#hesitating to tag it

[get-back-homeward]

Now and Then Day

This sideblog began after watching Get Back nagged and nagged at me until finally I started to look closer at context relative to the Beatles discography and suddenly started experiencing these WAIT WHAT moments every day as what I thought I knew got turned inside out. The appeal was in looking at something you knew like the back of your hand from another direction and seeing/hearing something new you hadn’t seen/heard before. But I had no idea we’d get another song to add to the mix in 2023.

I knew Now and Then day would be an experience. I thought I’d have to wait the whole day before listening. But I got lucky and found a few minutes to listen to Now and Then when it was first released this morning. And inexplicably clicked to hear the remastered Love Me Do instead. I cannot explain my brain.

I then tried to start Now and Then and noped out before 15 seconds in. Too overwhelming. Not the right time. I was too rushed and needed more space to mentally prepare for it.

I caught NPR covering the Now and Then release today on my drive home. They had a Lennon biographer (I didn’t catch the name) reviewing the song. He said the song recalls John’s more delicate tunes like Beautiful Boys (sic) and mentioned John started the song in 1970.

Say what?!

Here I was late last night trying to nail down a better date for John’s demo than “late 70s”. Meanwhile, biographers are just here on national public radio pushing lies. Did he have ChatGPT write his comments?

Oh yeah, they also said it was created with AI no qualifier.🤦‍♀️

They played a few snippets of the song including one new piece not in the doc but refrained from playing it in full. It was mostly wrong Beatles facts all segment.

Trying the song a second time hours later, I got through it in one piece but was feeling abit 🥴 about it as a song itself. Having just listened to the original demo was probably a mistake, and I could hear all the seams and feeling the Frankenstein song effect.

Third attempt sounded more together, with the seams not quite as noticeable. I was prepared for the changes, the layering bits from other songs, and noted highlights of the instrumentals: the strings, George’s guitar bits, and Ringo’s flourishes. I love Paul coming through on the future tense certainty of “I will love you” (is that I Will?). Ringo’s shimmering effect choice (is it tams?) is such an entrancing closer. Giles’ score and Beatles recycled bits do mend the seams well once I stop thinking about them too much.

On fourth listen, my biggest notes are questioning why Paul’s harmony with John isn’t more distinct. He shows a lot of restraint here but maybe too much? Did Get Back get to him in other ways than the most obvious? Is he just self-conscious about his own voice? Or is it the limitation of the tech when it comes to harmony mixing?

The strings were what I was most worried about, but their entrance at the 1:15 mark really kicks it up a notch to transition into the singalong. Other standouts are 1:40 with George’s flourish and 2:29 peak with the guitar solo.

Lyrically, it’s the conditional and if I make it through it’s all because of you that haunts in layers of meaning both grim and cathartic that reverberate through time and space.

If John makes it through emotionally to 1980 and has a comeback? Congrats, bud you did it. But he’s stopped physically through no fault of his own. There’s the obvious mourning of that lost potential even 40 years later.

If this song this voice this message of John’s makes it through to 2023 and reaches the public? Well, success there, Paul’s tenacity saw it through with help from many friends. John’s voice and song lives on through Paul’s wish to conjure him by his side. On the Day of the Dead no less. I was reminded of the concept of tulpas today and was knocked back on my heels by the thought.

If John as an artist and Beatles as a band make it through so fans are still listening in 2023? This doubles as a bit of a fan love letter, and thank you for 60 years. Released on the day Beatlemania first appeared in black and white.

But then there’s also a reflector on this. Some original Beatles fans have aged with Paul and Ringo and others have not and aren’t here to share this like John and George. There’s grief and mourning from those still here about those lost, and the song acts as a catharsis. A kind of thank you to the band for being there for fans in good times and bad. The symbiosis of fame between a band and its fans across the decades.

It’s a lot.

I spent some time looking at the youtube comments on the song. Some original fans but many second and even third generation fans. And quite a few stories about a loved one who loved the band and recently passed away like this one:

And this:

But also in there are stories of catharsis and healing.

And many memories of the joy that Beatles music has brought to people’s lives. We all have these stories of how their songs weave into our own life. But it’s the joy that I keep coming back to as the secret sauce to the band’s earliest days. I often think of those early songs more in terms of feeling then anything, and it starts with the first single.

I love the Love Me Do remastering. That harmonica sounds so crisp. The bluegrassy harmonies have never sounded better. The ones on ple-ee-ee-ease still give me chills. Ringo’s drums moved forward in the mix to appreciate that driving beat just a bit more. I can hear the bass too. I can’t wait to hear what the other early Red album tracks sound like.

But next to Now and Then, I’m also looking at the lyrics like I never did before. Why give it another glance? Written by a 16 year old kid, it always sounded a bit juvenile and simple. But suddenly next to Now and Then, there’s a weight to it I never heard before.

Love, love me do

You know I love you

I’ll always be true

So please, love me do

It sounds like a promise. Now and Then is fulfillment of that always. It’s no longer just the whim of a kid. But rather the beginning of 7 decade devotional: To John, to the band, to fans, and reflected back again. The love is reciprocal from all sides.

How’s that for a WAIT WHAT moment? Paul turning the least likely song inside out and backwards. And he didn’t even add a lyrical middle eight.

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[irisbleufic]

Friendly reminder that Good Omens, the novel, was written by two people. The Terry Pratchett erasure since S1 of the show came out in 2019 has been a bit much to bear. If you read his solo work and then compare it to the text of GO, it’s not hard to see that the bulk of the writing style is his. He was the senior writer on the project in more ways than one.

Please consider reading the book (if you haven’t already) and love it on his account. His memory deserves to be honored. There is no reason to stop loving GO when its original iteration was written by one of the best, most-loved genre writers the world has ever seen 💙

[qrowscant]

things grow when left unattended

[dragonfollies]

How the last few episodes of Fionna and Cake have been

(No text version under cut)

[circuscountdowns]

takes u by the shoulders. do u see my vision. peak romance.

[jujuberii]

no matter the ship, i love the trope where toph can sense who has a crush on the other bc of their heartbeats. They'll be stuttering through a convo and she'll just be there like I Know What You Are.

[feelo-fick]

it can't be too hard right?

it's easy not to think about things, he tells me i don't think all the time! wait...

—

a scene from a fic that i have no clue if ill finish, let alone post, but look i made fanart of my own thing that doesnt even exist :D

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in alt text, transcripts for comics also found there!]

🎉🎇HAPPY NEW YEAR!🎇🎉

Sure was a year...This is just me taking the end of year opportunity to post the various DC comics doodles that have been gathering dust in my files! Disclaimer that I'm a heathen who mostly reads batfam comics (and also a lot of. Sidekick-y stuff? Like YJ98) and these are all for fun! (Image #3 is a direct adaptation of this text post I made)

[velarisdusk]

Ice Cold Jealousy

Hockey AU | Cassian x Reader

Series Masterlist -> Part 2 - Thawing Boundaries

word count: 8.3k content: [ explicit sexual content, PWP, unprotected PIV, rough sex, oral (m & f receiving), voyeuristic elements, possessiveness/jealousy, power dynamics, little bit of overstim?, hair pulling, dirty talk, humiliation?, biting, locker room sex (it's come to my attention that hockey locker rooms don't typically have lockers but just suspend your disbelief for a sec please), inapproproate touching, insinuation that Cass stares at Az's ass teehee | violence (physical altercation, reader not involved), blood mention, strong language | no beta we die like men ] summary: Despite the tension on the ice, your relationship with Cassian, the commanding captain of the Velaris Vipers, is anything but cold. His jealousy ignites when the rest of the team's flirtations become too much to ignore. In the aftermath of a disastrous game, the boundaries between playful teasing and intense passion blur, leading to a locker room encounter that challenges both your resolve and your control. author's note: WOW, okay, this is the first fic I've written for ACOTAR, and the first fic I've written in close to a decade, so excuse me if I'm a bit rusty :) I've been going through a hockey thing lately, watching random games on youtube in their entirety, so obviously that means I had to write Cass, duh. Sorry it's on the longer side; I just had lots of ideas... like only 3k of this is plot lmfao. Enjoy!

Cassian knows they’re fucked.

You can see it on his face. With two points down and precious little time left on the clock, they need a miracle. The referee skates to center ice, puck in hand. You lean forward, breath caught in your throat, as the Velaris Vipers take their positions. The air is thick with tension, the crowd’s roar fading into a dull buzz in your ears. You knew the Hewn City Hellhounds were good, but never imagined they’d pose this much of a problem. 

Cassian’s and Azriel’s eyes meet for a moment, a silent agreement passing between them. The puck drops, and its whereabouts for the seconds after are a mystery to you. After an unruly clash of hockey sticks and a mess of bodies, Cassian passes to Azriel on his left, who takes off down the ice with it. Cassian moves to mirror him on the opposite side of the ice. The Hellhounds’ defense closes in, but Cassian and Azriel move in perfect sync, the puck zipping between their sticks in a blur. They dance around the opposition, narrowly avoiding checks, their movements so fluid they don’t need to look to know where the other will be.

Just as Azriel is about to be boxed in by two defenders, a swift flick of his wrist sends the puck to Tarquin who’s come up to support them. You let out a sigh of relief, not even having seen him since he was back by the net. 

Why is he up here instead of back by the net? Eris should’ve been there; it’s his one job as a winger to support Cassian as center in making goals. You scan the rink, but don’t need to for long. He skates right up to you with an air of nonchalance, like he doesn’t need to be with the rest of his team fighting for their lives. You give him an incredulous look, about to open your mouth and shout at him when he gets to the wall, but the words catch in your throat when he blows a kiss, tracing a heart on the glass with a smirk. You gather yourself quickly, but before you can scold him his back is already turned and he skates back toward the action.

You’ve grown accustomed to the team’s teasing, knowing it’s all in good spirit. But with Eris, there’s always been an undercurrent of something more intense, more deliberate. As he skates away now, you can’t help but wonder, not for the first time, just how far he’d take things if given the chance. You’ll never admit it out loud, but the way he cuts directly in front of the opposing team’s defenseman to get him away from Tarquin is impressive with how absentminded it seems. 

Watching them, you reflect on the years you’ve spent at their games and practices. Not only have you witnessed their drastic improvement, but you’ve also grown close to the team. Perhaps too close, if the playful flirtations are any indication. 

Yeah, maybe ‘close’ was a bit…

But it wasn’t your fault. Really! A little over three years ago, Cassian invited you to their season opener, your relationship still fresh. You hadn’t known the first thing about the sport so obviously you spent hours watching videos and frantically looking up your countless questions to ensure you wouldn’t be entirely lost. Cassian had told you on the drive home that night that word had spread rather quickly through the Vipers about the hot girl in the stands. You knew. Hot, definitely, but dumb? Oblivious? No. Of course you noticed their showing off — the goalie’s glances after skilled saves, the wingers’ risky shots, the defensemen’s aggressive checks and subsequent winks, smiles, and waves from the penalty box.

You’ve often recalled their expressions when Cassian called into the locker room for them to come meet you, when they’d seen the object of their displays throwing her arms around their captain’s neck, planting a kiss on his sweaty cheek. You weren’t necessarily shy about looking at them in their various states of undress through the doorway; some shirtless, others holding a towel in front of themselves for modesty. But Cassian introducing you as his girlfriend didn’t stop their light-hearted remarks, though they were much less blatant now. For the most part. There was still the stray push of boundaries. Neither of you have ever told them to stop. Though you both enjoyed their feeble attempts, found them entertaining, there were times you noticed him get jealous, if his clenched jaw and reddening face were anything to go by.

Tarquin deftly maneuvers around an opponent with a small spin, sending ice shavings spraying, and you aren’t sure if the move is meant to distract or simply add some flourish. He looks up and winks at you with a nod. You roll your eyes with a small smile and the puck is once again in Cassian’s possession. He either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care. He drives forward, eyes locked on the goal. The goalie is ready, crouched and tense, but your boys have one last trick up their sleeves. 

Cassian pulls his hockey stick back and thrusts it forward with such determination that you’re sure he’s going to take the shot. But he stops just short of the puck and in an instant pushes it left and back, where Azriel is perfectly positioned. He doesn’t hesitate, slamming the puck into the net with a force that sends it rattling.

The red light flashes. Goal.

You shoot up and cheer, your shouts blending with those of the fans all around you. Previous to this, so overtaken with nerves, all you’ve been able to do is sit tight with your arms crossed, eyes darting wildly across the rink. The jovial energy doesn’t last long though. They’re still down a point, and with only a little over a minute left now, their only chance is somehow scoring and going into overtime. 

You scan the rink. The three forwards take their positions: Eris, red hair peeking from his helmet, grips his stick tightly at right wing; Azriel, ever the shadow to Cassian’s light, settles into place with calm readiness; and Cassian, commanding center ice with unmatched presence. Rhysand and Tarquin hover near the blue line, mirroring each other’s poised intensity on defense. If you were closer that way, you might be able to see their eyes darting across the ice, calculating every possible move. Helion stands sentinel before the net, gaze piercing and unwavering. Each a powerhouse, but none more commanding than Cassian at center ice.

His presence is commanding and magnetic. The weight of the game seems to rest on his broad shoulders, yet he bears it with a fierce determination you find both exhilarating and reassuring. His dark hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his eyes are locked on the opposition with a predator’s focus. You love this about him — the way he can command the rink with just a glance, the way his intensity electrifies the very air around him. 

Off the rink, he’s just as intense in a different way: reliable, attentive, deeply devoted. The moments you share away from the chaos — quiet dinners, late-night talks, and his arms holding you close as you get drunk off of each other’s wandering hands and lips for hours — are a stark contrast to the warrior before you now. It’s this duality, this balance of strength and tenderness, that never ceases to intrigue you. 

As the clock ticked down these last few plays, you could see the resolve settling in his eyes. He isn’t just playing for the team; he’s playing for you, for the life you’re building together. 

Another loud cheer from the crowd pulls you back in, and you notice the Hellhounds have taken back possession of the puck and are rapidly approaching Helion at the goal. Rhysand intercepts a pass and carries it around the back of the goal to shoot the puck forward along the side of the rink. Where Eris is supposed to receive it, the Hellhounds’ center intercepts and, guarded by a winger on either side, plows back down the ice towards the Vipers’ goal. Their wingers do a decent job of clearing a path for him. He takes the shot, and Helion miraculously changes the trajectory of the puck with a paddle save that has the audience roaring and up on their feet again. Tarquin tries to take back possession but isn’t there quickly enough. The Hellhounds still have it and go for the shot again, this time bouncing the puck off the crossbar and away from the goal. 

40 seconds left. 

Cassian and Rhysand guard against their opponents while Azriel and Tarquin skillfully maneuver the puck down the ice, right between people’s skates at times. Tarquin is incredibly nimble and light on his feet for a defenseman, conducting several moves that force gasps from your lips, worried something would go wrong. He makes a pass to Eris right as he gets shoved into the wall by the Hellhounds’ defense. 

26 seconds.

The redhead moves with a sort of confidence that seemingly makes the other team recoil momentarily. He commands the attention of every spectator, not only because he has possession but also because of his back-to-back evasions and fakeouts. 

18 seconds. 

Eris approaches the goal, all six opponents converging. Cassian skates up to the left, perfectly positioned for a play they’ve practiced countless times. A simple, effective strategy — Eris just needs to pass to Cassian for the shot. Cassian catches Eris’ eye, giving him a nod. He’s open. 

But Eris shakes his head. 

He backtracks, attempting to outmaneuver the defense. You glance at Cassian, seeing fury building in his eyes. Tarquin and Azriel are open too, but Eris isn’t looking that way. Rhysand and Helion wear expressions of anger tinged with resigned frustration.

6 seconds left. Eris circles behind the goal, clearly aiming to nudge the puck in around the post. You can already tell it won’t work — too many opponents, and Eris’ eyes are locked on you instead of the play. He slides the puck around the post and… straight into the goalie’s leg pads. 

2 seconds. Cassian and Azriel make a desperate rush, but it’s futile. You sit with a sigh, putting your head in your hands. The buzzer blares. Game over. Hewn City Hellhounds win, 5 - 4. 

You distantly hear the cries and shouts from the other side of the arena celebrating their team’s win, mingled in are the groans of frustration and defeat from around you. What the fuck was he thinking? They’d had the perfect opportunity. You look up just in time to see your boyfriend shove Eris into the wall a few feet down from where you sit, the glass letting you see just how his face smashes against it with the impact. The spectators around you cheer Cassian on, as they, too, are frustrated at the person who cost them the possibility of overtime.

Immediately after impact, Cassian skates back a few feet, throws his helmet and gloves off, and raises his fists. Eris mirrors the action after throwing down his stick. Cassian’s is discarded way back near the goal. There’s no going in circles to see who moves first; Cassian is on him, landing blow after blow to his face and head. His own face goes red with anger as he shouts what you assume to be chastising, scolding words at the other. You can’t hear anything above the crowd around you spurring him on. Across the ice, the rest of the team just watches, arms crossed and chests heaving. 

Eris finally gathers himself, landing a left hook to Cassian’s jaw. He takes the opportunity to pull him down a bit by the hair and uses his other hand to keep punching. The refs are finally on their way to break it up, but both of their blood has already spilled onto the glass and ice. You strain to catch their words, curiosity flaring as Eris’ eyes flick to you, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk. Whatever he said next had Cassian lunging forward with another barrage of punches. 

As the refs finally near them, you decide you've seen enough and navigate your way out of the stands to the locker room entrance just as you always have at the end of their matches. 

You’ve never seen him get like this. Sure, you’ve seen him get into a fight every now and then, after which he’d pout at you from the penalty box (if he wasn’t still too overcome with anger). But this? In-fighting? Never. He’s usually the one splitting the guys up. And though he gets into disagreement after disagreement with Eris, it’s never turned into this. You’re not even sure why it escalated so quickly — they’ve been doing really well this season and the playoffs are still months away. This was by no means a high-stakes game for them. 

Just as you cross your arms over your chest and lean against the wall across from the locker room door, you hear the familiar cacophony that comes with lost games. You prefer it to the times they come back silent — the times the car ride home goes by without a word exchanged. Those are few and far in between, though. 

The din of angry voices and clattering equipment grows louder as the team approaches. You straighten up, eyes fixed on the corridor’s entrance. When Cassian emerges, leading the group, your heart sinks. His jaw is clenched, gaze locked straight ahead with an intensity that makes you hesitate. 

Still, you take a few steps towards him. “Cass,” you start, your voice barely audible above the commotion.

He doesn’t even blink. Cassian strides past you, the heat of his anger almost palpable as he disappears into the locker room. The door slams shut behind him, leaving you staring at its blank surface. 

You're still processing when you feel a light touch at your waist. Azriel slides past you with a sympathetic nod. Helion follows, his hand ghosting across your lower back as he squeezes through. If you weren’t caught so off guard you may have leaned into their touch. Rhysand, ever the gentleman even in defeat, murmurs a quiet “Rough night, darling” as he moves around you.

“Think Cassian would mind if you played nurse?” Eris drawls, gesturing to his bruised face. He gives what would be a stunning smile if not for the blood staining his teeth. His eyes flicker to the locker room door, then back to you. “I promise I’d be a much more… grateful patient.” He lingers only a moment longer, and you’re sure he’d jump at the chance in a heartbeat if you gave the word, before sauntering into the locker room with a self-assured smirk.

You lean against the wall, arms crossed. The muffled sounds of frustration and anger seep through the locker room door, punctuated by the occasional crash of equipment being thrown. You check your phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media to distract yourself. Already, clips of the fight are circulating, fans dissecting every move, every punch. You decide to just put your phone back in your pocket. 

The shouting inside gradually dies down, replaced by the sound of running water. Showers. You find yourself straining to hear any indication of Cassian’s mood, wondering if the shower is doing anything to cool his temper. 

The corridor gradually empties as staff and other team personnel file out. You shift your weight from one foot to another, replying to texts to pass the time. The showers shut off one by one. You hear locker doors opening and closing, the murmur of subdued conversations. The guys eventually trickle out, hair still damp. They offer you tight smiles or brief nods as they pass, their usual post-game chatter noticeably absent. The weight of the loss and the fight hangs heavy in the air; even Eris walks past you without so much as a smirk.

“(Y/N).”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach at his tone — it’s commanding, and the raspiness from all the shouting in his already deep voice sends a conflicting shiver through you. It does nothing to calm your nerves, but ignites a different kind of tension altogether. You take a step off the wall as you respond.

“Yeah…?”

“Get in here.”

This better be fucking good, you think, but find yourself swallowing hard anyway. You push the door and step in, and if your breath wasn’t already stuck in your throat, you might have choked on it at the sight.

Cassian sits on one of the benches, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His elbows rest on his knees, hands hanging loose between them, and his damp hair partially obscures his face as he stares down at his calloused fingers.

You take a few tentative steps, stopping a few paces before the bench. The door finally shuts behind you, the loud click echoing in the otherwise silent room. Neither of you speak for long enough that you feel like you should say something, but when you open your mouth-

“Sit. And listen to me very carefully.”

His voice is low and measured, but the underlying tension is palpable. You lower yourself onto the bench across from him, heart pounding. His eyes lock onto you, dark and intense. He stands, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His towel now hangs dangerously low on his hips as he looms over you, still sitting on the bench.

“That game,” he growls, “was a disaster.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, still flushed from the shower, as he leans down, placing his hands on either side of you on the bench. You have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His face is inches from yours, breath warm on your cheek.

“Eris blew it,” he continues, voice low and rough. “But y’know what? It wasn’t just him. The whole team was off today.” He leans in closer, his breath ghosting your ear. "And I think I know why."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze roams over your face, over your surprise laden eyes, lingering on your lips before snapping back up.

"I saw the way they kept looking at you," he murmurs so quietly you can hardly hear him. "Tarquin missing easy passes, Azriel fumbling checks he'd usually nail." His free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, the touch feather-light and sending shivers down your spine. "Even Helion let in shots he'd normally block without breaking a sweat.” You can feel the tension coiling in Cassian's body, see the muscle in his jaw working as he clenches it. 

"It's getting to be too much," he says, the hand that brushed your hair back now on your chin, tilting your face up to his. "The guys can't focus when you're here." His thumb brushes across your lower lip, and you can’t help but part your mouth open a bit at the touch. "Maybe I need to stop bringing you to these things. If you're going to keep distracting the team like this..."

His gaze intensifies, dark eyes boring into yours. He’s so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips as he speaks.

"We can't have that, can we, baby?"

The notion is absurd. Stop going to his games? Your brows furrow as you look at him incredulously. “That’s hardly my fault-”

“Didn’t I tell you to sit and listen!?” He shouts suddenly, his grip on your chin tightening. Your eyes shoot wide open, but not in surprise.

In understanding. 

He’d never really talk to you like this, you both knew that. This was one of his games. And, oh, how you so loved playing them. 

You keep the smirk from tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Funny, I thought you liked it when all eyes were on me.”

“I like it when they look. I don’t like it when they forget their place.”

Your breath catches, a mix of anticipation and desire. You can see the fire in his eyes, the barely contained jealousy and possessiveness. You lean in slightly, testing the boundaries. “And what exactly is their place, Cassian?” you ask, your voice low and teasing. “More importantly, what’s mine?”

His eyes narrow at your challenge, a dangerous smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He releases your chin, only to trail his fingers down your neck, coming to rest at your collarbone. The light touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. “Their place?” His eyes harden slightly. “To play hockey. Nothing more. I bring them some eye candy out of the kindness of my heart, and how do they repay me? By letting themselves get distracted and costing us games.” A sharp exhale.

“Your place?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear. Without warning, his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. The sudden grip is firm but not painful. Cassian steps over the bench in one fluid motion, his hold on you guiding you to turn with him. You instinctively follow his lead, twisting on the bench to face him and rising as he pulls you close. His movements are firm as he turns you both and directs you backward, until you feel the cool press of metal against your shoulders. With a gentle but insistent pressure, he keeps you pinned there, pushing his hips against your own. His eyes lock onto yours as he leans in, closing the distance between your lips.

The kiss is nothing romantic. It’s pure lust, disguised as frustration, as consequation. Where his words were clearly deliberate, his actions feign abandon. You match his intensity, your lips moving against his with equal fervor, your body arching into his touch. The grip on your hair remained, his other hand sliding slowly from your hip to your waist, then up again to your chest. He was like a starved man, grabbing onto whatever flesh he could get his hands on. The hand you didn’t have snaked around the back of his neck desperately explored every valley of his bare torso, products of his years playing the sport. 

The sounds of heavy breaths and locking lips fill the room, grunts following not long after. Cassian lets out an especially depraved groan, rolling his head back, when you slide your hand down to squeeze him through the precariously wrapped towel. But when you move to pull it off, his own hand swats yours away.

“With what you did tonight, you think that’s allowed? You think you decide how this goes?” His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You pause, processing his question, the sudden shift.

“What I did tonight?” you manage, your voice slightly breathless. “I didn’t do anything.”

Cassian’s laugh is low and humorless. “Didn’t do anything? Sweetheart… don’t play innocent.” His fingers tighten in your hair, making you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth. “Every cheer, every jump, every little gasp… You put on quite the show, didn’t you?” He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the way your eyes stuck to Eris. Tell me, did you like it when he blew you that kiss?” 

Yes.

His gaze continues to burn into yours, a mix of jealousy and desire, as if he could somehow read the response in your eyes. “You’ve got the whole team wrapped around your finger and you know it.”

You steel yourself, meeting his gaze with an intense one of your own. “And so what if I do?” you challenge, voice steadier now. “I’m not responsible for how your team reacts to me. If they can’t keep their eyes on the game, maybe that’s on them.”

You lean in slightly, mimicking his earlier movement. “Or maybe it’s on you, Captain. Shouldn’t you be able to keep your team focused?” Something dangerous flashes through his eyes.

“You’re pushing boundaries you don’t fully understand.”

“Or maybe I understand them better than you think.” Your voice is steady despite the thrumming of your pulse.

“Understand this, then.” Your stomach flips. His eyes narrow, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Stirring up my team? That’s a direct shot at me, at my authority.”

You scoff, feigning incredulity. “Authority? If you had any authority, do you think they’d look at me the way they do, touch me the way they do?” A pause. “Did you think it ended with the showboating? No, baby, they put their hands on me so often I’m starting to forget what yours feel like.”

Of course he knew, noticed it early on and said nothing after discovering that neither of you truly minded. 

“Helion seems to enjoy putting his hand on my lower back when he moves around me for a chance to ‘slip’ and cop a feel,” you continue. “Ever notice how Rhys almost always greets me with a hug? Squeezes me? Oh! And the way-”

“Enough.” Cassian’s voice cuts through your words like a blade, low and sharp. The hand that doesn’t still have a fistful of your hair in it shoots out to grasp the junction of your neck and shoulder, his calloused fingers feel like they’re searing into you. “You think I don’t see it all? See how they undress you with their eyes? How their fingers itch to trace every curve they imagine beneath your clothes?”

You feel a slight downward pressure, pushing on your shoulder, pulling on your hair. “But here’s what you’re missing, sweetheart. They might play at ownership, but at the end of the day, who do they answer to?”

He pulls back slightly, to really take in the sight of you. “Who do you answer to when the game’s over and the lights go down?”

The question hangs in the air between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body. Cassian’s gaze intensifies, his grip on your hair and shoulder tightening. “Because make no mistake,” he continues, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, and the downward force he’s inflicting on you growing steadily. “This little game you’re playing? It ends when I say it does.”

The pressure on your shoulder increases, his intent clear. You resist for a moment longer, but the fire in his eyes, the set of his jaw… His command is clear. Though you have half a mind to resist, a thrill runs through you, making your heart beat faster and your breath hitch slightly. The sheer possessiveness in his gaze is enough to make your knees weak. 

Slowly, inexorably, he guides you downward, your body responding almost involuntarily to the authoritative tone and the heat of his voice. You look up at him from your new position, the sight of him towering over you sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes hold yours captive as he looms above you. You’re aware of how your breathing quickens with anticipation, how Cassian’s throat bobs as he watches you. He’s still holding your hair, and you can tell he’s enjoying the submission he’s coaxed from you, his gaze a mix of satisfaction and barely restrained desire.

That grip tightens a fraction as he leans into you, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing a path along your lower lip, but different from before. Where his last touch there had been gentle and barely there, this one is firm and deliberate.

Cassian’s voice, when he finally speaks, is low and rough. “Open,” he commands, the single word laden with authority and promise.

You shudder as his command rolls over you, your body responding without conscious thought. Your lips part slightly in response to his order. His gaze is fixed intently on your face. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. His thumb traces along the curve of your lower lip with deliberate slowness, a firmness matching that of his eyes. For a heartbeat, he applies the gentlest pressure, slipping it into your mouth for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. “Now be a good girl and stay just like that for me.”

You hold yourself still, holding his gaze as you keep your mouth open, your tongue instinctively darting out to moisten your lower lip when he pulls his hand away. He finally releases your hair and it’s an effort to contain your sigh of relief. You hear more than see the towel fall from his hips to the floor. The same fingers that gripped your face moments ago now wrap around his girth, absently stroking the already-hard length of it. His pupils are dilated at the sight of you obediently holding yourself still, your mouth open, and he can barely restrain the hunger that’s been building in him.

Cassian’s large hand cradles your jaw, drawing you even closer. His presence is overwhelming, and as he aligns himself with your mouth, there’s no warning before he thrusts in. Initially, his movements are slow, almost deceivingly gentle, but you realize too late it’s quite the opposite. Halfway in, you manage, but as he pushes to the hilt, he does so painfully slowly. You try to relax, your throat attempting to accommodate him. The slow withdrawal is worse, your breath ragged as you inhale through your nose.

He pulls out slowly, leaving you gasping for air. He looks down at you with a mix of confusion and pity. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Struggling already. I thought you could handle more.”

You meet his gaze, eyes watering but defiant. You want to tell him that you can, that he knows you can, but when you make to speak, the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk, and he pushes back in, a little faster this time. “Is this what you wanted, baby? To be on your knees, taking me like this?”

He thrusts deeper, making you choke slightly. Cassian groans, a low rumble of a sound that reverberates through you. “That’s why you acted out, distracted my guys, huh? You just wanted me to give you a little attention.” He picks up the pace, each thrust more forceful yet. “Bet you think about this all the time,” he growls. “When you’re watching us play, you’re not watching the game, are you? No… You’re staring at Azriel’s tight, perfect ass, aren’t you? I see the way you watch him.” You can only moan in response. Cassian’s fingers slip into your hair on either side, holding your head back against the lockers, his movements becoming relentless. 

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way your eyes go to Helion between plays, when he takes his helmet off. You love how big he is, how powerful. You get off on watching him, don’t you?” The tension between you both is palpable, but his eyes are fixated on you, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I see you staring whenever any of them are in the penalty box. You’re not thinking about the game then, are you? Bet you wish you were in there with them. You’re probably thinking about Tarquin’s pretty blue eyes, you want him to pin you with that look, don’t you? Or Rhys’s hands, wanting them all over you. And Eris,” he spits out the name, pairs it with a particularly rough thrust of his hips. “You eat up the way he flexes his arms when he flirts with you, I know you do.” The locker room fills with the sounds of your shared breaths, the slap of skin against skin, and the harsh whisper of his voice.

Each name, each accusation, sends a wave of shame through you. You want to deny it all, but Cassian’s relentless pace and your restrained position make it impossible. The truth is, you do think about those things — more often than you’d ever admit. The thoughts swirl in your mind, but they never take away from the attention you give Cassian. You’re most often fixated on him during games, your eyes unabashedly stuck on the way his body moves. The powerful stride of his legs, the way his strong hands grip the stick, the intense focus in his eyes. Your mind almost always lands on thoughts of his sweat-slicked skin, the hard lines of his body beneath the uniform. Your desire for him gets overwhelming, which is why the current activity is typically the one of choice after these games. 

This was the first time you hadn’t waited until home though.

He continues, his movements relentless. “You know what Eris told me out there, baby? Who am I kidding, of course you don’t, you were too busy entertaining the rest of the guys, isn’t that right?” You try to respond, but choke on his length, his brutal pace bruising the back of your throat. “Isn’t that right? Answer me (Y/N),” he growls, keeping your head firmly pressed against the lockers.

You try to answer, but all you can manage is an unintelligible garble, gagging as you attempt to speak. If there weren’t already tears in your eyes from the physical strain, there certainly would be after hearing his cold, short laugh.

“Can’t even own up to it,” Cassian tsks. “He told me that you,” he punctuates the ‘you’ with a particularly deep thrust, “have been running around telling them all how badly you want them. That you give them fuck-me eyes when I’m not around. Is that true, baby? Have you been going behind my back? Want them to pass you around and take turns with you?” At each question he pulls almost all the way out, slamming back in soon after. You manage a quick shake of your head before his grip tightens on it again. You can only look up at him with your tear-brimmed, pleading eyes. “No, I didn’t think so,” he murmurs, a thumb grazing soothingly across your cheek. You may have taken comfort in it if you didn’t know any better.

“I knew you wouldn’t say those things,” he says calmly, but suddenly pulls himself out and leans over you, forcing your head up to look at him. “But you think them, don’t you?” 

You’re still trying to gasp in air as you fight to respond. “No,” but you don’t sound convincing. Not when your voice is so hoarse. “No, I promise, I never said those things — never thought them either.” You’re coughing, trying to regain your composure, and you’re grateful he gives you a moment.

“Take off your pants,” he orders suddenly, the command sending a jolt of anticipation through you. You stand slowly, and your hands tremble slightly as you obey, slipping out of your pants and kicking them aside. His eyes rake over your body, lingering on the sight of his jersey hanging loosely on you, the contrast between the oversized shirt and your bare legs making his pupils dilate with desire. “Keep it on,” he adds when you reach for it. Cassian leans forward, now eye-level with you.

 “Come on,” he breathes out, a hand snakes under the jersey and onto your bare hip, those calloused fingers squeezing. “You can’t honestly tell me you don’t think about them. How their hands would feel if they were running up your thighs, grabbing your hips, pulling you close.” His actions mirror his words deliciously, and his words pour over you in a dangerous whisper, the heat of his breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.  “About how it would feel to have their hands squeezing and groping you wherever they wanted. How about if instead of stealing little touches here and there, they grew some fucking balls, grabbed you by the hips,” his fingers dig in firmly, and you catch him tilt his chin to his shoulder, a glimpse of his true nature shining through the silent signal to grab on, “and lifted you up like this?”

You barely have a moment to grab on when, with a swift, powerful motion, Cassian lifts you up, pressing you against the lockers. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your arms around his neck as he holds you there, his body pinning yours and his hands holding you up by your ass. The cold metal of the lockers contrasts with the heat from both of your bodies. You try to arch away from it, but only manage to push yourself flush against him, feeling the undeniable hardness of him pressing against your core, a reminder of how desperately you both want this. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, making you gasp and tighten your grip around his neck.

You want to deny it, to insist that your thoughts are innocent, but the intensity of his gaze tells you he wouldn’t believe you. You swallow hard, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue, as you shake your head once more, more for your own reassurance than his. 

“It’s not like that…” you plead, trying to catch your breath, eyes wide with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “I—” Your voice falters, the words stuck in your throat. “You don’t understand.”

Cassian’s eyes narrow, his grip tightening ever so slightly. You knew there would be bruises later. “Enlighten me,” he growls.

You take a breath. “When I watch you out there, all I can think about is how much I want you,” you confess. “The way you move, the way you lead and command everything… It drives me crazy. They’re just petty distractions. You’re the one I can’t resist. The one I crave,” you assure him, moving the stray hair from his eyes. “You’re the one I want, Cassian. Only you, you know that.”

His expression softens, as do his fingers on your skin, his intense gaze seeming to melt as he absorbs your words. He leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. “Maybe you’re right,” he murmurs, his voice tender, almost vulnerable. “Maybe I’ve been too harsh.” A hand rubs your side soothingly under the jersey, making its way up to massage your breast.

You smile softly, but just as you begin to feel a sense of relief, his grip on you tightens again, a bit painful on your breast. There’s a familiar, dangerous glint in his eyes. “But then again,” he whispers, “I can’t just ignore the way you look at them, baby. I can’t let that go with a few sweet words from those pretty lips of yours,” he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling softly before releasing it. “You like their attention, being desired by them. Just admit it.”

You hesitate, your mind torn between denial and the undeniable truth. Unable to look him in the eyes, you nod slowly. Your voice is barely a whisper when you speak. “I do…”

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, voice low and pensive. He presses you harder against the lockers, his hands roaming over you slowly, almost absently. “Enjoy it all you want, but don’t you dare let them think they have a chance. You know who I mean.”

Your heart races as you nod, whispering, “Eris.” It was obvious. 

Cassian frowns. “It wasn’t a question,” he snaps. “I let you play these pathetic little games of yours, but don’t think for a second that it’s an invitation to have another man’s name on your lips while I’m inside you.”

With a sharp, forceful movement, he thrusts into you, the suddenness making you cry out, the sound bouncing through the tiled room. “Do you understand?” he demands, and you nod again, vigorously this time, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the fullness. 

Without another word, he finally captures your mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss, his tongue gliding over yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. His hands slide down to your thighs, and he begins to move against you. There was nothing soft or caring about it, the motions unyielding and powerful. His hands grip you tightly as he fucks you into the cold metal of the lockers, his thrusts hard and deep. 

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is harsh and taunting. “To be fucked like this, right here where anyone could walk in? You think about this every time you see them, don’t you?” That’s when you remember that you are, in fact, in a place where anyone could find you like this. A blush rises to your cheeks at the realization, and you can tell he gets off on your embarrassment when he fails to suppress a smirk. You try grounding yourself by grabbing him wherever you can, hands out of his hair and grasping at his shoulders, nails digging in. “I know you like teasing them,” he continues, voice little more than a rumble. “Making them think they have a chance. They’ll never have you like this, (Y/N).”

His pace quickens, and he speaks into your neck. “Tarquin mentioned how you blush every time he catches you staring. What do you think about when you look at him, hm?” But you’re a mess, so lost in pleasure you can hardly process he’s asked you a question until he bites down on the crook of your neck. He doesn’t wait for your response, however, before he continues. “And Helion said you can’t keep your eyes off his arms. Is that what you want? You want his arms wrapped around you?” He changes his rhythm suddenly, now pulling out all the way to the tip before ramming back in. 

“Do you understand how fucking embarrassing it is,” he starts, voice cold, barely heard over your screams and moans, “to have my team—my friends—telling me how they catch you practically drooling at them, that you’d take them over me if you got the chance?” You shake your head adamantly at that. 

“No, Cass, you know that isn’t true!” You try to keep your voice even, to be taken seriously, but the lewd sounds in the air of him pounding your soaked, dripping cunt don’t do anything to help. It’s hard to continue when he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue dancing across the sensitive skin. “No one could fuck me as good as you do,” you breathe out, and you hope the moans cutting through your words are indication enough of it. “You’re the only one I want, the only one who makes me feel like this,” you manage to say between gasps. “They mean nothing compared to you.”

He appears to consider your words and you think he might be convinced, but nothing changes. Other than, perhaps, the smirk on his lips. “You know what Azriel told me while he was leaving? He asked if I needed any help with you in here. Can you believe that, baby?” His thrusts grow even more intense. “He had the nerve to ask me if he could join in…” A scoff. “As if I’d let him touch you. As if I’d share you with anyone else.”

“Don’t want anyone else,” you murmur, eyes going unfocused from the overwhelming sensation of it all, but he speaks over you, seemingly not having heard you. Nevermind the thought that they all likely knew what would transpire in this room after they left. You hoped it was only Azriel, with how observant he was.

“I can’t blame him though, can’t really blame any of them. It’s not their fault you’re such a sneaky fucking tease. It’s a wonder they don’t feel entitled to you yet…”

His words sting, but they also go straight to your cunt, and you feel yourself clench around him. His possessiveness, his dominance — it’s intoxicating. You try to respond, but your breath is practically forced out of your lungs with a loud moan as his pace quickens again. 

“Look at you,” he continues, his voice dripping with anger and desire. “Barely able to form a sentence. Does it turn you on, knowing they all want you? Knowing that I’m the only one who gets to have you like this?”

You manage a shaky nod, and quip back. “I know it turns you on, how much you keep mentioning them.” It catches him off guard, your short moment of lucidity. For a brief second, he stills, eyes widening in surprise before narrowing again, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, you think you’re fucking clever,” he murmurs. “I know what you’re doing,” his nails dig into your skin as he thrusts into you, making you cry out, “and it won’t work.”

He shifts slightly, angling his hips to hit a spot inside you that makes you gasp in pleasure, hands scrambling for purchase on him, on the lockers, on yourself. The sound echoes through the locker room, mingling with the existing ones. 

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, I’m all yours, Cassian. Only yours, please!”

He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone softening for just a moment before he resumes his relentless pace. “Again. Louder.”

“I’m yours!” you cry out desperately. “Only yours!” You find yourself wondering if there’s anyone left in the building, if they can hear you. You subsequently decide you don’t care. His eyes flicker down to the jersey number stretched across your chest, and a satisfied smirk forms across his lips. “Look at you, wearing my number,” his eyes are full of pride. 

You nod, lips parting with a moan. “Wanted to show everyone who I’m here for. I belong to you, Cassian.”

“Damn right, you do,” he mutters, his movements becoming more desperate than forceful. You know your boyfriend well enough to know he’s getting close. Each thrust, combined with that knowledge, sends waves of pleasure through your body. “I want to hear you, baby,” he demands, his voice strained with need. 

“Cassian!” you scream, your voice hoarse, broken by moans and cries. “Cassian, please!” 

His breath puffs against your neck as he groans your name in return. The sound of your combined moans and skin against skin echoes off the walls. And with a particularly powerful thrust, he empties himself into you, your cries mingling when he doesn’t stop. 

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to him, running your hands through his hair soothingly, coaxing him through his orgasm. He shudders against you, his grip on you gradually loosening. For a moment, he rests his forehead against yours, panting heavily, his breath ragged. As the adrenaline rush fades, Cassian’s breathing slows, the intensity in his eyes softening. Slowly, he pulls out, leaving you feeling achingly empty.

But before you can protest, he lowers you to the ground, drops to his knees, and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder to rest your foot on the bench behind him. His hands slide down your thighs, feeling the mix of your arousal and his seed. “You didn’t think I’d leave you like this, did you?” he murmurs, voice filled with a renewed hunger. His mouth descends on you without warning, his tongue gliding over your sensitive flesh, tasting both of you. The sudden jolt of pleasure makes you gasp, your hands flying to his hair as he works you. 

Cassian looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire as he devours you. “You taste so fucking good,” he says against you, the vibrations against your clit drawing a moan from you. His tongue works with relentless precision, each flick and swirl drawing out gasps and moans from you. His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you steady as he devours you. You can feel the roughness of his calloused fingers digging into your skin.

You clutch at his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands as you pull him closer. You rut your hips against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. Every movement of his tongue sends shivers up your spine, your body responding to him with a need that borders on desperation. He knows exactly how to push you, bringing you close before pulling back, leaving you teetering on the brink of insanity. 

His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a fierce determination. “I want to hear you,” he murmurs against your sensitive flesh, his breath hot and tantalizing. “Say my name.”

“Cassian,” you moan, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need. “Please, don’t stop.”

He smirks, lips curving against you as he doubles his efforts. His tongue plunges deeper, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter as he pulls you even closer. You can feel the building pressure, the coil of pleasure tightening inside you, ready to snap. 

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Good fucking girl… Come for me.”

With those words and a final flick of his tongue, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, your cries echoing off the tiled walls as you ride out the waves of pleasure. Cassian doesn’t stop, his tongue continuing to lap at you, drawing out every last bit of your release until you’re a trembling, boneless mess in his arms.

Finally, he pulls back, his lips glistening with a mix of your juices and his satisfaction. You feel his warmth spilling out of you, trickling down your thighs as he rises to his feet. His eyes blaze with a dark, possessive fire as he takes in your thoroughly spent form. There’s no need for words; the look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

Remember this, his look seems to say. Remember what happened here. 

You meet his gaze, your own eyes still hazy with the aftermath of your climax. There’s no need for further declarations or reassurances; the intensity of what just transpired speaks for itself.

[milfygerard]

the ReasonableRadish5791 account has existed for 3 days and only has 3 posts, 2 with never before seen hesitant alien official promotional and aesthetic outlines, and just a few hours ago leaked the first full song leak from The Paper Kingdoms recording sessions. According to the copyright strike I got on youtube, as well as ReasonableRadishes post, the song is named Witch.

these are the lyrics as ReasonableRadish posted them, though they are of course not confirmed.

This could be a data leak, though I doubt it. The hesitant alien behind the scenes implies someone who cares enough about gerard way to know what hesitant alien is, but the full demo leak implies someone specifically on/close to the MCR team considering its a cleaely unfinished song so its not a leak from a radio station online shop or music store. My personal theory is that its geradd posting because thats the funniest possible conclusion and one of the more realistic ones. The leaks were on the market a year or two ago, so its possible they were bought, but that doesnt explain why the buyer would have access to gerards/gerards teams private promotional files for a (relative to mcr) smaller album release from over 10 years ago mostly enjoyed by hardcore fans. We still have little to no infortmation outside of these posts, and who knows how long the leak will stay up.

@luxxlillian also found an old promotion of the pre-covid planned MCR return tour that may have involved music directly from this leak, which is terrifying for several reasons.

I believe this is the most information we have so far regarding the leaker as well as the leaks in question. If anyone has any questions dont ask me I dont know but if you want to posit your insane crackpot theory please do.

[washmouthing]

Thinking about how the only time we see Anya be a person is when Curly is with her.

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Digital drawings of Needles from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. He is a thin, shadowy figure in a brown raincoat with the hood up and dark gray pants and gray shoes and black fingerless gloves. His only visible facial features are his large eyes and mouth, and needles make up his eyebrows and poke out of his chin like a goatee. He also has needles coming out of his fingertips. The first drawing is a bust showing him smiling at the viewer, and the second is a full body drawing of him posed as though walking with his hands near his sides making clawing gestures. He is smiling at the viewer with extra needles poking out from between his teeth. end ID]

~~~~

a hesitant needles design!! keeping my design pretty vague and ambiguous for now, waiting until we get more description cuz i feel like we're def going to soon enough. I imagine the needles are usually under the skin and then poke out as needed (i just drew them as brows and beard to get the Needles Thing across) (no i did NOT mean to give him a goatee it just happened)

[critterbitter]

How did Elesa get a Blitzle as a starter if she's from Sinnoh? (hang on this is ironic she could've learned about warden ingo in school back there)

Blitzle Elesa backstory under cut!

Blitzle was gifted to Elesa so she has an “easier time” integrating into Nimbasa by her well meaning dad. This is not the greatest move, since the two feel they are more obligated to stick together then, you know, actually choose each other. Blitzle’s meant to be a utility mon— he helps charge elesa’s hearing aid batteries and basically serves as an emotional support when things get rough. He’s… not the biggest fan. (I like to imagine Blitzle was originally part of a battle track, but his IVs aren’t the greatest so they shuffled him out. He’s a bit bitter about that.)

Inciting incident where they actually start taking the proper steps to becoming partners is when Elesa takes a tumble down a hill and Blitzle twists his foreleg going after her. (Local child eats shit! More at 11.)

They’re just kids, and they’re still learning.

(When Elesa decides to challenge the gyms, Blitzle’s so excited he accidentally trips their house’s circuits.)

((As for Elesa hearing about Warden Ingo, well… that’ll be a future issue.))

((DIRECTLY INSPIRED BY THIS ASK!! TY @scarftale-bryan ))

Yes. YES.

MASTERLIST FOR POKEMON CONTENT:

[brits4gerardway]

this video is one of the cutest things ever istg😭

bonus:

SOURCE

[syoddeye]

woke up possessed by the need to write soapgaz x reader smut. i have no excuses. ~1.6k, lightly edited.

cw: dubcon/noncon elements (reader is drunk), alcohol, public/semi-public sex, oral, surprise you're in a throuple

dating kyle, whose best friend soap keeps showing up on your dates. 

you try to make a fuss about it, tired of ruined movie nights and dinners. the insufferable bastard’s jokes are lewd, his eye contact too sharp, and he’s so damn touchy. always grabbing your and kyle’s knees, looping his arms around your necks, or sandwiching you in hugs that flatten either your chest to his or slot your ass to his pelvis.

the last straw is when soap spoils what was supposed to be a couple’s trip. he cards into your hotel room just as you’re about to give kyle a show. barges in with a big dumb grin on his face.

“what did i miss?”

you drag kyle into the bathroom and barely keep yourself from yelling. you demand he sends his friend packing. this is supposed to be a romantic getaway. kyle tries to soothe you, explaining that soap’s just going through a hard time.

“he needs us.”

“he needs a reality check.”

you storm through the room past a smiling soap, gather your clothes, and hastily dress. if kyle needs you, you’ll be at the hotel bar.

a couple of mai tais later, you’re still in a foul mood, but the edge is off. you’re worn down to a weary resignation that you’ll have to share this stupid holiday, thoughts clawing through the syrupy haze of rum and orgeat. kyle’s texted and asked you to return to the room twice, but you’ve ignored both. knowing he’ll probably come looking, you slip out to the beach with one last drink.

past sundown, it’s quiet. a few fires dot the shore, and you glimpse other couples. despite the sweetness in your mouth, your stomach twists into knots. if only you were so lucky. if only your boyfriend put his foot down. you’ll have to suffer through listening to soap snore on the room’s sofa instead of falling asleep thoroughly fucked.

you plop down away from the hotel and drain your cocktail until it’s half-full, stabbing aggressively at its garnish with the little straw.

the ocean hides their footsteps until they’re upon you, and you nearly drop your drink when two bodies bracket yours.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding and pouting.”

you instinctively tuck into kyle. despite being pissed at him, the vulnerable, tipsy part of you seeks his comfort. “i’m not hiding or pouting.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “no? then why’d you run off earlier?”

“i was mad, i’m still mad.”

kyle runs his hand from your knee to your thigh and toys with the hem of your shirt. “why’re you mad?”

“soap, he’s—“you hiccup and turn your face against kyle’s chest just enough to see the other man. soap’s smirking, eyes half-lidded. “he’s going to take you from me.”

they say alcohol loosens your tongue and encourages the truth. and there it is, your awful secret. your real fear, dangling out in the air for both of them to see.

a beat passes, and you hide your face again. you feel kyle’s laughter before you hear it.

“oh, babe. you’ve got it all wrong,” he squeezes you and kisses your temple. “soap, why don’t you show her how wrong she is?”

“aye, with pleasure.”

the scot shifts, and you realize it’s not kyle’s hand toying with your shirt. soap glides a palm up your side, pushing the fabric with it, and cups a tit before finding your lips in a hungry kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth, greedily sipping the whines he cajoles out of you.

you’re dimly aware of kyle plucking your glass from your hands, too distracted by the fact your not-boyfriend is leaning you backward. the back of your head is cushioned by sand, nipple hardening as soap brushes his thumb over the cup of your bra.

they make short order of pushing your shirt up and pulling your tits out. your shorts are dealt with, your panties left in place for the moment.

“stay still, babe,” kyle whispers as you surface from the onslaught of soap’s kisses. soap lifts your head carefully so you can watch your boyfriend kneel beside you. he holds your cocktail up and then carefully tilts the glass until a few drops splatter across your stomach. you squeak from the cold and squirm, but soap holds you in place.

the look in kyle’s eyes is pure sin as he dips down to chase after the streams of liquor, tongue blazing over your skin. it dips into your navel, fishing a reluctant giggle out of you, then continues south.

he pauses to ruck off his shirt, then lifts your hips to carefully guide it beneath your lower half. he pinches the swell of your ass.

“you’ve been so good, babe. so patient. you’re learning, aren’t you?” he asks, licking his lips as soap moves to kneel at your head. “soap isn’t here for just me, is he?”

your eyes roll blearily in their sockets to find the man in question staring down at you. the heat in his eyes setting off more sparks in your belly.

“n-no.”

kyle beams and curls his fingers in the elastic.

“no. he wants both of us. isn’t that nice?”

you nod stiffly, eyes fixed on your underwear as he pulls them to your ankles. you should be embarrassed. humiliated, to have a man who isn’t your boyfriend see you like this. but alcohol and desire blur together, and you raise your hips with a tiny noise. a word. “please.”

“needy girl. i’m gonna make you feel good, babe. but if i’m gonna do that, i need you to make him feel good, yeah?”

soap’s fingers leave your tit to stroke the side of your head, gently nudging your face toward him. you’re met with the sight of his cock straining against his shorts, his free hand palming it slowly.

you glance up and realize this is the quietest he’s ever been. he’s always loud and boisterous. annoying when he invades your space. now he’s dead silent, save for the deep breaths from his nostrils. blue eyes narrowed in a predatory stare.

in an instant, you know. all this time, he’s been trying to run you down. wear away your resistance. get you accustomed to his near-constant presence. and apparently, he’s tired of waiting, wielding your boyfriend against you to sweeten you to some sort of package deal.

you should scream. tell both of them to piss off. instead, you slowly reach for the waistband of soap’s shorts, and help tug them down.

the alcohol coursing through your system makes you sluggish and clumsy, but soap does most of the work anyway. his cock languidly glides over your tongue and into your throat, erasing sugar with salt—the lines of your relationship along with it.

kyle’s tongue and fingers coax you into a state of euphoria, vision wet and glassine at the edges. you don’t think you could run away even if you wanted to. your legs are jelly, body pliant as hands grope at their leisure. kyle shushes you when you wiggle at the sound of distant voices, silencing you with a third finger and the seal of his mouth on your clit.

the muscles of your legs start to shake and tighten, pussy clenching around kyle’s fingers as he curves them inside. his mouth is sloppy over your cunt, partly due to how you writhe on his shirt. 

“christ, i’m close.” soap grits out overhead, his thrusts into your mouth becoming more erratic.

kyle unlatches his lips, “she is too.”

soap chuckles and pats your cheek, meeting your eye with a coo. “this’ll be special, pet. you an’ me at the same time, aye?”

a garbled moan around soap’s cock makes him jerk and curse, prompting his big hands to cradle your jaw. angling you with surprising gentleness to continue. you gag as he slips in too deep, too eager, but your attention’s split between needing oxygen and needing to come. kyle hasn’t let up, fucking you on his hand and groaning at the wet, sticky squelch cutting through the sound of the waves.

you come first with a gurgled shout, eyes rolling back in your head as you spasm and kick fruitlessly in the sand. soap’s a quick second, giving you a half-second warning before shooting thick ropes into your throat. kyle’s tongue laps at your folds as you swallow, both sensations overwhelming you to the point of tears. soap tucks himself away, and you hear him tut.

“gie it a rest. she’s still got to ride you back in the room.”

kye laughs breathlessly and crawls over you. “still with us?” he smirks at the delirious nod you manage. “good girl. need help standing?”

you let them dress you and haul you to your feet. the world’s gone wobbly, and you list heavily against kyle. your arms are also negotiated around soap, slotting you firmly between them. kyle’s shirt hangs into a pocket, soaked, and with every step back toward the hotel, clarity and embarrassment steamroll you.

“i can’t—this was a mistake.” you hiss, though the three of you know your words don’t carry the weight you want them to.

kyle plants a kiss on your cheek. you smell yourself on his face. “we’ll see if you feel different in the morning.” 

“aye. probably just have sand where the sun don’t shine. i’ll personally see to—”

with your waning lucidity, your elbow finds his ribs in a harsh blow. he sputters and stumbles, almost releasing you from his hold, but not quite.

“jesus, our girl’s got some fire, garrick.”

“tried to warn you.”

you mutter something mean, setting the men off into titters of laughter, and try to ignore the flicker of warmth at our girl.