#i had no clue what i was doing the entire time

[bronzeyslcve]

take charge - lucy bronze

pairing: lucy bronze x female reader

theme: smut

warnings: smut, minors dni, fingering, strap-on use, oral sex, praise kink, gag use, orgasm control, submissive lucy, pet names, use of y/n

summary: lucy has always been the dominant one out of the two of you throughout your entire five year relationship. when leah tears her acl, Sarina gives you the armband for the World Cup. Something about you in the armband turns lucy on and suddenly, she wants you to take control in the bedroom…

notes: based on this request, thank you sm anon! whilst writing this, half of it didn’t save so i had to rewrite most of the match part so sorry if it’s really bad <3

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It was heartbreaking watching Leah tear her ACL, the three letters confirming to you and all of your England teammates that your captain would miss the World Cup. You had no idea who Sarina would give the armband to, you thought Millie would receive it, or even Lucy, she deserved it more than most in your definite non-biased opinion. But Sarina had other plans. You were announced as the captain for the World Cup. Naturally, you were honoured to not only represent your country but to know hopefully captain them to a World Cup win, it was a childhood dream come true and Lucy couldn’t have been prouder of you.

So far, you had lead the team through the group stages, having won all three matches and you couldn’t be happier. You had noticed a slight change in Lucy ever since your first game against Haiti, but you put it down to just tournament nerves. Not knowing what was really going through her head. Having no clue that seeing you lead all the girls on the pitch, wearing that armband and being much more commanding and even more confident then you normally are, has been doing things to her.

All this week, you had been preparing for the game against Nigeria. You weren’t stupid, you knew it was going to be tough. They’re physical. Way more physical than the Lionesses but you were all ready. Or that’s what you thought. You played in the left-wing back position, which allowed you to cover the back and push up a little, which you loved doing. You had a good link up going with Georgia but Nigeria were quick to break it, quick to have you marked down and so you could do nothing, not really, except for telling your girls what to do.

Rarely, anger was never an emotion you dealt with on the pitch. You never got angry, not really, the last time you had it was the champions league final back in 2020 for an unjust foul committed on you that should’ve been a penalty, but it wasn’t awarded. However, watching you get awarded a penalty in the 31st minute and then having it taken off of you in the 34th just really pissed you off. You thought it should’ve stood. But it didn’t. When you’re angry on the pitch, you get a touch more aggressive, more loud and much more pissed if things don’t go your way. And that’s exactly what starts to happen.

The last minutes of the first half are basically just filled with you shouting at the girls, telling them what to do, putting challenges in on the Nigerian players, but still being careful to not get carded for them. When you come off for half time, Lucy is the first one over to you, putting her arm around your waist, whilst you two walk back through the tunnel. All of the fans knew about your relationship, I mean the pair of you never made any effort to hide it, meaning you could be more open with some of your affections.

“That should’ve been a fucking penalty,” you huff, as you walk towards the changing rooms, Lucy’s arm never leaving its position of being wrapped around your waist.

“I know baby, I know. Don’t threat about it though, we’ll be okay, we have you, you’re playing exceptional as always,” Lucy reassured you, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, ignoring the feelings stirring inside of her from watching you get angry on the pitch. From wearing that armband. You have absolutely no clue how much you’re turning her on.

“Luce, I’ve hardly done anything,” you sigh softly as you make your way through the changing room and sit down at your cubby, which is conveniently next to your girlfriends.

“Yes you have. The passes that you have managed to make have been perfect, you’ve kept the left locked down and you’ve been commanding us really well.”

You smile softly at her and she presses a gentle peck to your lips before whispering against them lowly, “It’s very hot actually,” before she leaves to use the toilet to adjust herself.

Sarina gives her usual half time speech, telling you all on how to improve, then about ten minutes later you’re all back on the pitch. The knowledge that Lucy finds how you’re carrying yourself on the pitch hot, sends sparks flying through you. You weren’t thinking about that, not at all, but now, it’s in the back of your mind and you can’t help but want to impress her just a little more.

By the 83rd minute, most of the girls are tired. Nigeria’s physicality is just knackering the entire team. Sarina still hasn’t made any changes and it’s annoying you a little bit, your team are tired, substitutions need to be made. That’s why it doesn’t surprise you as much when frustrations get the better of Lauren James. Sure, her stamp on Alozie was completely unnecessary, but you understand why she did it. You’re frustrated too, however you have the maturity, which Lauren lacks and needs to work on, to time your tackles right, to not foul a player as said tackles you have committed have all been completely legal. Yes your frustrations did get the better of you in the 73rd minute leading to you getting a yellow card, but that was only for talking back to the ref, who you now had down as being a wanker, you didn’t like her. You knew the red card was coming to Lauren, a blind idiot would know, but that still doesn’t mean it didn’t hit the team hard. Being forced to drop to ten whilst you’re already struggling isn’t really an ideal situation.

The last eight minutes were utter hell for England. Scrappy, sloppy, whatever the commentators want to call it. You are extremely lucky to be going into extra time and not home. There were multiple shots from Nigeria that could’ve gone in but didn’t.

When the first fifteen minutes of extra time roll around after the short break, Nigeria’s tactics are slightly different. They try to test you, try to exploit the left side which they haven’t for the entire game. However you’re successful at keeping it locked down, not letting them get around you, which means they take back up their usual routine of going down the middle or the right.

In the 98th minute, a diagonal ball that’s just completely ignored by Millie could’ve easily been scored, it was a big chance for Nigeria. A huge one, it could’ve won them the game. But it didn’t. That still doesn’t mean that you didn’t have a few stern words with your vice captain. Millie understood and she was incredibly apologetic, knowing she fucked up, her words, not yours, she’s tired. All of the girls are, you couldn’t blame her that much, so you just remind her to stay alert and on her player, that’s all really.

You notice Nigeria decide to attack down the right, and Lucy isn’t doing all that well. She seems distracted by something. You’ve never shouted at Lucy on the pitch before, but you just have to, she has to lock that right side down, you can’t concede.

“Luce, c’mon snap out of it, stay on her!” you shout at your girlfriend and Lucy is quick to react. She improves her marking of Ajibade instantly and doesn’t let her past her, locking the right down just how you wanted. Yet again, you had no idea what you had just done to Lucy. The way you commanded her stirred something primal within her, but she was quick to snap out of it: remembering your earlier words, not wanting to disappoint you. It was a weird feeling for Lucy, but she was sure that if you asked her to do anything: she’d do it for you.

The first half of the extra time comes to an end and you have a little break, having a quick gel and then a word with the girls to just play their best and for now push through the pain and the tiredness for their county. For winning this game and for hopefully winning the World Champion title in a few weeks time.

The second half of extra time kicks off and it’s an improvement from the first, you have a second substitution now, so more fresh legs and Beth England is an excellent player.

In the back of your mind, you know that ever since Lauren’s red card you’ve had less possession and have not had a single shot. You pray to change that. You want one to end up in the back of that net, not really wanting to have to end up with going to penalties. But it seems like fate has other ideas. There was a couple of chances that England had in that last half, but unfortunately none could connect. So penalties it is.

A few minutes break is allocated for a breather to discuss who would take the penalties and in what order. It would be Georgia, then Beth, then Rachel, then you, then Chloe and then Alex for the first six, if all six are needed of course. Then the rest of the girls were also ordered, if more than five had to be taken. You had taken a few penalties in your time, all in shootouts, and you’d scored all of them. So you were pretty confident in yourself.

You stood next to Lucy at the end of the line, one arm wrapped around her waist as you watched Georgia set up to take her shot, hoping, praying it would go in. It didn’t, but you were still proud of the midfielder nevertheless she’d played a good game, and you had every faith in Mary in saving the one. Which she doesn’t even need to do because Oparanozie misses the target.

All of the England players scream when Beth slots it perfectly in the back of the next. 1-0 to England. When Alozie steps up to take Nigeria’s second, you hold your breath and when she skies it, you sigh in relief. Lucy quickly pressing a soft kiss to your head.

Rachel scores the next one, slamming it into the top left corner, however Ajibade also scores her one too. 2-1.

Usually when you take penalties, you’re not nervous. Not at all. But you can feel them tingling away around your body. You set the ball down and then close your eyes, quickly taking a moment to breathe, to block out all of the sound of the fans, and to focus on where you’re going to try and slot the ball. When you open your eyes, you focus on the opposite spot, to throw the keeper off, focusing on the bottom right.

You take in a breath and then strike the ball, to which it slots in beautifully in the top left hand corner. The keeper diving completely the wrong way. You run up and jump into Lucy’s arms, her pressing a soft kiss to your lips, which makes fans in the stands go wild. That’ll be in TikTok edits later, but you don’t care. After you, Ucheibe scores hers for Nigeria and then Chloe’s up.

You squeeze Lucy’s hand, if this goes in you’ve done it. You’re through to the World Cup quarter finals. And of course, Chloe Kelly slots it in and England are through. After an incredibly challenging, tiring game, you’d done it. England through to the next round, thank fuck. Nigeria put up a good fight, it was crystal clear they wanted it just as much as you did, the game truly could’ve gone either way.

After consolidating the Nigerian team, you get into the team huddle, standing in between Sarina and then Lucy on your other side, listening to the gaffer give her little post match speech before you have to give yours, a little bit of that aggressive, more dominant edge still clinging to your voice. As Lucy listens to you, she feels that urge cross her body again, the one that’s willing to do whatever you say. To be your good girl. It’s a weird feeling for her. Lucy has never, ever felt this way before. She’s not submissive. She never has been. But seeing you, like this, all commanding, angry and dominant it’s doing things to her and suddenly she craves for you to take charge of her, like you’ve done on the pitch.

After you’ve said what you’ve needed to, you look over at your girlfriend and notice that tiny glint in her eye which means she’s turned on, that makes you raise an eyebrow slightly, wondering how and why. But you just shrug it off, listening to what some of the other girls have to say about the game whilst Lucy’s eyes are fixed on the captains band sitting on your left arm.

A few hours later, you finally manage to get away from all of the girls, Lucy saying the pair of you need an early night. You make it up to your room, and then she’s on you, her lips immediately seeking out yours, kissing you passionately, but not rough like she normally is.

“Put your kit back on, especially the armband,” she breathes against your lips, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

“You want me to put my dirty, sweaty kit back on? Seriously?” you ask, your tone incredulous, confused beyond belief.

“Mhm, please Y/n, put it on,” she begs, her eyes pleading with yours.

You look at her gone out. What the bloody hell is happening? Lucy had never ever begged you to do anything (unless it’s get her cake) in the entirety of your five year relationship. It takes you a few seconds to deliberate the idea in your head but with a soft sigh you nod and grab your bag that you brought up here earlier, just after the game before the dinner you’ve just had, to get it out of the way.

“Do I have to put my pads back on?” you question as you strip from the England gear you currently had on, getting back into your football kit from the match earlier.

“It’s up to you Y/n, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Lucy states softly as she watches you intently, her eyes glued to the armband that’s now sat back on your left bicep and she swears she feels her knees going weak.

You nod and decide against putting them back on, not actually needing them for whatever you’re about to do. The answer she gives you is not “very Lucy”, usually she would’ve told you exactly what she wants. For extra measure, you put your hair back up into the style of a rather neat bun, much neater than the ones Lucy does in her hair are. You look at yourself in the mirror quickly before glancing back at the brunette, something about seeing yourself in the armband has made that sense of pride and dominance return, exactly what Lucy wanted.

“This what you wanted hm Luce? Want to get me in my kit so I could take charge?” you had finally caught on to what she wanted, it just all clicked and fucking hell, taking charge in the bedroom, of Lucy is an incredibly hot thought.

“Please y/n, I’ll be a good girl, I promise, I need you,” she whines, her usual dominance having completely melted away. It’s almost like another woman is stood in front of you.

“Dirty girl, getting turned on by seeing me get all angry and aggressive on the pitch. I should just leave you here, wanting and not getting anything,” you hum before gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, a direct contrast to your words.

“No, please, don’t, I need you baby, I’m so desperate, please.”

God she sounds so so so pretty when she whines, when she begs. You’ve never heard it before, and you want to hear more of it, you’ll make sure Lucy does her fair share of begging before she gets anything from you.

“You sound so pretty when you beg Luce, what you desperate for hm? What do you want me to do?” you ask, fully aware that you’re being a tease, but you know she’ll do what you want.

“I want you to fuck me, please Y/n.”

A small groan slips past your lips at her admission, normally you’re the ones saying those words, begging her to have her way with you. Now it’s the other way around and you love it and of course, you’ll give her exactly what she wants, eventually.

Your lips find hers, kissing her rather hungrily before you start to trail your kisses down the column of her throat, occasionally dragging your teeth over her skin, making her shiver.

“Fuck baby, please stop teasing,” Lucy pleads, her head tilted back slightly, allowing you to have slightly better access to her neck.

“And why should I do that hm?” you question before connecting your lips again, the kiss all teeth and tongue, with you in full control. Your lips stay intact as you reach the edge of the bed, only breaking apart for a few seconds to push her down gently, before kissing her once more.

Lucy whimpers into the kiss, wanting so much more than she’s currently getting, needing you to push her over the edge and give her the orgasm she so desperately craves, that she so desperately needs.

Momentarily, you break the kiss to take off her top, and then her sports bra, carelessly throwing them over your shoulder. You ignore her boobs, for now, going back to roughly making out with her. She lets out another little whimper into your mouth a few seconds later, needing more.

“Is there something wrong Lucia?” you hum teasingly, using her full name which you know has an effect on her, knowing full damn well what she wants.

“I need more Y/n,” she mewls, now having taken to squeezing her thighs together to get a touch a friction.

When you see what she’s doing, you click your tongue in disapproval before then gently pull her legs apart, slotting yourself in between them.

“Oh really? Is what I’m doing not enough for you?”

“N-no, please, give me more.”

Puppy eyes was the last thing you’d expect to see from Lucy, but god they do look adorable. And you find yourself giving in, very slightly to what she wants. Your mouth finds her right boob, gently kissing over it before flickering your tongue over her nipple. After a few little flicks, you tug it between your teeth, then run your tongue over it, soothing the small amount of pain. Your hand finds her left one, kneading the flesh delicately ahead of your fingers twisting and lightly pulling at that nipple, whilst the other one gets taken properly into your mouth for you to suck on.

A mix between a moan and a whimper leaves your girlfriend’s throat and it sounds beautiful, like music to your ears. You keep up with what you’re doing for a while before pulling away and kissing down her chest, littering it with love bites, then you move onto trailing your tongue down her stomach to the waistband of her joggers. Quickly, you get them off of her, leaving her in just her boxers, a very noticeable dark wet patch on the front of the dark cotton.

“Fuck look at you, I’ve hardly touched you and you’re soaked. God if I’d have known if me being captain would make you this needy, I would’ve begged Sarina to have been captain for the Euros too.”

That makes Lucy whine again and squirm a little, wiggling her hips, trying to get you right where she needs you.

“Stop teasing me, please baby,” she whimpers once more, growing stupidly needy.

At first, her whines and her begging you sounded perfect, you loved them, but now, they are getting on your nerves very slightly, just like yours must do to her. Now you realise why she doesn’t like it when you’re whiny and are begging her insistently. Not when you have a plan in place of what you’re doing and she’s just being so goddamn impatient.

“No, stop fucking begging,” you practically growl, but she doesn’t listen, whining a little more and bucking her hips up to almost remind you where you’re so desperately needed.

“Please baby, I need you, it aches, fuck me, please.”

You raise your eyebrows at her so blatantly ignoring you, your hand finds your captains band on your arm and you tug it down before forcing it into Lucy’s mouth.

“There. Now we’re all nice and quiet hm?”

Lucy moans around the gag of your armband and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard, you just hope that you get to hear it again. Sure enough, when your mouth finds her inner thighs after pulling down her boxers, that same noise spills from her throat.

A small smirk tugs onto your lips as you kiss, lick, nip and suck at Lucy’s inner thighs, not darling to inch just that little higher and run your tongue through her soaked folds. Admittedly, you were savouring every second of this, you’d never ever taken her like this. She’s always been sat on your face and there was no time to tease her, so you’d never properly gone down on Lucy.

When you finally do decide to give her a little of what she needs, languidly swiping your tongue over her drenched slit, avoiding her clit like the plague, the prettiest little sound slips around the gag of your armband, something like a moan mixed with a small cry.

You go back to then sucking at her inner thighs, just wanting to tease her a touch more before you really give her what she wants. Lucy’s frustrated, but she doesn’t vocalise it, not whimpering around the gag, nor does she show it, her hips remain planted on the bed, hands screwed up in the duvet: not daring to touch you without your permission. For her your dominance was exhilarating, your armband in her mouth silencing her was what she thought was the hottest thing ever and the sheer confidence you have in taking charge does in fact have her incredibly needy; evidenced in just how soaking wet she is.

After a few seconds, when you see no physical reaction from Lucy to your teasing, you smile and lean up to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Such a good girl for me hm? Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want,” you coo before dipping your head back down towards her dripping sex.

Those two words, “good girl” have Lucy literally melting in a puddle for you. Involuntarily, her pussy clenches around nothing, clit throbs with need and the moan she lets out - which is slightly muffled - is perfect.

At the revelation that Lucy has a bit of a praise kink going on, you smirk, you’re going to use that to your advantage. As your tongue once again swipes over her slit, your eyes remain locked onto your girlfriends, watching how within seconds of your ministrations, they roll into the back of her head.

“My good girl,” you husk against her cunt before your lips find her clit, sucking just how she likes as one of your fingers teases around her entrance, not dipping inside just yet.

The possession mixed with the praise has Lucy letting out another moan around her gag and as soon as your lips finally find her clit, a muffled cry tumbles from her lips.

You continue with sucking her clit, pushing just one finger inside of her, groaning into her pussy as you feel just how tight she is, how warm she is. When she’s in charge, Lucy rarely lets you finger her, she always forces you to use your mouth and nothing else, it’s because she’s never been much of a receiver. Always giving. But when she’s does want something, the quickest way to get her off is to eat her out, so she’d make you do just that: so she could get back to fucking you quicker.

Slowly, you pump your finger in and out of her, a second one soon joining the first, feeling her walls stretch a little to accommodate it. You can already feel Lucy getting closer to the edge, so you slow down even more. You want to draw this out. You want to prep her to take the strap.

“Doing so well for me sweetheart, think you can take a third for me?” you ask her softly, pulling your mouth away from her clit for just a few seconds, still fucking her with your fingers.

Eagerly, Lucy nods. She wants to take it, to be your good girl, she knows she can take them too. You smile at her and then once again dip your head back down. Your tongue swirls over her clit gently, before you go back to sucking the sensitive nub.

A third finger slowly joins the second two, and your curl up all three of them, causing the right back to let out another muffled cry around the gag. The stretch for her is perfect, the feeling of taking three of your fingers is sensational, it feels like heaven. With each thrust of your fingers, Lucy can feel them hitting her g-spot, which makes her face contort with pleasure.

You speed up your fingers and your sucking, determined to push her over the edge, wanting to make her cum hard. Lucy’s knuckles turn white with how hard she’s now clenching the duvet, her back arching slightly, eyes now squeezed shut, stars dancing behind her eyelids. With what sounds to be like a moan of your name around your armband, she comes undone, harder than she ever has done. Just like you wanted.

Your movements slow, gently rocking your fingers inside of her, so she can ride out her orgasm. You press a gentle kiss to her clit before pulling your mouth of her, so you can murmur gentle reassurances to her as she comes back down from her high.

“You did so good for me sweetheart, such a good girl,” you state softly whilst gently easing your fingers out of her, which you clean by sucking on them.

The sight of you sucking and moaning around your fingers, coated in her cum, has Lucy getting worked back up again, which you obviously notice.

“You need more hm?” you tease as you ease your armband out of her mouth, pulling it back on to your left arm.

“Please, w..want you to use the strap,” she admits breathlessly, her voice slightly hoarse from your armband being in her mouth for so long, her eyes watching as you put it back where it belongs: slightly wet from her mouth.

“Hmm, do you think you deserve it?”

Lucy simply nods as she watches you pull down your shorts, the underwear you’re wearing are very damp, a clear sign of your own arousal.

“Me too, you’ve been my good girl after all,” you hum, pressing your lips to hers, giving her a soft peck.

When you’re at home, the strap usually resides in the bedside table, and Lucy always wears it. When you’re on camp, you have it in a bag that sits in the wardrobe with all of your other toys. You give Lucy a few more pecks, before getting off the bed and walking over to the wardrobe. The doors are slightly ajar on it as you must’ve forgotten to close it after grabbing your kit bag from it earlier.

You find the bag which is sat in the back of the cupboard and pull it forward, undoing the zipper on it. There’s not many toys in there, you have way more at home, but neither you nor Lucy were going to weigh your suitcases down when you flew out here, to Australia, with sex toys.

The harness gets pulled out of the bag and then so does a seven inch sleek black dildo that you’ll clip into the front of it. You make your way back over to the bed, the two items in hand and then nestle yourself in between Lucy’s spread legs.

You set the things down onto the mattress and then remove your shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room, leaving you in just your sports bra and underwear.

From the countless times of watching Lucy put the strap on, you know exactly what you’re doing. Your underwear come off and then you attach the harness to your hips. The brunettes eyes beneath you are fixated on your own soaked cunt, which you’re not even thinking about, your full focus is on giving your girl exactly what she needs.

“See something you like sweetheart?” you taunt whilst clipping the dildo into the slot at the front.

“Mhm, you’re so beautiful Y/n. Can you take your bra off, please?” she asks softly, her hand coming to paw at the material gently.

You smile and gently take her hand, kissing her knuckles before letting it go and removing the final item of clothing, which also makes Lucy smile.

“That what you wanted Luce?”

“Yes, y..you look perfect, I love you,”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

You gently kiss her forehead, then her cheek, the tip of her nose and then her lips. You kiss her for a few seconds, it’s gentle, unlike your earlier, more rougher, demanding ones.

After those few seconds, you pull away and then adjust your positioning, running the head of the dildo through her folds, which causes her to gasp.

“Fuck baby, please, n-need you,” she whimpers as you line the tip up with her entrance.

“Shh sweetheart, I know, you’re being so good for me,” you croon before you slowly push the strap into her, your eyes fixated on her pussy swallowing it, the sight getting engraved into the back of your mind.

In all honesty, you thought Lucy had never looked more beautiful. Her eyes almost closed, lips parted, one hand gripping the sheets, the other now gripping onto one of yours, her hair sprawled out against the pillows, her face contorted in sheer pleasure, her abs slightly tensed, the sounds escaping her and the way her pussy looks swallowing your goddamn strap. This was something you were going to remember for a long, long time.

“Shit Luce, you’re so tight, doing so well for me,” you grunt as you start to slowly thrust in and out of her, your eyes moving up to her face, to watch her reaction to your movements.

The praise has her letting out a small whimper, which turns into a loud moan as you start move. Her hand that’s in yours grips it a little tighter, for her it feels weird, she feels so full, stretched so beautifully, she could definitely get used to the feeling.

“F..fuck, feels so good Y/n. Harder, please,” she begs softly and it’s impossible to not give her what she wants, after all she has been good for you.

You increase the force of your thrusts, little grunts occasionally tumbling from your lips, like the ones that you make when lifting in the gym and Lucy fucking loves it. She loves hearing the little noises you’re making, knowing you’re enjoying it just as much as she is.

“Taking me so well, my good fucking girl.”

Lucy’s eyes roll into the back of her head, the praise making everything so much better for her, she can feel herself getting closer, her small moans getting louder, her walls gripping your strap tighter.

“Baby I’m close, p..please don’t stop,” Lucy pleads, her legs shaking slightly from the force off the orgasm that’s she’s so close to letting go of.

“Not yet sweetheart, hold it for me,” you demand softly whilst pushing your strap deeper into her, your hips snapping slightly faster. Selfishly, you don’t want her to cum yet, for it to all be over. You don’t know if you’ll ever get to experience this again, to watch Lucy take your strap, to be the one on top, the one in charge. So you just want to draw this out for as long as possible and you know Lucy will listen to you.

Lucy doesn’t complain, she just simply nods, opening her eyes properly to look at you. To her you look perfect. Your eyes are completely darkened with lust, watching her, your hairs up in that damn bun, some of the strands coming loose and sticking to your forehead and your captains armband is sat snug around your left bicep: you look like heaven to her.

“Look at you, look so fucking pretty taking my cock,” you practically growl, your eyes now back to watching her pussy take the toy as you pound into her faster, which makes her moans even louder.

“Y/n, please c..can’t hold it any longer,” she whines, her hand tightening in yours to ground herself as she knows her orgasm is going to be intense. She can feel it.

“Fuck, cum for me sweetheart, cum all over my cock.”

With a sudden cry, Lucy comes undone, her legs shaking slightly from its intensity, her eyes now rolled back, her back arched a little and her face contorted up in sheer bliss. You don’t know where to look, her face, her cunt, at the way her abs tense. You keep your eyes on her face, watching how it twists with pleasure, your hips slow down, still gently rocking the toy in and out of her, allowing her to ride out her high.

“That’s it sweetheart, such a good girl,” you hum, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before ever so gently easing the toy out of her sensitive pussy, revelling in the way it grips your strap harder, as if it doesn’t want you to leave.

Once the toy is out, you quickly undo the harness and then toss it off, throwing it onto the floor. You then lay down next to your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her gently, allowing her to cuddle into you, whilst you pressed gentle kisses all over her face.

“T..that was incredible,” Lucy managed to exclaim a few minutes later after coming down from the most incredible high she’d ever experienced.

“It was, my god you looked so beautiful Luce, who knew seeing me be captain could get you so worked up,” you couldn’t help but tease, watching as she responds by playfully rolling her eyes.

“Hm, I don’t know what can over me, it was just like hot, watching you take charge of everyone on the pitch y’know?”

“Mhm, I think I’ll beg Sarina to let me be captain forever now if that happens every time after we have a game.”

Lucy swats your shoulder playfully, her eyes watching as you pull off the armband and toss it onto the nightstand.

“No, I couldn’t focus on the game at points because all I was focused on was you baby,” she points out with a small smile, her lips gently pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh really?” you ask, rhetorically, as you think back to the game earlier that day which feels like it was years ago. “That actually makes a lot of sense, I knew something else was going on earlier, it has been the entire tournament,”

“Yep, ever since the Haiti game. I’ve been wanting you to take charge for a little while now,”

“Well I definitely want to do it again,” you suggest with a little smirk crossing your lips, making her chuckle.

“Ditto baby.”

With that, it didn’t take the pair of you that long to fall asleep, all tangled up in each other, your bodies exhausted from the match you played in earlier and then the incredible sex you’d just had. As you slept, there was one thing you both knew for certain: you’d been taking charge much more often.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

family day ask, if that's alright! could i request an interaction with rook and eric venue, vil's father? the way i think of it, this can go either really funnily or oddly. or both.

Consider this a prequel interaction to this one; I doubt that Mr. Venue can get past the Pomefiore gates on his own, so let's assume he meets a certain huntsman that helps him out 🎵

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

From his vantage spot amid the tree leaves, Rook could see all. He was like a hawk, able to glean the animals weaving through the foods, the rooftops, the students and their families coming to and fro. This view, he adored.

But equally as stunning as these sights were the pockets of darkness in them. They made his blood soar, singing, all the same. Carcesses returning life to the soil, damage from the natural elements, quarrels…

The sketchy man lurking at the shining gates to Pomefiore.

“Oh la la, what have we here?”

Curiosity piqued, Rook focused his gaze on the man. He was dressed in a full tracksuit, a mask concealing the shape of his mouth—though with a neat beard on his chin, judging by the slight protrustion—and a large pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. Given the lenses and the natural lighting, Rook would venture his iris color was a deep violet. A baseball cap hid most of his hair—though tufts of gold stuck out—and shadowed his face. It was an older man, Rook could tell, from the glimpses of skin he could catch, creasing and folding in a predictable manner.

The man glanced around, checking for onlookers (Rook chuckled to himself, knowing that he had no clue the huntsman was watching), then made his move. Reaching out with gloved hands, he tested the iron bars keeping him from entering the utopia of beauty protected by them. Of course, the gates held together, tight as coupled ravens.

Before the man could attempt to fiddle with the lock, he jolted at the sound of two approaching Pomefiore students. (Rook heard them clearly; they were talking about a recent Magic History exam and how their parents were currently speaking with Trein.) He hurriedly dove into a nearby hedge. The duo came up to the gate, which magically swung open for them.

“Excuse me, gentlemen!”

The mob students startled at the masked man popping out from a bush. “What the…?!”

“May I join you?” he asked (as if it was the most normal thing in the entire world for a masked man to appear from the greenery to solicit high school students). “My son is a student in your dorm, you see—but I haven’t been having any luck getting in. I’ve been trying for some time now, but the gates always shut again when I try to rush inside.”

“Erm… Are you acquainted with this scruffy guy?” one mob asked the other.

“Not at all, but anyone with sense would know that he’s entirely suspicious,” the other replied. “What say you and I cast him out?”

“Yes, let’s do that. We wouldn’t want riffraff tainting the Beautiful Queen’s domain!”

“Wh-What?!” The man automatically thrusted both arms up. “Hold on a second!!!”

Rook grinned like a cat that had gotten his fill of cream. Ohohoh, it looks as though the situation is quickly heating up. It’s about time for me to throw my hat into the fray.

He descended without a sound, the leaves barely shaking. Rook landed softly on his feet and crept toward the front gates, where ugly shouts rose.

“Bonjour!” he called, strutting up to his students. Feigning ignorance. “What seems to be the issue here?”

“Hunt-senpai!” A mob thrust an accusatory finger at the stranger. “This strange individual is trying to storm Pomefiore!”

“We were just about to apprehend him, Rook-sama.”

“Wait, I can explain!!” The man protested. His every word trembled, overflowing with sincerity. “My son…! My son is in there, and I need to see him!”

Ah, I see. This man’s secret identity is…

The huntsman’s eyes shone with clear understanding.

“My dear students, you needn’t worry—please, leave him to me,” Rook insisted, shooing them away with his hands.

“If Hunt-senpai says so…” The mob students exchanged a look before scurrying inside. The gates slammed shut after them.

“Oh no, not again!!” the man groaned. “My luck’s been rotten this whole day…”

Rook laughed, sweeping off his hat and dipping into a bow before the stranger. “As it so happens, monsieur, I am Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader. I would be more than happy to grant you an audience with our queen… Mr. Eric Venue, correct?”

The man stiffened for but a split second. He easily recovered, sprinkling controlled panic into his voice. “Eric Venue? The famous movie star? I’m flattered, but I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Am I? I would never mistake the desperate cries of a loving father. Those looks, that voice, a disguise for this busy occasion, a father’s passion… They tell a story all of their own.” There was a pause. “Ah, but I’m afraid you won’t get very far by making efforts to conceal yourself. I understand why—a celebrity cannot call too much attention to oneself—but it can be difficult to persuade, even with your charisma, when so much of the face is hidden. Humans have a natural instinct to distrust that which they cannot see.”

“That’s…”

Rook leaned in, his lips parting to form a whisper. “Ne vous inquiétez pas. I assure you, your secret is safe with me and that the journey will be quick and discreet. I know of a secret passageway to Vil’s chambers. About this time of day… yes, I believe he would be easy to reach.”

Eric’s brows shot up, genuine surprise registering on his face. “… Haha, you have an eye for detail, young man.”

“Fufufu, so I am told.” Rook extended a hand to him. “How about it? Will you accept my offer?”

“Well…” Eric lowered his sunglasses a smidge, flashing a glimpse of his deep-set amethyst eyes. “You’re an odd fellow, but I can tell you mean no harm and speak earnestly. And you’re my Vil’s vice dorm leader, his trusted confidant. I was worried that my presence might stir up a crowd, but I think it’s safe to put my faith in you.”

Rook dropped to a kneel, a loyal knight before a king. When he rose again, he lifted both arms and bent in deference.

“Suivez-moi.”

[08melancholie]

Humor me for a moment

What do you think each gang members favorite shows would be if they were from this century? Like modern shows and stuff?

OOOH this is very interesting, and I got a few in mind :)

some are more accurate maybe, some had to be mustered up to be filled in since I had no ideas D:

the guys:

Dutch — Hear me out; fashion shows. This man is first in line for the TV remote when theres a Victoria's Secret runway on one of the channels. That, or those "Wear or Tear" shows. He becomes a true fashionista.

Arthur — I feel, same with Charles, he'd be into watching Bear Grylls surviving in the wild. I don't know how to explain this one tbh, it just sounds right to me.

John — I really struggled with this one, honestly. I could NOT think of one thing he would watch. Anyhow, Abigail doesn't let him watch too much of it, but he'll also tune in when theres a football match OR, even better; baseball. I feel like he's a baseball type guy.

Javier — Another hear me out; Spanish cooking shows. This I have literally no explanation for, it came to me and I instantly said 'oh, YES' aloud. So, I'm sticking with it.

Micah — Would be big into sport channels, football and especially big on ice hockey. Let's be honest, he's literally a dad on Sunday afternoons but like, every day of the week, my little couch potato. His main thing would be ice hockey and I stand firm by that.

Lenny — Just a hunch here, but I think Lenny would like crime shows. Whether it's something like Criminal Minds or actual criminal cases and how they were solved, he'd be very much interested in that.

Sean — LOVES to watch people wrestle. He's either laughing about someone getting their shit handed to them or screaming at the TV for one of the people to punch harder.

Bill — Dog shows!! He loves those dog competitions where people train their dogs to run around and complete the courses, always cheers a certain dog on like it's his own and like he's getting the prize money.

Hosea — Chess competitions. I also don't know how to explain this one much, but I feel like he'd enjoy learning to play/to get better at chess through watching others play it, making little notes on a paper.

Strauss — Gotta be those old people Bingo channels with like, live games. He tried making his own bingo cards and literally nobody wanted to play with him because they said it was boring—and that he did it all wrong :( Otherwise peepaw loves that stuff.

Josiah — He loves watching "[Country]'s Got Talent", any country really. As soon as he sees a magician come up, he instantly locks in to see if he knows the trick that person is trying to do, and he especially loves the dangerous stunt compilations on Youtube. Rewatches them on a daily.

Reverend — Mostly online church services and those live broadcasts of it. If not that, which he does daily imo, it'll be some drug documentary. (struggled with this one D:)

Charles — National Geographic Documentaries; do I need say more? It's how he mostly learns about wildlife, if you don't count books. That, or I feel like he'd enjoy watching Bear Grylls surviving in the wilderness.

Jack — Honorable mention for Jack, the Kratt Brothers.

the girlies:

Sadie — She's also into crime shows, and especially true crime. You can't watch it with her because she loves to comment on EVERYTHING happening in the show, stuff like calling the killers bastards and finding what the clues the police find mean before the people in the show do sometimes.

Tilly — I was unsure of this at first, but I feel like she'd enjoy either cooking or gardening shows, but I'm more leaning to the latter. Likes to learn about all the different plants, sometimes writes information down in case she wants to plant something herself.

Mary-Beth — You know she'd be big into drama series and all the different reality TV shows. I swear, she'd literally LOVE Croatian drama shows and series so much, on the edge of her seat the entire time, literally. That, or she loves cheesy romances, of course.

Karen — I don't know if you guys have this, but we have a show which roughly translates to "Marriage at first", where two people get married at first sight. You can say yes or no at the altar after you see them for the first time, and the show leads you through the upcoming two-three weeks before the wedding. She'd love that, would be judging the wedding dresses the women pick the entire time.

Molly — Watches sickly sweet romcoms to heal her poor, broken heart. Good for her. :(

Abigail — Watches whatever Jack wants to watch mostly, but if she's got free time to watch something herself, she'll mostly use drama shows as background noise. Somehow, I feel like she isn't big on watching TV, so like myself basically.

Susan — She reminds me so much of my grandma that I have to say Turkish drama shows. My grandma has to be in bed by 8pm sharp with her shows, and that is exactly how I see Susan😭

Thank you for this lovely ask, I had fun with it <3

[jujus-bizarre-blog]

SOC and CK allegories for the queer characters (and other thoughts)

I was going to make a separate blog to yell about books but I decided to do it here.

I AM NOT DONE CROOKED KINGDOM AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS SO EVERYTHING I SAY IS HAVING ONLY READ HALF THE BOOK SO FAR.

The Grishaverse doesn't seem to have any form of homophobia, but SOC and CK are chalk fulllllllll of what I can only see as plots that mimic queer experiences for the queer characters in the main group.

We have four queer characters (that I know of at the moment): Jesper, Wylan, Nina, Kuwei.

So let's start with the obvious, three of the four are Grisha. Obviously not all Grisha are queer, but all the Grisha in the party are. This gives them an automatic plotline of "hide who you are".

It could be said that since Nina is Ravkan she wasn't raised that way, and no, she wasn't. However since leaving Ravka she has been forced to hide for her safety, and not only that but she is frequently told she's "too much" which sounds a lot to me like what some people say about queer people when they think queer people should be less queer. Also Matthias is all about being "traditional" and "proper" and Nina's whole thing is that she is neither. Traditional and proper sound a lottttt like some people's arguments to be homophobic.

Jesper's I think is rather obvious. His father has a clear concern for his son being Grisha since it can put your life at risk. In Jesper's argument with his dad he goes off and asks his dad why did he never let him go to Ravka where he could be himself and learn about himself and his powers. Oh not to mention the fact that him and his dad talk around him being Grisha like it's some sort of virus that can be caught by simply speaking the word.

Kuwei's took a second to hit me but when it did I was like "ah yep, makes sense" and this is probably because it took me a hot second to realize Kuwei was queer. Yeah, apparently him being jealous that Jesper only looked at Wylan a certain way didn't tip me off... ANYWAY THOUGH. Kuwei is also told to hide who he is, but his dad goes the extra length of literally making a drug to help him hide himself. Is it giving anyone else Dorian's dad from Dragon Age vibes??? Blood magic for the gay son???

FINALLY, I will talk about my baby, the character I love more than anything else. Wylan. Here's the thing about Wylan, while I was reading SOC I wasn't sure if homophobia existed in this world yet and I was half convinced that his dad disowned him because gay. While his dad obviously didn't do that, I still think at the end of the day it portrays an experience that is very similar. Wylan is shamed, hidden, and ultimately his dad tries to have him killed, all because he can't read. His dad loathes him over such a stupid reason, especially since Wylan is absolutely brilliant at tons of stuff and the cutest lil guy. But I think it's that hatred of his son over something so trivial that really lends itself to being about something else entirely, Wylan being queer.

All four of our queer characters in the main group have different plots, but ultimately they all circle around the idea of hiding who you are and being ashamed of who you are. That sounds like a very common queer experience if you ask me.

I don't know if this was intentional or just a huge coincidence. As a writer myself I am all too aware of how easily accidental metaphors and symbols can happen. But I think about it a lot as I'm reading so I wanted to shout about it either way. I also have no clue if this is a common idea or not, I just know when I pointed it out to my friends who had read the books prior, one of who loves and reads them yearly, they both kinda went "oh damn, you right," but didn't see it before I mentioned it.

Anyway, if I missed things (or you wanna yell at me about how wrong I am, which is usually the more likely option) I'd love to know thoughts :)

AND BONUS THOUGHTS

This one is super obvious but I just wanna say it. Jesper is ADHD and no one will change my mind in the history of ever. This man cannot sit still, has been described as having limitless energy, and he seeks constant immediate gratification in the form of gambling and adrenalin rushes. COME ON MAN. I know I know, there's a lore reason, something something Grisha not using magic blah blah. No. No. He is ADHD and you cannot tell me otherwise. And I love him dearly.

Also, not a theory or anything but, y'all, I love Wylan so much. I just wanna give him a hug and a lollipop and tell him it's okay. He's so cute.

[bamber344]

Consequences

prev

masterlist

:) sorry not sorry

anyway i said this would be a steve chapter but it turned into an andreas-steve-jordyn type of chapter because i just really like flipping the perspective all the time to be honest, it's like an addiction

enjoy the chapter tho!!!

CWs: living weapon whump, no-holds-barred beatdowns, broken bones, other grievous injuries associated with aforementioned beatdowns, manipulation, panic attacks, hospitals

Consequences

Andreas stepped out of the elevator into the surveillance room hoping to find someone to mark down G-7’s training results for the day, but was displeased to find it entirely unmanned. What was even worse was the fact that the elevator camera seemed to be switched off. Someone around here was getting a warning, that was for sure.

The door to the subject development room opened and Cheryl stepped out. She smiled at him once she noticed his presence.

“Oh, Andreas! Good to see you!” she greeted.

“Who was on shift to man the surveillance desk?” he asked, putting a stern lilt into his voice.

Cheryl glanced at the chair and seemed to only just now notice that it was empty. “Oh. Arthur said he would look after things. Where did he go?”

Andreas frowned. “Who the hell is Arthur?”

Cheryl blinked at him. “Uh, the new guy…? I ran into him on the elevator down here.”

Cold dread settled into Andreas’ gut. He powered towards the surveillance desk, sitting down and waking up the computer. “What did he look like?”

“Um, white, mid to late forties, brown hair sort of medium length, I guess? Kinda shaggy, in any case. He had a bit of stubble and a moustache, and some freckles on his nose. Why, what’s wrong?”

“I haven’t hired anyone new in almost a year. He was a spy.”

Andreas navigated to the saved surveillance footage as Cheryl freaked out behind him, finding exactly what he feared: everything from the last hour or so had been deleted. The little snake wasn’t totally incompetent, at any rate. It was just unfortunate for him that Andreas already had a good clue as to his identity.

Steven Matthews would regret ever showing his face in Andreas’ precinct.

—

Andreas entered G-7’s quarters without knocking and came across the exact scene he’d been expecting, based on what he’d seen through the cameras. The girl was sprawled out over her bed, half-dressed and completely knocked out. It wasn’t surprising that she was especially fatigued, considering all of the extra training and patrolling she’d been doing to make up for her failure with G-5, and since she’d been forbidden from having dinner tonight, he didn’t doubt that she found sleep a much more enticing option than staying up and enduring her hunger. She looked almost peaceful, in a dishevelled, snoring, drooling-on-the-pillow sort of way, and a small part of Andreas almost felt bad about having to wake her up. Almost.

He kicked the leg of the bed frame, rattling the whole thing. “Wake up, Seven!”

G-7 jerked awake with a yelp, scrambling to her feet and standing at the ready. “Y-yes, sir!”

“Put your armour on. I have a job for you.”

—

Steve rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to work his anxiety out on the elevator ride up to his apartment. He was almost certain no one had been following him back; by all accounts, he should be safe. Still, he just couldn’t get the nagging feeling of oncoming dread out of the pit of his gut.

He sighed and tried to ignore it. The fact of the matter was that there was nothing he could do either way. Whether he was about to release the information he found and save Jordyn from Andreas’ clutches, or wake up in an unmarked grave and slowly asphyxiate tomorrow morning, it was now out of his hands.

Steve exited the elevator and trudged down the hall, fishing his keys out of his pocket. His hand touched the USB as he did so, and he pulled it out along with the keyring. Inside that tiny piece of plastic and circuitry was enough evidence to launch an official investigation on de Vygon and all of his cronies, and rip all of this evil out at the root. Or maybe that was just him being optimistic. Still, it was certainly a good start.

He unlocked his door and stepped into the dark apartment, flicking on the lightswitch.

Nothing happened.

Steve frowned, flipping the switch on and off over and over. Nothing was changing. The lights in the outside hallway were still on, so it wasn’t like there was a blackout. Had the power been cut to his apartment in particular?

The door slammed shut behind him and he whirled around, only to find no one there. His heart leapt into his throat.

Oh. This was how it was going to go, huh? At least he got to enjoy one last drive before it was all over.

Darkness swept over his vision, completely blinding him right as something sunk into his solar plexus hard enough to lift his feet off the floor. Air rushed out of his chest so fast he almost puked. His knees buckled when he hit the ground again, and his attacker was quick to help him down, striking him across the cheekbone and sending him collapsing into a heap.

They didn’t let up, kicking and stomping on him over and over, refusing to stop even when he got his breath back enough to start crying out in pain. Ribs cracked and splintered. His nose was crushed, his lip split. He tried to predict where the boot would come next and protect himself, and only got snapped fingers for the trouble. A particularly bad hit to the head knocked out his hearing, leaving only ringing in its place. 

The attacker changed target, focusing on his legs. By that point, the hits were starting to blur together, only coming into sharp focus when something broke. His left knee was the first to go, followed by whatever his calf bone was called. He was certain that he knew, but the name just wasn’t coming to him. The femur? No, that was the thigh bone. The humerus was an arm bone, that definitely wasn’t it. It started with an F, he was sure. Vivienne would definitely be able to tell him, if she were there. She was smart like that.

Speaking of his femur, that broke too, and Steve screamed so hard he thought he would choke. It would have been a mercy.

Finally, the beating stopped. The ringing quieted down enough for him to hear his surroundings again, and he could just about make out the sound of distressed panting, almost to the point of sobs. Was that him? No, his breaths were coming in raspy and slow. 

“I’m… s-so sorry,” said a broken, electronic voice.

Huh. That was weird. Steve passed out.

—

Steve Matthews’ twitching, rasping body laid at my feet. His chest continued to rise and fall, and an occasional spasm rocked through his limbs. He wasn’t dead just yet. Thank god.

I still didn’t understand why I had to just… do that. Steve was one of the good guys, right? He was a police officer, working to catch criminals, and yet… Father wanted him ‘dealt with,’ as he put it. He wanted him beaten within an inch of his life. He wanted his legs broken so bad he would never walk straight again. I couldn’t bring myself to go all the way on that one. The screaming from one leg was bad enough. God, I wanted to throw up. But my job wasn’t done.

I clenched my fists, trying to get my breathing under control. I still needed to search him and seize any of the things he had on him when he arrived back. Just… get it done. If I did a good job, maybe Father would feel inclined to reward me, or at the very least, cut back on my extra training and patrol hours. What I wouldn’t do to be allowed another few hours of rest a day. My ribs still ached with every breath, and all I wanted was for it to just stop.

As carefully as possible, I patted him down, removing his phone, wallet, and keys from his person. In his hand was a small plastic… something. I grabbed that, too, just to be safe. Time to make my exit.

Limbs shaking, breath still coming in quick gasps, I made my way towards the window and slipped out the same way I entered, making sure I closed it behind me. Sirens echoed through the distance, no doubt on their way to my location. Steve’s neighbours surely must have heard all the screaming. I just hoped they got to him in time to save him.

Somehow, it only occurred to me then, in the cool light of the moon on the long run back to the facility, exactly what I’d just done. I just tortured an innocent man. I attacked him in his own home, overpowering him and beating him until he was begging me to stop, and even then I continued. That�� that sounded like something a criminal would do. Hell, I’d taken down criminals for similar crimes before. How could Father order me to do something like that?

He was Vivienne’s uncle. How was I supposed to face her again after what I’d just done? She was one of the only people who’d ever made me feel safe in her presence, and I just broke her uncle. Why did he make me do it?

I tripped over my own feet right at the edge of a rooftop, tumbling into the alley below and hitting the rail of every fire escape on my way down, crashing into a pile of garbage bags. The fall barely even registered through the ringing in my ears and the pain in my chest. I felt like I could barely breathe, every gasp for air choked off and denied by the stifling prison of my helmet. I clawed at it, finally tripping the latch at the back of my head and tearing it off. Humid night air hit me like a train, and for a second it felt like I could breathe again, but the ache didn’t cease, and the world continued to spin wildly around me. All I could do was lay there, staring up at the sky and contemplating what I’d just done while trying to remember how to push oxygen in and out of my body.

I supposed this was just another one of those things I was too stupid to understand. I wasn’t smart like Father and the scientists. I barely knew how to shovel food into my face without making a mess, let alone comprehend the complexities of crime. If Father ordered me to do it, Steve must have done something truly horrible. He must have. That was the only explanation. I just… needed to stop thinking about it. I would never truly understand it anyway.

Don’t stop asking questions. Don’t take anything at face value. Andreas is gonna try every trick in the book to make you feel like you’re too stupid to understand anything, so why even bother wondering? Don’t let him. You’re smart, Jordyn.

Maggie’s words echoed through my head. Back when I heard them, part of me was tempted to disregard them; just because she was my sister didn’t mean that she really knew me. She didn’t know how stupid I really was. Now, though… I just couldn’t let my actions sit on my conscience. I refused to accept the answer of ‘Father knows best.’ I needed an explanation for what I just did.

But… How the hell was I supposed to get one? Father would break me just as bad as I just broke Steve if I kept talking back like the idiot I am. Was I just supposed to ignore it and pretend everything was okay? How was I supposed to keep going on like this?

It just… felt so hopeless.

There was a bit of time before Father was expecting me back. Not long enough to let everything out, but it would have to do.

I squeezed my eyes shut and started to cry.

—

The walk back to the facility felt like it took ages, and yet at the same time, it was over in the blink of an eye. Before I knew it I was slipping through those doors, scanning my palm against the card reader, and heading down the elevator back home. I couldn’t decide whether or not I wanted to see Father and demand some answers, or never look at him again. Either way, I had to go report to him, so what I wanted didn’t really matter.

I dragged my feet all the way down the halls, finding out from a scientist that Father was waiting for me in my quarters. At least I didn’t have to make any detours before I could strip this armour off and go into a coma for however long I would be allowed to sleep. Better to just get it over with.

Sure enough, when I opened the door and stepped inside, Father was sitting on my bed, looking at me.

“How did it go?” he asked, like he didn’t already know. Like he hadn’t been watching through the camera of my visor the whole time.

“I…” I tried to speak, but the words didn’t come. Just the thought of the pain I’d caused formed a lump in my throat, and nothing could get past it.

Despite not receiving an answer, Father nodded. “Take off your armour, Jordyn.”

I didn’t need more encouragement than that. Piece by piece, I stripped off the black metal and dropped it on the floor like I was shedding the weight of my crimes. Somehow, things started to feel just a little bit better.

“Come here,” Father beckoned once it was all off. I slowly made my way over and sat down on the bed next to him.

“I saw what you did, Jordyn.”

“You were watching?” I asked.

“Of course. I’m always watching while you work. You did good. You did what I told you.”

I sniffed and nodded, not replying.

“It was hard, wasn’t it? Hurting him like that?”

Despite how hard I tried to hold it back, I couldn’t stop my face from scrunching up. The question slipped out before I could stop it.

“Why? Why did I have to do that?”

I tensed up, expecting to be struck. Instead, Father gently put his hand on my knee. I remained frozen, just in case.

“I know it’s difficult for you to understand, Jordyn. I’m not sure I can explain it in a way you will understand. Just know that Mr. Matthews did a very, very bad thing, and he needed to pay the price for it. You don’t need to worry about it beyond that, okay? You leave that to your betters, and just do what you’re told. You’re very good at it.”

The compliment sent shivers of pleasure down my spine, as did the gentle touch of Father’s hand as it moved around my shoulders instead. I did a good job for him. That was the important part, right?

“It didn’t feel good,” I muttered, a few errant tears escaping and falling down my face.

“I know, Jordyn. I know. You’re a gentle soul, aren’t you? But you did a good job, and now you won’t need to worry about it again. Tell you what, we’ll forget about your mistakes in training today, alright? I’ll have some fresh dinner made and brought to you shortly.”

The thought lit off a spark of excitement in my belly, though it was dampened a bit by confusion. “Wh… Why are you being so nice to me?”

Father tilted his head. “You’re my daughter, Jordyn. I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And when you do good for me, I want to reward you.” His smile remained, but his eyes turned a little colder. “Just don’t expect this treatment all the time. You performed a very difficult and important job today, and I recognise that. That’s all. Now, what do you say?”

I nodded. “R-right. Thank you, Father.”

He gently ruffled what little hair I had and stood up. “There’s a good girl. Have a good night, Jordyn.”

With that, he left me alone in my quarters. He was… actually happy with me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so proud and receptive of my work. A giddiness I hadn’t felt for months rose up within me, struggling against the overpowering guilt of what I’d done to earn it. I did the right thing, but… it just didn’t feel right. Father wanted me to just forget about it, but was that really possible? Maggie would have wanted me to keep questioning, keep digging and searching until I found out the truth as to why he made me do that.

Both options sounded equally as exhausting. All I really wanted was to sleep.

My stomach growled loudly. …And maybe a good meal, too.

I went about my nightly routine, showering off the sweat and tears and getting changed into some sleep clothes. All that was left was to wait.

Sure enough, Father hadn’t been lying. About half an hour after he left, a piping hot bowl of chilli and rice was delivered right to my door. My favourite meal; he must really have been happy with me.

And yet, when I brought it inside and forced it down at my desk, I could barely even taste it. There was only nausea and the sound of screams.

—-

“Could you tell me your name?”

“St- Steven… Matthews.”

The nurse nodded, writing something down on her pad. “How old are you, Steven?”

Steve frowned, trying to remember the exact number. His head had been a mess of fog ever since he woke up in this room. He had a vague memory of what happened to him to get him sent here, but everything in between was just black.

“47… I think.”

“What’s fourteen plus twenty six?”

The mental maths took a bit longer than it really should have, but Steve thought he could be excused for that, given the circumstances. “Fourty.”

“Alright,” the nurse said, putting her pad down. “Seems like you’re all there. I’ll go get the doctor, and we can go over your prognosis. If you’re in any pain, you can press this button here to get a dose of morphine. Don’t worry about overdoing it; the machine has an inbuilt limiter. Try to stay awake, if you can.”

With that, the nurse left him alone with the beeping of his heart monitor. Hearing it was a little bit of a shock, to be honest. He’d been almost certain that last night would be his… well, his last night on earth. Was it just an accident that he was still alive? Or did de Vygon only intend for him to suffer, and not actually kill him?

Well, if that was his goal, he succeeded. More of Steve was broken than wasn’t; wrapped up in casts, stabilised with metal fastenings, poked full of intravenous drips and covered in monitoring equipment. He was just doing his best not to look at all of the metal braces sticking out of his leg, lest he throw up again like he did when he first woke.

Eventually, the doctor came in and gave him the rundown: in short, he was well and truly worked over. He had a nasty concussion, a punctured lung, three broken fingers, six cracked ribs, a leg so unimaginably shattered that it was likely he’d never walk on his own again, two missing teeth, a crooked nose, a broken collarbone, some lovely internal bleeding, and enough bruising to fill a semi-truck. He couldn’t even remember half of that stuff happening.

The pain wasn’t so bad now that he had morphine coursing through his system, but that was a small consolation in the face of… everything else.

“So… how long will I have to stay here?” he asked.

“It's hard to say at this time, but we're probably looking at a few weeks, at least,” the doctor replied. “The damage to your leg will take multiple surgeries to completely fix, and with injuries like yours, we want to be careful about letting you go too soon.”

Well, that wasn't too bad. It wasn't like he had a job to go back to, anyway.

The doctor finished up and left him to his drugged-up rest. Steve closed his eyes and tried to let the sleep find him. Of course, it was just his luck that Andreas de Vygon walked in at that very moment. The beeping of the heart monitor picked up speed.

“Ah, it’s good to see you’re awake, Steven.”

“Wh… Why are you here?”

He took a seat at Steve’s bedside. “Can’t a police captain visit his detective in his time of need? I heard about what happened. Such a shame that those burglars would pick your apartment, and that you happened to come home right at that time. Apparently, you’re very lucky to be alive.”

Steve tried to scowl, but it wasn’t very easy with how bruised and swollen his face was. “Yeah, I’m sure you know a lot about it.”

De Vygon chuckled. “Fine, if that’s how you want to be. I’ll do you the respect of speaking plainly, then. I know it was you who broke into the facility last night. I don’t have any concrete proof, but I am almost certain that it was you. Why?”

De Vygon could torture him; he wouldn’t say anything. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

De Vygon hummed. “I’m sure. Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter why. Whatever your plan was has been foiled, regardless. Really, Steven… What were you expecting? That you’d just get to walk away?”

Steve glanced at his leg. “I think I have a solid shot at it.”

De Vygon laughed – actually laughed at that. “Apparently morphine turns you into a comedian. Who knew?”

“Cut the bullshit, Andreas. Why did you come here?”

De Vygon’s face darkened, just for a second, before that business neutral mask slipped right back into place. “Two things, Steven. Number one: Don’t ever show your face at my precinct again, unless you want someone to come and finish what they started. Number two: make sure whoever it is that you’re working for understands the same thing. No one crosses me and gets away with it.”

He stood up, dusting himself off as if merely being in Steve’s presence was enough to dirty him. “I would wish you a speedy recovery, but… Well, that would just be counterintuitive, wouldn’t it?”

With that, he turned and strolled out the door, just as smug as ever.

Fuckin’ prick.

There was a commotion outside just a moment after he left, and Steve heard Vivienne’s voice loud and clear through the thin walls.

“Get out of my way, asshole.”

Steve shut his eyes and prayed that she didn’t do anything stupid. If de Vygon had the slightest inkling that she had even a pinky toe dipped in this mess, she would suffer the same fate that he did.

Thankfully, things calmed down, and a moment later, Vivienne was bursting through the doors, looking on the verge of tears.

“Uncle Steve!”

She rushed over to his bedside, barely holding herself back from pouncing on him with a hug. Steve’s ribs were very grateful for that restraint. 

“Hey, Vivienne.”

“What happened?! We- We were just… I thought-”

“Calm down, Viv. I’m okay.”

“No you’re not, look at you!”

Steve put his casted hand up, trying to placate her. “I will be, okay? Just breathe.”

Vivienne pouted but she did as she was told, sighing and sitting down. “What happened? The person on the phone said someone broke into your apartment.”

Welp, there was no getting out of it now. He told her the truth; that he went into the facility without her.

“B-but… why? I thought we would go in together!”

“Look at me, Vivienne. I knew something like this would happen. How could I have let you come with me, knowing that this was how it would end?”

“I…” Vivienne opened her mouth, but nothing more came out. Clearly, she understood, as much as she so obviously hated it. She let out a sigh. “Do you know who did this to you?”

“No,” he lied. “Just one of de Vygon’s operatives, I assume.”

She looked down, her face scrunching up. “You don’t think… Surely it wasn’t Jordyn, right? Even at his orders, there’s no way she’d do something like this…”

Apparently, she would. What else would explain the darkness that overtook his vision before the assault began, or the metallic voice desperately apologising right before he blacked out? But Vivienne didn’t need to know that. No one needed to know it but him. Telling Vivienne that Jordyn almost beat her uncle to death would only make things harder for what they were trying to do.

“I don’t think so,” he answered.

Vivienne hummed. “Did you at least get anything out of it? Any proof of what’s been going on?”

And there was the kicker. Thankfully, Steve had a little more foresight than de Vygon had bargained for.

“Do you know the library on Cliff street?” he asked.

Vivienne frowned. “Uh, yes?”

“I need you to go in there with a USB. On the computer at the very back, on the left-hand side, you’ll find a file hidden in the documents folder titled ‘PGSN.’ Move it to the USB and take it to the Union. They’ll have a better idea of what to do with it than me. Be careful, though. De Vygon has shown that he’s clearly not messing around.”

 “What’s on the file?” she asked.

“Research notes, by the looks of things,” he replied. “Documenting years worth of experiments Andreas has done on his test subjects, Jordyn included.”

“You mean there’s more?!”

Steve tried to shake his head, but immediately regretted it. The painkillers were making him forget just how busted up his body really was. “No, most of them are dead, aside from the two I saw escape. It seems like he’s trying to create a superhero for some reason. From the sounds of it, he’s literally growing these kids from birth in tubes.”

“Jesus…” Vivienne muttered. “I guess Maddie was right when she wondered if Jordyn was a genetically engineered test-tube baby.”

Steve stifled a yawn. “You should get going, Vivienne. Before de Vygon realises he’s been played. Also, no offence, but I really need to rest.”

Vivienne smiled, though there was pain in it. “Okay. I’ll be back once I’m done, though. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Don’t you have class or something?”

“What better place to study nursing than in a hospital? I’ll still get my work done, you don’t have to worry.”

Steve grinned, his eyelids growing heavy. “That’s my girl. See you then.”

A quiet pop, and Vivienne was gone.

Finally, some peace and quiet. Steve closed his eyes and fell asleep.

taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @idk-whumpalt

@Iamheretohurt @anoyedartist @dontyoubleedoutonme @seastarblue @lettherebepain

@bacillusinfection

wahoo! yippee! whump!

also quite possibly some of the only guy whump in the whole story so far. They can have just a little. as a treat. :)

anyway, hope you enjoyed! let me know what you thought in a comment or reblog! it's v appreciated :3

up next is a MADDIE POV!!!!! my GIRL! my depressed QUEEN! and also the last chapter in this arc :) stay tuned!

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 5

“We… we need a plan,” Stanford says after a while, once they’ve all pulled apart from their group huddle.

“Well,” Fiddleford says, standing up. “Here’s step one; I gotta get you boys all fixed up.”

“What?” Stanford glances at Stanley, then furrows his brows at Fiddleford. “I’m fine.”

“Your eye’s bleeding, hun.”

“That happens,” Stanford says, blinking a few times before angrily swiping at his face with the heel of his hand. “Just an unfortunate side effect of…”

“Let me get ya cleaned up, at least,” Fiddleford says gently once it was clear he didn’t intend to continue.

He moves over to the fridge and retrieves a bottle of water. He’d prefer to use the filtered water from outside, but after the night’s events, he was hesitant to let them out of his sight. He's hesitant to let himself out of their sight, afraid that without their eyes on him, without a direct plan of action, he’ll fall apart.

He's fine, Fiddleford tells himself as he retrieves a clean cloth from the nearby countertop. There's no blood on the counter where Stanford hit his head.

“Does your head hurt any?” Fiddleford asks, twisting the lid off the water and using it to wet the cloth.

“It’s felt better, but I don’t think I have a concussion, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Fiddleford says, flashing the light in his eyes again. His pupils dilate as expected, and are still as round as they should be. “Who’s the president?”

“Ronald Reagan, that bastard,” Stanford says quickly, clearly, and with audible contempt.

“Good,” Fiddleford reassures, reaching out to card his fingers through the hair around his temple. His hair is greasy and a bit sweaty, but not bloodied. “I didn’t break your cheek or anything?”

“You’re not that strong, Fiddleford,” Stanford says with a tired smile. “Bill just has bad balance.”

“And thank goodness for that,” Fiddleford says, gently ruffling his hair before pulling away to retrieve the wet cloth he left on the counter.

“I can handle this,” Stanford says, catching Fiddleford’s hand before it can reach his face. “Just… take care of Stanley?”

“I will,” Fiddleford agrees, reluctantly handing off the cloth.

“And, Fiddleford…?”

“Hm?”

“I… I really am sorry. For everything.”

Fiddleford sighs, turning away.

“I know you are, Ford.”

He retrieves another rag from the counter, and then has to dig through the cabinets for a bottle of antiseptic. He’ll admit, his organizational system could use some work, but he finds it eventually. He even keeps bandages in the same place, which he retrieves as well.

Fiddleford had taken a few bottles from the remains of what had once been a convenience store, figuring through context clues that it was some substance used to clean wounds. It stung like a motherfucker, but it had kept his arm from rotting off entirely.

Fiddleford soaks the cloth, and turns to Stanley, who has been watching the proceedings in polite silence from his place on the couch the whole time. He stiffens a bit once Fiddleford’s full attention is upon him.

“Take off your shirt,” Fiddleford instructs.

“Woah, Fidds, I didn’t know you were freaky like that,” Stanley jokes, but his smarmy smile is a bit strained. “You heard the guy, Sixer, you’d better clear out.”

“He is not propositioning you, you knucklehead,” Stanford snaps.

“Right, I’m sure he’d much rather fiddle Ford,” Stan’s grin widens. “Heyo! Haha!”

“What! What are you even—“ Stanford’s face flushes.

“Stanley,” Fiddleford cuts in firmly. “Stop goofing around, this is serious.”

“Yeesh, Fidds,” Stanley says, deflating. “I've had worse, I’ll be fine.”

“Just let me do this for ya, Stanley,” Fiddleford insists. “Infections can get real nasty, and I don’ know what I’d do with myself if I’d let ya get one under my care.”

The ‘let me take care of you for my sake, not your own’ was a tried and true method for Stanford, and it seemed to work on Stanley as well. He sags a little, letting out a belabored sigh before delicately taking his shirt off. It was a slow and visibly painful process as sweat stuck it to his skin and he tried to avoid jostling his shoulder, but it came off eventually.

Even in the dim light, Fiddleford could make out a multitude of scars across Stanley’s abdomen. Combined with the ones he’d already seen on his face and arms, they told a story of a life hard lived. Fiddleford knew that Stanley had been kicked out at seventeen– Stanford, as it turns out, was a very sad and very talkative drunk— but Stanford had always assumed his twin was doing fine for himself, so Fiddleford assumed the same.

Clearly, that wasn’t the case, but it also wasn’t the point.

“Sit down against the armrest, will ya?”

In a surprising display of obedience, Stanley folds his arms protectively around his middle and does so without complaint. One hand cups itself firmly over a jagged scar just above his hip, blocking it from view a little too late.

Fiddleford stations himself behind Stanley, taking in the wound. He recognizes the symbol burned into his shoulder, of course, had almost burnt himself against it a few times, but he’s not about to ask how it ended up branded so deeply into his shoulder of all things. Besides, that's hardly his biggest concern right now.

Whatever scabbing might have been present had been torn away by Stanford’s nails, leaving the wound open and agitated. There’s red scratch marks carving their way up his shoulder, but Fiddleford’s more worried about the reddened, swollen skin all around it; the beginning of cellulitis, Fiddleford reckons. Luckily, it only covers a small area, and the foul odor just comes from Stanley’s stained clothes, as far as he can tell.

It’s not too late. Ideally, Stanley would be taking some antibiotics orally, and maybe some painkillers too, but things haven’t been ideal in a long while.

“Alright buddy, keep your mouth closed, this is gonna hurt,” Fiddleford warns.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be fine, nerd,” Stanley says, waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing I haven’t felt before.”

“You worry me, Stanley,” Fiddleford notes. He wants to steady Stanley with a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t have a hand to spare. “Here goes…”

He starts at the top of his shoulder, wiping at the scratch marks Stanford’s nails left. They aren’t deep enough to draw blood, but they’ve broken skin enough to hurt as Fiddleford wipes them down. Stanley hisses through his teeth, but remains in place.

That is, until Fiddleford drags the cloth lower, down to the actual body of the burn. Stanley’s entire body jerks violently away, and Fiddleford himself flinches back from the sudden movement.

“Fuck!” Stanley grits out, folding forward over his legs, hands clenched into tight fists. “Son of a bitch, Fidds, what do they put in that stuff?”

“I don’ rightly know,” Fiddleford confesses apologetically. “All I know is that it does the trick, if you actually let me use it.”

“Easier said than done,” Stanley grumbles, eyeing Fiddleford over his shoulder. The hurt, the mistrust in his eyes stings a bit, but Fiddleford pushes it aside.

“I know, I know,” Fiddleford soothes, “maybe… Stanford, darlin’, could you hold Stanley still?”

Stanford looks over, eyes wide. His face is clean now, and he’d retrieved his glasses from the back of the couch at some point.

“Um,” Stanford sputters. “I… yes, I can do that.”

It’s clear to Fiddleford that he very much does not want to do so, but he obediently moves over to sit in front of Stanley. Awkwardly, he places one hand on Stanley’s uninjured shoulder and presses the other to his sternum. His gaze lingers on a scar near his armpit, just beside where Stanford placed his hand. It’s a burnt puncture wound, a bullet wound, worryingly close to his lungs. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away to look up at Stanley’s face.

“I— is this okay?” Stanford asks, his tone uncharacteristically uncertain.

Stanley just rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t complain. Fiddleford gives Stanford what he hopes is a reassuring smile when he glances up at him.

“Ready?” Fiddleford asks softly. Stanford nods, while Stanley lets out a grunt of acknowledgment.

Fiddleford returns the cloth to Stanley’s shoulder. Stanley keens painfully, slamming his head down on Stanford’s shoulder as he grits his teeth and fists his hands into his shirt. Fiddleford winces, but wills his hand to remain steady as he forces himself to continue.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stanford mumbles frantically. Fiddleford understands the sentiment. Stanley just whimpers in response, shaking his head.

“Almost done, Stanley, hang in there,” Fiddleford murmurs soothingly.

He scrubs away at the last section of his wound, makes sure there’s no visible debris stuck within the burnt flesh, and then finally, mercifully, pulls away.

“Done, that’s it, I’m done, y’all right?” Fiddleford says, as steadily as he can.

He moves as far away as he can on instinct, nearly tripping over the tangle of blankets that make up Stanley’s bed before he slams his back into the counter. Stanford is staring at him, brows furrowed, but he can’t read his expression beyond ‘displeased’. Stanley doesn’t respond, just slumping weakly against his brother.

“I’ll— here.” Fiddleford drops the cloth in favor of the roll of bandages he’d retrieved earlier.

He's so reluctant to get close to the twins again that he contemplates just tossing it in the direction of the couch, but eventually he settles for getting just close enough to place it against the arm rest before backing away.

“You can take it from here, right, Stanford? Won’t be much help bandaging with only one hand, so I’m just gonna—“ Fiddleford jabs a finger towards the door behind him, “work on my prosthetic, or somethin’. Try ‘n’ figure out what to do next. I’ll see y'all in the morning, right? Maybe get some rest, if you can.”

All this is said as Fiddleford shakily backs out of the room. Neither of them say a word as Fiddleford exits the break room and slams the door behind him.

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[flyolai-brainrot]

bunzai

[alongtidesoflight]

so here's my honest thoughts on dragon age: the veilguard, after ~40 hours of playing. i finished the main quest after having finished all companion quests and major faction quests. just to clear up what content i saw, i played as an elven transmasc rook who is a member of the lords of fortune. he romanced lucanis (although after finishing the game i'm now leaning towards taash). i don't know what's happening in playthroughs that have a different race, gender identity, romance or faction going on.

full spoilers ahead, i mean it. don't read further if you want to avoid them. i don't want complaining about it in my asks.

oh and also, if you're worried because of a few negative reviews online i can comfort you by saying don't give a fuck about a certain big name youtuber who is very much tied to bethesda franchises giving this a negative review. i'll explain why.

i'm starting off with the things i liked

the game looks really pretty. i was worried it wouldn't feel like thedas anymore (with them trying to "focus on northern thedas only" i thought they'd make a clear cut in environmental design. they do and they don't. it's complicated. i'll elaborate on it when talking about the negative stuff). anyway it does. minrathous feels like kirkwall. treviso enchanted me like the winter palace did. the hossberg wetlands reminded me of the hinterlands and a couple other inquisition maps. arlathan looked like... arlathan. the crossroads were different, but familiar. overall i like the way it looks and feels. it's thedas, with a twist. it's a good one, and gives everything a solid but unique feel.

combat is top tier. if you're a hardcore dragon age player you WILL miss the tactical aspect of it for a bit, but i promise you, once you're used to the way the combat works, you will be lapping that shit up. and once you get to ability combos you'll mourn the control you used to have over your companions in battle a bit less

the MAIN quest and its story. i expected worse, way worse. and for a while the game even had me tricked (harr harr you'll get it in a second) it is Really That Much Worse. but holy shit was it good. i walked away satisfied ngl.

your choices have SOLID weight. there's consequences, good AND bad. i got minrathous blighted, ruled over by venatori, and the leader of the shadow dragons ultimately died because of my decisions. i made those at the beginning and throughout the game. he died at the end. DAVRIN died because i didn't expect what i was saying to have that much weight. i thought i was in the clear. he had hero status. well turns out, your choices can still get your companions killed even if you do everything right. i fucking love him. he shouldn't have made that sacrifice just because i told him to do everything it takes once.

the inquisitor, morrigan and dorian being there, surprisingly. there's also negatives to this though, see below.

speaking of companions dying and the inquisitor playing a bigger role: the final quest feels like me2's suicide mission. i was blown away by it and the fact that i got to see the results of all my efforts playing out in front of me.

bioware are NOT trying to redeem solas. they love him as a character yes, but i wasn't forced to see any good in him. he betrays you. he fucked my rook over twice. he fucked him over right back, for good this time (the veil wasn't torn down, i anchored it by binding him to it, he's doomed to uphold it). but solas really lives up to his name as the trickster elven god. rip to all the people who grew really attached to him over the years.

varric died. if you like him that's probably as hard reading it as it was watching it. varric died and the game lies about it until the very end. when the realisation hits, it hurts. but in the very best way.

the amount of care they put into gender expression and trans identities this time around. (i'll add onto this with negative points as well too).

rook feels very much ingrained in the world of thedas. he doesn't ask questions that expose the player to lore through dialogue as if he's stepped foot into thedas for the first time. those conversations feel very solid and good. i hope other faction players got as much joy out of this as i did.

and the things i didn't like and boy there's a lot unfortunately

the music. let's just get that out of the way holy shit. it doesn't feel like it belongs in this universe. it gets so incredibly sci-fi-y at times you'd think it's taken straight from mass effect andromeda. there's not a single song unique to veilguard that i really enjoyed. it broke my immersion, real bad. hearing a busker play the tavern songs from inquisition on a lute right after i killed some venatori with wobbly bass songs playing in the background is just odd. weird tonal shift. don't like it. it's made for people who like flashy light-weight cinema.

tevinter nights is required reading. the podcasts are required listening exercises. the game is so fast paced, especially at the start, that there's no time to introduce you to characters and how much weight their names carry in-game. i would not have known who half these people are if i hadn't skimmed over tevinter nights. i'd care even less about them than i already did. there is no time to get properly attached to them. people will act as if you're talking to a legend personified and you'll be thinking man goddamn which chapter of tevinter night were they in again and what did they do???

there's a weird mismatch with the animations. you'll have beautifully fluid ones, like emmrich casting spells. and then you'll have rook's face animating in the most unnatural manner that's sorta reminiscent of mass effect andromeda's "my face is tired" addison, when their emotions SHOULD be landing with the player rn instead.

i'm not vibing with the art style. sometimes it works. most of the time it doesn't. at points i felt like i was watching tangled.

that also brings me to some of the dialogue. same issue. i am watching frozen. i am watching tangled. someone on the writer's team really likes the adorkable trope. bellara is its victim.

for all the talk about identity, bioware sure doesn't like theirs. the grey warden armor got a redesign again and it just makes them look like a generic army. i hate it lol

in general, i don't like the armor design. the wardrobe/appearances system is fine, but it's just not helping if all the armors are just... kinda bland or downight bad looking? and don't get me started on the lords of fortune armor. that is orientalism personified.

the world states should have been carried over, full stop. i know they said they didn't because they want to separate what happens in the north from what happens in the south, which... i could have lived with that. but the inquisitor sends you letters that keep you up to date on... the south of thedas. you learn that there's a blight again, that people are standing strong but it's difficult, denerim's fallen, the rulers are taking care of it, orlais is fighting and they're successful for a while, etc etc. what's good bioware. i thought we don't care about the south this time around. why are you feeding me so much boring generic information. if you're not gonna show any of it and just write letters, then carrying the world state over should not have been an issue. i have a game dev background. those few lines of code would not have broken your budget or pushed your engine's limits. fuck right off.

this gripe of mine carries over to all the cameos. as a lord of fortune you have to deal with isabela a lot. it's fun. i missed her. you get to go drinking with her and taash and bellara! also my hawke romanced her. she's not mentioned once. they had the opportunity to put a sentence or two about her in there with not a lot of effort, trust me.

when varric dies, all she has is a single line about it. for gold, for fortune, for varric. she only says it if you interact with her on your way to the final push. that's not mandatory.

morrigan is there. kieran isn't. the old god soul that mythal and then solas absorbed? who cares at this point, the gods are dead now and solas is locked away for eternity. i suppose? why is morrigan there. she feels unneeded. i wish they'd just left her down south, at least that way i wouldn't have had to witness her god awful redesign.

dorian at least feels as if he belongs in this story. the shadow dragons are a crucial part to protecting minrathous. he's also weirdly underutilised. isabela and morrigan had more lines than him in my playthrough.

on the topic of romance: bro that was underwhelming. no, genuinely. you know when romance picked up a bit? after the point of no return. i heard maybe two lines of companion banter about it before that. maybe i missed something which i honestly doubt, but romance did not play much of a role in lucanis's storyline. i saved his grandmother as he wished me to (and if you read tevinter nights you know she was rather abusive and their relationship not the healthiest) and told him to focus on his family. a reunified family my rook wasn't even introduced to as a partner at the end of all that.

really, do not buy this game if you're only in it for the romances. others might be better, lucanis's basically gave me nothing. except for an outing (the second coffee date i had with him, it was getting repetitive) all of it played out once i committed to the final quest. the sex scene was a fade to black. annoyingly right after davrin died. if you're looking for well paced and good spice, pick up something else. the sweet talk and the final goodbye were nice though.

for all the good the ever-presence of gender identity does, it is brought up in such a disruptive manner too. it doesn't even play out naturally if you CHOOSE the lines that are meant to be said. hearing the words trans and non-binary in this setting doesn't feel right, and i'm saying this as a trans guy. i think it could have been handled more gracefully. the amount of times my rook went "i'm a MAN" as if he's about to start drumming on his chest and roaring any second now got super nerve-grating. "i'm so glad you're into me... the me who is trans. remember?" just. tell me one trans person who'd talk like that to a person they've grown close with and are trying to romance. this game doesn't handle sexuality well, so all this hey my body might not look like the way you're expecting it to look talk amounts to nothing anyway. i feel about this the way i feel about krem: this is partial exposition to trans experiences... packaged up for cis consumption. the ONLY exception to that is interacting with taash. holy shit was all of that heartwarming and bro did it feel good and natural to talk to them about theirs and rook's gender.

rivain and nevarra are new locations added by veilguard. they're also incredibly underwhelming, small and constricted maps. rivain is a coastline with a few ruins. the hall of valor is a partial ruin nestled into a cave on a beach, with a fighting pit. isabela is there in her skimpy outfit commentating your pit fights. that's it. i'm sorry if you were looking for a bustling pirate cove or whatever. you're not gonna get it. the nevarran crypts btw are a long ass dungeon crawl. that's it.

speaking of maps. i thought people were being dramatic when they said you're gonna be fighting the same enemies on them again and again. i thought they were figure of speeching it. they're not. you WILL fight the same amount of enemies. in the same spot. every time you reload the map. best to stay on a map and clear out the enemies and do as much questing on that map as you can before leaving, because you WILL have to do it all over again once you return.

the three choices i made for my inquisitor didn't matter lol she didn't have to face solas and therefore couldn't stop him at any cost as she had sworn (maybe because my rook tricked solas into binding himself to the veil, there was also an option to fight him. would she have stepped in? who knows). blackwall wasn't mentioned. and either her using a small amount of her forces in the final fight was the reason the civilians of minrathous fared so well..... or it just didn't matter. ultimately i think she had very little impact on anything

[landfilloftrash]

“Who could see? Since Jean Valjean was alone, and there was no one there. The One who is in the shadows.”

for @valvertweek :]

[zaddyazula]

i wanted so bad to be a liker of dmc2 but this game i just can’t 😭😭😭 i have to be a hater i’m sorry

[bookwyrminspiration]

Upside of optometrist: potentially an opportunity to update your glasses frames

Oh no, even my tumblr nonsies are trying to get me to get my act together </3

While we at it I’ve procrastinated going to the doctor for about 3 years does anyone want to yell at me about it?

Im up to date on the dentist though I have that one covered :)

[hecksupremechips]

Posts about bpd need to stop being so damn relatable to me 🤨

[lilacponds]

OKAY JUST A LITTLE BIT OF BAXTER WARD DLC BRAINROT (yes theres gonna be some spoilers)

so i made my mc originally shy and anxious, though they cracked out of their shell with time, just a little bit. she met baxter at the soiree - she was taking dance classes and LOVED it, so even with all her anxiety, she wanted to dance! she didn't expect to be swept off her feet by a mysterious stranger though, and she definitely had her heart beating out of her chest (and this time, not just because of anxiety!). she proceeded to think about him for the next five years. by the time baxter came around the neighborhood again, she was a little nervous and a little shy, but loved to meet new people. but baxter wasnt exactly new either - meeting again with that mysterious boy from five years earlier? she was excited, and already crushing, and honestly? she believes in fate. there was a part of her that told her to not let the opportunity go - fate brought them together again, after all!

when baxter asked her out, she was floored (in a good way). when baxter specified it was just for the season, she was floored (in a less good way). she was torn for a second, but decided that it was worth it. if fate had brought them together, how could she decline dating him? if by the end of summer he still decided to stick by his word and break up, she would not hold it against him - after all, he was upfront and clear, - but she still hoped things might change before then.

well - things did somewhat change. in those three months, she fell in love with him. all the little things, added together. all the moments she got to see through the front. all the grins and the twinkles in his eyes. she held their dates dear to their heart. (seeing more of his mischevious side at the hike? the mess he is in the mornings - and how he still tried to take them on a nice date with all the hatred he had for the hour? how deeply caring he was, how he went out of his way to help with the birthday planning multiple times? how he never, ever, thought about himself first, only others?) she fell so deep, and it saddened her to see how little he thought of himself.

then summer ended. and they had to say goodbye. she did not make a scene. she did not beg him otherwise. she did not ask for hope. she smiled at him even though her eyes started tearing up, and thanked him for the summer. she had hoped, at least, that some of her words, some of her love, would stick to him. that he would learn to be kinder to himself.

another five years pass. they change. they are less shy, more outgoing. incredibly affectionate. and also, out as nonbinary! they started cutting their hair short, and... dying it black. on one side, they wanted a color less bright than their natural one (blue), on the other... baxter never left the spot he had in their heart. so imagine their surprise when they go out to help their friends get married, and the planner is baxter!

theyre speechless and a little hurt most of the time. they had tried to reach out in the years, but never got an answer, so eventually they gave up. they had hoped, so dearly, that ending things in a nice way would mean they could keep in touch, and it hurt them that he didnt seem to think about them ever again. but now he was right there, in front of their eyes?

they tried to keep the peace. tried to pretend everything was fine - they were doing this for their friends, after all, and what they had was in the past. it hurt, that they cared for him so deeply still and they were together again but he was so distant. they didnt blame him, but it hurt.

and then, throughout the week, all the little things. just like five years ago: all the little things. the way he cared, the clever little ways to make things better. the so familiar grin. the way he looked softly at jude and scott. the way he was so himself, still, after five years. all the references to the times they spent together lulled them into reminiscing and joking about it too. referencing something only the two of them know, sharing a knowing glance and smile, and it was like no time had passed. like their heart was never torn. like he was there, and he was theirs, and they were his.

they thought, they were there again. fate had brought them together, again, for the third time. they had left on good terms, they thought - they had never told him how their heart was broken, they had understood, so they had left on good terms, right? and he was back to referencing things only the two of them know, and looking at them in a so familiar way... maybe they could talk again. just maybe. but he kept on pushing them away again and it was driving them crazy. no talk seemed to close the gap he kept on making, and they didn't know what to do. they just wanted to be friends again, nothing else, nothing more, just to have him in their life again.

the groom cake. thats when that changed, for them - when they looked at baxter, and he earnestly offered to bake and decorate a whole cake, the night before the wedding. shit, they thought, i love him. im in love with him and i dont think i ever stopped.

after the wedding, when they went to talk to him... they were determined. this was their last chance, after all. to get through his stupidly thick skull that they didnt blame him. that they didnt hate him. that they still cared for him, and that he deserved that care goddammit. when he turned and walked away, they felt their heart being torn again. they couldnt force him, after all.

and then he turned around. and he marched right back. and they knew, in that moment, in the moment he chose to go back to them, that things would be okay. that their heart was safe. that he was theirs, and they were his. that fate knew third time's the charm.

they had wanted to be friends again, when they first got to spend time with baxter again. but if he was brave enough to turn back, to really face his feelings - so could they. and they told him they loved him. and they reassured him that they loved every little thing he thought would be a deal-breaker.

fate had brought them together, three times. and everyone knows, third time's the charm. :)

[inbabylontheywept]

i once accidentally dated someone for a few months. its very difficult to explain how this happened, but the gist is that i thought we were hanging out, and she thought we were on dates, and it was just a very painfully highschool thing.

she was a little bit confused that i hadnt tried to pull any moves, at all, even a little. like, didnt even try holding hands because, and i cannot emphasize this enough, i did not know we were dating.

so, halloween rolled around, and she thought, you know, why wait for destiny, when you can grab it? so she hit me with a clue by four.

babylon, she said. babylon. my mom's gonna be out of town on halloween, and im gonna have the house to myself, and it's going to be kind of lonely. would you like to come to my house and watch scary movies with me?

you know, kind of a netflix and chill thing. except, and i cannot emphasize this enough, i did not know we were dating. also autism. so i took it at face value and said: oh! yeah! thatd be fun! and she thought she got her point across, but she didnt and it was a mess.

skip forward to halloween: my family has a block party every year, right? and at that point i was too old to really trick or treat, but we still wore costumes for our role in the block party, which in my case, was handing out cotton candy. so i took the first shift, and my costume was this homemade abomination minion thing. i had full yellow body paint, and goggles, and a bald cap, and overalls. the kids who saw it were like, uh, hm. overly realistic minion. and adults were like, oh, some kind of hills have eyes hillbilly with jaundice. very scary.

(it was not my best costume.)

my little brother swapped me out for second shift, and i was getting ready to change out to head to her house when i was like: no, she'll get a real kick out of this. this is one of the worst things i have ever worn. so i kept it on and just brought a change of clothes thinking i could shower real quick and change at her place after she saw my nightmare getup.

so i left after that, got there, knocked on her door, and she said come on in. so i went in, and there was this very long hall with an abrupt right turn into her living room where the tv was, and i went down the hall, and i made the turn, and my field of view went from beige drywal to her, on the couch, naked. naked in the paint me like one of your french girls pose. super naked.

i panicked. this was my first time seeing a real person like, full on sex naked,which is a totally different beast from other kinds of naked. you see one kind of naked and you think yeah, im ready for all the kinds of naked, but you arent. i wasnt at least. i really wasn't.

so my brain crashed to BIOS. she also crashed to BIOS, but for different reasons. of all the ways this could have turned me, having me show up in yellow body paint and overalls was pretty pretty low down the list.

so we sat there a while, and you know, she wasn't getting any less naked, which really wasn't helping me get my brain sorted out. it really wasnt much of a surprise when she got her bearings first and started asking questions.

"babylon," she said. "babylon. what are you wearing?"

and i was like, kind of rebooted, but i was nowhere near full functionality, so symbolic language wasnt loaded in yet. i had nothing running but my trusty autism.exe, so i said

"overalls"

and she looked at me like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked at her like she was the first naked person i had seen in real life who got naked specifically for me, and my upper level cognitive process went: "listen man, we are not going to get our shit together as long as 80% of your brain power is devoted to not blinking. you gotta get out of here."

and if id communicated that, maybe things would have been less of a mess, but instead i just kind of turned around and walked back to my car. i figured i could drive a few loops around the block, get my brain in order, and figure out what the hell we were gonna do.

the only thing i had said to her since arriving was, again, overalls.

first loop around, i was like: oh god fucking damnit. oh shit. oh shit. shes gonna get like, an eating disorder from this. oh no.

second loop around i was like: oh NOOOOO oh WHAT THE FUCK oh SWEET JESUS PLEASE. i dont wanna go back man. i just wanna bury this and forget about it. please. please. let this bitter cup pass from my lips.

and after my third loop, i went and i knocked on her door again.

she answered it this time, and i counted my lucky stars that she'd changed into some pajamas. she was all teary eyed which was the saddest thing ever, and we sat down in her kitchen and talked. it was pretty bad - i figured out we'd been dating, and she figured out that trying to jump from home plate to 3rd base is considered ballsy in baseball, least of all dating. no real winners there. and i can remember after all that, we sat there a bit a bit longer, just steadying ourselves, and i was like "well, im actually really glad we figured that out. guess i'll see you at school tomorow' and she said "WAIT. wait."

"lets watch shrek 2."

so we did and it was horrible. we did not look at each other. we did not say a word. we just sat in stony silence, while shrek 2 played in the background, and when it was done we shook hands. i think we might have been able to salvage that as a friendship if it hadnt been for shrek. as it was she turned white as a sheet and ran away every time she even got a glimpse of me at school, and that summer she moved to a new state to live with her dad. all her friends said she moved just so she wouldn't have to go to school with me anymore, and i dont actually think they were lying.

every time i hear relationship counselors talk about how important communication is, and i'm tempted to roll my eyes, i look back and go, alright. alright. theres probably some poor bastard, somewhere in the world, who doesnt even know that hes married.

and god help him when he figures it out.

other bad dating story here.

[kawaiianimeredhead]

I spent the last couple days rewatching SOTUS since the first time I watched it years ago

And honestly, I may like it more now than I did and I liked it a lot back then. I kno people have issues with it and I get those and understand them

But damn I love this show a lot. I can't wait to start watching SOTUS S, I remember enjoying that as much if not more so I think it'll be a fun rewatch

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

god fucking damnit