fresh college student

summary ↠ after your boss is killed in a ghostface attack and your deepest, darkest secret gets out, your life is flipped upside-down. the whole world knows that you’re stu macher’s illegitimate daughter now and the worst part is that even your friends suspect you might be a killer.

wc ↠ 9.0k

for whatever reason, you were indescribably antsy today. 

for all of three fleeting minutes, you convinced yourself that nothing was amiss and chalked it up to being excessively paranoid, which sounded like you. but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something just wasn’t right. 

meandering down the pavement of blackmore’s perfectly trimmed courtyard, your worries were later rationalized when some random guy walking just shy of you with his friend randomly exclaimed for all the campus to hear, “yo, dude, look out - it’s that killer!”

you were baffled, but they didn’t give you much room for a reaction before a flock of students crowded you, several of them taking out their phones. one girl dangled her phone in your face and asked, “what’s it like being a psycho bitch?”

you barked, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“uh, oh. better run before she fucks around and stabs one of us,” suggested her friend, just before the two of them laughed and darted away from you like you were dangerous.

“what the fuck?” you mumbled under your breath, more than a little perplexed. 

the crowd around you was beginning to build up and that (much to your dismay), combined by the number of phones filming your every move, was making you incredibly anxious.

“thanks, i think we’ve got it from here,” announced a familiar voice from behind you, and before you knew it, someone was pulling you away from the crowd of people.

when you turned your head, you realized that it was no other than chad. 

mindy was right beside him and immediately groaned, “god, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“looking for me for what?” you asked, having not a clue as to what was happening, but you did have a really bad feeling about whatever it was. “what’s going on?”

mindy gave you a look. “haven’t you seen the news?”

you hissed, “does it look like i watch the news?”

“well, maybe now would be a great time to start,” mindy retorted, grabbing your other arm as she escorted you away with her brother as if you were a wanted criminal.

“i still don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

“we’ll tell you when we get to sam and tara’s,” chad said, feigning some semblance of calm.

the ride to sam and tara’s was nothing short of suffocating and nerve-racking. when their tall, gaunt apartment finally came into view and chad and mindy briskly escorted you upstairs, everyone stood to flat feet, hairs raised, looking at you with total dread and consternation. sam and tara were obviously there, alongside their roommate, quinn, mindy’s girlfriend, anika, and your friend, ethan, who also happened to be chad’s roommate.

tara was the first to speak before you could demand an explanation and exclaimed, “when were you going to tell us that you’re stu’s daughter?”

your heart dropped, but you tried to play dumb, glancing around and laughing nervously. “what?”

chad pointed to the television while mindy grabbed the remote control and turned it up for you to hear. there was a photo of your and sam’s shared boss on the screen, the headlines reporting that he had been found murdered at your job in the late, dead hours of last night.

the newscaster reported, “a pair of ghostface costumes were found at the scene, a character popularized by the stab movie franchise. also found at the scene were the driver’s license of sam carpenter, who you may remember from the tragic ghostface incident last year in woodsboro, and the birth certificate of…,” she said your name. “which reveals her father to be no other than stu macher.”

the rest of her words went in one ear and out the other as you were filled with immediate dread and panic. your heart started to feel taut in your chest as everything else around you became white noise and your grip on the reins of reality began to slacken.

“is she okay?”

“no, fuckward, does she look okay?”

“she’s having a panic attack,” ethan said worriedly, having - unlike the others - been here before. he swiftly came to your side and held you, looking into your eyes as he reassured gently, “hey, look at me. remember to breathe. everything will be okay.”

you nodded your head, but you felt as if you were going to die any second now. you tried to listen to ethan, soothed by his presence.

“okay, good. i’m going to take you to the couch now so that you can sit down,” ethan said slowly. “is that okay?”

“yes,” you whispered, chest heaving.

ethan slowly walked you to the couch and asked tara to get you a glass of water. he tried to offer you a pillow to hold but you denied it, reaching for his hand instead.

he gave you a saccharine smile and squeezed your hand, “i’m right here with you, okay? we’re at sam and tara’s apartment and it’s just the eight of us. nothing is going to happen to you, i promise. just remember to breathe.”

just as you nodded your head, tara came back with a glass of water that you accepted with a quiet thanks and sipped from. ethan let go of your shaky hand, which made you panic for a moment, but he patted your back and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, encouraging you to drink with both hands while the others asked how they could help.

after a solid five more minutes, you’d essentially calmed down from your attack, but you felt completely drained. not to mention terrified beyond belief. everyone gave you some reassuring words out of the kindness of their hearts, but it wasn’t enough.

anika gave you a compassionate smile. “do you have panic attacks often?”

“no, not really. sporadically. the last time was maybe eight months ago, and ethan was there, so he, uh, knows what to do now,” you explained softly, somewhat awkward. having panic attacks in front of groups of people was never exactly fun.

sam crouched down in front of you. “you’re stu macher’s daughter.”

“and you’re the daughter of billy loomis,” you replied blankly.

for a second, you and sam just stared at each other, eyes filled mutual understanding. cursed recognized cursed.

chad asked, “did you know?”

“of course, i knew,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “i’ve always known. i was trying to make sure nobody else knew.”

“well, now the whole world knows, and someone is trying to pin our boss’ murder on us. people are saying that we’re working as a team to continue the legacy of our fathers,” sam told you, which made the ordeal in the courtyard make a whole lot more sense, but not any easier to cope with.

quinn’s brows furrowed. “but how did they get your driver’s license and her birth certificate?”

“probably because of somebody with close access to them,” mindy suggested, panning her view cynically over to quinn. “like you.”

quinn made a face. “okay, but she-” quinn gestured to you with her shoulder. “-lives alone. i steal that too?”

mindy shrugged. “i don’t know. maybe you have a partner. someone who’s always at her place, like, i don’t know, ethan.”

“i come over to help her study,” ethan explained, eyes widening at the accusation. 

“right,” mindy drawled. “and where are you when she goes to the bathroom - or steps out the room?”

“mindy, i didn’t even know where my own birth certificate was before all of this,” you said, massaging your temple. “i’m sure i would know if he was rammaging the place if i stepped away for three minutes.”

sam interjected, running a hand through her raven-black hair, “you guys, this isn’t helping. i say go home, travel in groups, and we regroup later.”

sam’s word was more or less final, so the five of you obediently did as told. ethan told you that he’d see you tomorrow night for studying which made mindy roll her eyes and tug you along with her and anika. fortunately enough, you and anika lived in the same apartment complex, so mindy would walk with you two and spend the night with her girlfriend.

you made it back inside without any ghostface attacks. locking your door behind you, you heaved a breath and went to take a shower. 

steaming, hot water beated down your body, covering your skin in little rivulets while the mist rose like shrouds above your head. all you could think about was how the secret you’d dedicated your whole life to protecting had finally slipped. what happens in the dark always comess to light, they said.

it was overwhelming. you had the blood of stu macher flowing through you, a man who took many lives before yours, and now you were being accused of continuing his wicked legacy. which meant that not only would nobody ever look at you the same again, but there was an actual killer out there that had gotten close enough to you to steal your birth certificate.

deep down inside, you knew that it was one of those seven.

the following night, ethan sent you a text informing you that he couldn’t make it and apologized, softening the message with a cute emoji. 

you thought nothing of it and typed back, okay, all 296 of my highlighters will still be here whenever you’re ready. yes, i counted. i demand you return the other four you stole.

yes, ma’am, replied ethan a couple minutes later with a salute emoji that made you giggle.

seriously, though. be safe, you typed. 

your phone buzzed in your hand just as you prepared to set it down. i will, but don’t worry about me. i’ll take care of both of us.

you hearted his text and told him goodnight, all while wearing the stupidest smile on your face.

which was erased the next morning when your tv was playing (given the circumstances, you took mindy’s advice and started watching the news) and something in you fractured when you saw something about a ghostface attack at sam and tara’s apartment. you swiped up your keys and scurried to your car, making a beeline for their apartment complex.

you slipped through yellow tape, spotting some of the gang and asking, “what the hell happened?”

“back. the fuck. up,” mindy snarled, looking at you like you were a deformed beast. 

“what?” you whispered, confused. you glanced at chad and tara. “i just heard the news. i came right away. i wanted to make sure you guys were okay.”

“well, look at us. we’re fine. there, you can go,” mindy retorted with disdain. 

just as you were about to speak, ethan came from behind the yellow tape, calling, “chad.” 

that was when chad left his post at and paraded toward ethan with long, quick strides and slammed him into an emergency vehicle, shouting, “where the fuck were you?”

ethan’s eyes widened. “what - when?”

“don’t play dumb with me, man. you disappear and my sister almost gets killed!”

“he was with me!” you shouted, coming up to them and trying to pry chad off of ethan. “okay? we had to study, remember?”

chad’s grasp on ethan slackened as he glanced at you, but he didn’t let go. “and he was with you the whole night?”

“yes,” you lied through your teeth. 

chad pressed, “then why didn’t you show up together? did he leave?”

“we did show up together. i told him to stay in the car,” you said, glaring at ethan to really sell your tale. “see what happens when you don’t follow instructions?”

ethan faltered, glancing towards the ground. “i’m sorry.” 

chad released him, backing away. “fuck, man.”

ethan glanced into the alleyway, wincing. “oh my god - who?”

“anika,” chad exhaled, walking back towards the ambulance. “and quinn.”

something violent twisted in your chest.

you watched ethan go up to mindy and heard her say something about the both of you being at the top of her list, but it was all white noise to you. your heart was taut with guilt, given that you had lied for ethan in spite of having no clue of his whereabouts when you two were meant to be studying. 

there was a reason you did it, though - logical or not. you just genuinely didn’t believe your best friend was a murderer. you’d known him for a year, six months before the core four came to manhattan. regardless of wherever he was, you doubted it was on a murder spree, and you covered for him solely because you didn’t want him to have to go through being interrogated.

merely minutes later, sam and tara came back with gale and kirby and all of you ended up in some place down an alley that apparently belonged to some kids in mindy’s film studies class.

“it’s a theater,” tara said when the lights flickered on after you all got through the intricate security. 

“not just a theater,” gale said. “it’s a shrine.”

that was when you noticed the rest of the room and the screen lifted up, revealing nine different mannequins in ghostface costumes.

the eight of you ventured around the room, walking around in awe. everyone gravitated towards something different - kirby to charlie walker’s knife, gale to drawings of dewey, mindy and chad to randy meek’s shirt, and sam to billy loomis’ ghostface case.

likewise, you were beside a mannequin that sported your father’s infamous red robe.

“they’ve got the whole goddamn franchise,” mindy marveled. 

“how’d they get this stuff?” asked tara. “i mean, isn’t this evidence?”

“well, cops like money, and evidence can get lost pretty easily,” gale explained. “present company excluded, of course.”

ethan asked, “uh, why am i here exactly? my alibi checks out.”

“so i can keep an eye on you, roomie,” chad said, shooting ethan a smile. 

mindy made a V with her fingers and darted them between her eyes and ethan.

“the TV that killed stu macher,” kirby said to mindy, sitting beside her. 

your eyes locked on the infamous television. you’d obviously heard of it - there were many stories about your father’s death - but seeing it up-close was an entirely different experience and you didn’t know how to feel.

“hey,” ethan said.

you jolted out of your reverie, glancing to your side to spot ethan standing beside you. 

“sorry,” he whispered. “i wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“it’s fine,” you said, stepping away from your father’s robe. you were curious, but you didn’t want anyone getting the wrong vibe.

ethan whispered, “you didn’t have to lie for me earlier.”

“you really wanna talk about this now?”

“chad can watch me all he wants. they can’t hear us,” ethan said under his breath.

“listen,” you said softly, glancing at the glass case rather than making direct eye contact with him to avoid raising suspicion. “i only did what i did because you’re not a killer and i didn’t want you to go through an avoidable min-terogation.”

ethan’s lips twitched into a grin. “thank you.”

“we’re best friends,” you told him, in spite of the wrenching feeling of your heart at your own words. “you’d do the same thing for me, right?”

“i’d do anything for you. die for you.” kill for you, was what he really wanted to say, but he was playing it safe. “anything.”

it was ridiculous how much you wanted him and how much deeper you fell for him at those words.

but the lies didn’t stop there. and with more lies came more deluding yourself. ethan would make plans with you then sometimes drop them at the last minute, coincidentally all on the exact same nights your friends would get attacked. mindy, who’d you been getting closer with prior to the new ghostface killing spree, didn’t even want to talk to you anymore unless it was to accuse you of being a murderer.

which you couldn’t hold against her, but it made you sad. you were many things, but a killer wasn’t one of them. sam was practically the only one interested in having one-on-one conversations with you anymore.

“listen,” sam said, holding a cigarette. “i trust you. if nobody else understands you, i do.”

that meant something to you. “thanks.”

“but,” sam started, making you frown as your eyes locked on the buzzing city around you. there were cars speeding every which way, whipping by in a colorful blur. “i think you should keep your distance from ethan.”

your lips curled into a scowl. “you don’t trust him.”

sam said nothing, just letting out a sigh. 

“he’s been with me,” you lied, giving her a stern look. 

“i’m not saying that he hasn’t,” sam told you calmly, meeting your eyes. “i’m just saying it’s weird that every time the group has a near-death encounter with ghostface you two are coincidentally always together. that’s all.”

that was the same conclusion you’d reached a long time ago, but you didn’t want to believe that your best friend was a serial killer. much less that he would dare hurt your friends.

“i was in love before i met danny, you know. with richie,” sam spoke up after a lull of silence.

“yeah, the ghostface that was working with amber freeman, i know. you told me,” you reminded her, raising a brow. “why are you bringing that up?”

“because it’s no secret that you have feelings for ethan.”

your eyes flickered. “i’m not-”

“you are,” sam finished. “in love with him. but love is blind. if i didn’t have feelings for richie, i might’ve realized what was going on sooner, but i did. and i don’t want you to make that same mistake that almost cost me my sister.”

you sucked in a breath. hot tears pricked your eyes, threatening to cascade. you’d considered that you might have had feelings for ethan, but hearing it aloud really solidified things. you were out of your mind in love with your best friend who may or may not have been a killer, and that was why you covered his tracks without a second thought.

“please,” sam whispered, looking at you with desperation in your eyes. “if there’s anything you’re not telling us that could help, tell me. i understand.”

“ethan’s not a killer.”

“are you convincing me or yourself?”

“ethan’s not a killer,” you said with a little more vigor, but a lot less confidence. “i’ve known him since last year and i think i would know if my best friend had murderous tendencies.”

sam said your name, but with one glance at the clock you were already throwing on your coat and heading towards the front door. “i’ve got to go meet him,” you announced, turning on your heels for a second. “i’ll send you a pic or something to prove that he was there if that’s what you want.”

then you left. 

ethan was already inside your apartment when you got there, which wasn’t alarming because you’d given him a spare key a couple of months prior to this fiasco. likewise, you knew where he hid the spare to his and chad’s apartment.

“hey,” ethan said when he saw you enter the living room, glancing up from his phone. “i didn’t start the movie.”

“i see that,” you said, taking out your phone from your pocket. “do me a favor and look cute while i take a quick picture of you.”

ethan covered his face when he saw you pointing your phone at him. “what? you can’t do that - i’m camera shy!”

“oh, please,” you droned. “basically everyone thinks that you’re fucking ghostface and i wanted to have a picture of you ready to go just in case someone gets attacked. again.”

“to prove that i’m not ghostface?”

you mocked, “now you’re getting it!”

ethan rolled his eyes. then, he sobered, staring at you emptily. “what if i am ghostface?”

“what?” 

“i mean, what if mindy’s right - what if i’m… dangerous,” he said, rising to his feet. you were rooted in place when he crept towards you. “i’m always coincidentally missing during the attacks, and everyone thinks i’m with you, but we both know that that isn’t true.”

you could hear your heart thumping in your ears, getting louder with every step he took forward until he’d backed you into a wall, effectively caging you like an animal. “don’t you ever wonder where i am?”

you shook your head. 

“you’re such a liar. a very pretty liar,” ethan whispered, lips curling into a wicked grin. warmth spread through your chest. ethan thinks i’m pretty. “speaking of which - why do you lie for me? i mean, i don’t even have to ask.”

“because you’re not a killer and i want to save everyone time,” you told him, though your voice had completely lost all thunder and confidence.

ethan groaned, throwing his head back. “okay, this excuse was cute the first couple of times, but i’m bored now. i need you to come up with something else.”

“it’s the truth,” you whispered. 

“no, it’s not. and you wanna know what i think?” asked ethan, curling your hair around his finger. “i think it’s because you like me.”

your throat went dry and you shook your head. 

“no?” ethan asked, cocking his head to the side. “well, i have to admit that i like you. i know we’re just best friends and all, but… would it be so bad if we were more?”

there was a record scratch in your head. ethan liked you?

something switched in you. all rational thinking was officially off the table. you were now consumed by months-worth of pining that was rotting you from the inside out like a spoiled apple, and something made you raise on the tips of your toes, meeting your lips to ethan’s.

ethan was surprised for a split second at your boldness, then chuckled, trapping you in his arms. it was a reckless kiss, full of mutual longing and hair-pulling, and groaning. you tangled your fingers through his long, curly tresses while his found purchase at your hips, holding you tight as ever.

“i want you,” you rasped when your mouths finally parted, as if you were coming up for air at the pits of an ocean, swimming in each other’s love. “more than anything.”

“yeah?” 

“yeah,” you repeated, staring into his beautifully brown eyes. 

“fuck,” ethan said, locking lips with you again. almost like he couldn’t get enough. 

frankly, you couldn’t, either.

that was how you ended up with your back to the couch, ethan’s fingertips on your bare thighs as he held them apart, head buried between your legs. all you could feel was pleasure and the lingering drumming of your heartbeat, numb to the grief and despair that’d mantled over your friends for the past few weeks.

there was something about the view of your legs thrown over ethan, caught over his broad, naked shoulders, while he was on his knees sucking the soul out of you. you remembered how he gathered your thighs in his big hands and pulled you towards the edge, draping your legs over him.

“fuck, ethan,” you whimpered, slipping your fingers through his hair. “you sure you’ve never done this before?”

ethan silently nodded, making a humming sound that shook you. his tongue was giving its undivided attention to your clit, a pair of his fingers stuffed inside your cunt. he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but from the way your features tensed with pleasure, it had to be something right.

you were driving him mad with lust and you were hardly even doing anything. the way you cried out his name with that sweet tongue of yours when his thumb rubbed your clit should have been a crime, to say nothing of how utterly tight you were around his fingers, squeezing around him with the wettest of sounds.

shit, he got you this wet? ethan - much like everybody else - knew you had a thing for him with how you defended him with your life, though this was desire of the next level. in a way, it was more than lust. it was burning. from the head down, judgment clouded by mantles of smoke, so to speak.

which explained everything on your end. the lying, the deception. you knew in your heart that there was almost nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, because you loved him.

“oh my fucking god,” you cried, sensitive. “ethan, baby, i’m so close.”

ethan was painfully hard right now, rutting his hips against the side of the couch at your pretty sounds. “you’re close?” he repeated, in spite of the signs glaring him in the face. your legs trembled like you were quaking, a pulse between them. 

you answered him in a moan, hands slipping out of his hair as you instead squeezed one of the couch pillows for dear life, afraid of hurting him.

“cum for me,” ethan said, lifting from your glistening pussy while substituting his mouth with his hands. “i wanna see you cum.”

looking at his eyes was all it took to shatter you. it was too quick for him to be finishing you, but he was. nice and hard.

it was like nothing you’d ever felt before, a kind of intensity you quickly understood only lived between each other. his name parted your open mouth in a scream-adjacent sound sure to do a number on the neighbors and your fingers found purchase in the pillow pressed to your bosom as your vision blurred white. ethan could feel you tightening around his long, thick fingers, and he so badly wished that it was his dick you were cumming on right now.

then, you went slack, not even realizing your back had arched off the sofa until it met the cushion again.

ethan, in awe at the sight of you orgasming, withdrew his fingers from your pussy with a squelch and said, “open.”

you opened your mouth without a second thought.

it took you by surprise when he shoved his fingers down your throat, but you sucked your own arousal off of them without a second thought - without having to be told. it was like you always just knew what he wanted. pleased, ethan hummed, “that’s it.”

you were back to earth for a second, slowly re-entering the real world as the lingering euphoric high of your orgasm gently faded. you took his fingers out of your mouth when you were done, smiling at the sight of him with your arousal giving his lips a wet glimmer. like you wanted to make him proud.

“you, woman,” ethan started, sucking in a breath. “are going to drive me crazy.”

you giggled, watching him come to a stand, though not without accidentally bumping your (thankfully empty) coffee table and sending it flat to its side. the two of you devolved into more giggles and ethan leaned over you to catch your lips in another kiss.

but as his lips started to travel lower, your giggles turned into soft sighs. you fumbled with his pants, somehow managing to take them off.

when his underwear came off too, you gaped at the sheer size of him. he was so big. matter of fact, that word didn’t do him justice.

ethan pushed your jaw up and teased, “you’ll catch flies.”

“oh, shut up,” you groaned lightheartedly. “jesus, you really walk around with that pussy-destroyer attached to you?”

ethan snorted at your choice of words. “can i destroy yours?”

you chortled, amused. “never say that again,” you whispered, grabbing the back of his head and drawing him into you. 

ethan smiled into your lips. i’ll take that as a yes.

so that was exactly what he did.

you thought about what happened that night a dozen times, deciding it was simultaneously the best and worst mistake of your life. on the one hand, you’d had amazing, mind-blowing orgasms thanks to ethan and he reciprocated your feelings. you thought he did, at least. you couldn’t really tell if it was genuine or just some kind of unnecessary bait to get you to sleep with him, as if you wouldn’t have offered your body to him on a silver platter regardless. 

whatever he wanted, his wish was your command. but on the other hand, that was your problem, guilt gnawing at you from the inside out. fear, too. you were a macher, you had the blood of a serial killer keeping you alive. you’d always felt guilty for that, but then you remembered ethan’s weird behavior prior to that first kiss.

a part of you wanted to believe he was joking around, just like you always believed him when he told you he was doing this or that while your friends fought for their lives. but contrary to what you told him, you did think about where he was all those times when he stood you up. you just tried to drown the thoughts out.

but you couldn’t drown them out now. what if he was the killer? no, that doesn’t make sense. ethan wouldn’t hurt anybody, would he?

it made sense, but you didn’t want to accept that all the signs pointed to him. sam was wrong. love wasn’t blind - not for you. you noticed all the little things, all the big ones, too, and never said a word to anyone.

that was why you felt guilty. 

you are such a fucking dumbass, you chided yourself. you’d slept with a potential killer, which ironically made things make even more sense. if ethan did like you like he said he did, that would explain why you were the only ones who’d yet to get hurt at all, much less be in the same room during the attacks.

shouldn’t ghostface have at least called you? you were in the friend group too, and close to sam. matter of fact, you were a target. they’d tried to frame you for the crimes. you still remembered sitting in detective bailey’s office with sam and tara, baffled.

that was when your phone started to ring. 

you jolted, startled. maybe it was ethan, who’d been trying to reach you for the past few days following the hookup, but you were too conflicted to speak to him right now. or maybe it was ghostface, but all your friends were pretty sure that was a synonym for ethan at this point.

when you looked at the caller id, much to your surprise, it was mindy. you pressed your phone to your ear and said, “hello?”

“hey, ghostface,” greeted mindy. you heard chad and sam groan in the background, saying something about her needing to stop being so mean to you. “the gang are at chad’s job and you’re invited to the hangout.”

“you’re hanging out,” you started, trying to wrap your head around her words. “at chad’s job?”

“we’re hanging out,” chad said, having snatched the phone from mindy. you also figured that you were on speaker. “come on, it’ll be fun. it’s a wednesday night, nobody ever comes here on wednesday nights. plus, you can get discounted surfboards.”

you grumbled, “what the fuck am i going to do with a surfboard?”

“i don’t know. surf, maybe?” chad retorted.

“give me my phone back,” mindy snarled, taking her phone from her twin. “listen, sam said you should come and i don’t think her wrath is something you wanna deal with right now.”

“okay, i’m coming. i’m coming,” you said, swiping your keys on the counter and slipping on your shoes. 

“see’ya.”

the call disconnected. “jesus,” you mumbled under your breath, heading out the front door.

chad worked part-time at a surf shop that happened to not be too much of a distance from your apartment. you walked inside, chad behind the bar flirting with tara, mindy and sam arguing over a surfboard design that mindy thought that was hideous and sam found cute, but your eyes locked on ethan.

you didn’t know why you thought that he wouldn’t be here.

you shifted your gaze. this was about to be the most awkward hangout of your life. 

“look who’s here in the flesh,” chad announced, almost looking surprised to see you there.

mindy clasped her hands together and said, “yes, instead of cutting other people’s flesh.”

chad groaned, “god, mindy, could you stop with the accusations for five goddamn seconds?”

“it’s fine, chad,” you said, ignoring her. “so, remind me why we’re hanging out at a surf shop of all places again?”

“because what better place to hang out than at a shop with terrible surfboard designs,” replied mindy. 

sam exclaimed, “the design was cute!”

“to you,” mindy and tara retorted in unison.

ethan had been watching you, and his fixed gaze was not lost on you, but you had no intention of reconciling with him right now. he shifted his attention and asked, “what if we get, like, attacked?”

mindy brushed him off. “you’re here, ghostface. why would we get attacked?”

“i mean, there is usually more than one,” you added, not sparing ethan a glance in spite of the fact that you could feel his weighty stare on your shoulder. 

mindy pointed at you. “that’s why you’re here, too.”

is that what this was about - they were trying to see if you were ghostface?

“we were together,” you insisted, as if that were the problem.

mindy rolled her eyes, mocking, “‘i was with ethan’ this, ‘ethan was with me’ that. yeah, chopping up people’s bodies like bonnie and clyde!”

you glanced at sam who immediately raised her hands, as if to say she was innocent. you thought she trusted you.

that was when you saw a cloaked figure closing in on her and you screamed, “behind you!”

sam skirted out of the way just in time to slip shy of the ghostface’s knife, alarming the six of you. you all immediately started to run, screaming in terror.

chad darted from behind the cash register with tara’s hand in his, dashing over to the entrance, but the door was locked from the inside. he grumbled, “what the fuck?”

you glared, shouting, “are you sure he’s not the killer?”

“don’t ever fucking say that again,” tara exclaimed in lieu of mindy, and frankly you weren’t inclined to get on the bad side of multiple people, so you kept your mouth shut.

then, the unimaginable happened, and the ghostface started charging after you. you ran as fast as you could, almost tripping over your own feet, zipping past racks of clothes. the ghostface caught you at a surfboard stand. you slid to the left, but it followed you, and the pattern repeated when you slid to the right. you made an instinct-driven decision to snatch one of the (agreeably ugly) surfboards off the stand that mindy and sam had been debating over, smacking the masked figure with it.

then, you ran for your life. 

chad pointed at the surfboards and exclaimed, “see, they come in handy!”

you couldn’t be annoyed right now of all moments. what the fuck am i going to do with a surfboard? it looked like you had your answer.

the ghostface gave up on pursuing you for the meantime, chasing sam upstairs. mindy went behind her, and before following suit, chad said to tara, “there’s an exit at the back of that room. go see if it’s open.”

tara nodded, running away at the speed of light.

ethan tugged your hand and pulled you behind a shelf of flip-flops, pulling you towards the ground. you crept down, glancing around the corner, watching ghostface slash sam in the arm with a wince while you were hidden.

“why the hell have you been avoiding me?” ethan asked, whispering yet yelling at the same time.

you narrowed your eyes at him in disbelief. “do you really wanna talk about this while there’s a maniac chasing us with a knife?”

“yes, i do really wanna talk about this while there’s a maniac chasing us with a knife,” ethan retorted, briefly spying from the end of the shelf. “did you have some kind of post-nut clarity?”

you exhaled a breath. something like that, yeah. “i just need time to think.”

“you just need time to think?”

you bobbed your head. 

ethan was obviously not pleased, asking, “what is there to think about? i like you and you like me.”

“and all our friends that we’re fucking bonnie and clyde,” you retorted.

“is that so bad?” ethan asked, nudging your side. “you don’t wanna be my ride-or-die?”

you didn’t get the chance to respond before you saw mindy topple over the railing and you rushed over to shove a clothing rack out of her way. it was a less than graceful fall and it still hurt like a bitch, but a lot less than metal. she rolled off your back, murmuring a faint, “thank you.”

you gave her a weak thumbs up. 

you flitted your gaze upstairs just quick enough to see chad push the ghostface down to the ground floor. you pushed mindy out of the course of the fallen, broken railing, rolling over, and watched the ghostface crash into a glass display.

that was when tara ran from the back room, exclaiming, “the door was locked, but i got it open. come on - let’s motherfucking go!”

the five of you ran behind her, you and tara running upstairs to help sam - she had been stabbed in the arm - and tugging her out without looking back.

apparently you and sam were the only ones who drove your way to chad’s job, so tara took her keys and the six of you split up into two groups of three, agreeing to meet at the hospital.

but it didn’t stop there. 

after getting bandaged up, sam said that she wanted to end things now - there was no point in drawing it out and waiting for more bodies to drop. you gave the killer an advantage that way. it was fortunate enough that none of you were killed during the attack, though mindy was still recovering from when she was stabbed and that, on top of today’s injuries, landed her a stay at the hospital.

the doctors said that had you not broken her fall, it would have been more serious.

there was a consensus that you’d call kirby and detective bailey, who both told you to gather at the shrine. ethan stayed behind to have some injuries looked at, but the other four of you went straight to the theater.

wrong move.

it was you that got the call from detective bailey with the newfound information on agent kirby. you’d been trying to clear the theater with sam when your phone rang, startling the both of you. you put the phone on speaker so that he could speak with both you and sam, your heart racing when he informed you both that she was no longer with the fbi and you guys needed to get out of there expeditiously. which you tried to do, but the doors were locked.

it all happened so fast.

one second, you were looking for an escape, and the next, you’d come face-to-face with ghostface. you and sam burst through the door to the concession stand room, startling chad and tara, the latter who had a slash going down her back.

you helped chad deter the ghostface while sam grabbed tara, and the four of you ran for lives. it felt like you were running in circles (probably because you were), as if you were in some sort of labyrinth. all the doors were locked. when you circled back to the concession stand, chad got stabbed just as you were running out of the door.

“no, chad!” screamed tara. 

your heart wreched at the sight of chad dropping to his knees, blood gathering in his mouth and tears pricking his eyes, but you said to tara, “tara, we’ve gotta go, there’s nothing we can do for him right now.”

“run,” was the last thing chad whispered before he fell to the floor.

you, sam, and tara begrudgingly ran into the theater, abandoning chad. kirby ran into view, obviously a little roughed up, and said, “i’m here!”

“stay back,” you warned. 

tara hissed, “we know it’s you, kirby.”

kirby was baffled. “what? no - one of them knocked me out!”

“get away from the girls,” shouted detective bailey, practically materializing out of thin air.

“what? whatever he’s been telling you, he’s lying!” kirby shouted, eyes widening in horror when she saw one of the ghostface coming up behind detective bailey. “behind you!”

just as detective bailey was about to get stabbed, he shot kirby to the floor and the ghostface retracted the knife. all you, sam, and tara could do was watch as everything unfolded before your eyes - all of the secrets and lies. “great job,” bailey said, lowering his gun as the second ghostface came to stand beside him. “both of you.”

“you?” tara asked. 

detective bailey drawled, “yeah, of course me. frankly, i expected more from you and your sister after what you did to us.”

tara furrowed her brows. “what do you mean us?”

the ghostface to his left started to remove their mask, and when ethan unmasked himself, you stood there empty. there was no emotion stirring inside you - no pain, no fear, no anger, no shock. it was like you’d been milked dry to numb you for this moment where you’d run out of places to hide from the truth. where you’d have to confront it head-on.

sam glanced at you, your dull, expressionless face compared to hers and tara’s. “did you know?”

tara shook her head, looking at you with betrayal. “were you in on it?”

you said nothing. you felt nothing.

“this was your grandmother’s, sam,” ethan said, holding up his mask. “i guess it really does run in the fucking family. speaking of family, my name’s not ethan landry!”

detective bailey chuckled while the three of you were left in the dark. 

“is it, dad?” ethan asked, grinning. 

both of them started to laugh borderline hysterically, as if something was funny. 

tara repeated, “dad?”

sam took a deep breath. “wait, if it’s you two, that just leaves… mindy?”

the moment of silence before the other ghostface unmasked themself was the most dreadful of all, and you felt a weird combination of relief and shock when you saw quinn’s ginger hair as she sang to sam and tara, “hey, roomies. didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

tara exclaimed, “yeah, because you died!”

“kind of didn’t, though,” quinn said. “it was a good way to get off the suspect list. stab gale weathers, stab mindy on the train. that sort of thing.”

detective bailey nodded along, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “yup, and i just made sure i was first on scene so i could switch her body out with a fresh one. a little fake blood, a prosthetic. you’d be amazed at what a grieving father can get away with.”

“i got your father’s mask,” quinn said to you, walking around with stu macher’s mask. ���he was my favorite.”

you frowned.

detective bailey went on some rant that you didn’t entirely grasp because your head was spinning, though it wasn’t necessarily directed to you as much as it was the carpenter’s, which made you second-guess your involvement in this. why frame you for your own boss’ death if they didn’t want you dead, too?

“you’re a killer,” detective bailey said, pointing to sam. “just like your father!”

sam screamed, “no, i’m not!”

quinn screamed even louder, face tensing with anger, “yes, you are, motherfucker - you killed our brother!”

“you said your brother died in a car accident,” tara reminded.

“no, no, no, you sweet, dumb thing,” ethan said. “he died in woodsboro at the hands of your sister.”

sam glanced from ethan to quinn until her eyes finally landed on detective bailey again and the realization settled in within the three of you. she said after a moment, “you’re richie’s family.”

“yeah,” detective bailey said somberly. “now, it wasn’t until i saw those photos of what you did, i knew that you had to fucking die - you had to be punished! along with anyone else who stands in our way.”

you felt all the air whoosh out of your lungs when detective bailey finally seemed to perceive you, glancing towards you. he said your name. “you’re probably wondering what the hell this has to do with you. stu macher was richie’s favorite too, you know. and when i found out that his illegitimate daughter was friends with my son, well, i knew you could be useful.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you exclaimed. 

bailey waved you off. “you proved yourself to be very useful indeed, without having to be asked. being ethan’s alibi every time without fail in spite of being the only one to know he’s never where he says he is? come on, you’re a smart girl. i’m sure you knew who he was long before this.”

you looked to your feet, cowering. you could feel sam and tara’s eyes on you and it made you queasy.

tara made a jab at detective bailey which led him to go on another tangent about not being the perfect father and the bond between a father and his first-born son, but your eyes were locked on ethan. you could feel his stare on you, too, his pair of eyes as weighty as the carpenter’s. you could see something in him falter the more bailey went on about richie, but something hadn’t been right with him since the reveal. he seemed so… out of it.

bailey shifted his attention back to you, having had enough of being distracted by the sisters, and said your name again. “i dragged you into this to make you a deal. you’ve already proved that you would make a great partner. and i want you to be on our team.”

tara shouted, “what?”

“nobody’s talking to you, bitch,” roared quinn.

“you have to pick a side. them,” detective bailey said, waving his knife towards sam and tara. “or us.”

the spotlight was on you. your heart was racing, thumping in your ears. it felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. you stood in the middle. to your left, you saw sam and tara, shaking their heads in an attempt to discourage you. but to your right, you saw ethan and his family, ethan giving you the blankest, stare. 

it almost felt apologetic, but this was do-or-die now. you couldn’t let your affairs of the heart take your life.

the detective tried to win you over, starting, “this is what your father would have wanted. don’t you want to make your daddy proud?”

you’d been walking over to them, much to sam and tara’s dismay, but those words made you grind to a halt as everything became clear to you. and you fucking chuckled. “you don’t care about ethan.”

detective bailey’s brows furrowed. “what are you talking about?”

ethan shouted, “you watch your mouth!”

you shook your head, raising your hand at ethan from afar as you put the pieces together. “no, i bet it’s always richie this, richie that. ethan, did you want to do this from the jump?”

“of course, he did,” bailey lied, sneering at you. “this is for his brother!”

“god, do i know,” you groaned. your eyes locked on ethan. “i’m sure the idea sounded brilliant in your head. juke the roommate lottery, meet chad, kill all your friends and maybe, just maybe dad will love you the way that he loved richie. is it working? did you make daddy proud? are you proud of him, detective bailey?”

quinn screamed at the top of her lungs, “shut the fuck up!”

but you didn’t. you kept talking. you kept pushing. “i know who my father was. and i know who i am. maybe i was scared that because his blood is running through me right now, that i’d end up just like him. but i’m more than stu macher’s daughter.”

detective bailey looked unimpressed and ready to get this over with. “what exactly are you, then?”

“i’m the girl that’s going to walk out of here and live to tell the story,” you hissed, much to bailey’s amusement. 

you shifted back to your would-be boyfriend.

“so, ethan. you choose. do you want to be the hero in my story,” you pointed to sam and tara. “or the villain?”

it wasn’t unnoticed how you looked detective bailey plain in the eye.

everybody’s eyes were on ethan. the silence was the most terrifying of it all, the prolonged agony of the unpredictable. you liked to think that you knew ethan, but this was the only way you could be sure.

the anticipation blindsided everyone in the room when ethan made the shocking decision to walk over to you and spoke, “i just want to be whatever you need.”

you stayed on-guard as he approached you, seeing as he was armed and it could have been a trick, but you were pleasantly surprised when he handed you his knife. 

“well, i need a hero,” you told him. 

“then i’ll be that.”

shit hit the fan and everybody immediately went to war.

ethan grabbed your hand, somehow managing to pull you away undetected as his family dealt with the brutal sting of betrayal by unleashing it onto the carpenter’s.

you whispered, “eth, i can’t stay here. they’re my friends. do you think my father would have just hid?”

ethan shot back, “i thought you didn’t want to be like your father?”

“well, maybe he had some admirable characteristics,” you hissed, beginning to run to protect your friends. 

“wait,” ethan called out, grabbing your wrist. “you’re forgetting something.”

you gave him a confused look, but it all melted away when he smashed his lips against yours, kissing you with all the emotions a man could bear. you kissed him back just as passionately, almost as if it would be the last time.

“i love you,” ethan exhaled when he pulled away, because you two were running out of time. “i never would have hurt you, i need you to know that. that’s why i made plans with you and then i bailed. i wanted to make sure you weren’t there, so you’d be safe.”

“ethan,” you started. 

ethan ignored you, emotionally continuing, “i didn’t want to do this. i just wanted to feel like i meant something to him. and i know sorry isn’t going to bring your friends back, but...”

you cried out, “e, behind you!”

ethan turned around just in time to see quinn trailing him with a knife. “you chose the wrong side, brother. a loose fucking whore over your family?”

“you watch your fucking mouth, quinn,” ethan growled, charging towards his sister. 

you watched in terror, considering he was unarmed. 

“go,” ethan shouted to you, looking back for a second. “baby, go!”

you begrudgingly did as told, running out of the room and locating sam and tara who were currently fighting detective bailey. you hid behind him, undetected, and lunged at him. he heard you approaching and turned at the last second, but his arm still got caught on your blade and you managed to slice him up a little.

“you’re going to regret that,” detective bailey seethed, coming towards you.

out of nowhere, quinn charged back into the room, slightly injured but a beast nonetheless - almost as if the pain didn’t bother her. but you didn’t see ethan, which filled your heart with worry.

you didn’t have time to ask questions, because when quinn saw the knife in your hand and the wound on her father, she immediately beared what was left of her teeth (you had seen sam and tara holding bricks) and came for you.

tara moved at the speed of light and toppled the tv over, the one that had killed your father all those years ago, and sent it crashing down with quinn’s body. you heard something break that obviously wasn’t the tv and saw her go limp.

sam mocked to bailey, “looks like you’re down another child.”

“you,” hissed detective bailey, charging at sam, until you heard a gunshot and he sank down to his knees, wounded. 

you turned around and spotted ethan holding the trigger. he was limping towards you, blood dripping through the fabric of his costume, and he’d obviously been stabbed.

“ethan,” you called out, almost coming over to get him. 

“i’m fine,” he said, holding up his hand to stop you in your tracks. “i’m okay.”

detective bailey glanced at his only remaining child, speaking faintly, “you’re making a fatal mistake, son.”

ethan shook his head, face tensing with rage. “it stops right here, dad. it stops with you. no more of this bullshit.”

sam glanced at you. “you want to do the honors?”

you bobbed your head. “hell, yeah,” you said, walking up to detective bailey’s body. 

“you’re just like your father too,” he hissed. “you always will be!”

“maybe,” you whispered, crouching down. “but you’re forgetting one thing.”

bailey barked, “what?”

“i’d have to actually kill somebody to be just like him, and there’s no one better to start with than you,” you crooned, smiling like the devil. “for richie.”

“for richie,” sam repeated when you raises your knife. 

you jabbed the knife right between his eyes, stabbing as deep as you possibly could as you watched the detective’s face pale, before all the life was drained from it altogether.

when he stilled, it was like a breath of fresh air. sam and tara went to sit at the steps while you came over to ethan, lowering him to the ground and applying pleasure to his wound. he hissed in pain, and you whispered, “sorry. i’m sorry. i know it hurts, but we have to stop the bleeding.”

“it’s okay,” ethan whispered, looking into your eyes. “if i die right now, at least you’ll be the last thing i see.”

“don’t fucking say that,” you whispered, tears burning your eyes. “you’re gonna be okay. we’ll get an ambulance here and they’ll help you, and you’re gonna need a really good fucking lawyer.”

ethan snickered, brushing your hair out of your face. “isn’t the macher family rich?”

you rolled your eyes, bringing your lips to his as you kissed him with all the love in the world. 

he would pull through, you knew he would. everything was going to be okay.

[defectedsources]

✎ ( 911 PILOT EPISODE STARTERS. )

a roleplay meme of quotes from the pilot episode of the first responder drama 911. WILL CONTAIN POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING QUOTES. do not steal or repost. FOR REBLOGGING ONLY.

❛ don’t worry. he’s gonna be alright. ❜ ❛ you said if i got to you in five minutes, you would be all mine. ❜ ❛ someone punch you in the face? ❜ ❛ let’s not ruin everything by actually getting to know each other. ❜ ❛ we’re living in a golden age. ❜ ❛ this woman is so far outta my league , but she’s just once-in-a-lifetime. ❜ ❛ when was the last time you ran into , or jumped into anything? ❜ ❛ i’m telling you , the uniform is a major aphrodisiac. ❜ ❛ wash your hands! we don’t know where they’ve been. ❜ ❛ this is not a family. it’s not a clubhouse. ❜ ❛ see the fire. put out the fire. the rest is blah blah. ❜ ❛ the system , and the rules are not arbitrary. ❜ ❛ you know you’re not helping him by going easy on him. ❜ ❛ he just needs a little direction. ❜ ❛ i’ll remind you that after he gets you killed. ❜ ❛ i’ll race you! ❜ ❛ race yourself rambo. ❜ ❛ who’s rambo? ❜ ❛ okay first of all , that’s awful. ❜ ❛ stand back. i got this! ❜ ❛ try to find some common sense while you’re down there. ❜ ❛ don’t we need a warrant or something? ❜ ❛ do i look like i’m asking you to make an arrest? ❜ ❛ let’s do this. ❜ ❛ it’s not working! ❜ ❛ nobody held the elevator? ❜ ❛ come on , i’m twice as fast! ❜ ❛ you’re gonna be okay. you’re gonna be great. ❜ ❛ hospital eta five minutes! ❜ ❛ there’s nothing more we can do. ❜ ❛ we did our jobs very well today. ❜ ❛ you do not get to choose who lives and who dies. ❜ ❛ you’re gonna get someone killed. ❜ ❛ i promise you , the next time you screw up. it’ll be your last. ❜ ❛ get in the truck. ❜ ❛ dude , as far as i’m concerned , the world began the day i was born. ❜ ❛ oh my god! I’m gonna start calling you snake-ipedia! ❜ ❛ why don’t i just punch it in the face? ❜ ❛ it’s not some guy at an el torito happy hour! ❜ ❛ we don’t have time for this! ❜ ❛ why is that always the first option for you white-boy , macho tough guys? ❜ ❛ guys i’m totally gonna take credit for this. it’s gonna get me laid for a week. thank you. ❜ ❛ i’m gonna skip the part where the two idiots flirt. ❜ ❛ um , did you follow me here? ❜ ❛ all that stuff weighs you down. it slows you down. ❜ ❛ if we lose a couple seconds , people die. ❜ ❛ don’t do this to me. ❜ ❛ for what it’s worth , everyone thinks it sucks. ❜ ❛ you got some skills. just not a lot of discipline. ❜ ❛ you’ve got to be kidding me. ❜ ❛ i need a favor. ❜ ❛ i’ll have something for you in less than five. ❜ ❛ all right. no heroics. don’t go chasin waterfalls. ❜ ❛ i don’t know what that means. ❜ ❛ you can’t go in there right now. ❜ ❛ i know what this looks like. ❜ ❛ you’re giving me another chance? ❜ ❛ you were right to fire me. ❜ ❛ so are we talking again? ❜ ❛ i think i’m not fired. ❜ ❛ your shifts not over yet. ❜

[annabethchase06]

Annabeth being the daughter of Athena was great, but imagine the shit that would go down if Annabeth was Dionysus' daughter. That would be one of the most freaking interesting AUs ever. Together, him, Annabeth, Castor and Pollux would be one heck of a family.

Like Percy's just arrived at Camp and seeing the father-daughter banter. Annabeth threatening anyone with a broken bone everytime they called Dionysus the Wine Dude. Her reminding Dionysus' about his restrictions everytime he summoned wine. Dionysus calling her Annie because he gives (incorrect)nicknames to everyone but this time it won't be incorrect. Him comforting her after Luke's betrayal, in his own way.

The Athena cabin mostly looked at Annabeth as their leader. Dionysus cabin would look upto her as their sister. Castor and Pollux(and I would like to remind everyone that they've been mentioned as looking pretty athletic too) would literally give the evil side eye to anyone who looked sideways at Annabeth, even though they know that she's pretty capable of defending herself. She's still their little sister, after all.

Athena telling Percy to stay away from daughter was okay, but Dionysus telling Peter Johnson to stay away from his Annie would be EPIC. Like him just keeping an eye on them everytime they hung out together(ever since they were twelve year old kids) and also putting Castor and Pollux on the job. Athena stared when Percy and Annabeth danced together in TTC. Dionysus would literally yell "Hands Off" across the party venue.

Imagine Mr. D freaking out everytime she goes on a quest with Percy because that boy attracts trouble like no one else, but eventually (though he does not show it) becoming more and more reassured about her safety because no one would protect his daughter like Percy does and he was one heck of a demigod.

Imagine Dionysus straight up denying that Annabeth leads the quest in the Labyrinth and giving in after like, a two hour long argument, because he saw what that maze did to Chris Rodriguez. And then him seeing go mad with worry about Percy after she emerged out of the wretched maze sobbing hysterically about the best friend she'd just lost. Dionysus, his daughter, and his son grieving over the family member they lost in the Battle of the Labyrinth – both of them helping Pollux through grief because he'd lost his twin meanwhile holding themselves together as well.

When Annabeth and Percy finally start dating and share that epic underwater kiss, he just looks into the lake, yells "To the Big House once you're finished, the both of you! You still need my permission!" and walks away, sipping Diet Coke but internally, he's happy his daughter finally got the amazing future she deserved.

And if we can assume that somehow the falling into Tartarus part still happens(even though Annabeth isn't a daughter of Athena in the AU), Mr. D would be totally wrecked. And he's relieved, but his heart breaks when she comes out broken. He has to watch her and the Johnson boy scream themself awake at nights. To watch them cope through PTSD, depression and what not.

And he helps them, even Perry Johnson, because at this point, he's like his son as well and they're going to be like an epic Father in law-son in law duo in the future. He's accepted him just as Sally accepted Annabeth and he has so much respect for that woman because she gave his daughter love like a mother, she gave her what she was missing.

And now somehow Percy Jackson was a member of their tiny little family as well, and he's seeing his daughter finally get that peace. And he's happier than ever.

[honeyjars-sims]

3.5 Illumination

It was a beautiful summer day, nice and sunny with a gentle breeze that was just right for a day at the beach. Destiny had been trying to get Johnny to meet with her (and their sisters) for a couple of weeks, but he kept coming up with excuses to stay home.

When she reached out with an invite to Playa Del Sol, though, he couldn’t bring himself to turn down the offer. The beach was one of his favorite places; he couldn’t be unhappy for long with the ocean in view.

Johnny was sitting in the sand, attempting to mold the wet clumps into something vaguely recognizable. On the other side of the lumpy mess, his nephew Darien gleefully tossed two handfuls of sand into the air.

“That’s the way to do it, buddy!” Johnny laughed. “You’re an architect in the making!” Darien babbled in agreement. 

“You’re really good with him,” Destiny said.

Johnny shrugged. “It’s pretty easy. I just have to play like a little kid and say silly things to make him laugh.”

“He doesn’t take to people very easily. I think you're better with kids than you give yourself credit for. You’ll be a great dad one day!”

Johnny scrunched up his nose. “I don’t know about that. At this rate I doubt I’ll even get married.”

“Come on, Johnny! I know it hurts that things didn’t work out with Lexie, but this is your first heartbreak. Give it some time and you’ll be ready to try again.”

“My first heartbreak, huh? So that means there are more coming.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But everyone goes through it.”

“Not you. You married your first love,” Johnny pointed out.

Destiny sighed. “Yeah, I guess I’m not the best person to go to for breakup advice. But I do know that you’re too much of a romantic to give up on love for good.”

“Do you think you and Tyler are soulmates? Or do you even believe in that sort of thing?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It’s a nice thought, that some magical force brought us together. But even if we are meant to be, our relationship still takes work. We both had to put ourselves out there and we both have to continue making an effort. Not just for us, but for Darien, too.”

“Uh, wait.” Johnny began looking around in a panic, realizing Darien was no longer next to them. “Where is Darien?” 

Destiny whipped around to find Darien toddling off towards the concessions stand. “Shit! Darien, get back here!” She darted off behind him.

“Go, Darien! Make a break for it!” Johnny couldn’t help but laugh now that he knew his nephew was safe and sound.

While Destiny wrangled her runaway toddler, Johnny walked over to talk to Chantal and Trinity who were sunbathing on some lounge chairs.

“You two aren’t done roasting yet?”

“We’re not roasting, we’re getting a summer glow,” Trinity corrected.

“Hmm, well I hear the rotisserie chicken look is totally in right now.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny,” Chantal deadpanned. “Where’s Destiny?”

“Chasing after Darien. Here they come now.”

“No more escaping, mister,” Destiny lectured as she plopped onto the ground, pulling Darien firmly into her lap. 

“You’ve gotta get faster, dude! Freedom is just around the corner,” Johnny countered.

Destiny pointed to Johnny. “Don’t listen to a word this one says. He’ll get you in trouble. Say ‘no, no, Uncle Johnny!’”

“No no!” Darien repeated with a giggle, clapping his hands with delight.

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me what to do? I’ll show you!” Johnny knelt down and scooped Darien into his arms.

Darien’s giggles turned into high-pitched squeals as his uncle lifted him into the air. Johnny considered what Destiny said earlier about him being a good father someday.

The thought of parenthood scared him a bit–there are so many ways you can mess a kid up, after all. But seeing the joy on Darien's face was like getting a glimpse into the future. One without late nights at the club, fights with his family, or meaningless sex.

Maybe Destiny was right and he was giving up too easily. It wasn't too late for him to have a life like his sister's--a happy marriage, beautiful kids, a job he loved.

For now, though, he was just focused on being a good uncle. All the fun without the responsibility.

“Come on, let’s go get some ice cream,” he said, carrying Darien towards the concessions stand.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[talas-first-lady]

Can we discuss how Evil Gideon was lying, though?

I was thinking today about how completely unrealistic the Astra runs for President prediction was and the more I think about it, a lot of the other predictions don't add up. I'm going to go through in the order they were in the episode.

(She may not have been purposefully lying but she definitely just showed them whatever Chat GPT popped out.)

Zari: Seems plausible on the surface, but I have some concerns.

Her award show dress is UGLY. The red color is pretty but the orangey overlay ruins it. The ruching is in the worst possible place and makes her look larger than she is right through the middle. The bottom is kind of wrinkled. And then she has really small, understated jewelry and her hair up, so there's nothing interesting at all going on in the shoulder/neck region. Zari dresses better than that.

She makes billions with her cosmetics company. Despite the fact that we have repeatedly been told throughout the show that she is terrible at selling cosmetics. Her lip kits don't even sell. Everybody has lips! Her perfume destroys people's sense of smell.

Audible lipstick. Not a thing anyone wants. Not a thing that makes any sense. Evil Gideon is making this stuff up. And yes, it's the future, but nothing we've seen of the 2040s on Legends really looks all that much more technologically advanced than what we have now.

EG fails to consider that Zari has grown as a person since whatever info she has in her files, which is the whole reason Zari is upset about the prediction. It's plausible that she would go back to her career as it was, but she cares about people now. She would absolutely be doing some sort of philanthropy.

She's so pretty. But also, I'm not 100% convinced that that even is a dress because it looks like they may have just shoved a piece of fabric at her and said "here, hold this under your arms."

Behrad:

Totally plausible that he could become famous, either for his talent or via his connections, but he has never wanted to be famous. You expect me to believe that the man who hid in bed to avoid imaginary TV cameras is going to purposefully go into a career of being on camera?

He can't account for his whereabouts for several years of his adult life. He is not passing a background check to become a children's performer.

His record is called "Grey Hound to the Moon." Which is great, except that both the bus company and the dog spell it Greyhound. One word.

Avalance:

Knowing what we know now about Sara's biology, this is plausible.

But I feel like they might run into some issues trying to sign their kid up for school when one of them is legally dead and the other was never legally born.

Do kids get to do video calls from camp these days? I don't know. I am old. I had to bring quarters to the designated calling home payphones at a predetermined time to talk to my parents.

Gwyn:

He knows too much. They can't send him back to the 1920s. All of the Legends are aberrations waiting to happen, but sending anyone to the past is a no-no.

If they are going to send him back, wouldn't it make more sense to send him back to New York? Since that's where he last was?

Nate:

He has to somehow convince someone to publish a book about how time travel is real. Nate Heywood. Who you may recall from that controversial fake documentary about time travel a few years back. He seems like a reliable source.

You don't grow a hideous beard over the Heywood jawline. You just don't.

His TV interview is totally bogus. Nate knows how to schmooze. He's not going to be all "I can't answer your simple question about what time travel feels like because you must first read all 500 pages of my book."

"I never said that out loud before but that is the title I picked out." Gideon can literally monitor your dreams, dude. I know that she's never personally kidnapped you and put you into a time loop, but she knows things.

Astra:

Remember how she couldn't find a job in season 6? Because she's legally dead and legally still a child? She also has no education, no work experience, and a grand total of like 6 people who can vouch for her existence. She is a mess. No idea if she's legally eligible to run.

And she definitely wouldn't win, given that all of the above would definitely come out. She also doesn't look her legal age (which barely makes her old enough to qualify), she's terrible at keeping her temper, and she's literally a witch.

Also, she runs in 2040. We know for a fact that Dwayne Johnson is the President in 2045. So at best, she gets 1 term.

That wig is preposterous.

Spooner:

Again, she definitely knows too much to go back to the 1920s.

Everyone is already suspicious of Gloria Cruz. You don't think they're going to have questions when her daughter goes missing and then some 20-something shows up out of nowhere?

They are not running an apothecary. They are getting burned at the stake.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Duke Thomas: Another story I’ve heard about myself, this one happened while I was in We Are Robin. Remember that? All the cool kids would take to the streets in masks, fighting crime, saving lives, being like “Hell yeah, we're all Robin!”. And there was this guy I knew who had a twelve-year-old son. His name is Batman and his son’s name is Robin. Robin had been fighting crime for two years longer than me, but he’s three years younger and spent most of his childhood in a murder cult, so it pretty much evens out as to who is behind who in life. And Robin was an asshole. So is Batman, but that's less noteworthy because he's always been like that. But Robin used to be nice. My friends and I, we admire him. We love the idea of him. We love what he represents. It's just an unfortunate fact that this child, when you meet him in person, is gratuitously mean. He'd be like "Desist, you impostors! I am the only real Robin! You are disgraces to all you hold dear!" and cut us with his steel sword.

And one day he decided to leave town for most of a year, which you should never do if you're an asshole. And at this time, Batman had amnesia; he had died for a minute fighting the Joker and got his brain repaired by magic and forgot who he was, forgot that he was Batman; so he was leading a happy, normal life for a bit. And everyone in We Are Robin noticed that Batman and Robin were gone, and we all got up individually and thought, ‘Okay, let's get into the Batcave and destroy the place.’ We wanted to do this not because it was easy, but because it was hard. Breaking into the Batcave is one of those things that's so awesome that you're basically obligated to do it if you can, and being both teenagers and the kind of people to become a street gang of volunteer vigilantes, we thought we had a shot. And we did! Oracle let us right in because she too knows that Batman and Robin are assholes and thought it would be hilarious. And she was right. She's very clever like that. She did a wonderful job, turned off the alarms, opened the gates, edited the security footage, kept the Bats away from the cave all night. I should mention that she was an adult, so our actions were her responsibility.

I walked into this party. More kids than I even knew the movement had were there and everyone was drinking like it was the end of the world. People were drinking like it was the civil war and a doctor was coming to saw our legs off. It was totally unsupervised. We were like dogs without horses, we were running wild. I walked down, I walked through to the display area. They had a giant penny from an adventure. One dude took a running start and threw his body into the giant penny and knocked it over. Another kid sat on the Batcomputer keyboard and took a shit on it. So the party was going great.

I'm standing in the Batcave, and I'm holding a red cup; you’ve seen movies. And I'm standing there and I'm holding a red cup and I'm starting to black out, and I guess someone said, like, “Something, something, Superman”. And in a brilliant moment of word association, I yelled, “FUCK METROPOLIS! FUCK METROPOLIS!" And everyone else joined in. A hundred drunk children dressed in unofficial Robin gear yelling, “FUCK METROPOLIS!”. With the confidence of people who’ve seen death and aren't afraid of it anymore; you know that, like, ‘It doesn’t matter if I survive, what matters is that it needs to be done!’ confidence. The reason someone had said, “Something, something, Superman” was because Superman was there. He had heard us with his super hearing. So the Man of Steel himself flew into the cave and got to the main area and looked out over a sea of drunk toddlers yelling, “FUCK METROPOLIS!” in his face. But he was almost impressed. He was like “Wow”.

Then he leaned into his Justice League communicator and asked, “Oracle, what the heck?”

And my friend Dax - who invented his own grappling hook guns, this man is a genius - he grabbed a smoke bomb, threw it on the ground and yelled, “Scatter!” And everyone ran in different directions. We all ran in different directions. It was like that scene in Ratatouille when the humans come in the kitchen and all the rats go in different ways. We all ran in different directions. I ran across a bridge and I jumped over the Batmobile and I slid down a banister and now I'm running along the underground river and there was this big pitch-black passage in the rock and I thought, ‘I've never gone somewhere that dark before’. And then I woke up at home.

The next day, I went on patrol, because that's what we did back then. And I'm walking into an alleyway and who do I see but Nightwing? And he says to me, “Are you aware that the Batcave was infiltrated last night?”

And I said, “No.” You know, like a liar.

"Oracle, Red Robin and I are investigating it, but we could use We Are Robin’s help.” And he didn’t approve of us at all. He would never have acknowledged us as heroes, let alone asked us for help, unless he felt utterly desperate. “This wasn’t just a thief or a spy. It was a villain with a personal vendetta sending a message of malice and disrespect. They bypassed the security flawlessly, but caused obvious damage inside. They knocked over the giant penny. They took a shit on the Batcomputer. But the worst thing,” he says, “the worst thing is that they stole a photo of Robin II.” Robin II, the one after Nightwing and before Red Robin, was murdered by the Joker when he was fifteen. This is Nightwing’s dead little brother. So he’s trying to stay calm in front of me, but he’s freaking out about it.

And I had a thought that Batman, for comparison, was having around the same time about a life of courage and altruism: did I do that?

I figured, no. I wouldn't have done that. But I was never sure.

Until a year later. Relax. I'm playing video games with this guy named Jason, who also used to be a Robin. A year later, the movement’s kinda died down. We're playing video games for a couple hours, and then Jason says to me, “Hey, come here. I want to show you something”, and he takes me into his bedroom and then he takes me into a side room off of his bedroom - never a good thing to have. He shows me a tiny room that is covered wall-to-wall in stolen photos and belongings of the second Robin from different Batcave break-ins over the years. Mementos of a murdered child superhero taken from his family.

And I said, “Why? Why do you do this?”

And Jason said, “Because it's the one thing they can't replace.”

That's the end of that story, but how fucked up is that, right? That's crazy. So I don't drink anymore.

[billthedrake]

TRAINING THE SALES GUY (PART TWO)

Note: this series will have some edgier content.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I'd had sex with my coworker. And not just any coworker. Carson Fucking Wells. Straight bro who apparently had a thing for sucking dick. My dick included. He wasn't my direct report, at least, but still...

I spent the next week after our sales visit, I was waiting for a visit from HR. In my more dramatic, worried mind, I imagined being told to leave immediately and they'd send me my personal stuff later.

But pretty quickly, I realized Wells wasn't gonna blab. He didn't want word getting out about this either. He had even more reason to keep it private, and once the fear and fog cleared from my brain, I realized he was keeping more distance from me at the office. No more stopping into my office to shoot the breeze, no more "Boss" nickname. I was Bill again.

I was glad, really. I'd had a hot, very hot no-strings experience with a kind of hetero dude and was able to relive those memories now. I even thought about Carson during my next hookup BJ. 30 year old jocky gay guy from Grindr. Not a dead ringer or anything, but I closed my eyes while the Grindr cocksucker deep throated me and let myself be transported back to that Denver Marriott. I even grabbed Grindr guy's head like I did Carson's and start thrusting.

"You should give a guy some warning," he said when he finally came up from air, admiringly stroking my dong. "You got a big fucking dick."

"Sorry man," I apologized, stroking his dark brown hair. I kind of wished his hair coloring matched Carson's more, which was kind of fucked up. This guy was way cure and way hot. "You got a great mouth."

The flattery worked for him. "OK if I just milk that load out of you?" he asked.

I knew he'd do a good job, so I nodded. "More than OK. Have at it..."

I was out of the Carson Wells headspace, and I began to enjoy this blowjob for what it was. Some guys on Grindr overpromise their oral skills. This guy wasn't one of the bullshitters. He knew how to go gradual to work up a big of steam, then really go wild and deep on my dong to make me blast. It was awesome.

In our DMs we'd established a no-recip vibe, and indeed I didn't offer to get him off. But I did thank him and praise his ability. It was may be a one off but we both said we'd hit each other up sometime.

***

A man can go through phases. In my 20s I tried it all. Well, not every perverted kinky thing under the sun, but when it came to regular vanilla sex, I sucked, got sucked, fucked, got fucked. I tried rimming and frot, though those didn't appeal to me as much. By my 30s, I realized I was much more into topping than bottoming. It was half physical, since bottoming didn't feel fun or pleasurable to me like it did to a lot of guys. But it was that feel of being in control, of doing the penetrating, that got me going. And with the coming of online hookup sites and eventually the apps, I found identifying as a top attracted total bottoms. I thought I'd miss the vers side. Turns out, I didn't.

My 40s were about being in a relationship. Not a six month thing, or a two year thing, but marriage. I was still processing what had gone wrong with me and Rob. Maybe we fucked up a good thing, or maybe we never should have been together so long. The sex was great, but not perfect. But we'd drifted apart in emotional ways, which was tough.

Maybe that's why I was getting into the no-strings thing so much. Not being a man whore or anything, but once or twice a month, I found a guy to service me. And truth, be told the temptation was getting stronger. Grindr and Scruff had some dedicated cocksuckers, and I had the kind of dick those guys often went for.

Maybe that's why I was scrolling through the apps for the second time in a week. Work had been getting me stressed, and maybe seeing Carson had my mind wandering all afternoon. Hell, there were a number of the other younger bros I wouldn't mind sucking my dick either...

"NO GAG REFLEX" came the boast of one. I took this guy's profile with a grain of salt. Like I said, there were a lot of bullshitters on Grindr. But if he was offering...

"Hi man," I messaged. "Fucking hot profile." I was massaging the cock in my sweats. Maybe a quiet evening in wasn't gonna be so quiet.

Up till that point I'd met two men I could really let loose with orally. Rob gave pretty head, but he wasn't one of the. One was a trick who deep throated me greedily, kind of choking/gagging on my cock, but in a hungry pig kind of way. It was before all the porn videos of that kind of thing ant it seemed crazy and nasty and hot. The other was a guy I went out with for a few month, Steve. He was really into servicing me, and was very open to having his face fucked. So we did that, a lot. He wouldn't do anal, and I think I ended up calling things off with him for that reason.

Like I say, men go through phases. Now I thought of Steve as the one who got away.

I told No-gag-reflex guy about that now. About my ex-boyfriend who used to do that and how I missed it.

He boasted how he could really hand some rough throat treatment. "I'll make you forget that ex," came the reply.

Maybe he thought I was referring to someone more recent and that I was still carrying a torch. It was a hot thing to say though.

"Hell yes," I typed back.

"My place or yours?" he asked.

"Either works," I wrote. I looked down at my sweatpants and beat up T-shirt. I didn't feel like going out. "But how bout mine?" I sent him my address.

"Cool," he said. "Can be there in twenty." Then "You might wanna have a towel handy. I've not had any accidents in years, but you're a big boy."

He was probably laying it on thick. I mean, I'm hung big but not like fucking Rocco Steele or anything. Still, I got an old towel and set it out for the ready.

Turns out No Gag didn't need the towel. The dude was a pro. I'll admit he wasn't my normal type physically, but I was glad I'd gone beyond my normal type. He had a fun, horny energy as he walked in and practically begged for me to whip it out.

I did.

"Fuuuuckk..." he hissed as he reached down to slowly stroke up the length. "I'm gonna love have this fucker buried down my throat." No Gag had a way of making me feel like a porn king, and I was loving. He looked up with a flirty. "Where ya wanna do this?" he asked.

I tilted my head to direct him into the living room, where two towels were set out. One folded for his knees, the other... well...

He knelt down as I peeled down my sweats. And then he was on me. Nice, hungry sword-swallowing act. He was skilled all right, but part of me was still a little nervous going wild, since I didn't really know the guy and never had done anything before him. I did have one bad Grindr experience with a dude who swore he could deep throat me. He most decidedly could not.

"I'm going in, man," I announced. "Just tap my leg if it gets to be too much."

He mumbled around my cock in a way that communicated he didn't plan on tapping anything. So I held on to his skull and started riding. I didn't go hard at first but I gave myself some deep, slow, and steady throat action. Working in deeper... deeper... till my my nuts pressed against his chin.

"Holy fuck," I gasped. This felt awesome, amazing in a way I'd forgotten a tight throat could feel. No Gag really didn't seem to have any reflex kicking in. "Hold another second?" I asked, my cock buried deep. He didn't answer, but he didn't tap out. He just held himself calm and still and nursed my dick with his throat. I honestly I think I pulled out just so I wouldn't cum.

No Gag let out a sound that was a combo of groan and deep intake of air. "Ugh... fuck that's hot," he said.

I held my dick up, rigid and very wet. "Think we can go for some of the stuff we talked about?" I asked. In our chat, No Gag had messaged some specific things his oral tops often enjoyed doing.

"Go for it," he growled.

I nodded, then pushed back in. I gave him a second with my cock buried full in him, then I held his skull and just fucking. Not slow this time, I just pumped his mouth and throat like a fleshjack, getting off on the clutching wetness on my thrusting cock and the slick suction noises. I slowed down just a little and compensated for harder thrusts.

Turns out he did have a gag reflex after all. Nothing bad happened, but the sucker gagged around my cock a half second, then swallowed around me while I stopped. I pulled out and saw the thicker mucus on my dong. I was turned on as fuck.

"Slower?" I asked.

He had a determined look. "At first. Then you can go hard again."

I slid my hardon back between his spit wet lips and now felt the drool wet my ball sac with each inward thrust. I tried to maintain something between the fast and the hard rhythms as I pumped his face and looked down in disbelief at the man's feat in taking me. And wouldn't you know? I thought of Carson Wells and that fucking did it. My hips gave a hard jab and caused more gagging sounds. I was already cumming though, and thankfully, the sucker knew how to take me, and let me ride out my O. I relaxed and let go of my grip on his head.

Tears were streaming down his cheek when he finally pulled off, but he looked happy as a clam. "You were horny," he observed.

I looked down and patted him playfully on the cheek as way of thanks. "You made me horny... goddamn, that was incredible."

He stood up, spit on the top part of his sweatshirt, but otherwise not looking worse for the wear. I had an extra towel and handed it to him to wipe off.

"You do that a lot," he observed as he set the towel down.

I shook my head. "I haven't in years. Thanks for reminding me how much I love it."

No gag grinned. "Pleasure was mine, man. Some guys... well, they can go too hard or too easy. You were just right. "

"Any chance we could do this again?" I asked.

I was expecting a noncommittal Grindr sure-maybe response but No Gag shook his head. "Nah, man. My husband gives me a hall pass, but not for repeats?"

"Well thanks for using your hall pass on me," I replied. "Seriously, I'm gonna think about that for a while."

***

At first I thought Carson Wells had major misgivings about sucking my dick. It turns out he just didn't want anyone suspecting.

"Hey Boss," he said as we rode the elevator down one Friday afternoon. If you're familiar with the financial district in summer, you know it clears out each Friday midday. Carson and I were the dumb saps working the full day.

I was caught off guard by the return of the nickname, but welcomed that Carson and I were on friendly terms again. "Hey Wells, I thought you'd be hitting the links by now."

He shot me his goofy frat-boy smile that worked a little too well on me. "I wish, man. I have a big camping trip with my buddies in a couple weeks, and can't really the half day now."

"Well, I guess it's good to put in some face time," I replied. "With Cal in and all." Calvin was the Senior VP and divided his time between the major locations of our firm.

Carson smirked, like he was pleased to hear me be cynical about corporate politics. "I like this side of you, Boss," he said.

The elevator dinged at the ground floor. At least I could make a getaway. But Carson leaned in before the doors opened. "You've gotten head lately, haven't you?"

I blushed, which made the dude laugh. The doors open and we strutted our way through the lobby and out on to the street.

Carson pulled out his phone to get an Uber. I was going to do the same but he looked up and shot me an impish look. "You think maybe you can get my weekend started off right?" he asked.

I knew what he was asking. God, he was hot in his business casual. Golf shirt polo that stretched over his gym-built muscle, lightweight wool slacks, and tan dress shoes. He knew he looked hot, too, the perfect bait for a gay dude like me.

"Come on, Bill," he urged, his voice a little softed. "No fucking strings.. it'll be fun."

"Yeah," I agreed. Blushing as I did but feeling a surged of horniness that was already making me chub up in my own trousers.

It was weird as hell going to Carson's condo. Smallish one bedroom, but clean and neat. Very much had that city-dude bachelor pad feel. Just the right amount of sports memorabilia, but decorated like he'd hired somebody for the job. He set down his keys and wallet and phone on the kitchen island and turned to me, his playfulness and easy confidence giving way to some more urgent horniness. I could read it in his face and in those amazing green eyes.

"OK if we take our time, Boss?" he asked. He was actually a little nervous, which was the thing that put me at ease. And turned me on. "Last time we were a little rushed."

"We were drunk," I reminded him.

"Well, we're not drunk now," Carson reminded. "I wanna enjoy this."

I felt my dick really firming up into a hard ridge. I couldn't believe Wells was gonna give me head again. I'd been thinking about the possibility a lot, but the reality of it was really sinking in. "What are you thinking, Wells?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"It's a real taboo to suck another man's dick, isn't it?" I prompted, throwing back something he'd admitted to me in Denver.

He blushed. "Yeah, it is. Big time. No one knows I'm into this shit."

"I do, Carson." I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable or anything. I was glad as hell he'd felt like he could share this sexual side with me. "I gotta warn you... it's been a couple days since I've gotten off. But if I cum quick, I'm pretty sure I could go again."

"For real?" Wells asked, excitedly. That excitement fed my own horns.

"For real, Wells. If you're up for a longer session."

"God, man, yeah, I am." Then. "I can't believe we're fucking doing this, but it's crazy hot," he admitted, and I loved that he admitted it.

We didn't have the alcohol this time. In some way that made what was about to happen even hotter, but it also lent an awkwardness about how this was going to go down.

"Um.... you prefer to get head standing?" Carson asked. Just hearing that in his bro voice was enough to get me goin.

"I prefer it anyway you wanna give it, Wells," I smiled. This wasn't a Grindr trick, but it wasn't boyfriend/husband sex. Intuitively, I knew to keep up the buddy vibe with Carson, to keep him at ease.

"Why don't you stand, Bill," he said after thinking a second. "It'll be easier for me."

I followed his lead, watching as his gym built body got settled in on his sofa. I undid my belt and got into the look of anticipation on his face as he watched me unzip.

"Niiicee," he said as he watched my hard dong poke out. His eyes didn't leave my crotch. "You got a nice dick, Boss," he added.

"Help yourself," I encouraged. I'd really never fooled around with straight or even straight-ish dudes like Carson, so I didn't know how much I should talk or not talk, but the guy seemed to be into an easy rapport. I didn't do anything but put my hands on my hips and let him explore at his own pace.

Carson started with the licking, like he was measuring the hill he was gonna climb. Long swipes up my thick tool, wetting me down in the process. His trimmed beard made him look both younger and older than his 30 years. I imagined him doing this in whatever fraternity house he live in during college.

I let out a soft gasp when the sales guy finally parted his lips and began going down on me. I didn't know what made Carson Wells tick and maybe I never would, but I couldn't fault his enthusiasm for sucking dick. The guy made love to my cock. There was no other way to put it. Alternating long, wet strokes of his mouth with some suction action, then pulling off to kiss and lick my cock.

"Nice, man," I encouraged. Not wanting to break the spell, but feeling Wells needing some positive feedback for what he was doing.

He didn't suck me too fast, but I was hornier than I realized and had to think of a million things to keep from coming right away. If Wells wanted to take his time, I was gonna let him.

"You might want to pull off, man," I urged quietly, that gonna-cum tension in my voice.

Carson backed off, giving my dick head a little kiss as it pulled out. A string of spittle connected it with his lips and then broke, landing on his beard. For some reason I found that very hot and my dick spurted out some pre.

"Fuck," he laughed and leaned in to swoop it with his tongue. "I got you worked up," he stated, not even a question.

"You have," I replied. "I hope you don't mind me saying this Wells, but you're really good at this."

Carson knew what I was getting at. He had a quiet serious expression as he put his hand on his thighs and stared at my prick. "I don't mind, Boss. Thanks." He looked up at me finally. "So... what do you like when you get head?"

"What do I like?" I asked. I wasn't sure exactly what he was asking.

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "What's your favorite approach... the thing that will get you off hardest."

I let out a heavy breath. "Honestly, Carson... I don't think you wanna know my favorite thing."

He seemed surprised. "Why not?"

There was something about the sincerity of his response that almost had me telling him. "It's a little more, I don't know... extreme."

He let out a little laugh. "Damn, Boss, I didn't picture you as the kinky type."

I shrugged. "Well, I am... at least when it comes to oral," I replied. "But for real, Carson, I love it all. Just love getting head. You had me real close just now."

That seemed to satisfy the guy. He turned his attention back to my dick. "You into deep throat, Boss?"

"Hell yes, I am," I assured him.

He was measuring me with his eyes. "It's been a long time since I've sucked one as big as you," he said, matter of factly. "The length but also the thickness."

"Just do what you feel like, Wells," I said. This wasn't some Grindr cockslut, and I wanted him to feel at ease. "But I'd love to see you try."

He nodded. "Yeah, I wanna," he said. Then Carson started taking me in again, going down on me steadily. He reached about the five inch mark, which was the maximum he'd taken so far. Wells paused at that spot, giving some shallow bobs to test out his throat. Then like a swimmer taking that last jump into cool ocean water, the dude just went for it.

I watched excitedly as Wells buried his nose in my pubes, with a deep grunt stifled in his throat.

"Fuck yes!" I cried. Then, "Oh fuck, that's hot."

It was too. Because it was this hot finance bro, the coworker I had only professional relationship with. A younger, fit dude who I didn't know, not really. And he was now showing off that deep throat.

Until he needed air, or a break. He pulled back to suck in some quick air, breathing out a soft "fuck" as he eyed up my spit wet dong. He took a little breather, then went back to it. He now was giving me some genuine deepthroat head. Up and down, about three inches at a time, swallowing to the root on each go. His throat felt snug as hell and the visuals were only adding to my pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum, Carson!" I hissed. This time I hoped he wouldn't pull off. I really wanted to nut right down his cocksucking throat.

He didn't stop, but rather kept at it. If anything his pace grew a little faster. The sounds got sloppier and I could feel wet spit drip down my balls. That did it. "FUCk!" I cried. I wasn't always a screaming in bed, but I liked to let loose with when a guy sucks me, to give him that feedback.

Carson pulled off, riding out my ejaculation by sucking the top three inches. Apparently he liked tasting a guy's cum too. Or maybe his throat needed a break.

He had a proud smile when he pulled off. He knew he'd done a hell of a job, but I also think I was more dick than he'd deep throated before.

"That was incredible, Bill."

I was catching my breath. "Hell yes, it was," I said. I looked down at my dong which was quickly softening. "I don't you know, Carson... you may have completely drained me with that one."

He chuckled, and I think he liked that he'd gotten me off so well. "That's cool, Boss. But maybe we can do this again soon? Sorry if I've been standoffish lately. It's just a little weird... you know, the work thing."

"You know my lips are sealed, Wells," I assured him. "Fuck, I can't let this get out either."

He flashed me that frat-boy smile then broke the postcoital glow. "Listen, Bill. I should probably get ready for the evening. I'm meeting some buddies in a bit."

"Oh yeah," I muttered as I tucked back in and made myself presentable again. "Well, thank you for getting my weekend off to an incredible spot."

Carson stood up to walk me out. I could tell he was still hard in his trousers. I wondered if he was going to jerk off when I was gone or get off later. I thought of asking him, but didn't.

"Just to be clear, Boss," he said before showing me out. "I don't date guys. At all."

"No worries, Wells," I replied. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend. And I get it."

"Cool," was all he said. I got the sense he had some of that straight-dude second thoughts creeping in now. Or maybe coworker second thoughts.

I tried to downplay anything overly affectionate at that moment. I didn't want to be brusque but I thought being all business would help him. "See you next week, Carson," I said when he opened the door.

He nodded, then as I walked out, he shut the door behind me.