#i have to wonder if it's intentional or if the writers just only know 3 sentences

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[imaginespazzi]

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :) 

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison. 

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself. 

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up. 

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen. 

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips. 

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs. 

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission. 

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all. 

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach. 

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness. 

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough. 

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out. 

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry. 

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance. 

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too. 

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first. 

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums. 

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige. 

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes. 

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly,  scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige. 

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence. 

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind. 

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts. 

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it. 

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night. 

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box. 

To her royal highness, 

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do. 

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours, 

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is. 

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible. 

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand. 

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else. 

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said. 

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest  look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender. 

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body. 

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum. 

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips. 

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself. 

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters. 

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK. 

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today.  From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her. 

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments. 

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all. 

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance. 

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm. 

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple. 

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this. 

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference. 

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter. 

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation. 

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige. 

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles. 

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body. 

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly. 

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow. 

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly. 

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now. 

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go,  really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe. 

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk. 

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie. 

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look 

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too. 

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out. 

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch. 

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly. 

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses 

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself. 

“What is?” 

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold. 

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her. 

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple. 

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people. 

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone. 

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone. 

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever. 

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone. 

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

[melrodrigo]

Secrets - Cairo Sweet

Cairo Sweet x Reader

Summary: Cairo comes to you after she has her first big heartbreak, but finds something other than comfort.

Warnings: (teeny) underage drinking, Cairo has a lot of mood swings, it eventually ends happy!

A/n: Not sure if I hate this but a cairo fic as promised! enjoy <3

When Cairo told you about her crush on Mr.Miller, you were (rightfully) disgusted. He was at least twice her age, a teacher, and wasn’t even that hot.

You thought maybe it was something silly, a joke if you will, to humor you on a particularly boring school day.

But over the weeks, things changed. It was subtle, but not enough for your keen eye to miss. Something in Cairo’s eyes sparkled, a look you’ve never seen from her before.

She would gush about him after class, and during she would stare at him, blatantly, open with her intentions. It was hard for you to watch.

But the worst thing? He stared back.

Weeks of weird sexual tension and seeing them outside of school, you’d grown more and more sick at the thought that this could be real.

Something people needed to know about Cairo was that she was a dreamer. She might seem realistic on the surface, but secretly, deep deep down, she yearned for that fantasy love she was always writing about.

You could kinda understand the appeal, you guess. An older man, a writer. Still, that didn’t stop it from leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

So when she came bursting through your door two weeks later sobbing, you hadn’t known that you would realize there might’ve been something else holding you back from being so supportive of her actions.

The minute you’d opened the door she came rushing into your arms. You wrapped her up, rubbed her back as she calmed down.

“Please don’t cry.” You told her, in a way that Cairo felt wasn’t ignorant but comforting. Like you cared so much about her if she cried it might tear your heart apart. The way you were looking at her in that moment, she couldn’t help herself from wondering if maybe you did care for her as more than friends.

You were certainly the character. Her attractive, sweet, considerate friend. The complete opposite from Winnie. More reserved and a poet at heart. Really, she’d never kissed a girl, but she definitely wouldn’t have a problem kissing you.

Before she knows it, or before she can stop herself, she’s tilting her face up and grabbing your hair towards her. The moment your lips touch it’s fire.

She catches the sight of your surprised face for a second before you close your eyes and surge forward, with more weight than she would’ve expected. A weight that’s not at all unwelcome.

The more the kiss escalates the more she feels like needs more. It’s primal. The pure lust she’s feeling.

Her hands tangle in your hair, yours in hers. She leans in to press her body against yours, desperately seeking more skin-on-skin contact.

You happily let her do so, mind foggy with lust and her and her and her.

“Cairo.” You groan into her mouth, unbelieving that this is really happening.

She gives you no indication that she hears it, only takes that opportunity to slip her tongue in, breathing heavily.

It feels so good, and her scent fills your nostrils. The smell you love so much, something of a mix of pinewood and cinnamon.

But there’s something else- a sour smell that’s so strong it almost burns.

You realize all at once what it is. Alcohol. How you didn’t notice it before on her breath was a wonder. It’s enough to break you out of your trance.

“Cairo.” You say, more forcefully this time, pulling away and pushing her down onto the side of your bed.

She whips her head around, confusion and hurt so clear on her face you feel yourself crumble a little.

“What?” She asks, eyes glazing over. There’s conviction in her tone. You know she gets like this, defensive, when she gets hurt. Your eyes widen at the realization of what you just did.

“Oh- no,no,no. I didn’t mean it like that.” You blubber, trying to fix things before she misunderstands. She stares at you hard, squinting slightly.

“You’re drunk Cairo, you don’t mean any of this.” You say, hoping she’ll come to her senses and agree with you.

Even though this is a dream come true, you don’t want to ruin your friendship for one night of bliss. Not to mention she’s drunk, a good deal so, and it would just leave you feeling dirty.

“I’m drunk but I’m very much aware of what I’m doing. What, you think just cuz i’m intoxicated I’ll fuck anyone?” She hisses, inching closer to you, menacing despite her small frame.

You gulp. “That’s not what I said.”

It comes out in a weak mumble. Cairo rolls her eyes. Her annoyance fires up something in you, and this time you speak stronger.

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re drunk, I don’t want to take advantage of you. Even if you want to now, how am I gonna know you won’t regret it later?” You say, watching as Cairo gets so close to you that you’re face to face.

“I’m not going to regret it.” She slurs, wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling.

You resist, but she doesn’t care. Her grip tightens until she’s pulling slightly at your hair. You tell her to stop once but it falls on deaf ears.

“Cairo I’m serious. You’re hurting me.” You plead again, and the voice crack that leaves your lips seem to be the thing that brings her back to life. She blinks once, twice, the brown returning back to her doe eyes slowly but surely.

She retracts, pulling her hands back and looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” She says, bottom lip quivering. You stay silent, unsure of what to do.

“Y/n I’m really sorry.” She says again, eyes sorrowful.

The mood swings on this girl, you secretly think.

You take her hand in yours, and look into her eyes. You know she’s telling the truth, you know all her tells. The slight quiver of her eyebrow, the way she plays with the nape of her neck. She means her apology.

You sigh tiredly.

“It’s okay, really. Let’s just talk about this later when you’re sober, alright?” You suggest gently, watching her nod her head carefully.

“How about you sleep on my bed today hm? I’ll sleep on the floor. I don’t want you going home in this state.” You prod, and when she agrees, you move her, softly like you’re handling something that might break at any moment. You settle her onto your bed and under the covers.

“Y/n?” She calls out when you’re fluffing your extra pillows to prepare for your bed on the floor, voice already sounding sleepy. You hum in response.

“Will you sleep next to me? I promise I won’t pull anything again.” And the way she says it, you know you could never be able to deny.

You wordlessly slip in beside her, suddenly rigid with nerves. The feelings you were feeling when she first came in were returning. Could it be that you liked Cairo?

The quiet atmosphere doesn’t help with your swimming thoughts. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep much next to her, you feel a little tingly all around.

A couple minutes pass by and when you’re sure you’ve heard Cairo start snoring, you try and step out the covers, desperate for some relief of your wildly beating heart.

An arm drapes around your body before you can begin to move, and you peer over to see Cairo with half lidded eyes, sleepily telling you not to go.

You had no choice now- how were you to leave? It was like waking up an adorable animal that fell asleep on you.

You scoot your body closer to her so she doesn’t have to reach for you so much, and try to relax.

Not five minutes go by before Cairo pokes your cheek and speaks again, amusement in her tone.

“Your heart is beating very fast.”

[megamindsecretlair]

Runaway Lover, Part 1

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. ANGST. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play/swallowing, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, referring to female anatomy as she, all consensual. Use of n-word. Mentions of God, Christian leaning. Sorry if I missed some, I'm rushing, just let me know.

Summary: On a girl's trip with your friends to Punta Cana, getting some much needed rest before spring semester, you bump into Stunna and a whirlwind romance rocks you to your core.

Word Count: 9,326k

Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: This is a wonderful ask from @melaninpov. I'm sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind, I've been watching romance movies all day and this turned sweet unexpectedly. Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia

“Are you sure this isn’t too short?” You asked your friends. You stood in the bathroom of your hotel suite. The bright, fluorescent lighting in the bathroom highlighted everything. Everything. You wore a simple gold dress with intricate bronze and burnished orange swirls. It was a tad too short and showed a tad too much.

You weren’t a prude but you were also unused to showing…so much. You tugged at the short sleeves, the low neckline, and pinched the areas around your sides. You weren’t sure why you packed the damn thing, but you were drinking while packing. Something you vowed to never do again.

“You look so hot!” Your friend, Stella, said and moved closer to you and faced the mirror. She wore a violet dress with sparkling beads woven in to make it look like she wore a dress made of stars. It fit her deep ebony skin perfectly and brought out the subtle jewel tones in her skin.

You bit your lip, tasting the sweet lipgloss you dabbed on your lips. Abusing your lips was your worst sin and you avoided putting anything on them but tonight, you were all about new experiences. Hopefully. 

“I should change,” you said. You pushed past Stella’s calls out for you to stop and that there was no need. 

Angela appeared in the doorway and trapped you in the bathroom. “Damn girl!” You said. Stella’s sister was gorgeous in a marigold bodycon dress that hugged all of her curves and showed off her perfectly round ass. Truly, an apple bottom that she claimed was her best feature. 

Angela preened under the praise but did not lower her hands from the door frame. “You’re not changing. None of us are changing. We only have two days left before it’s back to fucking school and we’re going out with a bang. They better be throwing us out before the trip is over,” she said. 

She pushed you back into the bathroom. Thank goodness the space was big enough for all three of you. There were wide tile squares on the floor, a discarded hotel towel on the floor to keep you all from slipping, and two large mirrors over a double sink. 

Angela and Stella finished up their makeup and demanded that you applied more gloss. Stella handed you a clutch to match your dress and told you to take the gloss with you. 

You accepted it with a roll of your eyes. You’d likely go through the entire tube before the night was over. You were constantly at battle with your anxiety. Ya’ll really didn’t fuck with each other but it was like a toxic ex that didn’t know how to leave you alone. You could block, skip, and hop away from it but it was always lurking around the corner.

“Alright! Let’s go!” Stella yelled, getting you two pumped for the night’s activities. You all put on your matching heels or sandals, grabbed purses and clutches, and tucked in last minute items you may need, and headed out of the door.

Punta Cana was a balmy destination spot with plenty of resorts. The trip there had been uneventful but you and your friends had stayed glued to the windows, snapping pictures of the local plantlife, hills, and palm trees. 

At the resort, you couldn’t help looking around in wide-eyed wonder, taking in the people and accommodations. You had been here for a few days enjoying the beach and accompanying swimming pool at the resort. 

Everyone was friendly and open and a staff member was always around waiting to answer your questions. The goal of the trip was rest, rest, and more fucking rest. You were approaching your final year of school. After this spring semester, you were officially a senior and would have to enter the dreaded world of adults.

Stella and Angela kept up a steady stream of chatter on the ride down the elevator about what they were most excited for. The adults only resort was a breath of fresh air. No kids running around and no harried parents running after them. 

Tonight, you were going to the club in the resort. So far, your activities have kept you from that venue. You rode ATVs and did a snorkeling tour off the shore of the beach. You also climbed into a boat to watch the local marine life. That part was your favorite.

Angela had to remind you that you were in fact young and it was okay to enjoy yourself. Half the time, you didn’t know where your anxiety came from. You could be having the time of your life and then boom! Your anxiety was snatching your breath away and warning you of an invisible threat. No matter how many times you asked for proof or begged to know what the threat was, your anxiety only shook its head and repeated the warning tone: danger, danger!

You shoved your anxiety in the recesses of your mind. You were not in danger. There was no threat. You were only here to have a good time. 

On the main floor of the resort, the wide open arches and large windows let in enough of the view that you saw the moon ascending the sky. Sunset was losing its grip on this part of the world. Swirling colors of lilac, tangerine, and amber dotted the sky as night approached. The ambient lighting outside began to turn on one by one.

Stella looped her arms through yours and Angela’s arms and pulled you toward the entrance to the club. The music reached you first. Hotel guests were spilling in and out of the place so it must be a popular spot. 

You swallowed around the huge lump in your throat as you pushed inside, flashing your wristbands that confirmed your age and the amenities you paid for. The staff member waved you in with a polite smile and soon you were entrenched in the booming club.

The space itself was huge with plenty of dancefloor area. The upbeat, fast paced music got everybody dancing and shaking their hips. There were pillars stationed around the room holding up the ceiling but other than that, it was pretty much open. There was a bar area on a raised platform filled with tables and chairs. 

Most were all occupied as people looked over the railing at the brave people down below getting it on in various states of fancy clothing. Dresses flew through the space. Heels clacked on the floor. Hands were in the air in an undulating wave like the waters that crashed on the shore. 

There was a heavy smell of liquor and sweat and some type of sweet perfume in the air that tried to combat it. There was no way to combat the funk so it ended up smelling like sweet sweat. But that was to be expected with so many people in one room shaking what the Lord gave them. 

You and your friends made a beeline to the bar, immediately ordering sugary drinks that would go straight to your head. Alcohol was never a proper solution to anxiety. However, you’d take anything for a release from its shackles for the night. 

As you waited for your drink, you bounced your shoulders trying to get your body to catch up to your mind. “Naw, show us what you got, girl!” Stella said. She whistled and encouraged you to dance a little more, shake a little more.

Fuck it. You couldn’t let your anxiety win this time around. You started getting into it, shaking your booty faster and then backing away from the bar. You felt the rhythm of the song, waving your hands and getting your whole body into it.

You backed up one more step and tripped, your body flying to the right. You shrieked, hands reaching out to catch your fall. However, you didn’t fall. Strong arms encircled you. It took a few moments for your mind to catch up to the fact that you weren’t kissing the nasty club floor. 

Your heart roared in your chest, causing stops and starts that made you shake all over. The strong arms pulled you back to standing, righting yourself on your wedges. “Thank you,” you said.

You looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes you had ever seen. Those eyes were framed by a long face, wide nose, and a trimmed dark beard. He had a big smile with perfect, symmetrical teeth encased in hollow grills.

The man had rich, deep golden brown skin that he showed off with a collared navy shirt and black jeans. His upper arms were bulging with muscles, straining against the short sleeves of his shirt. 

He was in a word: devastating. 

“Are you okay?” Sound finally filtered past your racing heartbeat. The way he looked at you gave you the indication that he had asked it more than once. You bit your lip and nodded. You forgot how words worked. 

“Are you sure you didn’t twist anything?” He asked. His voice felt like what hot chocolate on a cold evening tasted like. It warmed you up from the inside out, awakening places that didn’t usually awaken for anything other than your favorite celebrity and brownies.

Your mind was slow, fuzzy around the edges, as it dawned on you that he was pointing to your feet. You moved each leg, leaning on him while you lifted your legs and moved them in a tiny circle. 

You looked back into his eyes and nodded again. “Good,” you chirped. 

He smiled slowly. Fuck, you could watch him smile for the rest of your days and never get sick of it. He was so damn cute. And hot. A dangerous combination that had you acting like Helen Keller. ‘Cept you could plainly see how divinely sexy he was. 

“Can I buy you a drink to apologize for ruining your dance?” He asked.

You smiled and ducked your head, cheeks warming up from the embarrassment of dancing in front of him. You looked down at his hands secured around your arms, at your hands on his. 

You started to move them but he held on a little tighter, unwilling to let you go. “I…kind of already ordered one,” you said around the thick lump in your throat. Come on! Get it together! What the hell was wrong with you? 

“Oh, are you here with someone?” He asked. He still didn’t let you go. 

You licked your lips, the sweet taste of manufactured strawberries coating your tongue and snapping some sense back into you. You nodded and looked towards your friends. They were openly gawking at you. 

“My friends,” you finally said. 

“But no guy?” He asked. 

You giggled and shook your head. “No girl?” You asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m Stunna,” he said. 

You told him your name. He said a few times, rolling the syllables around his tongue like one did to a lollipop. You focused on his mouth and the way he said your name. As if he had been saying it his whole life and never wanted to stop. 

“If I can’t buy you a drink, can I get your number? You from the States?” He asked. 

Anxiety reared its huge, ugly, monstrous head. You were nervous to just…abandon your friends. Let alone your drink. With your luck, you lived on complete opposite sides of the country. You nodded, to give him an answer about the States. But were too nervous to tell him where. To even hint at the possibility that you could occupy the same city and there wasn’t a national alert about it. 

You were sure that he caused a storm of women wherever he went. You would have noticed if he lived around the Bay. You knew that you’d feel him in your blood, taste him in your veins if you lived in the same area. Certain that you would have bumped into each other already. Seen each other somewhere. 

“I should probably get back to my friends. I’m sure your friends are missing you as well,” you said. You reluctantly withdrew your hold on him. Your small claim for the time being. Relinquishing that hold hurt. 

He nodded. As you turned to leave, he swiftly caught your hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed your fingers. “Save a dance for me? I wanna see more of them moves.” 

A nervous giggle pushed against your rib cage, threatening to spill over. You swallowed it back down and bit your lip. You didn’t want to keep turning him down but your stomach twisted and turned. Danger! Threat! 

There was nothing threatening about the man so you figured that you needed away. You needed space to breathe and think. Time spent away from his spicy cologne that tickled your nose. 

You nodded once more. What were the odds that he’d find you again in this club? If your friends weren’t at the bar, you wouldn’t know the first place to look for them. 

Stunna let go of your hand and backed away, giving you a small wink before turning back to his friends. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all hot in some way or another? Damn. You checked out his back side as you walked back to your friends. 

“The hell you doing back here?” Stella asked.

“What’s happening? Why aren’t you sitting in that man’s lap?” Angela asked. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked. You grabbed your drink, the glass sweating from sitting so long. How long had you been talking to Stunna? And why did you feel like you wanted to run right back into his arms?

You took deep gulps of the fruity concoction, letting the alcohol seep through your system and chase away your anxiety. The cold from the drink burned away the lump in your throat. Being away from him helped. It helped in a way that was foreign to you to name or identify. 

People didn’t have physical reactions to others right? Like that was a thing made up by romance movies to get people’s heads in the clouds and sell more candy in stores, right? 

Your friends hounded you for answers to their questions, wondering what you spoke about and why you weren’t still talking to him.

“I didn’t want to abandon you for some guy. This is a girl’s trip. A relaxing trip,” you said.

“You better relax on that man’s dick! Like you saw him right? Like you saw the way he looked at you? Girl, please tell me she’s not that oblivious,” Stella said, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder.

Angela tossed her hands up as if she were preaching to a congregation. “Father God, grant your child the gift of sight because she’s clearly blind,” Angela said. 

You laughed, rubbing your forehead at their embarrassing shenanigans. “I’m not oblivious!” 

“I pray that I’ll never do some dumb shit like her, Lord. Smite her and send the nigga my way, because damn,” Stella said. She looked behind you and you panicked, standing in her way to not bring attention to the fact that you were discussing Stunna. You risked a glance over your shoulder.

Stunna was sitting down at a table, faced in your direction. He lifted his glass to you and you smiled, turning around and immediately dropping it. The drink wasn’t helping. Butterflies flapped tiny wings in your stomach. He was killing you. 

“What happened to new experiences?” Angela asked.

“Not that damn new,” you muttered, sipping more of your drink. At this rate, you’d need ten drinks to calm the wings in your stomach. 

Stella groaned dramatically, throwing her arms across your shoulders. “As sweet as it is to worry about us, you see us every damn day. How often do you run across someone that damn fine in real life? In real life? He belongs in a magazine or on TV or some shit,” she said. 

That was the fucking truth. “He probably lives on the East Coast or something,” you said, waving Stella off of you. You were too hot. There were too many people here. Too many clusters of hot breath, sweat, and body heat raising the temperature in the room to dangerous levels. 

You sipped more of your drink. You tapped your foot against the hard floor, vibrating with energy that had nowhere to go. Nothing to do but zip up and down your body and twist your insides. 

“So? You ain’t trynna marry the nigga. Just get down,” Angela said and bent low, shaking her hips. Stella joined her, sticking their tongues out. Stella turned around and bounced her booty against Angela. Angela mimed hitting Stella’s ass and you laughed, waving them away.

“You two are a hot fucking mess!” You screamed. They continued to dance and giggle, shaking their ass and proceeding to make you wish the floor swallowed you whole. 

“Since our girl is romantically deficient, let’s get on the floor,” Stella said. You finished your drink and followed your friends to the dance floor. 

You started out stiff, not wanting to bump up against anyone. You didn’t need a repeat from earlier. Your friends noticed your reluctance and each took one of your hands. They began to swing you around. 

You smiled, falling for their obvious charm. You loosened up and relaxed. The drink finally did the trick and you surrendered to the music. You closed your eyes and felt the thumping beats, the instruments, and sultry crooning of the singer. 

You danced and laughed with your friends, relishing the feeling of being young and carefree. This was what you had been chasing this entire trip. This feeling of being present and in the moment. 

You began to twerk as the music changed, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Your friends cheered you on. You placed your hands on your knees and got lower. Someone sidled up behind you, not one of your friends you were sure. 

You shrugged your shoulders and kept dancing. Now was the time to keep living in the moment. You could dance with someone that wasn’t in your immediate comfort circle. You couldn’t always hang onto your friends like a barnacle. 

Large hands circled your waist and you leaned back into a lean but strong frame. The stranger felt like a man and a good dancer on top of it. Able to match your changing moves. The stranger grabbed your hands and spun you around to face him.

Stunna grinned at the surprise on your face. “I thought I told you to save me a dance,” he yelled to be heard over the music. 

“What took you so long?” You asked. 

“Like that?” He asked, exaggerating his words. You nodded. He matched your nod and then spun you back around. You giggled, breathless at being spun around like a doll. He pulled you around the dancefloor dancing to the fast-paced music with ease. Now it was you that was having trouble keeping up with him.

You faced him now and your hands were in each other’s, dancing with complicated turns and twirling limbs that made you feel like you were on Dancing With the Stars. The song finished and you waved your heads. “I need a break!” 

Stunna grinned, flashing those damn grills. You stared at them, wondering if he took them out during sex. Was he the type to go down on a woman? Stunna winked as he if sensed the direction of your thoughts.

He placed his hand on your lower back and led you back to the bar. You ordered some water and he made you order a drink. “Since you don’t wanna give a nigga your phone number,” he said with a show-stopping smile. 

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you want my number?” You asked. You drank the water bottle at his nudging.

“So I can hear that sexy ass voice in my ear,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes playfully and played with the paper around the water bottle. “You’re so bad,” you said. 

He shrugged his shoulders, calling your name like he was savoring the taste of it. “I’m still right though. I want to keep talking to you,” he said.

You could practically feel your friends on your shoulders like little devils pushing you to give him your number. What harm could it do? You held out your hand for his phone. He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to you.

His total focus on you while you entered your number was unnerving. You couldn’t help giggling as you put in your number. He reached out and trailed a finger down your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. You messed up on a number and giggled in his direction.

“You’re distracting me,” you said. 

“Yeah? Good. But make sure that number right,” he said. He peeked across the screen as you backspaced and entered your number correctly. 

He smelled like his cologne, sweat, and whatever drink he had throughout the night. You handed his phone back to him. You fanned yourself with your clutch while he looked at his phone. 

He smiled and tapped a few times. “There, now you have my number,” he said. 

The butterflies returned to your stomach the longer you spent in his presence. He liked that he could fluster you so easily and tried his damndest to keep doing so. Your cheeks ached from all the smiling you did. 

You talked more about yourself and your friends and why you came to the D.R. He told you that he was out here celebrating for his friend’s wedding. The wedding had already passed, cheaper during the week, so they were spending the weekend celebrating with friends.

“It’s nice of you all to come out here and celebrate with them,” you said. Stunna turned his head to the side, he didn’t hear you. The music seemed to get louder and even though you yelled, he couldn’t hear you.

Stunna scooted closer to you and yelled in your ear. “Wanna go outside?” 

You looked at him and nodded. You couldn’t hear shit, but you were pretty sure you could hear your friends whooping for joy as Stunna took your hand and led you outside of the club.

Your ears popped as you reached the quiet interior of the lobby. There was a stark contrast between the two rooms and your ears rung. You shook your head, trying to clear the ringing. Stunna did the same, shaking his shoulders too for good measure.

Being out in the lobby, the base temperature felt like frost at the top of a mountain. You shivered as it highlighted buckets of sweat rolling down your spine and between your breasts. 

A drop of sweat rolled down Stunna’s arm and you followed the movement as it trailed down a prominent vein. Stunna still held your hand and you walked out of the resort, past the open pool that shimmered with light from nearby lamps. 

You walked along the concrete pathways heading down to the beach. Before you stepped onto the sand, you leaned down and took off your wedges. Stunna took off his boots, and rolled up his pants legs. 

“Looks like I was smart to wear a dress,” you said and giggled at him. 

“Damn smart. I’m glad you did. Your body in that dress, hmm,’ he said and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Stop,” you chuckled and shook your head. He was incorrigible. 

“Naw, I can’t. Your ass looks amazing. Thighs I just wanna squeeze. Lips I wanna kiss,” he said. He stood up to his full height and you stared at him.

Soft moonlight fell over his features on one side of his face. The lamps gave a warm glow on the other side. He was light, soaking it all up and reflecting it back out to seem like he had an inner glow. 

You sighed, staring at this work of art before you. You wanted to pinch yourself. You stepped closer but Stunna only smiled, grabbed your hand, and you took off down the beach. You spent time walking up and down, warm sand digging between your toes. 

You talked more, learning about him and how much he loved to read. You shared that passion and spoke about books you’ve read and favorite authors. He took your recommendations seriously, pulling out his phone to add books to a list on his phone. 

“Come back to my room,” he said.

You shook your head. “Won’t your friends be looking for you?” 

“Naw. I got my own room. I ain’t sharing shit with them nasty niggas,” he said.

You laughed, moving away from him as the sand made you trip up. Stunna pulled you back to his side. “See, yo clumsy ass need somewhere to sit. Come sit in my room,” he said. 

You were back in the same position from earlier when he rescued you from falling. He gripped your elbows, standing close enough to lick, and your hands were on his arms. He was too close, surrounding you with him. You couldn’t think past him. When you looked up, all you saw was him. 

You waited to feel panicked and shaky. To warn you to step away and flee from him. It never came. “If I go back to your room, I doubt we’ll just be sitting,” you said.

“I never said that. That’s yo nasty mind,” he said. He licked his lips. “But I like the way you think. You wanna come sit in my lap?” 

There were no reservations. No warning bells in your head. No screeches of noise or racing thoughts to prevent you from biting your lip and nodding. From grabbing his hand and watching each other as you left the beach and headed inside. 

You didn’t talk as you leaned against one another in the elevator. He placed a kiss to your head and you melted even further into him. The elevator softly dinged and the doors opened to his floor. He stayed in the building next to your room. You were sort of relieved. Had he stayed in the same building or even on the same floor, it would have been too perfect. Too obviously a set up by God or whoever was out there listening. 

Stunna swiped his keycard once he got to his room and opened the door. You walked inside the cool room and turned on lights. 

He had a suitcase on the couch of his suite, open to reveal some clothes he packed. He had shoes strewn about but for the most part, he was a clean guest. He closed the door and you turned to look at him. 

You placed your shoes on the ground next to his, marveling at the contrast between your sizes. It looked oddly perfect sitting side by side. You ignored that runaway thought as you quickly texted your friends that you would be late to the room. It was a good chance to not wait up for you at all if this night went how you were expecting.

Stunna watched you place your clutch on the TV stand. He moved about the room, cleaning up but it wasn’t necessary. Just bags and bottles of water that were on the nightstand. 

“I’ll wash off this sand,” you told him. 

“I’ll go after you. Take your time,” he said.

Take your time, yeah right. If you took long enough, you would summon your anxiety like an ancient deity out for your blood. You quickly went to the bathroom and freshened up a little, running the bath to clean off your feet. You didn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. If you did, you would chicken out. 

You didn’t want to chicken out. You wanted a wild story. A story to tuck in your heart and bring out as the years passed and you lived your life. A story that you held on to when you got older and your partying days was nearing its end. 

When you left the bathroom, Stunna had lowered the lights to make it more intimate and softer. He opened the curtains revealing a balcony that overlooked the ocean. He stood outside, twisting caps off of water bottles. He also had a bottle of Hennesy on the small table outside. 

You approached and he smiled when you did. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

He went to the bathroom to clean off the sand. You stepped out fully and enjoyed the breeze kissing your skin. You sipped some of the Hennessy, enjoying that sweet burn. The ocean waves crashed against the shore but from this height, you saw further than you did in your room. 

Few stars were able to wink in and out behind dark clouds in the sky. The half moon shone down onto the beach and over the resort. Stunna returned and wrapped his hands around your waist, leaning against you. 

He grabbed the cup from your hands and finished the rest. He kissed his way along your exposed neck, sending shivers down your spine. You sighed and relaxed into him. He made no move to do anything else, no roaming hands or nasty words. 

“You are so gorgeous,” he said.

You turned in his arms and faced him. “I’m done talking. Kiss me,” you said.

He grinned, flashing those damn golds that have been driving you crazy all night. “You sure?”

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him closer before you lost your nerve. You finally tasted him, tasted the bite of Hennessy on his lips. His lips were warm and wet and his tongue dived into your mouth. You moaned as he explored, running his tongue along yours and along your teeth. 

Stunna’s hands gripped your arms and moved lower, cupping your ass and squeezing tight. You growled from how good it felt. How wonderful it felt to be in his arms. Stunna hissed in between his kisses, like you were both on fire but he was willing to risk kissing you through the flames.

Your back was against the railing and he pushed into you, rubbing his erection against your tummy. You moaned. 

“Keep moaning like that and I won’t be able to control myself,” he said against your lips. You opened your eyes to look at him. 

“Don’t control yourself,” you said. 

He laughed and licked his lips. He sat down in the closest chair and pulled you into his lap. You straddled him, wobbling a bit since his stance was so wide. Your legs draped on the outside of his and he spread his legs so that he could spread you wider. 

His hands searched under your dress so that he could cup your ass directly. Dig those skillful fingers into the meat of your ass. He spanked one cheek and you jerked in his lap, your pussy rubbing against the fabric of his jeans. 

He growled, fingers seeking your wet heat. When he found your clit, he had no mercy. He began to run his thumb around the sensitive nub. You scooted higher on his lap, needing the friction of his jeans to help speed your arousal along. Not that you really needed it. You were already dripping for him. 

“Mm, so wet. You always sit your pretty ass on strangers and let them finger your pussy?” He asked around kissing you. 

“N-No,” you moaned. 

He suckled on your bottom lip and your pussy throbbed. He was working some type of magic between your legs. Some type of spell that threatened to rip you into pieces. 

“No? You telling me that this is all for me?” He asked. “I get to be the one to play with you?” 

“Yess,” you sighed against his lips. 

“Then I should feel special that you’re soaking my fingers already and I’ve yet to feel you?” 

“Shit,” you sighed. Your arms were wrapped completely around his neck, holding onto him and keeping him close. 

He kissed your neck, licking it, while his fingers finally dipped into your entrance. You shook with a long moan, throwing your head back as pleasure rolled through you in cascading waves. 

“Nasty little girl, aren’t you?” He asked. 

“N-No,” you whined. 

He chuckled. “You letting me play with your pussy. And it feels so good gripping my fingers. Bad little girl,” he growled against your throat. 

His other hand snaked up your body until he gripped your throat. Your eyes rolled to the back as he squeezed with force. He brought your head closer so that your foreheads were touching. 

His fingers increased in pressure and he drove them into you. Effectively fucking you with his fingers. “Say you’re a bad girl,” he said. 

Your breathing was heavy and slow, not pumping enough oxygen into your brain. Or perhaps it was him. Perhaps he was some type of demon, stealing the oxygen from your lungs as your orgasm swam to the surface. 

You couldn’t make your words work. The words stuck to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. Your mouth moved, working double time as he stuck two fingers inside and rolled your clit with his thumb.

“Say it if you wanna cum,” he said.

“I wanna,” you whined. 

“You wanna what?” He asked. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet. Can’t wait to taste you. Do you taste as sweet as you look?” 

You whined and gyrated your hips. Why couldn’t you say anything? Why couldn’t your mouth work to speak? 

“I wanna cum,” you finally choked out. You leaned your head back. He allowed you to do so and he kissed your neck around his fingers, dipping low to kiss your chest and just above your breasts. 

“Say you’re a bad girl if you wanna cum,” he demanded. 

You were close. Incredibly close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you moaned.

“I’m waiting,” he whispered against your skin. Blowing air across your chest, around the pools of saliva he left on your skin. 

“I’m bad. I’m a bad girl,” you moaned.

“So bad,” he agreed.

“So bad. You make me feel so good,” you moaned. 

His fingers never stopped pumping into you. Your legs squeezed his and your eyes shut as you cried with your orgasm. Stunna continued to pump his fingers as you came, cooing against your skin. 

“So pretty when you cum,” he said. When you were done and slumped against him, he withdrew his fingers. Shivers still wracked your body. He moaned while he suckled on his fingers, licking up your essence.

You watched him as he closed his eyes and savored your taste. You licked your lips watching him. He cleaned his fingers and gave you a wink. “You okay?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I wanna taste you too,” you said. 

He grinned. “Get on your knees,” he said. You slid off of his lap with a lopsided smile. The balcony floor wasn’t entirely comfortable, but you were too focused on him unzipping his pants. He released himself from his pants and briefs. 

Your eyes widened. You couldn’t possibly fit the whole thing in your mouth?! 

Stunna chuckled and moved to put his dick away but you gripped his thighs. “I said, I want to taste you too.” You glanced at him as you took him into your mouth. He gave you an impressed smirk, licking his lips at the look of you taking him deep within your mouth.

You couldn’t fit all of him like you thought. But you got enough of him down. You hoped that your inexperience didn’t show. You’ve sucked dicks before but he was probably used to throat goats. Used to women taking him down to the base, fondling his balls, or knowing what the fuck to do.

You only knew that you wanted to keep going. Wanted to please him. You drooled on him and released him to get some air. Using both hands, you twisted his long shaft and then suckled the head of his dick back into your mouth.

His eyes opened and closed, back bowing off of the chair, as he groaned. His hand palmed your head and pushed you down on his dick, pushing you past your limit until you choked. He eased up, but you took him how he wanted. Your saliva helped your hands twist around his dick and coat his tip.

“Gahh damn. Fuckin’ nasty,” he groaned. You made a pleased sound in the back of your throat and continued to take him deeper and faster. Your sloppy, wet suckling was loud in the quiet air. 

You slurped him, drops of precum hitting your tongue. You suckled him all down, glancing at him periodically to see the ecstasy on his face. The pleasure you were bringing him. 

“Gonna bust,” he groaned.

“Wanna taste,” you said around his dick. 

His breathing turned choppy before he tensed. You felt his orgasm travel up his shaft before he moaned, releasing his cum in your mouth. You continued to milk him for every drop you could. You swallowed him all down. 

He pushed at your shoulders to stop, sounds escaping him that you never heard from a man. “Too good,” he panted.

You grinned. You wiped at the corners of your mouth. “You’re dangerous,” he said.

You blinked up innocently at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said. 

His eyebrows raised and he chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Remember you said that,” he said. 

He scooted the chair back and stood up, helping you to your feet. He pushed you into the room and closed the balcony door, leaving behind a tiny crack to still let in the breeze from the ocean. 

He unzipped your dress and dropped it to the floor, sighing at the look of your body. You never felt so cherished during sex. You weren’t expecting love and all that crap whenever you took someone to bed. It was more like an overwhelming itch that needed to be scratched.

After the deed, your anxiety returned with a vengeance and you were the first out of the door. No one wanted to deal with an anxious mess after getting off. 

With Stunna, there was none of that usual nervousness or shyness holding you back. You just wanted him. 

Your soaked panties went next. He knelt down, doing all the work of removing it. He kissed along your spine and back, the globes of your ass, and the back of your thighs. You shivered at the attention. The care with which he removed your panties.

He stood back up and unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. He eagerly grabbed them from behind and rolled your nipples between his fingers. He pulled you until you leaned back against him.

“Can’t wait to get these in my mouth. I wanna be a gentleman, but fuck. I just want to break you,” he said.

A vicious tingle spread around your thighs. “I never asked you to be a gentleman,” you said.

He chuckled. “Fair, but I don’t wanna scare you away,” he said. 

“I’m a big girl. I can use my words when I need to,” you said.

“Yeah? Get on the bed then. Hands and knees, bad girl,” he said. He smacked your ass, hard and you did as instructed. You climbed into his bed and got on your hands and knees. 

You were too far away however. He grabbed your hips roughly and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He gripped himself and shoved into your inviting pussy with one savage thrust. His grip on your hip prevented you from escaping. You tried to lean forward, but he held you in place.

He pressed on your back until your chest was against the bed. Your ass was high in the air, giving him total access to you. He smacked your ass. 

“You been talkin’ mad shit all night,” he said. He began to stroke, delivering hard and long thrusts that immediately found your G-spot.

“Oh shit!” You cried out. 

“That’s my shit.” You heard the pleased grin in his tone. How did he find it so fast? 

He continued to stroke, hitting your sweet spot over and over with military precision. He smacked your ass with one hand while the other kept a firm grip. “You ain’t so bold now. A little dick shuts you up?” He asked. 

You couldn’t speak. He was slamming into you so hard, just the way you always dreamt of. It brought tears to your eyes. Most guys were afraid to be rough. Afraid of catching a case once you asked them to go a little deeper or stroke a little harder. 

Not Stunna. He drove into you, seeking something you couldn’t name. It didn’t take long before you were convulsing, shaking on his dick. 

“Talk to me, then. Say somethin’ else,” he said.

“Achgg,” you moaned, eyes rolling. 

Stunna continued to work himself inside of you. His dick speared you. Nearly split you in half. You bounced back on his dick, giving as much as you got. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Don’t let me stand in your way. You take what you need from me,” he said. 

Wet, smacking noises filled the room. The sound of your combined fucking pushed another orgasm to the surface. Your ass clapped on his thighs. Your screams were sure to draw the attention of his neighbors. 

He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around your throat. “Fuuh,” you moaned.

Both of you matched each other’s intensity. He pulled you by your throat to swallow every long inch of him. Your desperate thrusts sounded like thunder against his skin. 

“Goh, goh, fuh,” you chanted in rapid succession. 

“So good, so good. Pussy feel so good. You were made to take this dick, weren’t you? You were made for it,” he groaned. 

Your hands feebly held onto the bed in front of you but there was no use. This was so intense and passionate that your orgasm crushed you into a tiny ball and flung you into a tornado. You screamed until you were hoarse. Drool leaked out of your mouth with your whiny cries. 

Stunna continued to hold your throat and pound, chasing his own climax. “Greedy ass. Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned. 

You were shaking as you rode out your orgasm. As soon as you ended, he began. He flooded your pussy with his cum, roaring like an animal as he climaxed. Your body twitched and spasmed on his dick. His dick hit something deep inside, too deep to know what. But it hit a natural reset. 

Stunna let go of your throat and held onto your hips to keep from falling on top of you. You both panted, harsh breaths filling the room. You sniffled as you recovered, brain quiet for once. 

Stunna slipped out of you and he leaned back to watch his cum slip out. He panted and his breaths fell across your ass and pussy. 

“Fuck,” he said. 

You agreed. You never felt something like that before. Possessed. Owned. It was a feeling you would spend your entire life trying to find again. Would you be able to? 

Both of you were too wobbly to move. As if with your dual climaxes, you had entered a new plane of existence. Being back in the real world sucked. It seemed foreign. You were changed by the experience so why hadn’t the world changed? 

Stunna left to go to the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth. You cried at the sensation. “Shh, shh, I got you,” he said.

The rough fucking was everything you needed but you were fucking sore. You ached. It felt too damn good for you to complain though. He gently cleaned you up, wiping you down and wiping off some of the sweat. 

You curled up into a ball, trying to will yourself to move. To get dressed and make your escape. You felt like the sex police would descend from the ceiling and arrest you for upsetting the natural law of the universe. 

You couldn’t move. You felt too raw, too exposed. You focused on your breathing, on drawing air in and then out. Stunna returned from the bathroom and you cringed at the picture you must make.

“I’ll leave just as soon as my legs work,” you mumbled. 

Stunna chuckled. “Can you stay?” He sat on the bed in front of you. You were too afraid to look in his eyes. You didn’t know if you were over exaggerating the moment. You wouldn’t be able to bear it if you felt like your world tilted on its axis while it was just Friday night to him. 

Stunna laid down on the bed and lifted your chin with his fingers. “Please, stay,” he whispered.

His eyes swirled with emotion. As if the moment you left, this would all disappear from memory. Until he wasn’t sure if he dreamt this or it was real. It only mirrored what you were feeling so you nodded and he grinned. “What you need?” 

For your skin to feel like it wasn't going to slough off the moment you unfurled. You looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded as if he understood the turmoil inside of you. He stood up and then came around to lay behind you. His hands came around your arms and knees, pulling you into the heat of his body.

You sighed. Exactly what you needed. He pulled the covers over you, wrapping you in a tiny cocoon of heat. You drifted off to the sound of his quiet breathing. The last thing you felt was a tiny kiss behind your ear. 

In the morning, you yawned and stretched. Stunna was asleep next to you. Somehow, you were laying properly in the bed, head on a pillow and his hand draped across your tummy. You watched him in the early morning light. 

This was dangerous. Ludicrous. It was crazy to feel this type of connection with someone else. Someone so obviously built for you yet it couldn’t last. Tomorrow you were flying back home. On Monday, it was back to classes. 

After taking a peek at the edge of the universe, how did you go back to normal? How did you carry on and keep this in your memory bank? 

You had to get out. You lifted his hand to scoot away from him. Away from the oppressive heat that made sweat pool behind your knees. 

Stunna groaned and sniffed, pulling you back against his side. “Where you think you going?” He asked. 

You giggled. “Back to my suite,” you said. 

“You was gonna sneak out? That’s cold,” he said. His deep voice was rough from sleep and it made your pussy flutter. Really? After all that last night, she was still ready to go?!

“Sneak is such an ugly word.” You sighed as he finally cracked one eye open and looked at you.

“At least let me get you breakfast. You can get changed and meet me right back here,” he said.

You laughed. “What if I have plans?” You asked.

“You do. With me,” he said. 

You shook your head. “You’re crazy.” 

He grabbed your hand and linked your fingers together. Your hands were perfect against each other, skin tones perfectly aligned. 

“Please? Text your friends and tell them you’re safe. When do you leave?” He asked.

“Tomorrow,” you said.

“See? Give me one last day until we can figure out when we’ll see each other again.” 

You sighed. You couldn’t say no to that face. Those eyes. You bit your lip and nodded. He grinned, peppering you with kisses all over your face. 

He ordered room service and ate you out before it came up. He moaned and suckled while he did so, grinding his hips into the bed like he wanted to bury his face into your pussy forever. 

When the food arrived, you talked and ate and laughed, sharing more details about yourself but not personal information like the fact that you were in school or where he was working. You talked through safe subjects but all the information you gathered about him, you held it close to your heart. 

Each passing moment spent with him carved out a section of your heart and replaced it with a gorgeous, sexy man named Stunna. You did make it back to your room where your friends gushed over your night. You still had no words but you squealed while you showered and begged their forgiveness while you planned to spend the day with Stunna. 

They encouraged you, admitting that in a move that surprised no one, they found their way to their own flavor of the day. They agreed to come back to the room at a decent hour to pack away their shit and figure out their flight. 

You spent the rest of the day with Stunna, outside of his suite, walking around the resort. It had a small gambling area where he tried to show you how to play poker. He was a very sweet teacher, but you couldn’t make heads nor tails of the rules. You were more of a spades player, but good luck finding that shit here. 

You shared desserts and walked along the beach, sitting in the sand in between his legs and talking some more. Stunna stole kisses throughout the day, unwilling to leave your lips for the second it took to breathe and join back together. 

As night fell, you ate dinner with him and found your way back to his room where you slowly peeled each other’s clothes off. Where you feasted your eyes on his skin. Gasped as he entered you once more and you gave each other untold amounts of pleasure.

Where he held you like he loved you but fucked you like you stole something from him. You came, looking into his molten brown eyes, nuzzling your cheek against the stubble on his chin. He came with your legs pinned to the mattress and his dick threatening to fuck you into the mattress, the floor, and the next floor down. 

You kissed and cuddled while you talked about talking to him every day. He entered you again while you were stubborn, saying you might be busy. 

“Naw, this shit belong to me now,” he said while he thrusted into you for the…third time that night? Fourth? Who kept count while his delicious dick was inside you and you felt whole again? Complete. 

“It belongs to me,” you said.

He grinned and bit your nipple, then licked away the sting. He continued to nibble across delicate skin, moaning when he found your other nipple and tugged with his teeth. You hissed and your back curved, giving him all the access he wanted. 

“Do we have a problem?” He asked.

“Do we?” You countered.

He grinned and then slipped out of you, only to hike one of your legs up in the air. He reentered you from the side, slamming into you until you were crying and shaking on his dick, screaming out his name. 

“Stay talkin’ shit,” he groaned as he filled you up once more.

Saying goodbye to him was the hardest shit you ever had to do. It was like you both knew that even with talking every day, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as lying next to him and feeling him take up space in the room, in your heart, in your pussy. 

He kept tugging you back for one more kiss, asking if he could walk you to your room. You were blinking back tears. You didn’t want to leave him. But you couldn’t stay either. Both of you had places to be, lives to get back to. 

He leaned in the doorframe, holding your hand and not letting you leave. You smiled. “Stunna, you have to let go.” 

“I’on want to,” he said.

“It’s not forever,” you said, trying to sound hopeful. Your words only sounded sad. He sighed and rubbed his head on his arm. 

“I know. I know.” 

He pulled you close to him, capturing your lips with a devastating kiss. You licked his lips, committing the taste and smell of him to memory. “Not forever,” he said.

“Not forever.” 

You turned and snatched your hand. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to leave. A cold numbness seeped into your bones as you made the trek to your suite. Stella and Angela commented on how melancholy you seemed.

How could you explain it? That you possibly found your soulmate in Punta Cana and had to leave him here? To be happy with texts and phone calls? Poor substitutes to hugging him, cuddling him, kissing him, fucking him? 

You told them that you were all fucked out to explain it now. Ask you in a week. When your heart wasn’t broken and the pain was less intense. Less potent. 

They left you alone to wallow while you all packed up your things and souvenirs. The ride back home was uneventful. You weren’t up to the usual plane shenanigans of talking and comparing in-flight meals. You didn’t feel like eating at all. 

You texted Stunna that you arrived safely and even spoke to him on the phone. But it only hurt worse. “C’mon, we said not forever,” he said. 

The bastard was right though. Hearing his voice in your ear helped but it wasn’t the same.

“Not forever. I just want you here,” you said.

“I know. We did a few things backward, but when we’re comfortable, we’ll arrange something,” he said. 

You talked until you absolutely had to go to sleep to get ready for class. Luckily, your first class of the day was in the afternoon. You had a chance to recover from the plane ride and time difference.

Everything was dull. The California sun was dull. The campus was boring. Students felt like aliens to you, playing and existing in a world that ended for you back in Punta Cana in Stunna’s arms. 

You sighed, not for the hundredth time, as you dragged your carcass across campus and to your class. Settling into your literature class, you didn’t share this with Stella and Angela. You were left to look out of the window, mind far, far away.

Your pen tapped on the desk, picturing that accidental bump into Stunna over and over again. Act of fate? Accident? How could you meet the love of your life only for you to be ripped away from him and planted back into your normal life like nothing was wrong? 

The door opened and you assumed your teacher came through. Whatever.

“Sorry, I’m late. Not used to the campus yet.”

Your head whipped around and there he was. Stunna stood at the front of the class wearing a deep brown sweater over chocolate colored pants. The sleeves were rolled up revealing his smooth forearms. 

He wrote his name on the whiteboard and your heart seized in your chest. Panic made your heart pound against your rib cage, practically screaming to be let out. You sunk in your seat. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Stunna turned around and smiled at the class. When his eyes found yours, his jaw dropped and he stared. He stared and stared and you didn’t know what he was thinking or what he was going to do.

He cleared his throat and smiled at the class, introducing his real name. Not that you thought Stunna was his real name, but it was the name he usually went by. His eyes kept returning to yours.

You…slept with your college professor. Your life was over. Ruined. How the hell could you fall in love with your professor? And what the hell were you going to do now?

The Secret Big Stunna Files | Part 2 | Part 3

[loverhymeswith]

Let's Be Alone Together || Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: When Tommy finds out you have a date, things don't quite go to plan.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: drinking, smoking, Tommy scheming, mention of death, not beta-read

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love for part one! And a big thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer and @lorecraft for helping me talk through the ending <3

Part One

“What’s going on in here then, eh?”

The familiar male voice draws your attention away from the rumpled newspaper in your lap. You haven’t been reading it so much as worrying at the corners of the pages, a nervous habit brought on by your anxiety towards tonight. Lifting your gaze to the small mirror before you, your chest tightens as you catch sight of the figure in the doorway. Thomas Shelby might not be a large man, but his presence is always commanding. 

Your fingers stiffen, one wrong move away from tearing the paper as Tommy stalks into the kitchen, his sharp blue eyes keenly assessing the scene. While you haven’t been avoiding the head of the Shelby family per se, you had hoped not to run into him again quite so soon.

Ada pauses her ministrations behind you, having just pinned the last piece of your hair into place. “She’s got a date tonight, Tommy. We’re helping her get ready.” 

“Is that so?” Removing his cap, Tommy acknowledges Polly who is sitting beside you at the table. He pulls out a carton of cigarettes. “A date with who?”

Once again, Ada beats you to a response, the satisfaction over her matchmaking skills plainly and painfully evident. “Lewis Powell.” 

Tommy repeats the name, his tone as unreadable as his expression as he rolls a cigarette across his lips. When his gaze finds yours in the mirror, you quickly look away; the memory of those lips brushing your fingertips is still too fresh in your mind. If it hadn’t been for Finn banging on Tommy’s door four nights ago, you can’t help but wonder where else those lips could have been.

“He comes from a good family, Thomas,” Pol tells him, an unspoken warning hanging between them as she offers her nephew a light. 

“Oh, I know where he comes from.” 

“Well then, you might look happier about it,” Ada interjects, joining you and Pol at the table. “Lewis is a fine match. And plenty of women are remarrying now. Don’t you think it’s about time she gets back out there before all the good men are gone?”

Pol nods. “There’s no sense in her being alone. Not anymore.”

Cheeks warming as you fight off the prickle of irritation over being spoken about as if you’re not in the room, you return your attention to the paper. The impending date with Lewis wasn’t your idea. In fact, you’d rejected the suggestion at least three times before you realised Ada was not going to accept no for an answer. When it comes to the Shelbys, you’ve learnt that taking the path of least resistance is often the only way forward.

White smoke curls in the air around you as you sense Tommy draw closer. You glance back to the mirror and find him watching your reflection intently. “Do you?” He asks, resting one hand on the back of your chair. “Feel alone?”

The last thing you want is to sound ungrateful after everything Tommy and his family have done for you. But if you’re being honest, you have found yourself wanting something - or someone - more. The pain of losing your husband is never going away, but surely that doesn’t mean that you should be denied a future.

And then there’s the way your body reacted to Tommy the other night. The way your stomach - and thighs - clenched as his warmth breath kissed your skin. It was only for a moment, the briefest stirring of something between you. But it opened your eyes. You don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

You blink away the smoke and the memories. Tommy is off limits.

When you finally answer him, your voice is barely above a whisper, terrified that you’re going to upset him. But you owe him the truth. “Sometimes I lie awake at night and it feels like the loneliness might eat me alive. Sometimes, I think I want it to.” 

Tommy nods curtly, as if you’ve confirmed something he already knew. He stubs out his cigarette in the glass ashtray and then with a swoosh of his coattails he's gone.

Ada picked the restaurant for your first date with Lewis. It’s a new place that has recently opened on the edge of town. Apparently, it’s run by one of the Italian families that the Shelbys frequently do business with. But that should come as no surprise. One way or another, everyone in Birmingham has had dealings with the Peaky Blinders.

As you follow the waiter to your table, you feel your nerves begin to return. For the last few hours you have barely given a thought towards the man you are about to meet. Because ever since his sudden departure from Ada’s kitchen, you’ve been preoccupied by thoughts of Tommy and his reaction to your admission. But any guilt or fear of seeming ungrateful towards him had quickly turned to frustration. Tommy is your friend, not your brother or your father. Who you choose to spend your time with should be none of his concern. 

Realising you’ve become consumed - once again - by thoughts of Tommy, you barely notice that your table is already occupied. Sensing your arrival, your companion for the evening raises their head, and as you find yourself staring into a very familiar pair of blue eyes, your heart skips a beat.

The shock quickly subsides, turning instead, to anger. “What are you doing here, Tommy?” 

Tommy murmurs your name in greeting, his voice infallibly and infuriatingly casual as he indicates for you to sit. 

Temporarily forgetting your surroundings and plainly ignoring the waiter, who has pulled out your chair, you level the head of the Shelby family with an unwavering stare. “Where is Lewis?”

 "There was a change of plans."

"A change of plans?" You repeat incredulously, the side of Tommy you witnessed the other night rapidly turning to a distant memory. "What did you do to him, Tommy? What did you say?” The art of threat and intimidation is a familiar move in the Shelby family playbook. You’ve witnessed it time and again, but this is the first time it’s been used against you. 

Tommy clears his throat. “Unless it is your intention to cause a scene, you might want to take a seat.”

Begrudging his cold, calm logic, you do as he suggests, relieved when the waiter finally takes his leave. “Tell me what you said to Lewis.”

Tommy maintains eye contact with you as he sips from a glass of whisky. How long has he been here, biding his time as he awaited your arrival? You notice with a start that he’s changed his clothes since earlier, dressed up handsomely for the occasion. His actions, whatever they may have been, were clearly premeditated. “I paid him a visit. Made sure some things were understood. His decision not to come tonight was purely his own.”

“So, you scared him off.” Tears of betrayal sting your eyes as your suspicions are confirmed. You had been foolish to ever imagine that Tommy treated you differently. That you were safe from his scheming and machinations. 

He offers you a cigarette across the table but you shake your head. You don’t want anything from him. “Why? Why did you do it? Were you even listening to a word I said earlier?”

Before he can respond, the waiter returns with a bottle of expensive-looking wine. Tommy inclines his head, indicating that he should pour two glasses. Only when you’re alone again does he continue, lighting a cigarette. “Lewis Powell is not good enough for you.”

You shake your head, biting your lip against the threat of more tears. “That’s not your decision to make.” Whatever Tommy said or did to stop Lewis from coming tonight, you can guarantee that word will have spread by morning. No man in their right mind will want anything to do with you now.

Tommy is quiet for a moment, his piercing gaze studying you through the thin cloud of smoke. “You’re right.” His expression has softened, as if he’s only now just realising how much his actions have upset you. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I’m not a Shelby, Tommy.” You reach for the wine glass with a shaking hand and take a long sip, eyeing him over the rim. “I don’t need your permission or your approval.”

“Of course not.”

Deflated by his unwillingness to engage in a further argument, you settle back in your seat with a small sigh. What’s done is done. Pushing him further will achieve nothing. “You could have at least warned me. Why did you let me get all dressed up for nothing?" The crimson dress you picked out had cost a small fortune and Ada had spent hours fussing over your hair.

Tommy doesn’t take his eyes off you as he sips from his own wine. "I had no intention of letting the evening go to waste.” He pauses. “Unless you want me to take you home?”

Despite your better judgement - there are a multitude of reasons why dinner with Tommy Shelby is a bad idea, not least because the gradual shift in your feelings towards him shows no sign of thawing, even after the stunt he just pulled - you find yourself agreeing to stay. 

In what you can only assume is an attempt to make up for derailing your plans, Tommy spends the rest of the evening being more attentive and engaging than you ever thought possible. His guard is down as he regales you with stories from before the war - of his colourful childhood and his love for horses. Of his mother. 

For a few wonderful hours, you are both able to forget the truth. There’s no trace of the feared leader of the Peaky Blinders, nor the tortured war hero attempting to smoke away his pain. Tonight, it’s just you and Thomas Shelby and you find yourself wishing that didn’t have to change. 

When the meal is over and the bill is settled, Tommy helps you into your coat. You shiver involuntarily when his calloused fingers skim your bare shoulders, and your attention drifts to the clock on the wall. It’s late, but there are still plenty of hours until sunrise. 

“Arthur and John are waiting outside. They will see that you get home safely,” Tommy explains, leading you to the exit. Indeed, through the restaurant’s front window, you spot a pair of figures standing in the shadows across the street.

Uncertain whether you’re more disappointed or confused, you place a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks in the doorway. “You’re not taking me home?” You’re not sure what you were expecting, but at the very least he might have walked you back to your house.

The restaurant doorbell chimes as Tommy ushers you outside, the cold air stealing your breath away. “It’s better that you go with them.”

You plant yourself in front of him, your back turned to the two brothers waiting across the street. “Why? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” Inexplicably, this feels like rejection. You don’t know why you’re so surprised.

Tommy’s jaw works, his expression full of conflict when he finally meets your gaze. “Because if I walk you home, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself from coming inside. And that would be a bad idea.”

You can feel your heart pounding away in your chest, the sound of it almost deafening as it rings in your ears - you know the next words you speak to be the truth. “And what if I want you to come inside.”

Tommy drags his gaze away from you, shaking his head. You recognise that look - Tommy Shelby, the immovable force - and resign yourself to disappointment. As he raises his arm, beckoning over Arthur and John, he meets your gaze for a final time. “Good night,” he murmurs softly, before walking away.

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal

[booksandabeer]

Steve-Centric Stucky Fics: 5 Recs + 1 TBR

As promised, here is the rec list for Steve/Bucky fics with a focus on Steve-centric stories—all of them not EG-compliant, as requested. It's not quite as long as my usual rec lists for two reasons:

(1) I'm still sick and I can barely sit up straight, so please forgive the brevity of the list, and

(2) I deliberately wanted to include exclusively fics that were written in 2022 and 2023 to shine a spotlight on a few of the many wonderful writers and artists who are still creating absolutely fantastic works for the Stucky ship and who deserve to be read just as widely and passionately as older works in the fandom. Recency bias, but make it positive!

So without further ado, here are five Steve-centric Stucky recs and one more fic that I can't wait to get to:

1. say it soft and it's almost like praying by Somanywords | 41K, M

Author's summary: Natasha says, “Look, whatever the truth is about you, we have no way of really knowing the Winter Soldier's intentions. He’s not all there, he’s not who you remember. He’s a hot mess, Steve.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Steve says, and he’s nearly yelling, but not quite, because he doesn’t need to, not when they’re so close. “Why does everyone keep saying he’s a mess—have you seen me?" 

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. I literally finished this fic about 15 minutes ago, so I haven't even left a comment yet. I'm still processing, you could say. The author tagged this with "just another post catws fic (but by me)"—and yes, that's what you get. All the usual ingredients are here, but the joy of TWS canon divergence is of course in the endless possibilities of how these well-known ingredients are used, re-arranged, and re-imagined as something new, exciting, and often much more satisfying than in canon. This fic excels at all three and is an absolute joy from start to finish.

2. Daybreak by BonkyBornes, art by PottersPink | 9K, NR

Author's summary: They called it project Rebirth because the person was supposed to be reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes. Steve was supposed to be the phoenix. He was supposed to rise from the ashes of his old body, he was supposed to leave behind his deafness and his limp and the scoliosis that bent his entire body to the left. He was supposed to leave behind everything that held him back.

In the end, the only thing that left was the only thing that mattered.

Shrinkyclinks canon-divergent AU. What if Project Rebirth didn't go right...but it didn't go entirely wrong either? A story about ghosts but not a ghost story. Or maybe something else entirely? Steve fights his body and time and the memories that keep haunting him. Beautifully written, with gorgeous art by PottersPink that perfectly complements the story.

3. Exhale by seapigeon, art by dudewhereismypie | 15K, M

Author's summary: After the Chitauri invasion, Steve parts ways with SHIELD, unsure if he can trust an agency that tried to deceive him and built weapons from the Tesseract.

He finds himself alone in an unfamiliar future, penniless, not even legally alive. Fortunately, he knows how to survive. Steve Rogers is used to getting by on his own.

The thing is, he doesn't have to.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A fic that asks the question: What if, after the battle of New York, Steve had told SHIELD a polite but firm 'No'? Follow him as he strikes out on his own, finds an apartment, a job, and friends, figures out life in the 21st century...and of course falls in love!

4. Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter | 6K, T

Author's summary: Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye. The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

Wartime fic. Would you like to read some excellent gay angst full of yearning and unresolved tension, peppered with interesting and wonderfully specific historical details and Howlies camaraderie? Would you like to get your heart crushed a little? Yes? Here you go. And if this makes you feel too sad by the end of it and you crave a bit of a happier resolution, just jump straight into a fistfull of dollars (5K, E) by the same author, which is not intended as a companion piece or even set in the same universe, but it works just as if it were. (Look at me sneaking in extra recs.)

5. Not In The Answer But The Question by aimmyarrowshigh, art by PottersPink | 27K, T

Author's summary: It rankles that his drink was made before he even got a chance to order it. What if he wanted a change? What if he were adventurous and bold? What if he tried something new?

---

Or, Steve Rogers shakes up his gray daily routine in 2014 by going back home to Vinegar Hill. To his surprise, the Jewish deli he used to frequent with Arnie is still standing.

And Steve's whole life changes again.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A lost and lonely Steve tries to figure out who he was, is and most importantly, wants to be in this new century he's found himself in that is both terrifying and full of possibilities. Told in vignettes (I did not count, but I believe all of them are exactly 100 word drabbles) that perfectly illustrate the fragmented mind and life of its protagonist and his experience of constantly shifting and adjusting between past and present. A story about identity, memory, self-acceptance, and finding the courage to love and let yourself be loved. And food. So much amazing food!

+ 1 TBR: Operation: Gros Michel by SquadOfCats | 358K, E

Author's summary: “It starts with bananas. Of course, it's not really about the bananas. Just like a camel isn't bothered by one single straw, just like a dam doesn't break because of one extra drop. Obviously, Steve's mental breakdown isn't about bananas.”

Steve is overwhelmed and hanging by a thread, doing his best to take care of Bucky while still deeply traumatized himself. He finally has a breakdown over the stupidest of things: bananas. So Bucky takes care of him.

In which Steve learns to surf, Bucky becomes a gardener, and they both begin to heal.

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. No, I did not make a mistake, the word count for this story really does come in at an impressive (or intimidating, you decide) 358,225 words! Which is the only reason why I haven't read it yet. I do want to make time for this asap because the snippets I've read so far were very intriguing and everything I've heard about it from people who have finished it, sounds absolutely amazing. So, this is the wild card pick!

Happy reading! <3

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

You know the one point above all others that leaves me convinced Bad Batch season 3 underwent some massive rewrites?

The time skip in episode 1.

Now, the time skip could have worked fine if there had been any attempt later in the season to meaningfully follow up on the vital conversations that apparently took place during said time skip. But that's not what happened.

And I have too much confidence in the writers' vision/abilities to believe they originally intended to use the time skip the way it ended up being used: to completely gloss over the aftermath of Tech's fall to the point that the audience is left wondering - maybe Tech's family/friends have already processed it and moved on? Or maybe they haven't?? Who knows! Let's leave it super vague all season long and have the audience interpret it as they will! Pick your preferred grieving method and tell yourself that's what all these characters did during the time lapse, or if that doesn't work for you then just "something something stoic soldiers."

To give a clear example of what the writers are capable of: Mayday has the distinction of being recognized as THE tipping point to Crosshair finally turning on the Empire and later is given a satisfying, if heartwrenching, callback scene that decisively provides closure for his loss. Remember, Mayday is a character in ONE episode. Just ONE. In the grand scheme of the show, he probably qualifies as a tertiary character. Crosshair knows him for, what, 2 days at most? And yet Mayday is still definitively recognized as a key influential figure in Crosshair's life.

I love Mayday. He deserves all the recognition and more. I bring all this up simply to compare to how the show handles Tech's death, especially for Crosshair.

Tech is Crosshair's brother, was raised with him from birth and lived and worked with him day in and day out for over a decade, and for years they were in life-and-death situations together. Unlike with Mayday, Crosshair wasn't there when Tech died - died on a mission he had pushed for to save Crosshair from consequences of his own choices. Not only was Crosshair not there for Tech in his final moments, but the last time he saw Tech, Crosshair was arguing with him along with the rest of his brothers. Vitally important as Mayday is to Crosshair, Tech is even more so (or should be). Given all this, I'm supposed to believe the writers' grand plan all along was to skip over the critical moment where Crosshair finds out about Tech, spend the rest of the season ignoring all other opportunities to address it, and throw in one line during the finale ("Clone Force 99 died with Tech") that somehow manages to simultaneously deprive us of any semblance of catharsis for Crosshair AND completely miss the point of why Tech had sacrificed himself in the first place??

Nope. I don't believe it. There were forced rewrites on a time crunch. I REFUSE to believe the writers responsible for the near-perfection that is Bad Batch seasons 1-2 would, on their own, so thoroughly botch something as crucial to the show as Crosshair dealing with Tech's (supposed) death. There had to have been some kind of outside interference.

(I am clinging to the theory that the rewrites were part of a bigger plan to save some plot points for continuation in another project; but the point still stands that there had to have been significant rewrites in the first place.)

And since there would have been little to no reason to take out scenes with proper closure for Tech's fall during the rewrites if the original intention was indeed for Tech to be dead, I conclude yet again that Tech isn't actually dead.

I will say this for the time skip: it is what first pushed me into writing Bad Batch fanfiction. So there's that.

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

This will be more of a vent post than it is a critique or review. It’s just something I personally find so agitating and I wanted to talk about it to just get the feelings of my chest.

I hate. And I mean hate. That they named her “Vaggie”

More below cut/includes slight spoilers from released content and leaked audition sheets.

I just. And please keep in mind that this is all my personal opinion and you’re allowed to think whatever you want. You can love her name and think it’s the most creative beautiful name in the world and that’s fine. That’s your opinion, and that’s great!!

But this is my opinion—V’s name isn’t funny. It’s not creative or clever.

It comes off as trying to be “edgy” or daring, but it just flops. And it’s incredibly frustrating to be sapphic (I’m a lesbian) and to see one of only TWO sapphic characters be literally named after “female” genitalia.

And I wondered for a while if I was just being weirdly picky about this, but if this leak turns out to be real (and I am PRAYING it’s not):

Then the exterminators, a seemingly entire female group, are named after genitalia. Like. Why? What is the point of having a group of characters being named after genitals??

I have a hard time describing why this makes me so angry and makes me feel so disrespected. I think it’s because:

1. Whether intentional or not, it comes off as reducing women characters to their genitalia.

2. It’s reducing a sapphic (possibly lesbian, but never confirmed) character to her genitals. Again, whether or not this is intended, the writers have made it so that everyone who hears these characters names immediately thinks “oh like Vagina”. This is even a joke in the prequel comics:

And the FIRST EPISODE:

Apparently the original character that V is based on was actually named “Vagina” just straight up. Oh but they used a Y. Because. That really makes it unique a cool. (Being sarcastic)

3. Again. I don’t care if this was the intent or not. But it feels just so so reductive to name a whole GROUP of women characters after different female genital parts. It’s just disrespectful. And again, I don’t think it was meant to be this—but it just? It’s so reductive and just stupid.

Like. I also want to make it clear that I’d be saying the SAME thing as I am now if it was a male character named “Penissy” or “Scrothomas” or some stupid shit. If Angel Dust’s name was like… “Tainty” or “Schlong” or something I would also be frustrated and upset.

Because that would be the same thing. A gay man character reduced to his genitals. Anyway this is done, it’s disrespectful and feels gross and reductive to me.

But I don’t know what I expected because this is the same writing team that thinks a character referring to himself as “The Dickmaster” and saying “dick” 600 times in a row is peak comedy writing. Ugh.

Again, I’m sorry this is more a personal vent than any sort of review or critique. I’m genuinely hoping that the Lute audition sheet is not anything that will show up in the show, and that Clitorissa and Labianne will never see the light of day. It’s just.

It’s not funny. It’s stupid, and annoying, and I hate it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And V deserved to be called by a real name, not a edgy unfunny punchline.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hiya, I hope youre having a good day!

On your advice for stiff writing, you said to 'avoid purple prose'. Im just wondering what that means? Sorry if I missed something from an earlier post.

Purple Prose and How to Avoid It

"Purple prose" is what we call writing that is "flowery" or ornate to the extent that it's melodramatic and pulls the reader's focus away from the actual story. Some things that contribute to purple prose:

1 - Overuse of Elegant and Elaborate Words

Normal Sentence: Clara stepped to the balcony and looked out over the crowd, finely dressed and buzzing with courtly gossip.

Purple Prose: Clara traipsed to the wrought iron precipice and gazed upon the throng, opulently clad and susurrous with scandalous hearsay and scurrilous palaver.

The problem: One of our biggest goals as writers is to effectively communicate the stories inside our heads, and we do that by making sure our prose is generally clear, direct, and precise. The overuse of elegant and elaborate words in the second example defeats the clarity because the reader is constantly having to think about what each word means, and maybe even look them up. When you read "balcony" you don't have to think about what that is. But "wrought iron precipice" requires a little more time to work out. "Crowd" is straightforward and clear where "throng" isn't. Everyone knows what gossip is, but "susurrous with scandalous hearsay" is just... whut.

The Solution: Most of the time, try to use the clearest, most direct words to communicate what you're trying to say. Don't constantly run to the thesaurus to find a fancier word. Ornate words should be saved for times when you really need the special impact.

2 - Overuse of Long Sentences

Normal Sentence: The finely dressed crowd buzzed with courtly gossip. (8 words)

Purple Prose: The throng was opulently clad and susurrous with scandalous hearsay and scurrilous palaver. (13 words)

The Problem: A variety of sentence lengths creates a cadence that helps your story flow. Since purple prose usually adds unnecessary words ("susurrous with scandalous hearsay and scurrilous palaver" takes seven words to say the same thing as "courtly gossip") you end up with more long sentences than short or mid-length sentences, if any at all, so not only do you not get that cadence, you often end up slowing the flow of the story.

The Solution: Keep an eye on your sentence length. If you see a lot of long sentences, see which ones you can tighten up. Not only will this help eliminate purple prose, but it will give you a nice variety of sentence lengths that will give your prose cadence and improve the flow of your story.

3 - Overuse of Figurative Language

I'm fudging the example here because I'm tired and my brain can't do figurative language right now, but it's things like metaphor, simile, hyperbole, idioms, symbolism, onomatopoeia, euphemism, and alliteration.

The Problem: Figurative language isn't usually the clearest, most direct to say something--though once in a while it does add much-needed clarity--so it's definitely not something you want in every sentence. Another issue with figurative language is it can be tricky to come up with something new or not over used, so a lot of figurative language falls into cliché territory. ("Their muscles were hard as rocks," "It was the calm before the storm," "They woke up on the wrong side of the bed...")

Solution: Make sure figurative language is used with intention and purpose. Before you use it, ask yourself what the figurative language accomplishes... how does it enrich the story or the reader's experience? Is it being used in a place that needs the added impact?

4 - Overuse of Adjectives and Adverbs

Normal sentence: She tiptoed down the steps and melted into the crowd, hoping not to be seen.

Purple Prose: She walked gently down the steep steps and quietly melted into the bustling crowd, desperately hoping not to be seen.

The Problem: Quite often, adverbs can be replaced by active verbs. There's no point in saying "walked gently" when you can say "tiptoed." No need to say "said loudly" when you could say "shouted." No need to say "drove quickly" when you could say "sped." And sometimes adverbs just don't add anything. If she tiptoes down the steps and melts into the crowd, isn't it kind of obvious that she's really reeeally hoping not to be seen? Describing that hope as "desperate" doesn't necessarily tell us anything useful. And in much the same way, while adjectives can certainly help paint a picture, when they're being over used, it's a good bet a lot of them aren't doing anything important. Why do we need to know the steps are "steep"? Is that going to be important later?

The Solution: Make sure you replace adverbs with active verbs whenever possible, and try to save adjectives for when they serve a purpose--either to flesh out description in important ways or tell the reader something they need to know for later.

5 - Overuse of Emotional and Sensory Description

Normal Sentence: She hoped no one saw her but couldn't fight off the feeling someone had. The fear made her heart pound and left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Purple Prose: She was absolutely desperate not to be seen, would pass out from shock if anyone saw her. Sweat streamed down her neck and pooled at the small of her back. She was so nervous she shook like a leaf, tasting bile in her throat as her heart pounded in her chest. The incessant chatter of the blathering crowd was almost drowned out by the frightening rush of blood in her ears.

The Problem: There's just too much going on. I love sensory description, but it doesn't have to be ALL the senses. And emotional details are great too, but she's desperate, potentially shocked, frightened, nervous... it's too much emotion. It's melodramatic.

The Solution: Use emotional description only when it's necessary, and don't forget you can also illustrate emotion by using physical and internal cues. Sensory description is great, too, but don't feel like you have to include all the sensory details in every description.

I hope that helps!

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[chororine]

let's talk about Cubert Farnsworth

something nobody said during the production of season 7

The most striking thing about Cubert, to me, is the fact that in the most literal sense possible, he had no childhood.

Well, no early childhood – in “A Clone of My Own”, we see Cubert spring into existence as a fully-formed twelve-year-old, having only previously existed in a “mentally undeveloped” state in a tank in Professor Farnsworth’s basement. This is obviously convenient from a writing standpoint, allowing Futurama’s showrunners to introduce a new character effectively out of nowhere (their original plan to do so in “A Big Piece of Garbage” having fallen through) – but I think it also explains a lot about Cubert from an in-universe perspective, and makes an interesting lens through which to view one of the show’s most divisive characters.

Generally speaking, we as viewers are used to meeting characters and then witnessing their backstory, either all at once or in small chunks scattered across episodes - Futurama itself goes as far back as Fry, Leela and Bender’s births in seasons 3, 4 and 3 respectively – but Cubert is in the unique position of his “birth” (so to speak) also being his introduction to the audience. While most of that audience simply brushed that character off as “annoying” and that was the writers’ intention according to the audio commentary for his debut episode, I want to set authorial intent aside for now and focus strictly on what the text shows us: someone who was artificially created for a specific purpose, like Bender, raised without a traditional family, like Leela, and who entered the world of the 31st century through a glass tube, like Fry.

Despite having a surprising amount in common with our three main heroes, Cubert is markedly different from them in his actual personality, which (at first) is driven largely by reason and logical sense, and that… well, makes logical sense. As with most of the sci-fi concepts Futurama employs in the service of good stories and jokes, the show glosses over the finer details of how Cubert can emerge from the cloning tank with all his motor skills and the ability to form sentences, but it’s reasonable to assume that whatever arcane scientific process the Professor used prioritises imbuing the clone with concrete knowledge over anything subjective. Cubert’s behaviour corroborates this: the very first piece of knowledge he displays is (in a quiet subversion of cloning tropes) self-knowledge, namely the knowledge that he’s a genius.

ok so the park line isn’t strictly relevant but cmon you can’t quote this scene without it

Cubert’s approach to suddenly springing to life with a ready-made body and personality is to engage with the adults around him head-on: said personality is pompous, pedantic and pugnacious (...as in “confrontational”, not as in a crack about his nose). He struts into Planet Express like he owns the place (which, of course, he will one day) right in the middle of season 2, the point where it’s safe to say the audience and characters (even fish-out-of-water Fry) have both adjusted to the show’s status quo: Professor Farnsworth can create anything as long as it’s funny or convenient to the plot (or both); Bender is an integral part of the “family”; Leela can beat up anyone who deserves it. But Cubert, who was abruptly thrust into the midst of that status quo, relentlessly questions it: how exactly would scientists “increase the speed of light”? What use would a delivery company have for a bending unit? Should Leela really fly with just one eye? Audiences and characters alike generally like sticking to the status quo (as this ever self-aware show pointed out back in “When Aliens Attack”), so it’s really no wonder Cubert rubbed people on both sides of the fourth wall the wrong way.

you know someone’s being insufferable when not even Turanga “it’s not his fault he’s an unstoppable killing machine” Leela likes them lol. believe it or not this IS a pro-Cubert post stick with me here

Questioning established norms is no bad thing, but the way Cubert goes about it is very... blunt, and far from endearing: he’s dismissive of the Professor’s “junk heap” of inventions and viciously mocks the Planet Express crew, painting people he’s only just met as incompetent and, later in the episode, calling Fry an idiot to his face. Make no mistake, this is… as we say in my neck of the woods, it’s not on. But while Cubert’s lack of socialisation “growing up" doesn’t excuse his tactlessness, it might very well explain it - along with him lacking the childlike wonder his fellow suspended animation survivor, Fry, felt at being thrust headlong into a world where the only limit to science is imagination. To use the episode’s Arc Words, “nothing is impossible”... except, it would seem, Cubert fitting in with the misfits who make up Planet Express.

Professor Farnsworth is eager to take Cubert under his wing, but also demonstrates where the latter gets that bluntness, being transparent about his intent to have his clone “spend his life finishing his inventions”. With that in mind, perhaps it’s not surprising that Cubert initially attempts to distance himself from the Professor, coldly referring to him as… well, “Professor”.

This is a detail that’s easy to miss or overlook on first viewing of the episode, but it effortlessly and efficiently explains what kind of relationship between the two Cubert initially desired: he acknowledges that they share DNA, but would prefer a “creator-creation” dynamic – perhaps akin to a robot and their maker - over anything familial. He states his disinterest in fulfilling his intended purpose as an inventor without a trace of the self-doubt that plagued Bender upon quitting his job and meeting Fry (or in the face of being replaced by a more up-to-date robot, or of being forgotten, or…), creating the impression that Cubert has a good deal more confidence and self-awareness than even an adult in a similar position to him, but also that he’s – let’s be fair to him – a complete dick, pointedly declaring himself the Professor’s “only half-decent invention”.

But as is often the case in fiction, that complete dickery serves a purpose in creating the catalyst for the episode’s fast-paced third act: the dejected Professor checking himself into cyber-retirement. In a perfect example of the characters’ recently-found comfort with the status quo, Fry immediately expresses a desire to rescue his boss who causes him more problems than he solves (what with the potentially fatal delivery missions and all), but who’s also family - a sentiment his non-blood relatives, or at least Leela, seem to share.

The only person at Planet Express who questions this desire is - who else - Cubert, but Fry brushes off his concerns with a well-placed “nothing is impossible” (the episode’s second use of the phrase). As an implicit reminder of Cubert’s status as a misfit among misfits, he, as a child character among a cast of adults, lacks the agency to avoid getting dragged along on the rescue mission for reasons that aren’t initially clear, to him or the audience.

It turns out Cubert’s purpose on the trip to the Near Death Star is to be both a DNA donor and part of Fry’s 160-year-old man disguise. Our three heroes do most of the heavy lifting (literally in Fry’s case), relegating Cubert to what he initially does best: complaining. While he does express a bit of (at this point) uncharacteristic concern for the comatose Professor, it comes after he airs his grievances about the ridiculousness of Leela’s plan, having to be Fry’s hump and the “stupid robot” – so maybe it’s a bit of well-placed karma that he gets knocked out mid-chase scene by a passing space station door, neatly excising him from the episode’s narrative.

...or so it would seem: in reality, the episode’s final two scenes circle right back to Cubert and his character arc. He springs awake to deliver the episode’s third and final “nothing is impossible”, having finally internalised the truth of it - and the secret of how to fix the ship’s damaged engines - thanks to a conveniently-timed dream (a borderline deus ex machina that may be an allusion to Groening and Cohen’s inspiration for Cubert, Wesley Crusher of Star Trek: The Next Generation – I did say at the beginning I was going to set authorial intent aside “for now”). Despite this apparent 180, Cubert demonstrates that he’s still fundamentally himself by shooting down Bender’s labelling of his discovery about the ship’s engines as “a complete load”. Evidently, Cubert’s nocturnal, almost divine revelation enabled him to use his sharp tongue for good rather than evil, as this discovery and Cubert’s quick repair of the engine is what allows the main trio and Farnsworths to safely escape from the Sunset Squad.

The episode’s conclusion uses a few well-chosen words and pieces of animated-acting to bring many aspects of Cubert’s character full circle. Most obvious among these is the conflict of whether or not he’ll fulfil his intended purpose; the Professor granting Cubert permission not to is a noble but ironic gesture, as the latter admits to having accepted his destiny, but only on his terms: not as a copy, but as a family member. Futurama, at its best, is masterful at showing and not telling; for instance, because Cubert initially addressed his creator as “Professor”, him switching to “Dad” completely unprompted feels like a display of agency as well as love.

And because Cubert had no childhood, him smiling with his whole face for the first time in the episode also marks him doing so for the first time in his life.

Let’s take a brief step back outside the text itself and look at it in relation to the various reactions viewers have had to it, because the episode’s resolution is something that… well, viewers have had varying reactions to. Looking up the episode on Wikipedia, you’ll find a citation of The A.V. Club’s review: one Zach Handlen wasn’t a fan, claiming that “[Cubert’s] shift from “This is stupid and doesn’t make any sense” to “Anything is possible!” doesn’t make a lot of sense”. YouTuber Johnny 2 Cellos seemed to enjoy the episode and Cubert’s character considerably more, but still said of Cubert’s decision to follow in his father’s footsteps that he’s “not sure [it] was the best lesson” - and honestly, they both raise valid points. Cubert’s change of heart is rather abrupt, and a step removed from the typical feel-good narrative of choosing your own destiny and becoming whatever you want… but nonetheless, I do think it’s a plus for his character, and to explain why I need to go back to the very first episode of the show.

The aforementioned “choosing your own destiny” narrative is so prevalent that Futurama itself has played with it from the beginning – and I do mean “played with”, not “used wholesale”. This is, of course, a fantastical show, but it always keeps a degree of emotional realism close to its heart; part of that realism is Fry’s one-way trip into the future not being the straightforward wish fulfilment he initially expected, as his new life still involves having a job, and it’s nominally the same dead-end job he once longed to escape. But Fry isn’t resigned to this: instead, he accepts the hand the universe has dealt him and makes it work for him…

…in fact, the theme of accepting one’s fate on one’s own terms is a theme that runs through Futurama all the way to the end of the original run.

And right in the middle of that run lies Cubert, perfectly exemplifying that nuanced theme with little more than the word “Dad.”

That choice to – again - show and not tell the change in how Cubert views his creator-father is something that I feel mitigates the suddenness of his change of outlook: wanting to emulate one’s father is a different feeling than wanting to emulate one’s creator, and a very human feeling... as is having sudden, eye-opening experiences in one’s preteen years. Cubert’s arc in this episode could be seen as a microcosm of growing up, and as a story of someone who thought he knew everything realising he still has growing up to do… and about a season later, we get to see him do some of that growing up.

Much like Cubert himself was initially intended as one thing and grew into another (on both meta and in-universe levels), I started this post with the intent to analyse him as a character but it ended up more focused on “A Clone of My Own” specifically – I might as well continue on this path and analyse “The Route of All Evil” as well. However, I don’t feel the need to do so quite so meticulously simply because Cubert is a far more straightforward character in the latter episode - and that in itself speaks volumes about what’s going on under that ginger muffin-shaped haircut.

This episode provides an explanation of Cubert’s absence throughout the second half of season 2, a glimpse into the life he’s been living off-screen at boarding school and something any good character needs: a companion to bounce off of. Dwight has less distinct characterisation than Cubert (partly as a result of having one less episode worth of development at this point), but I do think what he does have is worth analysing. I won’t do so too deeply, at least not here, simply because it’d be outside the scope of this post, but I will touch on the aspects that are relevant to my point: the ways in which he complements and contrasts Cubert.

Cubert and Dwight are similar in their intellect, precociousness, love of retro video games (really retro by the year 3002) and in being besieged by a bully, but the latter is less talkative and more chilled-out (as exemplified by him having no visible reaction to his best friend being sent flying by a mail tube), yet more business-minded: his immediate reaction to being presented with something new (always a fun way to tell us about a character) is to question its value as a product… while Cubert’s reaction to the same new thing is to use it for a prank.

As he demonstrated with Bender at the end of “A Clone of My Own”, Cubert hasn’t lost his fire in gaining respect for his father’s line of work: again, him addressing the Professor as “Dad” says a lot with few words, and remembering the context of his debut episode makes his “useless contraption” comment feel more like playful ribbing than genuine dismissal. Indeed Cubert spends much of the first act of this episode causing annoying-but-ultimately-harmless problems for the adults around him, along with Dwight, who evidently shares his interest in pranks. That interest of his wasn’t explicitly shown in his debut, but feels like a natural offshoot of his sarcastic sense of humour... and could also be chalked up to the change from the ultimate sheltered upbringing to a “normal” school environment. That in itself is a refreshing approach for the show to take: while probably done for simplicity’s sake, it shows that Cubert’s clone status is no barrier to him enjoying a normal childhood, as Leela’s orphan status was to her, or Bender’s robot status sometimes is to him sharing his adulthood with his organic friends (but the specifics of Cubert’s school life are more within the realm of speculation and headcanons, so I won’t dwell on them here).

Of course, the main thrust of “The Route of All Evil”’s plot is Cubert and Dwight’s business endeavour: Awesome Express. Again, I don’t need to analyse their motivations for founding their own delivery company too closely, because… well, Dwight outright states them in the episode.

Most people can relate, on some level, to wanting a loved one to be proud of them; a desire so universal is a perfect demonstration of Cubert’s newfound normality. It’s a sharp turn from his apparent superiority complex over his father and future employees in “A Clone of My Own”, but clearly one that made him happier: the permanent smug grin of his debut episode has given way to laughter at Hermes’ expense, casually sharing Dwight’s game console, celebrating their victory over Brett Blob (or rather his window)… I could list more, but you get the point. Enjoying the childhood that started twelve years too late without really dwelling on it feels like a natural evolution from where we left Cubert in season 2 – but not a wholesale change, as he still possesses the spark of madness he inherited from his father.

In the process of running Awesome Express, Cubert and Dwight make both upstanding and underhanded decisions: they have the prodigious business skills to quickly become more profitable than Planet Express, and rather than frivolously spending their earnings, they put them towards fair wages for their new employees Leela, Bender and Fry… and the absolutely vital flame decals for the ship.

Not all their decisions are that ethically sound or badass, though: Cubert and Dwight ultimately kick out and fire their fathers, respectively. Professor Farnsworth becoming homeless (though Hermes and LaBarbara are willing to at least temporarily put him up) as a result of his son’s hubris is another time I can see where Cubert’s haters are coming from, along with his moments of ableism directed at Leela’s vision problems and Fry’s… er, That Brain Thing – but karma swiftly comes down upon him and Dwight when they grow overconfident with their workload, leading to the first time we see Cubert cry on-screen (one of only two unambiguously canon times in the entire show) and the aforementioned admission of their motivations.

Luckily for the boys, their fathers recognise the purity of their motivations enough to forgive them for their questionable behaviour, and are quick to “do a little father-son weaselling out of this”. Professor Farnsworth and Hermes prove their love for their sons with actions, not words, solving their problem with the former’s arsenal of gadgets and the latter’s perfect aim as a “paper-man”... and ultimately put themselves through the ringer by attempting to fight the father of their sons’ bully, Mr. H. G. Blob. This one-sided “fight” results in slapstick humour, but also a show of Futurama’s emotional realism shining through its often cynical sensibilities.

This episode’s ending focuses more on “three fathers, enjoying a day out with their sons” as a group than Cubert or Dwight as individuals, but that in itself is a nice way to bring this duology of episodes full circle: Cubert is Professor Farnsworth’s son, no different from how Dwight and Brett are Hermes and H.G.’s sons. Perhaps he does fit into the abnormal, non-traditional family that is Planet Express after all.

fun fact: “Planet Espresso” dropped while I was still writing this post and it made “The Route of All Evil” hit different now I know Hermes in particular was working extra hard to end the cycle of parental neglect. not relevant to the whole “Cubert good” point but still interesting, at least to me

Now, you’re probably thinking that this is the part where I talk about “Bender Should Not Be Allowed On TV”, and… yeah. You’re technically right, I will briefly touch on it – but it won’t be complimentary.

Someone being “out of character” is a common complaint when it comes to TV show writing, but I’ll be completely honest: in my opinion, having Cubert, a character whose whole deal used to be questioning the status quo and authority figures (and in “The Route of All Evil” trying to surpass them), open the episode by admitting he and his equally precocious best friend want to mindlessly emulate what they see on TV goes beyond “out of character”. Cubert and Dwight’s intellectual-yet-rebellious nature would’ve served this plot perfectly, as it would’ve provided an opportunity for the writers to call attention to them not acting like themselves as a result of Bender’s influence – but the key gap between idea and execution is that the adults around them don’t treat their mindless viewing habits as something out of the ordinary for them. A simple “this isn’t like you” from the Professor or Hermes would’ve gone a long way, but as it is, it feels as though the boys’ past characterisation was intentionally ignored in order to more easily execute a storyline that could’ve been done in The Simpsons, with Bart and Milhouse succumbing to the allure of a newly-famous Homer’s bad influence.

In particular, the line “we can celebrate the day I extracted you from the cloning tank” kind of breaks my brain: we’ve seen that day in the show, and the more I go back to this episode, the more I feel like there’s nothing left of the Cubert the Professor extracted from the cloning tank – the one I just spent five pages analysing - in this specific Cubert (or the Dwight who crushed Planet Express with Dwight Lightning in this Dwight, for that matter). No scientific skills, no use of his trademark snort, no biting-but-good-natured jabs at his adult companions… nothing. To be fair, the episode does have a few nice ideas (the concept of a Growth Scraping Day itself, Tinny Tim becoming the third member of the kids’ friend group and them getting to do a little crime as a treat), but they’re so thoroughly surrounded by… well, everything else that I personally choose not to incorporate this episode into my mental picture of Cubert (or Dwight).

I’ll be the first to admit there are a lot of duds and weird writing choices among the post-revival episodes of Futurama, but I also think fans of the show have a tendency to put the Fox era on a pedestal while completely dismissing the later seasons - even though “Bender Should Not Be Allowed On TV” (along with “Bend Her” but that’s a rant for another time) proves that even season 4, often touted as the show’s peak, can be as guilty of bad characterisation or formulaic plots as the Comedy Central or Hulu eras. Conversely, season 6 in particular was flawed but did plenty of things right, and one of those things was using Cubert in interesting ways: “The Late Philip J. Fry” is the most famous example, but “A Clockwork Origin” and “Overclockwise” are both notable for succeeding at building on the foundation laid out in “A Clone of My Own” and “The Route of All Evil” - where Cubert’s last outing of the original run failed.

Whether that foundation was laid down intentionally or simply as a compromise between multiple creators, writers and directors that happened to meet a particular subjective reading, to me it’s an incredibly strong one: a fish-out-of-water who was abruptly thrust into the chaotic world of the 31st century but survives and thrives in his own funny, interesting, slightly unhinged way, just like Fry, Leela or Bender. Cubert isn’t for everyone, but I hope I’ve demonstrated why he resonated with me so much when I watched the show at his age, and why thinking of him as simply “the annoying kid” was… well, impossible.

This post is long enough as it is, so rather than analysing “The Late Philip J. Fry” (well, enough people have analysed that one already that I don’t really need to) and the two “clock” episodes of season 6, I’ll leave you with the suggestion to (re)-watch them yourself with an open mind… and to keep an eye out for Cubert in the Hulu run. As I alluded to at the top of this post, season 7 conspicuously pretended he didn’t exist outside of one dubiously canon skit, so maybe it’d be too much to hope for future seasons to explore him in detail… but as a wise old man and his son once said, nothing is impossible.

Not if you can imagine it.

THANK YOU FOR READING (or at least skimming) ALL THE WAY TO THE END OF THIS POST!!! as a reward for indulging my autism please treat yourself to a nice turducken spread with your found family. merry hulurama to all and to all a good night

[rey-jake-therapist]

headcanon: when galadriel talked about celeborn to theo back in season 1 she was actually trying to compartmentalize her worries/grief about halbrand

His name was the first one she screamed after she woke up and she even repeated after it

In my head she was holding on her husband's memory because she had already dealt with the grief of losting him so it was safe to evoke him whereas she needed to stay sane and calm about halbrand

tl;dr when galadriel remembered celeborn in season 1 she was trying to keep her feelings for halbrand in the back seat in fear that they would overwhelm her because she had a mission to accomplish so even in the only time he was mentioned it wasn't about him at all That's how important he is for her lol

she is so over him that can be detached from their shared past

I mean Theo asked her who else she lost in the war so I think her bringing up Celeborn at last made very much sense. The writers probably realized that the Tolkien audience would wonder about him, they HAD to say something about him ! 😂 the moment was also well chosen : everyone who looked at the previous episode with their eyes and not with their butt had seen that the moment that Galadriel and Halbrand shared on that log was deeply romantic, and could have even led to a kiss if they hadn't been interrupted (a classical romantic trope.... S1 Haladriel has all of them 😌).

Mentioning her husband and making the point across that Galadriel considered him "lost" (dead) was necessary at this point, for Galadriel to not look like a cheater. Not that it worked, if we refer to the number of people still clutching their pearls over a law they invented, where Elves love only once in their life and can never, ever catch feelings for anyone else than their spouse, even when said spouse is dead...

The way Galadriel talked about Celeborn always seemed off to me. I know it's assumed that they lived for hundred of years together before he disappeared, because of the books, but the show doesn't follow the book!lore. If they lived together for so long, why would she bring up the day they met ? Why not saying something about where they lived, about their life together, about how united they were ? Why is it the only time she talked about him ? Why doesn't she seem to miss him at all ?

Seriously, the way she talked about him it sounded like they had met and gotten married, then a few weeks later Celeborn left for war and never came back. I know his "fans" firmly believe that he'll make a heroic return in season 3 and that Galadriel will jump in his arms crying of happiness, and that we'll suddenly all stop shipping Haladriel* bc we'll be overwhelmed by their precious love but.... If it's really the showrunners' intention, they have a very strange way of showing it 🤣

Anywayyyyy I know it wasn't the subject of your ask, sorry..... This episode was very much Galadriel keeping everything inside. She really believed that Halbrand died, she also realized she had brought all these soldiers to their death, and she was completely heartbroken over it. But having to take care of a teenager who had presumably lost everything as well, she just held it all back. She had to. I think mentioning the memory of a past where she was happy, and where things just happened as they were meant to (being spotted dancing by a handsome and nice he-Elf, falling in love, getting married with him, etc.), gave her some sense of peace she terribly needed in that moment.

[galebrainrot2024]

Before the Orb

Having a bit of writers block and my irl job is ramping up so I haven't been as prolific as usual, so my peace offering is this vignette of Gale and You (Gender Neutral) about a week into your journey. Angst and Pining and Fluff! Thank you all for your support, patience, and kindness as you embark on writing with me <3

As Gale reclined against the base of the tree, patterns of the leaves danced in shadow across the paper. He tilted his head up, shifting slightly so his sketch book concealed his face - albeit, partially. He studied you, his pencil flicking with quick, subtle strokes and movements as he committed your face to memory. The way the light touched your features, how your skin shone with dew as the day went on, the way your hair got swept up in a breeze.

It had only been a tenday since you pulled Gale from the unstable portal. Gale was certain it would be his demise, that he would be an inconsequential bang in the footnotes of history, destined to die alone with not so much as his own thoughts for company. 

And then you came. A hand in the dark. A smirk tugged at his lips as he thought about how you slapped his hand first, a testament to your sense of humor that he was growing rather fond of. It wasn’t a vigorous slap - it was playful, light - the intention behind it clear. When your skin brushed against Gale’s it was sheer electricity. His heart thudded dramatically as he thought of his hand touching yours and he grumbled to himself, shifting again to conceal the blood that pumped between his thighs, stirring desire to life. 

He felt ridiculous. Here he was, death a near certainty what between the mindflayer and the orb and here he was daydreaming about holding your hand. Studying the back of it to memorize its patterns, the secrets etched into your knuckles and fingertips, the long, engraved lines of your palm. What he would give to feel the warmth of yours in his. 

“Gale?” 

He started, sitting upright clumsily so his sketchbook fell beside him with a thwack. Grimacing, he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to close the book. “Yes?” 

You eyed him curiously. As he gazed up at you, your body a silhouette, darkened by the sun behind you. He inhaled, his cells quivering as he took in your smell. It was one he was beginning to know, to anticipate. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, taking a seat beside him. Gale’s body seized. Certainly he couldn’t show you what he’d been working on, and he wasn't clear why you would you take the time to come sit with him. The rest of the companions nipped at your heels like stray, hungry kittens yet you sought him out. As his mind raced with endless what ifs, you interjected, a gentle grin on your face. “I didn’t mean to pry, I'm sorry, I can leave…” 

You tried to stand but Gale’s hand reached out to hold your arm before dropping it limply to his side as if he’d been electrocuted. What was he doing? The moment he felt his fingers wrap around your shirt, your skin taunted him beneath. He was ruined. His stomach lurched with dark hunger, the sudden carnal need to be held and touched by another, to touch and hold another. 

The orb festered greedily as his body responded to you, feeding on the sudden raw emotion and he felt sick sweat bead across his brow. He hadn’t told you about the orb, not yet, but he needed to and needed to soon. Magical items were just a few paces away, but he couldn’t - how selfish of a man would he be if he stole them? Then, he'd never have a chance to win you over - win you over? What was he thinking? It was frivolous, impossible... yet Gale let his imagination take him away, just for a little while.

He had yet to find the courage, but knew he desperately needed to tell you about the orb, it's hunger - he looked into your eyes, infinite pools that felt capable of unequivocal forgiveness, and he wondered if when he told you you would send him away. He wondered if you would understand. Although he wouldn't allow himself to think it, a part of him hoped you would.

So, instead of asking for an artifact to quell the raging maelstrom in his gut, he held your gaze in the stolen moment, a profound rush of chemicals to sustain him. To be a visceral memory when you would send him away. He needed to remember every part of you. 

[ilikekidsshows]

Do you think there's anything prior to s4 that foreshadowing Adrien status as senti?

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To put it simply, Anon: fuck no. I think there are a couple of coincidences the people who liked the theory latched onto and that they used to retroactively justify the writers’ lies that it was the intention all along. All of this stuff has another explanation. Adrien is allergic to feathers? No other Sentimonster is. Adrien and Sentibug both get called “perfect”? “Perfect” is a perfectly common word that suits a lot of situations perfectly. Adrien ads use a lot of feathers? They’re fucking white, Adrien has a recurring angel motif and anyone claiming otherwise is blind to patterns. Adrien does what Gabriel tells him to even when he doesn’t want to? HE’S BEING ABUSED BY THAT MAN. Why else would Emilie use the Peacock Miraculous when it killed her? Because she's an entitled rich asshole who thought she was above consequences. If Miraculous wanted to make “eat the rich” commentary, that's what they should have done. SentiAdrien also required reworking the Sentimonster lore to make the heroes killing them en masse okay.

What is far more compelling than the defenses of SentiAdrien is the fact that, after the long hiatus between seasons 3 and 4, Gabriel's body language changed completely, just like if something about his character had been changed. Gabriel used to hold tightly clenched fists behind his back, symbolizing his tight grasp on things he wants to control, especially his emotions. From the first episode of season four onward, almost like the writers couldn't contain themselves from including a new, fresh idea they’d had, Gabriel is suddenly constantly toying with this wedding ring, twisting it around like he's a neurodivergent kid and that ring is his favorite fidget toy.

Look, I know Miraculous gets a lot of flack for inconsistencies, but, like, some stuff is consistent. All the main characters used to have their own ways of moving. Adrien would pat people's shoulders, Marinette would wave her arms around, Gabriel would very rarely sit if he could get away with standing and he would clench his fists. These were simple, easy to remember ticks that strengthened the characterization. Adrien longs for human connections, Marinette is anxious and hyperactive and Gabriel never lets down his guard. In season 4, Gabriel's body language is suddenly: “Is Adrien a Sentimonster controlled by this ring? Come on, theorists, post about the theory a lot and do our marketing for us!”

The only explanation for Gabriel’s sudden change in body language is one of the writers had a tumblr when the theory got popular and got super excited to include this new idea as quickly and obviously as possible.

There’s also the fact to consider that the Miraculous crew has a very particular way of writing mysteries: they don’t. A mystery is a compelling question and “is” is not a compelling question. Basically the same rules apply as when picking a driving question for your essay: who, what, how, why and when are all good questions that will give you plenty to chew over while building your thesis. Yes or no questions, on the other hand, should be avoided at all costs, because the act of asking a yes or no question often already reveals the answer and ignores anything actually interesting about the phenomenon being studied.

I’m gonna be honest: when I first watched Miraculous, I had no idea Hawk Moth’s identity was supposed to be a mystery. I thought the answer was obvious on purpose because we were meant to wonder about the how and why. But, no, the why gets revealed as soon as the show confirms Gabriel is, indeed, Hawk Moth, because there’s so much focus on Emilie. There is only one possible thing Gabriel could want with the Miraculous, with no other options being presented to keep things interesting. Similarly, the show never asks: “Who is Hawk Moth?” because only one option is ever seriously presented with no other options being presented to keep things interesting. The question is: “Is Gabriel Hawk Moth?” and the answer is: “Yes, of course, because it couldn’t be anyone else.”

When you look at it in hindsight, this is also how the “Sentipeople” mystery gets presented to us. The only question the show asks about Sentimonsters and it asks it instantly at the start of season 4 is: “Is Adrien a Sentimonster?” and, like, the only answer is yes, because otherwise it wouldn’t get asked. However, the question is presented in a way that's only grasped by people already thinking along those lines, like Gabriel playing with his ring because it's now all of a sudden an Amok, which is why many people who weren't already convinced by the fan theory dismissed it. There are also no red herrings in this “mystery”, because every character to get any hint at them being a Sentimonster is revealed to be one. The Miraculous crew can’t write mysteries, so the existence of human Sentimonsters became obvious for the people already thinking along those lines as soon as they decided to include it.

This means, that, if this plotline was written for people who already thought SentiAdrien was a thing, the writers knew there were people thinking SentiAdrien was a thing. I'm saying the idea totally got taken from the fandom. And it's not surprising that the idea is stolen; Astruc's main character is a poor man's copy of the protagonist of the Dork Diaries book series, after all.

[wellofdean]

Okay now I’m wondering what they told Jensen about that ‘secret’ that Dean has because it wasn’t Dean’s need for a ‘normal’ life and relationship, so to speak, because we had the dream sequence with Lisa and the picnic in season 3 (not to mention Cassie), and Kripke was pretty open about how Sam and Dean both put on masks about what they want with women, Sam is the secretly horny one and Dean is a secret romantic. So the secret has to be something else. If it were to be his bisexuality, which given that his character is queercoded from the very beginning of season 1, isn’t implausible.

From what I’ve seen, there’s multiple ways they do this, sometimes they tell the actor the secret (that their character is queer) and the actor plays it that way. Sometimes they just tell them “okay your character has a secret” and don’t tell them what it is (see Jensen’s character, Eric on DOOL) and sometimes they don’t tell an actor at all and just write it that way.

Hypothetically if the secret was Dean’s bisexuality (I mean, Dean Moriarty, James Dean? very bisexual), and they hadn’t told Jensen, I wonder at what point he would’ve figured it out. Because as much as people like to rib him, he’s not stupid and he’s a very intentional actor (maybe that’s why him and kripke get along).

Anyways that ask got away from me lol, fascinating topic, it’s fun to still be learning things about the show 4 years after it ended.

That IS an interesting question... Linking to the posts that likely prompted it. I would bet that he knew it was part of the DNA of Dean that he was not straight. I think Jensen knew who Dean was named after, and probably knew or was told it would always be subtext, and also that Dean was closeted, so...not admitting it to himself. How could he in that family? I think he knew the character backstory and what the writers were working from.

We know Jensen doesn't read scripts too far ahead so that he isn't too influenced by what is coming and can react to Dean's moment cleanly, so...If I had to guess, he knew it was in there, but bisexuals are able to blend and play straight. But, I think he knew, because otherwise, why that face when Sam clocks him for being butch and over-compensating? Why his full clown approach to tropey women? Why do they so obviously contrast that to how Dean treats women who aren't performing femininity as hard as he is masc-ing? Why say Dean is a 'promiscuous guy' when he demonstrably isn't? Wherefore Jensen's 'who knows how Dean scares up money' headcanon? Wherefore A LOT of things, honestly.

And, let me just add that nothing I have ever heard or heard tell of Jensen saying actually contradicts this if you realize that what he does is basically refuse to comment on anything that has not been explicitly shown on the TV screen. So, someone point blank asks him: do you play Dean as queer? And Jensen says No. Ok. Yeah. Dean is not ready to admit that to himself and Dean's vessel plays him straight.

If he elaborates, hesitates or prevaricates AT ALL, then suddenly Dean is queer, and the secret character note is no more, and it would blow the ability to let that thread of Dean's story develop in response to events in the narrative. So...

I mean, I'm only guessing, but that's my guess.

[reallylilyreally]

1/ ? Alright long ask incoming. Preface is that normally I am the monarch of all lurkers - I do not directly engage because it is mortifying to be perceived etc. etc. So if this is unwelcome because I am a stranger, or not really what you are asking for, please disregard - I I love your writing so much I couldn't help but respond to your recent post! Regarding John Brady and second string: I have thoughts about how he and Benny may potentially stumble in finding their happily ever after, which

NONNY your 2/? didn't land so i have a GAP in our conversation...

3/? highly emotionally intelligent. He's able to not only identify how Johnny is feeling, but the likely cause (capable of understanding Johnny's thought patterns very early on!) and the appropriate response to alleviate Johnny's suffering as much as possible. SUCH GOOD WRITING. Your characterisation is so strong, honestly I'm in awe of how fully realised these are as your characters. Benny also comes to the realisation of being in love much sooner. However, at the end of "Better than flying"

4/? he seems hesitant to show all his cards, despite him thinking he's not hedging his bets- from Johnny's perspective : “He said he always thought the two of us were already clear on the fact that we're in love with each other,” Johnny says, and forces himself not to look away from Benny's face. There's a little flicker of tension along Benny's shoulders and then it drops away. “Is that what it is”; cf. Benny's internal understanding "He needs Johnny like he needs to breathe. He hadn’t noticed.

5/? Maybe because he doesn't want to scare Johnny off as their relationship shifts to the intentionally romantic? Benny needs Johnny like he needs to breathe. And he realises that. But he doesn't tell Johnny that. Consider also: "Johnny’s off-balance, unsteady. Benny steadies him. It’s his job. They make a lot of sense, standing next to each other. Benny’s starting to think he’s never going to make any sense by himself ever again." and "Benny wants a life like that so much it chokes him and he

6/? has absolutely no idea how he could make it happen. “It looked pretty good,” he says to Johnny, and his heart is fucking broken." John Brady on the other hand, is - for a man with such devastating depth of emotion- kind of emotionally detached when it comes to his self. He feels the huge weight of mother's sons on his shoulders, and acknowledges how that makes him feel. He feels the pain of the Bucks leading into the unknown of the wedding, and the absence of Biddick- he knows how this makes

7/? him feel and he is a reliable support (emotional and otherwise) for so many - but he struggles to articulate how *he* feels rather then how externalities affect him - I'm struggling to articulate this. Johnny doesn't appear to consciously realise the reason he's struggling on his return to civilian life is the absence of Benny, though subconsciously it appears to be a through-vein of his civilian thought patterns (have I mentioned you're a really good writer??) He also- don't hate me if this

8/ ? wasn't the intent! - doesn't appear to really pick up on the depth of Benny's PTSD. While he notes Benny going quiet on the phone, and at dinner after they first kiss, he doesn't seem to click to the quietness being Benny's loss of time- though he tries his best to help Benny through it. Compare with Benny noticing the minute John is 'gone'. Johnny mentally notices Benny making things easy (for him, Johnny), and implies Benny's ease overall, whereas Benny is actually really struggling too,

9/? and has been aching with uncertainty as to the depth of his love being requited. He thinks they're on the same page, but not sure enough to push. Ouch, hurts so good. There's potential for some really heartbreaking then heart-mending gentle conflict here and the most shivery-delicious affirmation of the depth of each other's feelings: Benny thinking his heart is in deeper, wondering how much of this is just helping John cope vs. love to the depth Benny knows *he* feels, compounded by John's

10/? 'still waters run deep' form of emotion. Benny thinks he sees Johnny so clearly, and he has been right to this point, but what if (through uncertainty, societal pressure, self-esteem ?) he misses Johnny matching him and thinks he's in the deep end alone. Unsure if he'll be left there once Johnny starts to recover from the war. Or John with two insecurities - the first being him thinking it (love) comes so easy to Benny, how deep can it really be for him? This is world-shaking for Johnny, he

11/? didn't realise it could be like this, but Benny makes it look so easy. Are they on the same level? And the second being, what are the boundaries to Benny's tolerance for John's behaviour when it's just them? Johnny is struggling, he may feel like a bit of a burden, and from my reading it may be manifesting as anger issues (the irrational anger Johnny showed towards Bucky on the phone during 'Better than Flying') when he's unsure or caught wrong-footed- if that anger is ever seriously expressed

12/? towards Benny, it'd break them both a bit I think. Benny feeling emotionally slighted, John sure that he'll hit a limit to Benny's perceived "easy" love. To watch either of them feeling uncertain of their place in the other's heart, but to have the other then choose them all over again and soothe the uncertainty, *chef's kiss*. A dynamic I love is one you tend to see with writing about the Buck's, from Carson's Euripedes: I’ll take care of you /It’s rotten work /Not to me. Not if it’s you.

13/14 Lastly - the whole sequence in chapter 2 of "Little better than the one" where Bunny questions his place with Nix and Dick (from the misinterpretation of Dick's: “Bunny,” he says, and his voice is low and serious. “We have to leave for the office in five minutes. But we need to talk about this. I can’t keep pretending that…”) where Tab spirals through the loss of his happily ever after, makes up the spare bed, and then is so sweetly emotionally affirmed was like absolute catnip to me.

14/ END Ooh you have self worth issues baby boy? Let's expose them, and then reveal just how loved you are! Delicious. Do that to Benny and Johnny. Sorry this is so long. Thanks for the opportunity to reread all your writing. Would you believe I trimmed this down a lot? Treating your fics like literature, in this essay I will...! In conclusion your writing is phenomenal.

Oh my GOD i am in your fucking walls about this, this is an insanely detailed and insightful reading and projection of their dynamic, and I cannot TELL you how wonderful it is to read through and digest.

Some of your points are so fucking intriguing to me because they reveal the different ways things land for different people - RE Benny and Johnny having different understandings of their love, for example. In my mind, Benny is *sure* that Johnny loves him just as much in return. What he's not confident of is how much Johnny is aware of that, and how comfortable he is with it. He's aware that Johnny's really bad at being scared, and that's actually something I'm exploring in the fic I'm writing at the moment, how they both deal with the risk of what they're doing, and how their reactions to things differ and how that causes conflict. There's a lot of hot shit in your asks that I wanna pull in, too.

Jesus, i can't tell you how much this means to me. Thank you. I'm so glad you've enjoyed second string, it's one of my favourite pieces, and i ADORE your shoutout to my forever babe, the BunWinNix ot3.

Nonny i wanna invite you to a dinner party and feed you fancy bread. You're the best.

[roguishcat]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you very much for tagging me @fangbangerghoul! ❤️

This is something I am working on for Augustarion Day 3 - Apron. It is smut and in spite of it being nearly finished, I am not sure if I have the guts to post it. Smut writers should get more credit for their work. Because it is more nerve-racking than posting regular stuff! Like, is this hot? Is this weird? Is it kinda hot in a weird way? Or it is just boring and in a way that it is just the worst. Anyways, this part does not include anything smutty. Just Astarion being up to no good.

Eyes narrowing, you took another look at your companions. Astarion, whose idea of fun was pestering you when you were busy with something else, was your main suspect. Especially seeing as how he, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be really, really into his book. The book that you were sure you saw him read before.

With a huff, you turned back to the task at hand. If Astarion wanted something from you, he would probably tell you soon enough.

Minutes later, you heard him snap the tome closed as your vampire finally decided to come to you. You were chopping up vegetables for stew when Astarion approached you.

“Hello my sweet. Busy?” he all but purred, arms encircling your waist as he laid his chin on your shoulder.

“Not too busy to talk to you. How can I help?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything in particular. It’s just you know how much I enjoy seeing you handling a blade. And I am in a mood for a lovely chat with your lovely self.”

“Sounds… nice?”

“I can be very nice. In fact, I was nice enough to notice how tense you have been for the past several days. Travelling rough taking a toll on you, hm?”

“I suppose,” you frowned, not sure where exactly Astarion was going with this line of questioning. You felt as if he was toying with you, which he often was, leading you to say whatever it was that he wanted to hear, which you were probably about to do.

“You know how much I hate seeing you in such a state. And that got me thinking, how about I offer you a little stress relief? Just to make sure that you are in tiptop shape for all the adventuring that lies ahead, of course,” he ran his hand down your side, lifting your shirt a little to press his palm against your skin.

“Astarion,” you sighed with a smile, “if you want to get me alone and out of my pants, you have to wait till later. I can’t just let dinner burn because you are bored and wanting a stress relief of your own.”

“Tsk, you are no fun.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Luckily for you, my dear, you are in a relationship with the most creative lover!” he boasted, exposing his fangs in a cheeky smile. “You don’t even have to move, I will take care of everything. In fact,” he breathed down your neck, making a shiver run down your spine, “I will not even touch you, in a way.”

You frowned, wondering what he was up to.

Seeing your confusion, he whispered his plan into your ear. Your face flushed from the mere suggestion.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Astarion!”

“My dear, this is happening. The only choice you get in the matter is whether you get to preserve a bit of your modesty.”

Completely no pressure tags: @ladyduellist, @nyx-knox,

@inkymoonbunny, @silent-words, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@waterdeep-weavemoss, @orangekittyenergy, @khywren