#i love finding out about other people's oc's

[dirgecomic]

It’s hard out there guys. I’m autistic with a heavy dose of ADHD and Bipolar and I’m an AFAB Trans person. My partner also used a wheelchair for a high level sci. The current ‘politics’ has been really scare to check in with as the classify people I love as parasites and tell me and other like me we aren’t wanted in society etc.

But then I come here or to my community and friends and I’m reminded that we all exist in huge numbers all over. And community is just a big emotional post or cute fan drawing away.

I haven’t posted much art lately, I have been in a slump but the sun is coming back and I’m finding ways to involve myself In activism which is a nice feeling because sometimes it’s easy to feel helpless against it all.

If the world is getting you down and you just wanna show off your art or gush about an oc or have someone say they love you, feel free

To stop by my page. I’ll tell you I love your art, your talented and I’m glad your around.

The 'all lives matter' MAGA pro-lifers are a Christofascist eugenics movement.

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY 4 • JEY USO

author's note: hello my loves! we have made it to part four🫨 I am not gonna lie to you...this ending is gonna hurt(i'm sorry!☹️) but I promise you it will be worth it for part five, happy reading and I hope you enjoy💗

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise aka candy)

tags: 18+(MDNI), slow burn, flirty banter, fluffy lovey dovey shit, mentions of death, mention of miscarriages, talks of past predatory behaviors and grooming, use of the n word, teasing, kissing, lots of touching, lotsssss of dirty talk, pussy eating, jey is a certified munch ™, daddy kink, morning sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys!), missionary, backshots, biting, fingering, spanking, multiple orgasms, daddy kink, pet names ( pretty girl, baby, mama, baby girl ), slow, sensual, and rough sex, squirting, creampie, aftercare, heavy angst at the end.

word count: 7k words (buckle up y'all🤫)

read part one here!

read part two here!

read part three here!

soundtrack playlist

Cherise stretched under the warm weight of her blanket, her body still heavy with sleep, her limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly like vanilla and something masculine. Something like…

Jey.

She blinked against the morning sun filtering through her blinds,  wincing at the delicious soreness between her thighs. The memories of the night before rushed back all at once—his hands gripping her waist, his deep, filthy groans in her ear, the way he held her after, like he didn’t wanna let her go.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a pleasurable throb still lingering between them from the way he’d taken her apart.

Damn.

A small, satisfied smile started to creep onto her lips as she reached out across the bed…only to find his side empty.

Cold.

The smile faded instantly.

Of course.

Cherise exhaled, sinking back into the pillows as disappointment settled in her stomach. She should’ve known better, should’ve expected this. Jey had his life, his own world full of championship belts, WrestleMania main events, and people screaming his name in sold-out arenas. He wasn’t about to change that for some stripper he met in a club.

And yet…

She bit her lip, staring at the empty space beside her, willing herself to accept it for what it was.

A good night. A great night even. Nothing more.

She could handle that.

Probably.

With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her side, fingers mindlessly smoothing over the fabric of the sheets then suddenly, the faint sound of something clinking in the other room made her freeze.

Her brows furrowed.

“What the hell?” she muttered to herself. Before she could even sit up, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

Jey standing in her doorway holding a breakfast tray. Shirtless, grey sweatpants on, tattoos on full display, chains sparkling around his neck in the morning light like he belonged in a damn perfume ad.

He grinned when he saw her. That lazy, cocky grin that made her stomach flip in the most annoying way.

“Mornin’, mama,” he drawled, stepping inside like he hadn’t just nearly given her a damn heart attack. “You sleep good?”

Cherise blinked, her brain still trying to process what was happening.  “You’re… still here?” Jey smirked, setting the tray down on the nightstand before climbing back into bed, stretching out like he owned the place. “Damn, ma. That how you greet a man who made you breakfast?”

She shot him a look, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable.  “…You made breakfast?”

“Hell yeah. I ain’t no scrub, baby.” He tapped the tray. “Eggs, turkey bacon, French toast, lil’ fruit on the side ‘cause I know you tryna be healthy and shit. I even found some syrup in your cabinet, so go ‘head and give me my props.”

Cherise huffed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

Jey’s grin widened, eye crinkling.  “I know.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up, the sheet slipping slightly off her shoulders as she reached for the tray. Jey’s gaze dipped for half a second on her shirt covered torso before he licked his lips and focused back on her face.

“Mmm, baby, you gon’ have me forgettin’ about this food real quick…”

Cherise laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder before picking up a fork.  “Eat some damn breakfast, Joshua.”

Jey smirked but grabbed his own fork, stealing a piece of bacon off her plate like a menace.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jey occasionally stealing more of her food while she pretended not to care (but she cared, the audacity.).

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“So, tell me somethin’ real, baby girl.”

Cherise glanced up mid-bite. “Like what?”

Jey tilted his head, watching her. “Like you. Who really is Cherise?”

She hesitated, stabbing at a piece of fruit with her fork. “You already know me.”

“Not really,” Jey murmured, chewing a piece of bacon. "You don’t talk much about you."

Cherise raised a brow. "I talk plenty."

"Nah," he shook his head. "You talk around shit. I be tellin’ you everything, but you always keepin’ me at arm’s length."

Cherise bit her lip.

She didn’t talk about herself much. Wasn’t used to people caring enough to ask. But something about how Jey gave his undivided attention to her, seeing her for who she is outside of the fantasy she created..he made it hard for her to hide.

Then, between bites, he asked “What made you wanna be a nurse, baby?”

Cherise hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him.  It was just…no one had asked in a while. No one had cared to ask.

She exhaled. “My mom.”

Jey tilted his head.

“She died giving birth to me,” Cherise said quietly, rolling her fork between her fingers. “Preeclampsia. The doctors didn’t catch it early enough.”

Jey stilled, setting his plate down.  “Damn, baby…I’m so sorry.”

Cherise managed a small smile. “She knew it was a risk, though. She had a few miscarriages before me, but I guess she thought she’d be okay. She wasn’t. That’s…part of why I became a nurse. I always wanted to help women, especially Black women get better care. Too many babies goin’ home without their mama y’know?”

Jey was silent, watching her carefully, his fingers tracing idle circles into her thigh. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush her. Just let her talk.

“She wrote letters to me. One for each birthday up to twenty-one.  Always felt like she was still with me somehow.”

He nodded solemnly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “That's beautiful. That’s why you got that soft heart under all that tough girl shit, huh?”

She snorted, nudging him. “Hush. Anyway, her favorite craving was cherries when she was pregnant. Ate ‘em like crazy. So she named me Cherise. It’s French for cherry.”

Jey smiled softly. “That’s cute. Fits you, too.”

“Yeah? How?”

He smirked playfully, fingertips drifting lower down her spine. “Sweet, but a lil tart when you wanna be.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Boy, bye.”

He chuckled, then turned serious again.  “So your pops…?”

“Died when I graduated high school,” she murmured softly.  “Just been me since. Had a boyfriend years ago but I had to end it. Been navigatin’ the world alone for a minute.”

Jey shook his head. "Not no more, baby girl."

She looked at him then, eyes locking with his, her heart stupidly skipping a beat.

"Jey-“

"Nah." His voice was firm. "I mean that shit. You ain’t alone no more, mama. I gotchu, you hear me?"

Cherise pressed her lips together, trying not to let that get to her. But damn it…it did.

Jey then leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.  “Aight, my turn. What you wanna know?”

Cherise tapped her chin, smirking. “If you weren’t wrestling, what would you be doing?”

Jey didn’t even hesitate.  “Easy, football coach.”

Her brows lifted.  “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Played linebacker in college. I was good, too.  Almost went pro, but…fucked up my shoulder.” He shrugged.  “Still love the game, though. Wouldn’t mind coachin’ one day when I retire.”

Cherise hummed, watching him. “I can see that. You got that whole ‘Coach Carter’ vibe going on.”

Jey smirked. “Oh, you peeped that, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Boy, shut up.”

Jey chuckled, then his gaze dipped back to her lips. “Mmm…you got work or school today?”

Cherise blinked. “I’m off, why?”

Before she could finish, Jey laid her down on her back, his body pressing her into the mattress, his lips trailing hot kisses down her throat.

“‘Cause I need you again, baby,” he murmured against her skin.

Her breath hitched.  “Boy—”

His mouth was on hers before she could even get another smart remark out, swallowing whatever little control she thought she had.  He kissed her deep, slow, but possessive, like he was trying to brand her with every slide of his tongue, every bite of her lips.

Cherise whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading into the short curls at the nape of his neck, pulling just enough to make him groan against her lips.

"Mm, you like when I kiss you like that, huh?" Jey smirked against her mouth, his voice low, taunting, his hands sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her face just the way he wanted.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Her body did all the talking.

She was already soft and pliant beneath him, her thighs spreading just a little more on their own, her back arching when he slid his hands down her waist, gripping the soft curve of her hips.

Jey chuckled darkly.  "Mmm, I love that shit," he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, slow, teasing, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her throat.  "You talk all that shit, but soon as I touch you, you foldin’ on me, huh?"

Cherise hated how much she liked the way he was playing with her.

"I ain’t foldin'," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, breathier, already betraying her.

Jey hummed, amused, his tongue flicking out against her pulse before biting down, hard enough to make her whimper.

"Nah?" His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp heat of her panties, feeling the warmth that was already seeping through the fabric.  "So what’s this, then, huh? Why you already drippin’ on me, pretty girl?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Jey-“

"Nah, tell me." His lips dragged down her collarbone, slow, teasing, his fingers just barely pressing against her through the thin lace. "You get wet for me that fast, baby?"

She bit her lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction.

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, knowing she was fighting it, knowing she was stubborn.  But she was already squirming, her body betraying her, her hips subtly rolling into his teasing touch.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice smug. "Go ‘head, open up for me, baby."

Cherise sighed through her nose, hating herself for listening to him.

But she let her thighs part a little more.

Jey smirked against her skin. “Good girl."

Before she could say something smart, he was gone.

Sliding down, settling between her legs, dragging her panties down slow.

"Mmm, damn, mama…"

Cherise swore her whole body clenched at the way his voice dropped, dark and heavy with heat, his gaze locked between her thighs like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Jey licked his lips, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them even wider. "Shit, baby girl… look at you," he murmured, running a thumb over her slick folds. "All this for me?"

Cherise whimpered, her hips jerking at the first press of his fingers.

Jey groaned.  "Ohhh, baby…" He dragged a finger through the mess between her thighs, slow, teasing, coating his fingertips before pressing them against her clit. "Look how fuckin’ wet you are, damn."

Cherise shuddered..“Stop playin’ Jey c’mon…”

"Shhh, mama. I got you," he hushed her. "Lemme take care of you, baby girl."

And then he lowered his mouth on her. A sharp, shattering gasp ripped from Cherise’s throat the second his tongue flattened against her clit, licking slow, deliberate, his grip on her thighs tightening.

"Ohhh, fuck..”

Jey hummed into her, sending vibrations straight through her. “Mmm, yeah, there we go, baby." He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. “Can’t get over how sweet this lil’ pussy is.”

Cherise couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe even.

Her thighs trembled against his broad shoulders as his tongue moved with expert precision flicking, swirling, sucking, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves until her stomach tightened and her breath hitched.

Jey groaned against her, devouring her like a man starved, his tongue dipping lower, fucking into her tight hole slowly before dragging back up to her clit.

"J-Jey—"

"Mmm, that’s right, baby, say my name." He gripped her thighs, pulling her even closer to his mouth. "Let me hear you, pretty girl."

Cherise whimpered, her head tipping back against the pillows. "Oh my God…”

"Mmm, yeah, you like that, huh?" He chuckled darkly, his fingers replacing his tongue, sliding into her pussy, curling just right against that spot that made her back arch.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Go ‘head, mama," he groaned, his lips wrapping around her clit again, sucking just hard enough to push her over the edge. "Lemme feel you cum for me, baby."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, her thighs shaking, her mouth parting in a breathless cry as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she squeezed around his fingers, the way she soaked his hand.  "Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl, look at you… So fuckin’ pretty when you cum."

Cherise twitched, her entire body buzzing, her fingers tangled tight in his curls.

Jey sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil himself.

"Mmm, damn, mama…" He kissed her inner thigh, voice thick and lazy.  "You taste even better than I remember."

Cherise exhaled shakily, blinking up at the ceiling, barely processing what the fuck just happened.

Jey crawled back up her body, his hands pinned to her thighs, his hard, heavy length pressing against her, teasing, waiting.

"You ready for me, baby?"

Cherise nods eagerly.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers. ”Gimme words… you ready, mama?"

Cherise swallowed hard, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Mhm."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, sliding slowly inside her, stretching her open inch by inch. "Fuck, baby…" 

"Ohhh, fuck—" Cherise’s nails dug into Jey’s broad shoulders, her breath stuttering as he sank into her slow, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her legs trembling around his waist.

Jey groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his fingers tightening around the plush curves of her hips. "Mmm, shit, mama… You feel that? You feel how deep I am?"

Cherise’s lips parted, but no sound came out, just a breathy whimper, her mind hazy from the pressure, the way he was spreading her open, filling her too good.

"Mmm, yeah…" Jey shuddered, his abs flexing as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself completely inside her. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby… all this dick, huh?"

And she sure did take him good. 

She felt every pulsing, throbbing inch of his cock stretching her walls, pressing into her so deep that she swore she could feel him in her damn stomach.

Cherise whimpered, her head tilting back against the pillows.  “J-Jey..”

"Shhh…" Jey pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling back just slightly, only to thrust back in slow, deliberate. "I got you, baby girl. Just relax and lemme feel you.”

He rolled his hips slow, deep, grinding into her, making sure she felt every inch, making sure she took it.

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Ohhh my God—"

Jey chuckled darkly, lifting his head to watch her.  "Mmm, you talkin’ to Him, but I’m the one blessin’ you right now, pretty girl."

Her cheeks burned, but she had no smart comeback—not when he was stroking into her like that.

"You know what’s crazy, mama?" he murmured, his voice smooth and taunting. "You act all tough, all independent… but soon as I get up in this lil’ pussy, you turn into my good lil’ girl, huh?"

Cherise whimpered, her breath coming out in soft, needy gasps.  “S-shut up..”

Jey smirked, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. "Nah, baby, you love that shit, huh?You like when Daddy talk to you like this? Like when I tell you how good you takin’ me?” 

"J-Jey—"

"That’s right." He pressed a kiss to her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin.  "Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you say my name, baby girl."

Cherise couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do shit but take it as Jey moved above her, his body pressed so close, his weight anchoring her to the bed.

"Ohhh, fuck—" she gasped, gripping his biceps as he pulled back, leaving only the thick tip of him inside her, and snapped his hips hard, the sudden force making her moan loud and sharp.

"Mmm, yeah, there we go…" Jey grinned, his fingers gripping her waist, holding her still so she could feel every inch as he set a slow, deep rhythm. "You like that, baby? You like when I fuck you just like this?"

Cherise could barely form words just desperate, breathy whimpers, her body trembling with each slow, heavy thrust.

Jey groaned.  "Damn, baby girl, you fuckin’ squeezin’ me…" His jaw clenched, his pace faltering for half a second as he felt the way her walls clenched tight around him. "Shit, you tryna make me nut already?"

Cherise whimpered, her head spinning from the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming pleasure building between her thighs.  "Jey, I—"

"Ohhh, baby…" He groaned, gripping her waist, his pace turning rougher, deeper, his hips snapping into hers, pushing her higher “and higher. You ‘bout to cum for me, huh?"

“Yesss Daddy, fuck—“

"Go ‘head, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb pressing right against her swollen clit, circling slow, knowing exactly what it would do to her.  "Lemme feel it.  Cum all on this dick, mama."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through her like a wave, her back arching, her mouth parting in a wrecked, breathless cry.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—fuck!"

Jey groaned, feeling the way she clenched up around him, the way she soaked him, dripping down his thighs, leaving a messy, filthy wet spot beneath them.

"Mmm, that’s my girl," he murmured, gripping her chin, tilting her face up so she could see him.  "Look at me, baby."

Cherise barely had the strength to open her eyes, but when she did…The way he looked at her with such admiration, sweet brown eyes shining down on hers with lust , made her body shudder.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers, teasing, taunting.  "Yeah, that’s right, mama.  You feelin’ good now, huh?"

Cherise nodded, her body shaking beneath him.  "Mhm…"

"Mmm…" Jey smirked, loving the way she was already falling apart under him. "That’s cute, mama.  But we ain’t done yet."

Before she could even process what he meant, Jey sat back on his heels, grabbing her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. Cherise gasped, her cheek pressing into the pillows as he hauled her hips up, angling her exactly how he wanted.

"Mmm, there we go…" Jey ran his hands over her ass, squeezing, gripping, spreading her open before lining himself back up. "You gon’ take this dick just like that, huh, baby?"

Cherise whimpered, pressing her face into the sheets.  “Yes Daddy..”

"Uh-uh." Jey smirked, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to lift her head. "Keep that pretty lil’ face up for me, mama. Lemme see you."

He tapped the head of his cock against her sensitive folds gaining a few whines from her, then he pressed back inside her.

"Ohhh, fuck Daddy!”  Cherise’s entire body trembled as Jey filled her up again, the new angle making it deeper, making her feel every inch of him.

"Mmm, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby…" Jey groaned, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he started to move—slow at first, long, deep strokes that made her thighs shake.

“P-please…“ She mewled softly, hips bucking from overstimulation at her previous orgasms.

"Uh-huh, I know, baby." His free hand smacked her ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt straight to her clit. "I know you sensitive now, huh?  This what you needed, baby girl?"

Cherise whimpered, her body arching back into him.  "Mmhmm…"

"Mmm, that’s right…" He grinned, rubbing over the spot he just slapped, his fingers trailing up her spine.  "Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, mama. This my pussy now, huh?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.

And then he slapped her ass again.

"Answer me, baby."

"Y-yeah fuck! Yes, Jey it’s yours!”

“Damn right."

Jey’s movements turned rougher, his hips snapping against hers, deep and unrelenting, his thick cock dragging against her most sensitive spots, making her whimper with every stroke.

"Mmm, I love this shit, baby girl…" His voice was low, dark, husky.  "Love watchin’ you take this dick. Love hearin’ you sing for me, mama."

"Ohhh fuck,” Cherise gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as heat coiled tight in her stomach.  "J-Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Mmm, I know, baby girl." He snapped his hips harder, his grip tightening on her waist. "Gon’ give me another one, huh? Gon’ make another mess for me, honey?”

Cherise cried out, her entire body clenching up as the pleasure exploded inside her, her thighs shaking as she came hard, gushing around him.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she soaked his dick, the way she clamped around him.  "Ohhh, fuck, baby…"

His hips stuttered, his rhythm turning erratic as his own release slammed into him.  "Shit baby, you gon’ take this nut, baby, fuck—"

With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud as he filled her up, his arms wrapped around her waist, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.

"Mmm, fuck, baby girl…"

Cherise’s body trembled, her breath shaky, her limbs weak.

Jey chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder.  "Yeah…it’s a good morning now huh, mama?”

Cherise exhaled, her lips curving into a tired smirk.  "Guess so."

♡

Jey should’ve been gone thirty minutes ago.

His phone had vibrated on the nightstand twice, his lock screen lighting up with a text from Jimmy talking about, “Uce, where the fuck you at? You got training.”

But Jey?

Jey was still cozied up in Cherise’s bed.

Still tangled in her sheets, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck like he wasn’t supposed to be halfway across town by now.

Cherise sighed, running her fingers through his curls.  "Joshua…"

Jey hummed, lips pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder.  "Mmm?"

"Ain’t you late?" she teased, her voice still groggy from earlier events, still soft from everything they’d just done.

Jey smirked against her skin, nuzzling closer, pulling her body back against his chest.  "I’on care."

Cherise rolled her eyes.  “Hunter gon’ care when you walk in there late as hell, smellin’ like me."

Jey chuckled, his lips trailing up her neck, slow, teasing.  "And what if I like smellin’ like you, baby?"

Cherise’s stomach flipped.

She bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Boy, get up and shower.”

"Mm-mm." Jey tightened his grip. "I think I like it right here, mama."

Cherise sighed, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to push him off.

Because if she was being honest?

She liked it too.

Liked how warm he was. How comfortable this felt.

Jey sighed against her skin, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before finally rolling onto his back, stretching with a deep groan.  "Damn, baby girl… you really tryna kick me out?"

"I ain’t kickin’ you out." Cherise smirked, propping herself up on one elbow.  "I’m just reminding you that you a whole WWE superstar and you got shit to do."

Jey grinned, reaching over to smack her ass, his fingers squeezing deep into the plush curve of her thigh. "Mmm, you right… but damn, you really got me tryna call out today."

Cherise laughed, pushing at his chest. "Go to work, Jey."

"Aight, aight…" He finally sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching again before standing.

Cherise immediately missed the warmth of him.

She watched as he padded toward the bathroom, completely naked, stretching his muscles with a lazy yawn.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Thick ass…"

Jey heard that.

He smirked over his shoulder, flexing just a little as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I know you watchin’, mama."

Cherise huffed, rolling her eyes.  "Boy, shut up."

♡

Jey stood at the front door, finally dressed, his duffle bag tucked under one arm. Cherise leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to look like she was already missing him.

Jey tilted his head, his eyes roaming over her, lazy, warm, teasing.  "Damn, baby, why you lookin’ at me like you mad?"

Cherise rolled her eyes.  "I’m not mad."

Jey smirked, stepping closer, his fingers tilting her chin up. "Mmm, you mad I gotta leave, huh?"

"Boy, please."

"Awww, look at you, baby girl…" He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek.  "You catchin’ feelings for me?"

Cherise pushed at his chest, laughing.  "Joshua, if you don’t get the fuck out my apartment…”

Jey chuckled, but his hands didn’t leave her hips. “Say you gon’ miss me, baby girl."

Cherise lifted a brow. "You that desperate for validation?"

Jey grinned, making her heart skip a beat. "Ain’t nothin’ desperate ‘bout it, mama.  I just like hearin’ you say it."

Cherise sighed dramatically, shaking her head.  "Fine." She grabbed his keys and tossed them for him to catch  "I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey caught the key with one hand, placing them in his pocket.  "Damn, that was real unenthusiastic, baby."

Cherise smirked. "Want me to write it in a love letter?"

"Nah, just say it nice for me, baby girl." Jey stepped closer, his lips brushing her jaw, his voice dropping to that slow, deep rasp.  "Say it real sweet, mama."

Cherise shivered, biting her lip.

Jey smirked, sensing her resolve melting.

"Mmm, yeah, there it go." He chuckled, low, smug. "You gon’ miss me, huh?"

Cherise sighed, knowing she lost this round. "Yeah, Jey. I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey grinned, pressing his lips to her forehead.  "That’s what I like to hear, baby girl."

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach flipped.

Jey stepped back, adjusting his duffle bag, glancing down at her one last time.  "You be good, aight?"

Cherise smirked.  "I ain’t makin’ no promises."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head.  "That’s my girl."

And then he finally stepped out the door.

Cherise watched him go, arms still crossed, fighting the little smile pulling at her lips.

Then she glanced at the couch.

Where his hoodie wasn’t.

She blinked.

…Did she just—

Her stomach flipped.

She turned quickly, grabbing the hoodie from where she definitely hid it behind her back, clutching the thick, warm fabric to her chest.

Her lips twitched.

"Oh well."

Jey could worry about it later.

Cherise sighed as she finally shut the door, pressing her back against it.

Her body still buzzed from Jey’s touch, from the way he had looked at her before he left, from the way he kissed her forehead like she was his—like he would be back.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she pushed off the door, running a hand through her braids.

She needed to clean up.  Maybe take another shower. Definitely eat again after the way Jey had worked her out—

Her eyes landed on the coffee table.

And she stopped.

Her books.

Her notes.

Her pens.

All of it was… organized.

Neatly stacked, everything in place, her color-coded highlighters lined up in a perfect little row.

Her heart skipped.

Because she knew she hadn’t done that.

Cherise slowly stepped toward the table, fingertips grazing the newly arranged pages.

Jey had done this.

Somewhere between ruining her and making her breakfast, he had organized her damn study materials.

She swallowed, blinking down at the neatly stacked notebooks.

She didn’t know why that made her chest feel so… warm.

So full.

It was just a small thing.

But it wasn’t.

Because nobody ever took care of her like that.

Nobody ever stuck around long enough to.

Cherise exhaled, dropping onto the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she finally let herself smile.

And then she reached for her phone.

She had one person she needed to call.

She curled up on the couch, still wrapped in Jey’s hoodie, pulled the thick fabric over her bare thighs, and tapped Trinity’s contact.

The phone barely rang twice before Trin picked up.

“Uh-uh, girl don’t even start."

Cherise blinked, her lips parting.  "Huh?"

"I know that ‘I just got my shit rocked’ voice when I hear it." Trinity’s tone was smug as hell.  "And you sound real damn relaxed, sis. What, Jey put you to sleep?"

Cherise groaned, pressing the phone to her forehead.  "Why do you know my life?"

"‘Cause I know you," Trinity cackled. "Now spill, Cher. Did he put it down or did he put it down?"

Cherise sighed dramatically, a slow, lazy grin creeping across her face.  "Girl."

"Oh, it was like that?!" Trinity gasped, her voice full of amusement.

"Like that," Cherise confirmed, shaking her head.  "I can still feel him, Trin."

“Well then-“ Trinity cackled. "Not my girl walkin’ funny. Jey did not lay you out like that!"

"He did, though!" Cherise buried her face in Jey’s hoodie, muffling a groan. "And then this man had the audacity to cook me breakfast, like he wasn’t just rearranging my spine six hours ago."

"Not the full boyfriend experience!" Trinity squealed, the sound of something clattering in the background.  "Damn! I knew he was feelin’ you, but that’s some real husband behavior."

Cherise bit her lip, stomach flipping.  "You think so?"

"Girl, yes!" Trinity scoffed.  "You think Jey cookin’ breakfast for everybody he smashin’? Nah, sis. You different."

Cherise felt warmth bloom in her chest, but she quickly shook it off, rolling her eyes. "You say that, but this man still play too much."

"Oh, what he do now?"

"Girl, tell me why I was dead ass thinking he dipped before I woke up?" Cherise huffed.  "I reached over, and his side of the bed was empty, and I was like, ‘Welp, I knew what it was.’ But then he walked in with a whole ass breakfast tray like some kinda domesticated Samoan husband."

"Bitch, I know you was ready to be sick!" Trinity cackled.

"I was," Cherise admitted, groaning.  "Like, I was really tryna play it cool in my head, but deep down I was hurt, Trin. Thought he hit me with the ‘Aight, I’mma head out’ after all that."

"See, that’s how I know you like him!"

"I didn’t say all that—"

"Girl, shut up!  You don’t gotta say it!  It’s in your voice!  The way you was feelin’ when you thought he left?  The way you just admitted you was gonna accept it, but deep down you didn’t want to?"

Cherise was quiet.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought," Trinity said smugly.

Cherise groaned again, tugging the hoodie tighter around her.  "I hate when you’re right."

"Mmm-hmm. And I be right a lot."

"Don’t hype yourself up, damn."

Trinity laughed. "Nah, but for real, Cher… You think this could be somethin’?"

Cherise chewed her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t even know, Trin."

"Why not?"

"‘Cause what if I get caught up in it?" Cherise exhaled, her voice quieter now.  "What if I start really feelin’ him, and then he just… disappears?"

"Aht aht, see—" Trinity clicked her tongue. "You do that every time, Cherise.  You don’t even let yourself have shit ‘cause you always think it’s gon’ get taken away."

"And has it not?" Cherise challenged, her voice sharper than she intended.  "Trin, every time I start trusting somebody, every time I let myself think maybe… they prove me right.  People leave."

A beat of silence.

Then, Trinity sighed.  "I get it, Cher. I really do. But girl… what if he don’t?"

Cherise’s chest tightened.

She wanted to believe that.

She wanted to believe Jey was different.

But did she really want to risk being wrong?

"I dunno, Trin," she murmured.  "I don’t wanna overthink it."

"Then don’t," Trinity said simply.  "Just feel it. Enjoy it. And if it turns into somethin’ real, then it was meant to."

Cherise sighed, running a hand down her face.  "I hate that you make sense."

"I know," Trinity teased.  "Now, tell me somethin’—"

"Hmm?"

"You kept his hoodie, or nah?"

Cherise smirked, gripping the thick fabric in her lap. "Oh, this mine now.  He can worry about it later."

"Mmm-hmm," Trinity chuckled.  "That’s what I thought."

They both laughed, the tension slipping away, the easy comfort of best friends filling the silence.

But then—

Knock, knock, knock.

Cherise turned toward the door, her brows furrowing.

"Trin, lemme call you back I think my scrubs got delivered.”

“Okay girl, talk to you later.”

She went to open her door and was met with what could be described as a splash of ice cold water.

Cherise felt the blood drain from her face.

Her stomach twisted, something filled with disgust creeping up her spine as she stared at the man standing in her doorway.

Her ex.

Tremaine.

The same man who once whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who told her he had her back, that he’d take care of her—until she realized she was nothing more than a profit to him.

The same man who pushed her into a world she never wanted to be a part of.

The same man who stole everything from her.

And now he had the audacity to show up here, smirking like he belonged.

"Damn," Tremaine drawled, his dark eyes sweeping over her lazily.  "You ain't even gon' say hi?"

Cherise’s grip on the doorknob tightened.  "What the fuck are you doing here, Tremaine?”

His smirk widened, like he was amused by her hostility.  "Damn, that’s how you greet your man? What happened to all that sweetness, Candy?"

Cherise flinched.

That name.

She hated it. Hated how he said it, hated how he was the reason it existed in the first place.

She never wanted to be Candy.

Not at first.

Not when she was young, broke, struggling, with no parents doing whatever she had to do to make ends meet. It was his idea. Tremaine was the one who planted the seed in her head, who fed her lines about how stripping was empowerment, how she’d be making her own money, how she could do it her way.

But it was never really her way.

Not when he controlled her schedule.

Not when he took his cut of her money like she owed him.

Not when he ambushed her at his boy’s bachelor party, threw her on stage like she was some kinda party trick.

That night? That was the night something inside her snapped. The way they all watched her, laughing, cheering, grabbing. The way Tremaine sat back and let it happen, enjoyed it. The way she realized..he never cared about her at all. And him running off with all of the money she made, that covered all of her semesters of school, truly shown the extent of how predatory he was towards her. 

"Don’t call me that," she spat, her jaw clenching. "You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Tremaine chuckled, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. "Lost it?  Shit, girl, I gave you that name. And from what I heard, you still usin’ it."

Cherise swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms.

Fuck him.

"You still ain’t answer me," she said coldly. "What the fuck are you doing at my door?"

Tremaine tilted his head, studying her. "Just checkin’ in on you, baby."

She laughed sharp, humorless.  "Checkin’ in? Like you give a fuck?"

Tremaine clicked his tongue.  "Damn. You really that bitter over old shit?"

That hit something in her, white-hot anger bubbling up in her chest.

"Old shit?" she repeated, her voice deadly quiet. "Oh, you mean when you—"

She caught herself, stopped before she could say it.

She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of dragging her into old wounds.

But Tremaine saw it—the flicker of rage behind her eyes. And he grinned like he won something.

"Relax, ma," he said smoothly. "Ain’t gotta act so cold.  I just wanted to see how you was holdin’ up. Heard you been busy… entertainin’."

Cherise’s stomach twisted.

There it was.

This wasn’t some friendly check-in.  He came here because he knew.

Somebody had been watching.

Somebody had told him about her and Jey.

And now he was here to fuck with her.

"What do you want, Tremaine?" she asked, her voice edged with exhaustion.

He smirked.  "Ain’t about what I want, shorty.  I just think you need to be careful. Dudes like that? Wrestlers?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "They ain’t built for you. He gon’ chew you up and spit you out just like all the other ones."

Cherise’s heart clenched, but she didn’t let it show. "You don’t know shit about him."

At all. 

The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he cleaned her damn table like he was already invested in her success. The way he listened to her. The way he called her by her name, not the one some man had chosen for her.

He had made her a choice, not a convenience.

"Don’t I?" Tremaine raised a brow. "I know he got you wide open already. Letting him take you out the club. Textin’ you. Stayin’ the night."

Cherise’s breath caught.

"Yeah," Tremaine murmured, his smirk widening.  "I know."

Her jaw tensed. "You spying on me now?"

"Nah." He shrugged.  "But I know people who know people. And those people said you was out here actin’ all cozy with this nigga like you forgot how the game work."

Cherise hated how fast her heart was beating.

Hated how much the words got to her.

"And what game is that?" she snapped.

"Alright, bet." He stepped closer.  "Let me ask you somethin’ how many times he tell you he ain’t like the other dudes?”

Cherise stiffened.

"Mmm. Thought so." He clicked his tongue.  "Baby, I was there when you used to talk big shit about dudes like him. You hated clients who tried to act like they was better than the other ones. And now?" He gestured to her. "Look at you."

Her breath was slow.  Controlled.

"I was never your client," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah?" His brows lifted. "And how you know that? You think he see you different? Think he don’t got boys tellin’ him about you?  Think he ain’t hearin’ about how you move in that club?"

A sharp, cold weight settled in her stomach.

Her silence must’ve pleased him, because he stepped even closer, his voice dropping lower.

Cherise hated that the words slid right into the cracks of her deepest insecurities.

"He got you second-guessin’ me right now, huh?" His tone was mocking.  "But tell me this, Cher… when’s the last time you had a client leave you a lil’ tip, then double back three months later pretendin’ they missed you?"

Her throat felt tight.

"When’s the last time you let one of ‘em up in your bed?"

Her fingers trembled.

"You think he came back for you?" He let out a cruel laugh. "Baby, he came back ‘cause he remembered how you moved on his lap that night.  ‘Cause he knew what this pussy was sittin’ like."

Tremaine saw the apprehension in her face she tried to hard to hide. Knew exactly what he was doing.

The same thoughts she had tried to push away when she woke up thinking Jey had left. The same doubts that whispered to her every time she got too comfortable.

"I ain’t sayin’ this to be a dick," he continued, stepping just a little closer.  "I’m just keepin’ it real with you, ma. You think he gon’ take you serious?  You a stripper. You really think that man want you in the light? You think you gon’ be wifed up? Goin’ to wrestling events, standin’ next to his family? You think you fit in that world?In his world?"

Cherise’s nails dug into her palms so hard they could bleed.

And then—

She smiled.

Slow.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"You still mad you can’t eat off me no more, huh?"

Tremaine’s expression faltered, just a little. "What?"

"That’s what this is about, right?" Cherise took a slow step forward.  "You showed up at my door ‘cause you saw me wit’ somebody who actually sees me. ‘Cause you realized you fumbled a bitch who don’t need you."

Tremaine’s jaw ticked.  "Ain’t nobody—"

"Oh, but you did," she murmured, tilting her head. "Let’s not act brand new, Tremaine. You ain’t come here ‘cause you care.  You came here ‘cause you still see me as yours. As something you owned."

Her voice sharpened.

"You used me."

Tremaine’s jaw tightened.  "Ain’t nobody use you—"

"You took everything from me." Cherise’s voice was ice now.  "You put me in that club. You made me depend on it.  You took cuts from my money like you was my fuckin’ pimp. And then?"

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t let it break.

"Then you took everything I saved. Everything I worked for. You let your boys humiliate me, made me dance at that fuckin’ party, then ran out with all my money."

Tremaine didn’t say anything.

"You left me with nothing," she whispered, her fists clenched.  "And now you at my door, tryna tell me about a man who’s done more for me in one night than you ever did in our whole relationship?"

Tremaine scoffed, looking away, jaw tight. "Man, fuck outta here wit’ that sob story."

"Yeah?" Cherise smirked, crossing her arms. "Then why you so pressed, Tremaine?”

His eyes flickered.

She had him.

Finally, he exhaled, rolling his tongue over his teeth.  "Aight, Cher.  I see you. You feelin’ yourself now, huh?"

"I been feelin’ myself, motherfucker,” she shot back. "You just late to the party."

A long, tense silence stretched between them.

Then Tremaine took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Aight." He smirked. "When he leave? Don’t say I ain’t warn you."

And then he turned, walking down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Cherise slammed the door shut.

Her hands shook.

Her breath came out in quick, uneven bursts.

And when she turned back toward the apartment, the quiet wrapped around her like a noose.

And the worst part?

Tremaine’s words were still there.

Still echoing.

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[coyle-and-co]

franco did always have such a mouth on him

au ramble beneath the cut because it’s my blog and i get to post what i want (it’s super long)

if ! you have noticed there are two versions of dolly that i draw, one with the gas mask and long, shaggy hair and one without and more refined

that’s because i have two separate aus for my ocs !! Howler and Gas mask Dolly are post!murkoff, which takes place with in the canon of outlast trials so not very exciting i know

pre!murkoff is where i get DEVIOUS because i am incredibly attached to pre!m Dolly HAHA

Pre!Murkoff dolly is a washed up speakeasy jazz singer preforming at one of the many casinos owned under Franco’s “business”, not like Dolly’s aware of who Franco really is outside of his moniker of “il Bambino”. He knows of him, knows his reputation but he’s never seen him before and doesn’t really give a shit about him as far as he’s concerned

However…! One night franco actually happens to be there at the same time as Dolly preforming, and he gets all googoo eyed because in his mind there’s a really pretty broad up on stage singing the blues to him, it’s not love at first sigh because all Franco wants to do his have Dolly put his heel through his throat

Of course, Franco can’t do anything normally and gets a bit pushy about getting dinner, and Dolly’s broke so thinks he could just steal his wallet or flirt him into paying his rent. Franco is unaware that he’s on a date with a dude, and is just happy someone seems interested

Franco does eventually find out Dolly’s not female and he’s mad about it but mostly that he didn’t figure it out. Despite the fact they can’t actually stand each other most of the time they’ve grown so used to being in each others presence that they don’t like being apart

Salvatore comes to visit Franco, since in this AU they do have connect it’s just minimal. Basically he got wind Franco’s been seen with the same “woman” (hah) repeatedly. Franco rightfully panics because oh my god what if his father finds out he’s seeing Dolly? What if he finds out Dolly’s a man? Franco blurts out that they’re getting married that’s why, and Sal just looks at him like he doesn’t believe him and tells Franco he pities Dolly

Franco convinces Dolly to actually marry him, but there’s no wedding, no reception, just a trip to the courthouse to sign a few documents. They’re legally married, and they hate each other

because i hate allowing gay people to be happy they do not say “i love you”, they argue day in and day out over things that wouldn’t matter, Dolly throws Franco out more times than he can count. But they know every fine detail about each other’s behavior and lives. Dolly even fully accepts Franco’s manchild-ness, though he does get disgruntled at times

Eventually it all leads to one massive argument and Franco calls things off and storms out, because we’ll, they don’t love each other, but those few days apart suck was and they can’t be away for long. Franco goes back to Dolly’s rundown apartment and lets himself in since he never did change the locks.

Dollys got no make up on, curled up in bed tear stained, and ends up sobbing at Franco about how he genuinely does care for him, can’t picture spending his life with someone else, how he wants to grow old together - but he doesn’t say i love you (they never do they both die and never utter i love you)

Franco blue screens for a bit but it does help their relationship at least somewhat

okay ramble over if u read all of this ily mwa mwa

[elodieunderglass]

As long as we're talking about Killie's family, could you explain why Killie's father married a horrible English witch? I can't decide if it's something as simple as "they love each other" or some arcane horseworld political dynamic. Or both.

(In reference to Killie the jockey OC and his disastrous family)

Oh it’s BOTH. And what do you mean? arcane horse-based power games ARE love, aren’t they? Multidimensional politics involving the least well-adjusted humans and horses on the planet, in the context of a failing-but-still-absurdly-financially-powerful competitive sport, is how you get married. Most people construct a family unit to breed exquisitely tiny jockey babies to further their ambitions of a mad dynasty. Don’t they?

That Woman is a bit of a mystery. She shares a lot with my own mom. I think it’s genuinely surprising that their mother let their father have such a free hand with the children’s names - she agreed to go with the paternal trend of naming their generations all with the same letter, although this may have appealed to her grief at not being able to name them like racehorses Tory sense of orderliness, heritage and control. But then they do mostly have Irish names, apart from her favourite. Maybe she just didn’t care much. Or sensed the leverage it would give her over her husband. Or maybe they all have really absurd middle names that are an act of English colonial violence. Would getting inside her head to find out risk making us worse people? Isn’t that what Twitter people are afraid of?

Because I am brave, I can say (unpacking what my own parents left me with, and looking with fond bewilderment on my children) that most people do not marry with the intention of creating fucked-up children. And the generations that gave rise to us - doing their best, making mixed choices, full of greyness and complexity - fell to trauma and tragedy that is our gift to decline. To hold up a hand, name the worst bits, and stop them passing on - when it’s in your power - is the duty of every human (with/without biological kids of their own). And yet I do have a bit of compassion for the people who came before, whom i never willingly speak to, whom i process through little fictional characters that I shake in a jar. We can break many chains, and some remain unbroken, and in old photos we can see something of what we had in common.

Oh, and this poem is about the twins. But I don’t know which one.

[for-a-longlongtime]

Hey Anon, I saw your message this morning! 💜

You pointed out "Yall need to be careful of bi erasure" and linked to a post someone made about me. I appreciate the heads up! To be honest, I’m not concerned about people suggesting that I’m doing bi erasure. Whether it’s regarding Pedro characters in canon, head canons, or bisexuality in any other way. But hey, everybody can have their opinion about things, including what they think about me.

I dont talk much about myself here, but my tumblr bio has said from day 1 that I’m a bi woman. My master list mentions most of my fic “is queer (m/m, bi4bi, m/m/f, non-binary and trans characters)”. Folks who have read my fic know I've written pairings where every character is explicitly bi ( Frankie x f!reader x Santi; Peña x Rockford x OFC; Ezra x f!reader x Benny Miller, and WIPs with Joel and Marcus M, Frankie x f!reader x OFC and Maximus x Acacius x Lucilla).

Can bisexual people still do bi erasure? Sure!

Do I worry whether straight folks or other random folks online think I'm involved in bi erasure? Nahhh.

Anyway, I did make some posts the other day based on anons submitted to me about issues re: queer representation in this fandom. Let me just direct you to the several posts I made on that day, which started in response to a question about Renaldo:

"Was Renaldo Gay in the SNL sketch?? I've seen a lot of blogs saying he wasn't?". TL;DR version of my response: the ending of the song states "word to the wise, if you've got wives, hide them from the three bros!" suggesting that Renaldo, Domingo, and Santiago all hook up with women/wives. Considering Renaldo hooked up with Matthew, that probably makes him bisexual (and not the fact that he had Sophie, aka Sabrina's character, dancing up on him) - or queer, or someone who doesn't like to label himself. However, while 'hide your wives' works linguistically as a great punch line to wrap up the song, it does not refer to Renaldo's affair with Matthew (now that is bi erasure, if you wanna be exact), so I did point out that 'hide your spouses' would've been more accurate - but understandably, that's not as catchy. I'm currently writing a Renaldo x Matthew one shot, and I said my headcanon has Renaldo as gay - but that's my interpretation/hc/fic.

Someone wrote to me: Some blogs in the fandom is hellbent on taking away any attention away from anything mlm based with his characters anyway so it wouldn't matter in Renaldo was gay - someone would find a loophole to make him like women. TL;DR I agreed, because there are people who definitely do that. It became part of a longer thread of reblogs with some other folks in which we talked about how Pedro's mlm (men loving men) characters, such as Oberyn, Dieter and Silva in particular, either tend to be canonized primarily as bisexual by people but in fic are almost always paired with women (f!reader or OFCs). Which is fine, but people are definitely interested in seeing more m/m representation for those characters. Someone also brought up that when Pedro characters are paired with non-binary reader inserts or OC, it tends to be mostly afab!nb (or afab!trans characters), and that they were surprised that there weren't more amab!nb characters - that's a great point too.

I made a post with an anon message that pointed out "MLM includes bi, pan and queer men. They might like women. (And/or other genders, but they still like men)". Very correct!

Finally, there was an excellent long message from an anon saying "We need more representation of bi people in same-gender relationships represented" and that even in threesomes or throuples (fic) that include two men, there should ideally be more mlm representation. Once again, I fully agree. Everybody should write whatever they want, but I do often see threesomes that are listed as Pedro Character 1 x reader x Pedro Character 2, but in the fic it's more like reader having sex with two straight men at the same time while they're trying to not cross swords, rather than mlm being represented. THIS IS DEFINITELY CHANGING THOUGH: it's wonderful to see a big increase of mlm characters in threesomes/throuple fics over the past year!

So here is my main issue with a lot of people who are raging about 'bi erasure', and why I've made several posts about queerness within this fandom (not just recently, but from the start). Of course bisexual people exist (hello, it me, for one). Pull up some statistics if you want: there are a lot more folks who identify as bisexual than there are folks who identify as gay or lesbian. I'm an older millenial, so if you wanna talk about bi erasure: the measure in which it happens today is nothing compared to the bi erasure and deeply engrained homophobia we experienced in our teens and twenties from society at large. However:

🏳‍🌈 In your rush to point out bisexuals exist, you're shutting down a much broader dialogue with people within the LGBTQIA+ community. 🏳‍🌈

Because have you noticed how gay men, nonbinary/genderqueer fans, amab!trans or amab!nonbinary FANS (not fic characters; I'm talking actual people) are extremely underrepresented in this fandom? In addition to in fic? And that these fans won't have their fiction or actual posts shared all that much? Or that when they carefully speak up, e.g. about being happy to see Pedro portray Silva as a gay character, they're immediately rebuffed and called biphobic or that they're trying to erasure bisexuality?

Yeah. That part.

It's messed up.

Nobody is even making demands. Nobody is even saying "what writers are doing is wrong". They're just saying, "This is a bummer". And some of us are pointing out that mlm Pedro characters in m/m pairings are hard to come by, which is too bad because it's not only us queers who read m/m Pedro character pairings - there are lots of straight fans out there who have indicated they like reading that, too.

Are you gonna call that bi erasure? Or marginalization of women? Or anything really except for what it actually is? Fans are just saying "yknow, I wish there were more fans/fic characters/bodies in fic represented in this fandom that look and feel more like me". People seem to have finally understood that in varying degrees when this applies to body type or racial/cultural background (which took many white people a lot longer to fully grasp; BIPOC folks have been saying this for such a long time already) - it's about diversity and wanting to feel included. But when gay or transfolks say this about mlm, a whole bunch of y'all are crying bi erasure?

In short (and I can't believe I need to even fuckin' say this):

The Pedro fandom or its fic does NOT belong exclusively to women.

It does not belong to cis folks, to straight people, or any other particular group of people.

Aren't we all just trying to be a community? Then stop acting like people reading Silva or Renaldo (or any other character) as gay are erasing bisexuality - that's not the case or the damn point.

And anon-- my critique truly isn't directed at you, I'm not dragging you in any way. You took the effort to bring something to my attention, plus you clearly care about people, and I appreciate that a lot. But there are tons of people who don't dare to speak up about this in public settings, so I can't help but take this opportunity to not only clarify what I said earlier -- but also to address the bigger problem at large. Read or write all the gossip blogs you want, by all means, but maybe also consider using that time to actually connect with people.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Ain't That a Lotta Love - Chapter 4

A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too.

Need to catch up? Masterlist is here.

Pairing: Elvis x Dorothy - an OC, his long-term girlfriend

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: Angry!Elvis, angry sex, name-calling, slapping (Dorothy slaps Elvis), possessive kink, Elvis is dominant, Dorothy calls him daddy.

It seems more difficult than usual to get everyone out of the dressing room at the end of the night, and strangely, Steve finds himself being one of the last people there. He spent a lot of the evening talking to Jerry, who he finds the least objectionable of the Mafia, and probably too much time watching Dorothy’s interactions with both Elvis and the rest of the guys. As he’d noticed when he first met her, she flirts to get her way and she always seems to be successful. Everything she does appears to be a calculated technique to unbalance whoever she’s talking to, whether it’s saying something outrageous (he can tell when she’s done that by the expression on their face) or exposing some kind of body part she knows they’ll be interested in. As he carries on his conversation with Jerry, he thinks about her doing the same thing to him. Telling him about the girls, coming way too close to him to light that cigarette, suggesting he get involved in their relationship and making him almost crash the car… And now does she have what she wants? He almost sighs out loud right in the middle of whatever Jerry is currently saying. This whole thing is frying his brain. 

Jerry and Steve are the last people to leave, and as usual Dorothy thanks Jerry for clearing everyone else out with a kiss on the cheek. Elvis is mumbling something about tomorrow’s press conference when she turns and does the same thing to Steve, her soft lips pressing against his slightly stubbly cheek. 

“Night, Steve.”

Poor Steve can’t stop himself from blushing for what seems like the hundredth time today, blood rushing to his face as he thinks about her doing this in front of Elvis, when he doesn’t know what she’s been promising. His blood starts to rush somewhere else, too, thinking about her and Elvis going to bed now, not helped by the other man grabbing his girlfriend around the waist and squeezing her to his side. Fuck. Where did that come from? Steve swallows hard, wishing everyone a good night’s sleep and trying to say something enthusiastic about the press conference, although he has no idea if the words come out in the right order. He’s relieved when he walks through the door with Jerry and knows he’s going back to his car and his house, away from this madness for a few hours. 

“What’ve ya been doin’ to poor old Steve, Dodo?” Elvis asks her, still squeezing her tightly. “He was beet red back there. Ya been teasin’ him again? I need him, y’know, functioning and e’erythin’ fer this press thing tomorrow.”

Dorothy smirks. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Well cut it out, baby. I need him.”

Elvis’ tone is a little sharp and she doesn’t like her chances with what she’s about to say next. 

“About Steve…”

“Mmhmm.”

She moves in front of him, her hands on his chest, looking up into his face. She’s so small in her flats that she has to crane her neck to do it, but she has his full attention now. 

“Remember you told me I could choose our next additional… person?”

He frowns, and she can almost see his brain working, trying to figure out what this has to do with Steve. “Sure.”

“What if… um… what if it was Steve?”

He stares at her for a good minute without saying anything. The silence is so long, and his gaze is so intense, that she starts to feel a little afraid. His hands press into her back, holding her so tightly she thinks she might have bruises in the morning. 

“What the fuck?” Is his eventual response, said so coldly that her fear spreads and she starts to wonder if she should try and weasel her way out of this. Maybe she’s underestimated just how easy it would be to persuade him. 

“I just thought, that maybe…” she starts, uncertainly. 

He cuts her off. “You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck all my friends, or just him?”

She doesn’t know how to respond. Obviously she doesn’t want to fuck the rest of the Mafia. The thought turns her stomach. But she’s not convinced that anything she says right now is going to help. 

Elvis obviously isn’t happy with her silence, one of his hands moving to grip her jaw. “Hm? You want to fuck them all or just him? Answer me, ya little slut.”

Dorothy’s temper flares immediately at the use of the word slut, and she twists her body out of his grip, throwing her head back like a flighty horse to get his hand off her face. Then she slaps him. The sound echoes around the little room. 

“Don’t you fucking calling me a slut!” She rages. “What about all the girls you’ve been with?”

“You’ve been with them all too!” He thunders back, trying to grab her again and missing. 

“Not fucking Ann-Margaret!”

“Don’t you bring her up again! You stupid fucking…” he stops himself calling her a bitch, breath coming in pants now, adrenalin coursing through his veins. This is how they used to fight, when he fucked girls behind her back, before they came to their agreement.

They stare at one another, both panting, both angry, both turned on. It’s seconds before they’re kissing, hands everywhere, bodies pressed together. Elvis grabs her ass, picking her up easily and plonking her down on the lid of the piano, pushing up her dress and tearing at her panties. Another pair ruined. 

“I’m gonna make ya forget all about Steve,” he growls into her ear, as he enters her, roughly. “Fuck ya til ya forget his damn name.”

She whimpers, her head falling back as he starts to fuck her, her back pressing uncomfortably against the hard wood of the piano. She can barely remember the last time he was inside her, never mind the last time he had her like this. Her fingers dig into his hair as he nips at her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, then getting hungrier, biting her and making her yelp. 

Around the time they’d started fighting, Steve had realised he’d forgotten his wallet. He sighs at his own stupidity, and wearily makes his way back into the building. It’s so goddamn late, all he wants to do is sleep, but he shouldn’t really drive without his license. He gets to the door of the dressing room and pauses. The light is still on, and there’s the unmistakable sound of… fucking?

“Who do ya belong to?” Elvis growls again, loud enough so that Steve, standing outside and somehow completely paralysed, can hear every word. 

“You,” Dorothy moans in response as he pounds her against the piano. 

“Who’s fucking pussy is this?” 

“Yours.”

“Yours, who?”

She lets out a pornographic moan as a slight change in angle has his dick hitting her g-spot over and over again. 

“Yours, Daddy. Only yours. Oh FUCK.”

Steve still can’t move. He knows he should turn away and go back to his car but the way her voice sounds, cracking with pleasure, and the strangled, desperate moans that accompany it… he just can’t tear himself away. 

Eventually the orgasm building inside her hits its crescendo, and she’s squealing and flailing her arms around desperately. Her pussy squeezes Elvis’ dick like a vice and he moans too, their pleasured noises mingling with the sound of skin slapping together as he reaches his high, cumming deep inside her.

They’re both quiet as Elvis buries his head in the crook of her neck and she strokes his hair gently. Something about the silence makes Steve realise just what he’s doing, and he decides he’d better go. Wallet be damned. He walks away slowly, thinking of the words he’d heard them say to one another over and over again. Embarrassingly, he has to adjust himself as he gets into the car, his hard-on pressing against his jeans. He shouldn’t have stayed there for so long, and he mentally berates himself for being whatever the listening version of a peeping Tom is. Some kind of pervert, anyway. 

None the wiser, Elvis and Dorothy gradually untangle themselves and silently shower and get ready for bed, communicating through their usual little glances and touches. As they get under the sheets she clings to him, kissing his chest and running her fingers through the little patch of hair there. 

“I love you,” she whispers. 

Elvis runs a hand up her back. “I love you too, Dodo.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She looks up. “El?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I never told you I had a thing about two guys, did I?”

Elvis huffs out a sigh. He should’ve known the Steve subject wouldn’t be closed, but he’s still frustrated. 

“No. Ya didn’t.”

“Thought you’d be jealous.”

“I am.”

She groans, rubbing her head against his chest like a cat. “But I love you, El. I just want to try this. And you love Steve.” She looks up at him, frowning. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to share me with Lamar.”

Elvis can’t help smirking a little. He tries to force the corners of his mouth back down again, but her mock-serious expression is making it very hard not to laugh. 

“If ya ever ask me that,” he replies, poking the end of her nose with his finger as he tries and fails to stay serious, “I’ll tan yer hide lil girl, an’ not in a way you’ll enjoy.”

They look at one another for a beat and then both burst out laughing. She snuggles into him somehow even more. 

“So… is that a yes then?”

Elvis groans. “How do ya do it? How do ya always get whatever ya want?”

It’s her turn to poke the end of his nose now. “Takes one to know one.”

***

Elvis is excited about the press conference. He prods Steve in the side on their way into the room. “Come on, these are always fun,” he declares, before bounding through the door. 

His enthusiasm is infectious, and Steve pushes all thoughts of what he’d heard in the dressing room last night to the back of his mind. He’s wearing the ascot Elvis had bought him and Bones Howe as gifts, and he’s pleased with how it looks. The conference goes well - Elvis has plenty to say, and he alternates between being serious about the show and giving funny, teasing answers. Every time he’s about to give one of the latter he kicks Steve under the table, and it’s all the other man can do not to laugh out loud. 

Elvis isn’t quite sure how he managed to get into such an excellent mood, but he thinks it has to do with the excellent sex he had last night and the fact that Dorothy has been virtually clinging to him ever since. Part of him is wondering if he did actually fuck her hard enough to make her forget about Steve, although he does remember somehow agreeing to let her have some fun with both of them. When he’s not thinking about a way to answer a question that will amuse him and hopefully make the man next to him laugh inappropriately, he’s thinking about Dorothy’s pussy. Of course he’s been intimately acquainted with it for years, but since the girls had been around he tended to fuck them more than her. It’s something he’s starting to regret now, missing out on so much good pussy just for the sake of variety.

He’d taken an upper before the conference, just to make sure he was on form, but it only kicks in properly afterwards, when they’re all celebrating how well everything had gone. Dorothy is sitting on his lap as he talks rapidly at Steve about his chances of persuading the Colonel to let them film in the dressing room. 

“Doubt ya’ll get him ta but y’know it’s worth a try. I mean if anyone can, you can Steve, you’re like a wizard with the fat man or somethin’.”

Steve laughs at being described as a wizard, and is just about to reply when Joe interrupts. “We’re knackered, boss. Think we’re gonna head off, if that’s alright with you?”

Elvis looks up to see the assembled crowd of guys on their feet, shuffling back and forth somewhat awkwardly. They do look beat. His first instinct is to insist that they stay, but then he thinks about how he’d really like to spend a bit more time with Dorothy, and that the guys did tend to get in the way.

“Sure. Hell, why don’tcha all have tomorrow off too?”

Joe's eyebrows shoot up and he looks around, wondering if this is some kind of joke he's not in on. 

“Uh, sure, EP.”

Elvis nods quickly and grins. “Sure y'all can think of somethin’ to do for a day in LA.” He looks over at Dorothy with lust in his eyes and has to bite his tongue not to tell everyone exactly what, or who, he intends to do all day in LA tomorrow. 

“Sure thing, boss,” Joe replies, quickly shepherding the rest of the guys out of the door before Elvis changes his mind.

Steve looks around the room and suddenly realises it’s only the three of them left. Panic rising in his throat he starts babbling about going too. 

“You probably want some time alone, I-I’ll just um… I should go…” He finds himself thinking of their alone time the night before and his face starts to colour. 

Dorothy puts a hand on his arm. “I’d like it if you stayed. You’d… we’d like it if you stayed, wouldn’t we, El?” She tips her head back to look at her boyfriend. 

Elvis nods, silently, although he doesn’t know if he would like it. He wants Dorothy to himself, and the atmosphere in the room is starting to seem charged and a little strange.

“Oh… okay,” Steve mumbles.

Dorothy’s thumb strokes his arm and he tries to get his breathing under control. What the fuck is she planning?

Dorothy sees the look of panic on his face and at the same time feels the irritation radiating off Elvis, underneath her. She has to do something to get this situation back under control. Her control. Make it less weird and more fun. It helps that she’s several drinks in already, and it doesn’t take long for her to think of something, getting up and starting to look around the room for a deck of cards, so that they can play poker. Strip-poker, to be precise. She giggles to herself.

“What’re ya doin’, Dodo?” Elvis sounds annoyed, and it’s probably not helped by the pills he took earlier. His eyes flick around the room at high speed, trying to figure her out, as his heart beats quickly and sweat beads at his temples. 

“Looking for… aha!” She spins around, deck of cards in hand. “These!”

“What on earth for, baby?” He asks, confused. It’s not as if she’s ever been a great lover of card games. 

She grins, wickedly. 

“Strip poker.” 

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[mrs-delaney]

Hide | An Unexpected Invitation | Chapter Two

Summary: Riley Carter never expected much from a simple text asking if she liked food, but Joe Burrow's direct approach catches her off guard in the best way. Between late nights at Electric Lady Studios finishing her band's new album and her growing anticipation for their first real date, Riley finds herself drawn to the NFL quarterback's refreshing authenticity. After a messy public breakup left her wary of relationships, especially with someone in the spotlight, she's surprised by her willingness to break her own rules for Joe. As their text exchanges and late-night calls deepen their connection, Riley faces a decision: maintain the careful distance she's built around her heart, or take a chance on someone new.

Pairings: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 3.2k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, flirty banter, mentions of past toxic relationships, public scrutiny, and undeniable chemistry.

This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me! 💕

Requests: Open

Author’s Note: Here we go! Sorry its late. This chapter is all about setting the foundation for Joe and Riley’s dynamic—playful, unexpected, and just a little bit risky. I love writing those early moments where two people click without fully realizing what they’re getting into. Their chemistry is building, and things are definitely about to get interesting. Let me know what you think! 😊💛

Riley stared at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen as she read Joe's message again.

Joe QB🏈: Do you like food?

A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. Was this his idea of a smooth opener? It was so direct, so oddly simple, that she couldn't help but find it endearing. She'd had guys slide into her DMs with carefully crafted messages, obviously rehearsed lines, and pretentious attempts at intellectual conversation. But "Do you like food?" That was new.

She tapped out a response, deliberately matching his directness with a hint of playfulness.

Riley 🎤: Yes, QB. I like food. Love it, actually. I'm always down for a nice meal.

She hit send and set her phone down on the kitchen counter of her rented NYC apartment, turning her attention back to the coffee brewing in front of her. The rich aroma filled the small space, mingling with the distant wail of sirens and the perpetual hum of the city that filtered through her half-open window. She was only in the city for another week—just long enough to finish the studio sessions for her band's new album before heading back to LA for meetings with their label. She wasn't expecting a quick response—the guy probably had a rigorous schedule with his sponsor events and appearances while he was in town. But barely thirty seconds later, her phone buzzed.

Joe QB🏈: Alright then, wanna come over Friday night? I'll cook you dinner.

Riley nearly choked on her coffee. Well, that was unexpected. Not the invitation itself—she'd had plenty of those—but the casual confidence behind it. No "maybe we could" or "if you're free sometime." Just a straightforward invitation to his place, with the added detail that he'd be cooking. It struck her as both presumptuous and refreshing.

She hesitated, finger hovering over the keyboard. The sensible response would be to suggest a restaurant instead—something public, neutral, safe. That's what her publicist would advise. Hell, that's what she would advise any of her friends. Never go to a guy's place for a first date.

But then again, this wasn't exactly a normal situation. They'd already met on national television. He'd already admitted to having a crush on her in front of millions of viewers. And something about his straightforward approach intrigued her.

Riley 🎤: You're telling me Joe Burrow can cook?

His reply came almost instantly.

Joe QB🏈: Don't sound so surprised. I can follow a recipe.

She grinned, shaking her head at his confidence.

Riley 🎤: Guess we'll see if they're as good as your QB skills.

Setting down her phone, Riley leaned against the kitchen counter and took another sip of her coffee, a strange flutter of anticipation settling in her stomach. She'd just agreed to a date—was it a date?—with Joe Burrow. The same Joe Burrow who'd turned bright red on The Tonight Show when she'd walked out. The same Joe Burrow who'd kissed her cheek and asked for her number with that endearing mix of confidence and nervousness.

It had only been a few days since The Tonight Show, but Riley's life already felt a little... different. Not dramatically so—she was still working with her bandmates on their new album, still navigating the busy recording schedule, still trying to make the most of their limited time in NYC. But there was something new weaving its way through the familiar rhythms of her life: the constant presence of Joe Burrow in her text messages.

She wasn't sure what had possessed her to say yes to his casual "I'll cook you dinner" text, but here she was, letting him monopolize her phone in the best way possible. What started as a simple exchange about food turned into hours of texting—playful, funny, and way too easy.

Each notification from him sent a little jolt of anticipation through her system—a feeling she hadn't experienced in years. Maybe it was the novelty of it all. Or maybe it was just him.

She liked his sense of humor. It wasn't forced or over the top; it was subtle, the kind of humor that made her laugh without even realizing she was smiling. And he paid attention. He actually asked her questions, remembered things she'd told him, and sent follow-up texts that felt genuine rather than perfunctory.

Like yesterday, when she'd mentioned in passing that she was trying to cut back on caffeine, and twelve hours later, he'd texted to ask how the caffeine withdrawal was going. It was such a small thing, but so few people actually listened to the details.

Joe Burrow was nothing like she'd expected.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Most athletes she'd encountered at industry events or award shows had come across as cocky—all swagger and practiced charm, their public personas polished to a shine. But Joe seemed different. He texted like a normal person—sometimes with perfect grammar, sometimes with abbreviations, occasionally with a meme that made no sense out of context but somehow made her laugh anyway.

There was something steady about him that settled her, a calm confidence that never veered into arrogance. In an industry where she was constantly surrounded by big personalities and bigger egos, his groundedness felt like stepping into a quiet room after hours in a crowded club.

And maybe that was why she didn't slam on the brakes like she normally would have. Why she was willing to consider having dinner at his place rather than insisting on a public restaurant with an escape route.

With a sigh, Riley set her empty coffee mug in the sink and headed to the studio. She had work to do, and she couldn't spend the entire morning analyzing text messages like a teenager. But as she settled in front of her keyboard, her phone buzzed again.

Joe QB🏈: What are you up to tonight?

She smiled, typing back quickly.

Riley 🎤: At Electric Lady. Long night ahead.

The response was immediate.

Joe QB🏈: What's Electric Lady?

Riley stared at the screen, momentarily taken aback. Was he serious? Electric Lady was legendary—practically hallowed ground for musicians. But then again, not everyone lived in her world, did they?

Riley 🎤: You're kidding.

Joe QB🏈: I'm not.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. There was something endearing about his willingness to admit he didn't know something.

Riley 🎤: It's only one of the most iconic recording studios in NYC. Hendrix built it. Bowie recorded there. Springsteen, Patti Smith, The Clash... Do I need to keep going?

Joe QB🏈: Alright, alright. I get it. Sounds cool.

Riley snorted. "Sounds cool." As if she'd mentioned a trendy new coffee shop rather than one of the most significant musical landmarks in the city.

Riley 🎤: Cool doesn't even begin to cover it. It's my happy place when I'm in the city. Something about the history in those walls... it's like you can feel it when you're creating there.

There was a pause before his next message—longer than his previous replies had been.

Joe QB🏈: You sound like you're working late a lot this week.

The observation surprised her. Most people—especially people she'd just met—didn't notice or comment on her schedule unless she explicitly mentioned being tired or busy.

Riley 🎤: Yes, we are on a roll. We're finishing the bridge on this new track that's giving us hell. It's either going to be the best thing on the album or drive us all insane before we get it right.

She set her phone down, turning her attention to the keyboard in front of her. Her fingers drifted across the keys, finding the melody that had been haunting her for days—an insistent, driving sequence that contrasted with the vulnerability of the lyrics she'd been working on. It was the kind of song that would have their fans holding up lighters at shows, a perfect arena anthem with just enough raw emotion to make it personal.

But her mind kept drifting back to their conversation. To the way he actually seemed to care about what she was doing, not just when she'd be free to see him.

The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. When she wasn't at Electric Lady, she was either catching up on sleep or texting Joe. It was quickly becoming her favorite way to wind down after her long nights in the studio.

In the back of a sleek black Escalade, Manhattan's lights refracting through rain-streaked windows, her phone lit up with his name. Not a text this time—a call. She hesitated for only a second before answering.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Burrow?" she teased, leaning back against the leather seat.

A low chuckle filled her ear. "Probably. But I figured you'd still be up."

"Good guess," she replied, watching the city lights blur past her window. "Just heading back to my place from the studio."

"How's the mysterious project going?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

This was what continued to surprise her about Joe. He was curious about her work, and unlike other people who would ask about her career out of politeness, Joe actually seemed interested in the details. It threw her off at first. She wasn't used to someone wanting to know her, not just the version of her that showed up on red carpets and album covers.

"It's going well," she said, more openly than she might have with someone else. "Today was mostly vocal tracking—the less glamorous part where I sing the same line fifty times until it's perfect."

"Sounds exhausting," Joe commented.

"It can be. But there's something satisfying about getting it exactly right. The guys are patient, though. Andy, our drummer, is practically a saint when it comes to vocal sessions. Nick keeps us laughing even when we're ready to kill each other over a single note."

"I get that," he said, and she could hear the understanding in his voice. "It's like when we run the same play over and over in practice. Looks boring from the outside, but there's something about the repetition, the precision..."

"Exactly," Riley said, surprised by how well he seemed to understand. "Different fields, same principle. The pursuit of that perfect execution where everything just clicks."

There was a comfortable pause before Joe spoke again. "So, we still on for tomorrow? Or are you going to be too wiped from your late nights?"

She smiled into the darkness of the car. "I'll be there. Seven o'clock, right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I've already started prepping some things."

"Wow, taking this seriously, huh?" she teased.

"Can't have America's dream girl thinking I can't cook, can I?"

Riley groaned at the reference to the media nickname that had stuck after their Tonight Show appearance. "Please don't call me that."

Joe laughed, the sound warm and rich through the phone. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

"Uh-huh. I'm hanging up now," she said, though there was no bite to her words.

"Goodnight, Riley," he said, his voice softening.

"Goodnight, Joe," she replied, ending the call with a smile lingering on her lips.

The car pulled up to her building, rain now falling in earnest. As she dashed inside, nodding to the night doorman, she realized she was actually looking forward to tomorrow night in a way she hadn't anticipated. There was something about Joe's direct approach, his genuine interest, his unexpected moments of vulnerability that made her want to know more.

Their calls had quickly developed a rhythm of their own. Late at night, her phone would light up just as she was finishing at the studio.

Their conversations rarely lasted more than ten minutes, but she found herself looking forward to them—this small, consistent connection across the miles between their separate worlds.

But as much as she was enjoying their easy back-and-forth, a part of her couldn't help but hesitate. A part of her kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the easy conversations to turn complicated, for the red flags to appear, for the inevitable letdown.

Her last relationship had left scars she hadn't realized were still there. Her ex—another musician, a guitarist whose talent was matched only by his volatility—had been part of her life for far too long. They'd spent years in an on-again, off-again cycle that was as exhausting as it was destructive. The kind of relationship that burned so hot it left everything around it in ashes, including the early days of her band when they were just starting to gain traction.

The breakup had been messy, the kind that made headlines and left her name plastered all over the tabloids. Paparazzi outside her house, speculative articles about who had cheated on whom, invasive questions in interviews that were supposed to be about her band's music. Her personal life dissected on social media by people who knew nothing about the actual relationship.

She still remembered the sting of the public fallout. The embarrassment. The frustration of people weighing in on something they knew nothing about. The way strangers felt entitled to judge her decisions, her emotions, her life.

After finally walking away for good, she'd sworn off relationships entirely. Not just publicly, but privately as well. She'd made a promise to herself: no more losing herself in someone else's orbit, no more putting her needs second, no more drama that derailed her creative focus.

She'd thrown herself into her career, traveled the world alone, and learned how to be happy without needing someone else to fill the gaps. And for the most part, it had worked. She'd become someone she was proud of, someone she didn't think she could've been if she hadn't taken time for herself.

The band's latest album—the one that had catapulted them from indie darlings to mainstream recognition—had emerged from that period of self-discovery. Their sound had evolved into something more powerfully honest, with electric guitar-driven anthems balanced by moments of intimate vulnerability. Critics had praised their ability to blend raw emotional lyrics with radio-ready hooks, and fans had responded to that authenticity in droves.

She still remembered the moment they realized things had changed for good—a sold-out show in London where the entire crowd sang their lyrics back to them so loudly that she'd had to step away from the mic, overwhelmed by the wall of sound. The guys had looked at her with the same stunned expression, all of them realizing simultaneously that they'd crossed some invisible threshold.

After a year of being single, Riley had found a comfortable rhythm in her independence. She'd learned what she actually wanted: someone who would respect her work while still making her feel cherished. Someone who understood her world without trying to dominate it. Despite the walls she'd built during her recovery from that toxic relationship, she was ready to open herself up again—just cautiously, and on her own terms.

So when Joe Burrow appeared with his straightforward texts and genuine interest, she found herself intrigued in a way she hadn't expected. There was something refreshing about his approach, something that made her curious enough to say yes to dinner at his place despite all her usual rules.

The truth was, she wasn't sure she was ready for anything serious, especially given their careers and geographical distance. But for the first time in a long while, she was willing to at least explore the possibility.

Friday morning arrived with unexpected anxiety. Riley found herself second-guessing her decision to go to Joe's place, wondering if she should text to suggest a restaurant instead. But before she could overthink it further, her phone rang.

Riley was still in bed when her phone buzzed, Joe's name lighting up the screen. She groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her head before answering.

"Hello?" Her voice was still husky with sleep.

"Morning, Riley," Joe said, his voice light and teasing. "Just checking to make sure we're still on for tonight."

She rolled onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling as she smirked. "Why are you calling me so early, Burrow? Don't you know I like to sleep late?"

"Early?" Joe laughed, and she could practically hear the grin in his voice. "It's eleven."

"Exactly. Early," she quipped, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I told you I like to sleep late, especially after a long night at the studio."

Joe chuckled on the other end of the line, the sound warm and relaxed. "Guess I'll have to keep that in mind. But I needed to make sure you weren't backing out on me."

There was something in his tone—a hint of vulnerability beneath the confident teasing—that made her heart soften a little. As if despite all his self-assurance, he genuinely wasn't sure she'd show up. It was those glimpses of real person behind the quarterback that kept drawing her in.

She rolled onto her side, smiling to herself. "Not a chance. I'm looking forward to tonight."

Joe's voice was playful when he responded. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she admitted easily, surprising herself with her own honesty. "You say you're cooking a meal for me. That's really sweet. I can't wait to see what you come up with."

"Just a heads-up to manage your expectations," Joe said, a touch of self-deprecation in his voice that she found oddly charming. "We're not talking culinary genius here."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. What time do you want me there?" Riley asked, sitting up and pushing the blankets aside. Sunlight streamed through the gap in her curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air.

"Seven," he said without hesitation, as if he'd had the time planned all along.

"Perfect," she said, already mentally planning what she was going to wear. Something casual but flattering. Something that said "I made an effort" without screaming "I spent three hours getting ready for you."

She had a busy day ahead—a final vocal session, then a meeting with their manager about the upcoming tour schedule. The album wouldn't be out for months, but they needed to lock in venues for the fall tour now. Eleven cities in fourteen days, starting on the East Coast and working their way west. The thought of the grueling schedule would normally make her anxious, but today it seemed manageable. A problem for future Riley.

There was a brief pause before he added, his voice warm with amusement, "Do I need to send you a calendar invite so you don't forget?"

Riley laughed, the sound more carefree than she'd felt in a while. "I'll be there, Burrow. Don't worry—I wouldn't miss this."

Joe chuckled. "Good. I'll see you tonight then."

"See you tonight," she echoed, ending the call and dropping her phone onto the mattress beside her.

She exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a moment, a strange mix of anticipation and nerves swirling in her stomach. This wasn't just some guy she'd matched with on a dating app. This was Joe Burrow. NFL quarterback. Someone who lived as much in the public eye as she did, whose career came with its own unique pressures and scrutiny. Someone who seemed like he might actually understand her world in a way few others could.

But more than that, this was someone who made her laugh, who paid attention, who showed genuine interest in her life beyond the glamorous surface. Someone who didn't seem intimidated by her success or intent on competing with it.

A slow smile tugged at her lips as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had a date to prepare for.

Yeah. She was definitely looking forward to this.

[itadooori]

I desire to see more of Hyun-ju in your style, please (and tell me more about your oc's as well, I like people's oc's)

hyun-ju the most beautiful girl ever (⸝⸝⸝• ω •⸝⸝⸝) ♡ i love her sm!!! thank u for giving me an excuse to draw her haha

as for my squid game ocs, i'll put my ramble under the cut as i have quite a bit to say lol

so! my ocs :3 as i previously mentioned before, they are a father and daughter pair! (i also finally came up with names for them, adhika is the daughter and dakila is the father)

much like geum-ja and yong-sik, i think that they both joined the games separately and only knew abt each other when they arrived. their family is def struggling, with adhika's father in debt and having a hard time finding work while her mother takes care of her younger siblings. adhika just turned 18 a few months ago, and has been working odd jobs here and there in attempts to support her family and pay off their debt, but the money is just a drop in the bucket.

adhika feels a very strong sense of responsibility towards her family, and wants to help out. she even refused to leave to go to university, despite being very smart and having a bright future in academics, to help out her family. but also sometimes, she also feels...burdened? it's a very conflicting feeling. she loves her family, but she'd be lying if she said didn't feel a twinge of resentment at this situation. i hope that makes sense lol

i haven't yet decided if my ocs are gonna just be fun little canon inserts or if im giving them their own story. both options seem rlly fun to me so kjssdkfjh im having a tough time deciding

some fun little tidbits about dakila and adhika's way of going about the games:

adhika is locked the fuck in. she's already at a disadvantage being a young, 5 foot tall, non-korean girl, so she's working twice or thrice as hard to get thru this shit

as i said before, adhika is very smart. she has good people-reading skills, and the ability to kinda morph into whatever people need her to be, or fit into whatever dynamic she believes people want her to fit (a skill that she picked up from just. life experience as the oldest sibling in a struggling family LMAO)

dakila is trying to look out for his daughter, but the games put a strain on their relationship

adhika has lowkey manipulative tendencies. they come out and worsen during the games. honestly, just think of her as a nasty mix of sang-woo and mi-nyeo. absolutely FOUL things coming from this girl i love her

this isnt really important at all nor does it really come up within her story but i still want to mention adhika is a lesbian. she joins the doomed squid game lesbian roster with sae-byeok ji-yeong and young-mi LMAO

akjfhdskjhf sorry this is so jumbled i just have a lot of thoughts. i'm still ironing out dakila and his personality so unfortunately i dont have as much on him as i do with adhika. but i hope that this information is interesting enough for now!! thank you SO much for giving me the chance to ramble abt my silly guys

[nixon-stars]

ooooooh you wanna yap about Clara so badddddd (please yap about her please please please please please)

HI YES I REALLY DO

I dunno how much I'll talk but I'm putting in the lil read more antway

HIIIIIII SO

For those not in the know, Clara is my sweet evil baby girl also the main antagonist for my oc world and story, rn going under the name 'Pakshapuram' (definitely going to change it tho, also 'paksha' coming from Sanskrit for wing and puram being a common suffix for towns in south india, like Kanchipuram)

She was born and raised in Pakshapuram, a city town thing that is one of a few cities around the area (this area is pretty isolated the only people that come through were born and raised or shifty guys working through black market sort of trades).

She was born the only child to Amara, who with no partner and no other kids and a big expectations on her, put everything into raising Clara. She's a pretty typical Indian mum though, rarely giving affection or praise, but it works, and Clara knows she's well loved.

She is also a bharatanatyam dancer!! Which doesn't help with the pressure but whatever, Clara's life is good, she has her mum, lots of friends, people all around her that want to help, and most importantly she has Xavier.

Xavier, I could talk about him forever, but what you need to know is that he and Clara are CLOSE. Always together, never separated, all the aunties look on and call them "heart and soul" (ഹൃദയവും ആത്മാവും) they don't leave each other's side right

But there's no good character without a touch 🤏 of trauma so, yayyyy

While dancers learn bharatanatyam, after they learn everything and stuff they get this big ceremony debut into their official career, it's called an Arangetram, and it's a bigggg deal okay?

Also like a year before this, Amara find out she's expecting!!!! Gives birth to a baby boy!!!! Very healthy!!!! Nothing will happen to him promise!!!!!!

Anyway on the day of Clara's Arangetram, she goes to her aunty's house to get dressed quickly in her saree (if you've ever tried to put on a saree you KNOW this isn't quick in the slightest)

She comes back and 😱😱😱 her mum is a statue wthhh?????

And her baby brother is gone?????? (It has nothing to do with amara's old wlw situationship that ended terribly and sourly and left a lot of unanswered questions and lingering feelings whattt)

She's confused af obviously and angry and WHO TF TURNED MY MUM INTO A STATUE y'know very justified, and she overhears some people talking about how Dragons???? might be responsible????

You need to know that dragons are heavily venerated in Pakshapuram, the religion of the city revolves around how important dragons are too the world right and how they shouldn't be touched or anything yeah

An old guy came up and said that he had known about a prophecy that something like this could happen and blah blah blah Clara's in charge now

But like she's sixteen so that's alottttt of pressure to put on a literal child you would think? NOPE they said make her queen now

So now Clara's in charge and also A GRIEVING TEENAGER and she is stressed

And woahhhjj perfect timing famine through the land!!!!!!!

Every one is really hungry and Xavier, who is now general, asked her what she wanted to do about it and maybe just maybe let's use the food we had stored just in case something like this happened????

Clara goes "no girl im using that"

And Xavier's like "what why we don't need to use those???"

And Clara like "yeah we do thats what I'm referring the troops I sent to go find a dragon for me to kill to get revenge for killing my mum"

And Xavier's like "you crazy bitch people are starving can you be insane later"

Clara throws a temper tantrum and exiles him woooooop #girlboss

Years pass and Xavier's making a under ground resistance against Clara because she has moved on from killing people with her ignorance to just killing them if they disagree with her which isn't cool

Clara goes very insane with the grief and stress and everything she's soooo unhappy and very evil about it she's talking to the statue of her mum and she's not doing well

And here's about where the main story starts, and I haven't even talked about the protagonists

Anyway I wonder what happened to that baby brother????? 🤔🤔🤔 I guess we'll never knowwwwww

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 66: Prove To Me

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

“Give our best to your parents,” Anna says and gives me a final hug before I board the train. “Your neefs are going to miss you.”

It’s time to leave. As much as I would love to stay longer there is lots more calling me back west. Thomas and I meet with Uncle Colon in three days. The Müller contracts need to, nay, will be approved by Thomas. I also need to see what he already knows about the Nazi movement. If it’s spreading this fast here then surely it’s going to become more than just a rumor in Britain.  

“Please stay safe,” Franz bids as he hands me my luggage. “Trouble’s brewing everywhere nowadays.”

We all exchange uneasy glances, partially due to the swastika flag hanging overhead, and Abel steps forward for his own hug.

“You’re going to visit Uncle Colon?”

“Yes. I pray that he will have some answers to Mr. Shelby’s problems. As well as my own.”

My soft-eyed broer nods and offers a hopeful smile. “Our prayers are with you. Tot ziens.”

“Tot ziens, Abel. I guess the next time I might see you all is for Christmas.” I give a small tug on the lead and test out my hond’s new name. “Komm, Dílis.”

The German Shepherd climbs the steps onto the train car and we find a cabin. Dílis hops up on the seat next to me and lays his head on my lap. After a few minutes the train rocks forward and begins chugging away. So here I go. Instead of finding a man in my travels I acquire a German Shepherd. How fitting. Out the window I see Abel and the others on the platform waving at me. 

Arf! The canine whines as he looks out at more Jewish immigrants waiting for their trains.

“You said it,” I murmur, my heart clenching at the sight.

Somehow the trip back seems to fly much faster. Before I board the boat in Amsterdam I make a quick call to arrange for a car to get me once I reach England. The secretary is a different one than last time but she too remembers not to mess with me.

I recognize Nathaniel on another ship once my boat docks in Port of Hull. He steps off and joins me once Dílis and I depart our own barge.

“I see you found a friend," he observes with a smile.

“This is Dílis. Gib Pfötchen.”

The dog’s ears perk up. He remembers what I taught him on the way over and proves it by raising a paw for Nathaniel to shake.

“Well, hello!” Nathaniel returns the gesture. “So did you find what you were looking for?” He wonders as we walk towards the dock entrance.

“I got what I came for. My broer and his family are now partners with Mr. Shelby.”

Nathaniel runs a hand through his thin beard. “That’s very kind of you to do that. But it sounds more like a professional goal rather than the personal one I pegged you for.”

Am I really that pathetic? “However my life is to proceed, God will lead me there. Right now I need to work towards earning money for my familie.” I change the tide of the topic. “What about you?”

The sailor tilts his head in thought. “My family’s doing their part. I guess my job is to keep transporting people. Between the depression and the conditions in Germany, more and more people are moving these days.”

“I agree. In fact you might see my broer and his familie pass by too.”

“I’ll keep a weathered eye out,” Nathaniel promises as a black Bentley cruises towards us. “Just remember your family always has a friend at Port of Hull.”

“I am most grateful,” I thank him as I slide in and Dílis jumps up next to me. “Tot ziens, Nathaniel.”

The car drives off and I’m presented with the familiar English countryside. A freezing countryside. It’s no warmer here than Germany. Throughout the whole day I’m driven across the country, watching the many towns and villages blink by. When we drive past places more affected with poverty there’s no denying the strange looks being given to my pristine transport. I’m sure there will come a point when this depression will turn almost any honest man into a desperate one.

“Here we are, Ms. Steenstra,” the driver says as he pulls up to where I assume is the Port of Liverpool. “Mr. Shelby instructed me to bring you here and tell you that he will be waiting for you.”

Of course he will. “Thank you, sir. Komm, Dílis.”

The pup jumps out of the car and we begin to make our way to the docks. After a few minutes of walking I spot the man I’m searching for. Compared to the rest of the sailors and pedestrians here Thomas’ tailored suit sticks out like a sore thumb; though then again my fur coat isn’t too ordinary either. 

He locks eyes with me and stands up from the bench he’s sitting on. I can’t tell- Is he perturbed? Upset? Anxious? The one thing that is clear is his confusion towards the dog perched by my side.

“What is that?” Thomas asks bluntly.

I gesture to the panting canine, who’s already trying to smell him. “This is Dílis, my new companion.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Dílis?”

“It’s Celtic for ‘loyal.’”

This gets a shadow of a smirk on Thomas’ face. “An Irish name for a German dog?”

I shrug. “I’m American. It’s sort of our thing.”

The gangster takes another skeptical look at him. “He’s just a pup.”

“He’ll grow,” I assure sternly. “Dílis, gib pfötchen.”

Dílis stands up and repeats the trick from earlier. What’s different now is that he’s still smelling Thomas, as if trying to uncover what kind of a person he's just met. Meanwhile Thomas is very accepting of this greeting and gives the dog a gloved handshake.

“Hello hello, Dílis.”

I smile proudly. “You have your horses, I have my hond.”

“Indeed. He likes you.”

Dílis licks his glove. “He likes you, too.”

“Yeah. But you’re his master. The one giving the orders. He’s a fighter. He would tear a bloke to pieces for you.” Thomas and I begin walking to the ship bound for Ireland. “I should tell you there’s a new cause for celebration. I’ve arranged for Aberama and Polly to be married. But don’t tell her. She doesn’t know.”

Of course not. Why change anything now? A fleeting thought of relief sparks through me and I close my eyes. “That’s good. We need some good in the world right now. A wedding sounds like a perfect way to share it.”

Another wedding. More talk of love. Another ceremony for me to be cast out of because I can never truly be one of them. Deep breath. Remember who you are here for.

“I have the Müller contracts to submit to you. We can talk about that later. We have lots to discuss from my trip.” A pinch of guilt tugs at my stomach. “Also…”

“No. Don’t tell me,” Thomas grunts and we stop next to the ticket booth. “You want your pay, yeah? ‘Cause that’s all I am to you now. Another paycheck.”

I keep my tone cool. “You should be used to that by now. I wish that wasn’t true. If you had gone through what I have, can you blame me?”

He doesn’t answer. He stays silent and plunges a hand into his pocket, pulling out his glasses. He fishes out his cheque book and after a few waves of a pen hands me the slip. 

“Here. Take the bloody money.”

Another thousand pounds. “My family appreciates it,” I acknowledge gratefully and stow it in my purse. “What did you expect?”

He finishes buying our tickets and scoffs. “‘Hello, Thomas.’ ‘Good to see you.’”

“What’s the good of small talk when you’ll just ignore me again? The contract says I am still an employee so I am here on behalf of my familie to earn some extra wages.”

If he thinks I’m here out of the goodness of my heart he’s dead wrong. It kills me to do this to him but he can’t play the innocent card with me. I’m not the same naïve, helpless meisje who wound up in your kitchen all those years ago. In fact, you could say that you helped shape me into who I am now, Thomas Shelby. Now instead of sporadically handing out kindness, I reserve it and look out for my familie first. Much like yourself.

Four hours later we’re both standing at the edge of the barge, staring out at the approaching country. It doesn’t look to have changed much since the last time I visited. Dílis is already enjoying the fresh air.

“How might I address your uncle?” Thomas mutters after lighting a cigarette.

I pull my coat tighter around me. “His name is Edmund Colon. Mr. Colon will suffice.”

“And this Mr. Colon… He ain’t gonna fuck with my head, is he?”

“Absolutely not. If he dislikes you he will not hesitate to tell you.”

Thomas takes a puff and shows no definite reaction to this answer. “Good to know.”

“Relax. If I’m around he won’t do anything drastic.”

He hums and keeps looking outward. “Have you been in touch with Linda?”

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “You know me better. You know I don’t stay in touch with her or Lizzie.” 

He smirks. “I thought you said you tend to avoid jealousy. ‘Causes viciousness,’ as you’ve said.”

“‘S not just that,” I admit. “They don’t want me to talk, so I won’t.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he takes another puff of smoke and straightens his cap. “I’m afraid there’s more news. While you were constructing business in Germany, we had a visit from a mister Brilliant Chang. We’re now helping to transport opium.”

Drugs? He’s shipping drugs now? How can he agree to that after the mess that drug gave to his body? Well, he most certainly isn’t going to convince me to sell it.

“I see” is all I answer with.

Thomas grunts. “I must say it was unfortunate that you were not here to negotiate. Chang brought a whore who put a gun to Finn’s head.”

His tone sounds as one does when talking about the weather. First Finn gets himself shot and now this? It’s like Polly said when I first started. They forget he’s still so young. Even Finn is forgetting how stupid he can be.

“It was Finn who allowed such a woman to get so close,” I reply softly, reaching down to scratch Dílis’ ears.

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Thomas sighs. “There’s more.” 

My head whips up at him. “More?”

“Yes. We’ve been in contact with a gang called the Billy Boys.” Thomas licks his lips and continues. “They’re the ones who killed Bonnie Gold. Billy Boys fucking tied him to a cross and shot him.”

Bang! The memory of a gunshot rings through my head and the image of Bonnie’s corpse takes form. My body goes stiff and my cold hands grip the railing.

“Jesus Christ… " I murmur with dread. "Have they no morals? Is this all just to get to you? Thomas…”

His icy blue eyes creep over to mine, analyzing me. “You think I don’t feel guilt?”

“I’m saying… When will enough be enough for you?” I gasp. “Your company, your empire, has grown most impressively despite the losses in America. History shows that every civilization eventually experiences its downfall. You need to know when enough is enough!” 

Thomas’ jaw tightens and he takes a step back, pointing a finger at me. “I had you bring me here to discuss matters with your uncle so that I might handle them. Not to hear about how everything I do is wrong.”

My face stays straight and my stare hardens. “I never said that. And believe me, Edmund Colon will say these exact same words when he hears of what you’re going through.” 

The ship docks and I immediately lead Dílis off. Lord, I am already losing patience. Just pay attention and get Thomas to the meeting. Settle things out and then I can get back to work.

Thomas hails a cab and when I ask for Uncle Colon’s address the driver gives me a double-take. Even here it’s not a normal request to be driven to a gangster’s home. But he agrees and in no less than twenty minutes we’re riding through misty green meadows and over frozen streams. Thomas and I stay quiet the whole time and the only noise comes from Dílis’ small whines. Soon the car approaches Uncle Colon’s road and the sight of the cozy stone home makes me relax by a fraction. With its trimmed fence and many bushes. Even the guards don’t bother me. The handful of men standing watch outside recognize me and give friendly waves as I step out of the car.

Thomas, however, is not eased at all about their company. He keeps fingering his cap and running his hand over his jacket where his gun is most likely concealed. I snap him out of it by taking his hand and leading him and Dílis around to the barn. We step inside out of the mist and I hear metal clanking in the distance. I poke my head around a corner and spot Uncle Colon hunched over a beaten up Ford truck. His rolled up sleeves allow for a view of the Celtic cross tattooed to his wrist, just like my necklace. His worn work clothes are a steep difference compared to Thomas' overdressed appearance.

Arf!

At the sound of Dílis’ noise my uncle looks over his shoulder and gets a wide grin.

“Ah, Verena! How’s the cutting?” Uncle Colon greets as he wrings his hands on a grease towel.

“As good as it can when the world’s this dark,” I smile and we both hug. “Good to see you, Uncle Colon!”

Dílis doesn’t hesitate to begin smelling his shoes. “Who is this handsome beast?”

“This is Dílis,” I introduce.

Uncle Colon gets a wise gleam in his eye. “Ah, wise choice. He does look very loyal.” He gets the towel down and reaches for a glass of water. “Have you heard any word from Alfie?”

My smile fades. “I’m afraid Mr. Solomons has been dead for some time now, Uncle Colon.”

The older man’s eyes soften. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It appears our estranged relationship will go on unmended.” His eyes travel past me and his gaze sharpens. “I see you brought someone. This is your boss, then?”

I step aside and gesture to my colleague. “This is Thomas-”

“Thomas Shelby, of Shelby Company Limited,” Uncle Colon asserts, staring him square on. “Anyone who’s anyone here knows about you.”

Thomas stays quiet the whole time, not showing too much gruffness but not exactly appearing overly friendly either. He never moves his eyes away from my uncle.

“He’s the one who’s requested an audience with you,” I remind him.

Uncle Colon nods, staring at Thomas, and goes to pull a tarp over his project. “Alright, then. This banjaxed car can wait a moment or two. Go on in, Verena. Help yourself to a drink.”

Don’t mind if I do. I nudge Dílis forward and walk back out into the damp pasture towards the house’s warm glow. My end of today’s job is done. It’s up to Thomas now to strike an understanding with my own familie.

General POV

The rugged Irishman leads Thomas into another room in the barn. This one appears less dirty and more for business purposes. How can Thomas tell? Because of the waiting cases of empty whiskey bottles. Somewhere in here is Edmund Colon’s own small distillery. Thomas should respect it as if it were his own.

So this is the man who’s always stood behind Verena. The connection to the White Hand. At a glance Thomas thinks he could pass for any other Irishman. A few inches taller than he is, calculating hazel eyes, and a worn face with a faint beard matching the salt and pepper hair tucked under his flat cap. No dapper suit or accessories. His clothing consists of simple muck boots, work trousers, suspenders, undershirt and coat. One could say he appears as a wise friend.

This Mr. Colon is part of Verena’s family, there’s no doubt about it. She shares his bluntness and sense of tradition. If only Thomas wasn’t equally blunt when he paid her. His words are coming back to haunt him. Now he’s whoring away his shame to her while she earns the paycheck.

“Four years ago you got a taste of American cars,” Colon gloats as he pours them each a drink. “Did you enjoy our gift?”

“Yes. The Hudson still works splendidly. It’s one of my brother’s favorites.” They each take a seat on some barrels and Thomas looks up again. “Mr. Solomons is alive and well, Mr. Colon. Verena doesn’t know.”

Colon takes a deep breath and swirls the whiskey in his cup. “Sometimes a dead man is a free man in this world. Give him my regards, if you wouldn’t mind.” He gets a distant look and states: “I love my country, Mr. Shelby. Ireland is a true beauty. But you English always look at us the wrong way.” His hazel eyes flash up to inspect Thomas. “You Peaky Blinders certainly have made a name for yourselves.”

“If you know who we are-” The Brummie gangster starts to explain.

“Mr. Shelby, I don’t care if you’re Gypsy, Catholic, or Jewish. The only reason you’re still breathing is because my informants keep me updated on one of your employees.” Colon points in the direction he just sent Verena and then points to himself. “My niece. Right out there. She trusts you. That got me thinking. You are not members of the Crown, nor am I a member of the IRA. We are simply two men trying to do business for the good of our families. So let us have it remain that way.”

Thomas replays his words and it clicks that now he’s getting somewhere. Just like Verena, any of Colon’s decisions are going to be based on family. 

“My cousin informed me of some men passing through Belfast,” Thomas expresses, taking a drink of the familiar whiskey. “Those one’s called Billy Boys.”

Colon lightly pounds the wall. “Them damn Billy Boys. Thinking they can walk through my streets all high and grand. What trouble did they give you, eh?”

“They’re trying to snuff us out.”

The Irishman lets out a laugh and raises his glass. “Join the club. How’s about we make a deal? I keep away any more mishaps from affecting your trade routes through Belfast, and you kill Jimmy McCavern.”

This man works fast. Thomas can already tell he’s read his character but the question is why is Colon already so accepting? Is it because of Verena’s trust in him?

“That isn’t a fair trade, Mr. Colon. We both want him dead.”

“Yes. But it gives you better motivation. You deal with him and it will prove to me if I should help you. Prove to me that the Shelbys are all they're made out to be.” Colon polishes off the rest of his liquor. “Oh, a fair warning. We do not control the Titanic folk, Mr. Shelby. We keep to ourselves. If they cause trouble it will not be the White Hand’s problem.”

“Very well.”

Thomas takes that as his que of dismissal and stands up, dusting off his jacket. He nearly reaches the end of the room when Mr. Colon speaks again.

“One final thought, Mr. Shelby.” Thomas hears his boots creak closer and closer until Colon puts a firm hand on his shoulder. “You know, when I married my dear Eleanor I thought the guns and fights would leave us alone. But you can’t have both, Thomas Shelby. One or the other, they cannot coexist. From what I’ve been told you found this out the hard way. Your first wife-”

Thomas flinches. “Do not bring my late wife into this.”

“The Hell I will,” Colon growls. “You’re a chaser. This is the life you made for yourself, Shelby. Do not drag my niece into it too. No bullet will be carved with her name.”

The Brummie swallows. “Verena chose to-”

“Malarkey! First you make her think she owes you. Then she falls in love with you.” Colon holds up his wrist with the tattoo. “I am a religious man, Mr. Shelby. But if you break her heart… Another dead man is no skin off my nose. Have I made myself clear?”

His other hand reaches for a pistol under his jacket, never breaking eye contact, and Thomas knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s the same process he goes through when scum politicians and aristocrats turn their noses up at his own family. He never wanted to cause Verena pain. It just… fell out of place. But there is no denying now that he will do what it takes to support her family. 

Thomas holds out a hand and the two men shake. “Very.”

Verena’s POV

It’s sad to see how the house has gotten so cluttered. Instead of a mobster’s home it looks like a hunting cabin. I remember when I was younger it was always spotless, with fresh flowers placed around during springtime. Aunt Eleanor’s touch has since been fading away. Part of this reminds me of Vinegar Hill back home. More Celtic crosses, a faded Bible placed on the mantel, and some of vader’s gifted delft pottery. 

Dílis has taken the liberty to lay in front of the warm fireplace. I set down my glass and look up at the ticking grandfather clock. It’s been an hour. How long are they going to talk? Is Thomas really so stubborn to ignore what offer Uncle Colon might have? If he knows anything about the men who killed Bonnie then he should not hesitate. 

I think back to Michael’s words. This is by far the time to not hesitate. Now is the time for action, to show that Thomas is no spent force. Franz was right. Trouble is brewing and I am not going to let myself be caught in it.

Creak.

The back door swings open and Uncle Colon steps in, stomping the mud off his boots. 

“I left your boss outside to wait.” He points to where he just came from. “Verena. That man. He is just as I’ve been told. Stubborn, scheming, arrogant. Yet you still give yourself to him.”

My jaw drops. “I do not-”

“I’m not talking about virginity. I’m talking about time. For over ten years you’ve served this man. And for what?” He taps the side of his head. “That’s the question you need to answer, Verena.”

If I didn’t know better I’d say his lecture is tinged with pity. Lord knows I’m one of the oddballs in my familie as far as courtship goes but I think I’ve done enough mental bashing to myself by now. Of all people I’d hoped Uncle Colon might understand my position.

“I know.”

My uncle takes my hand as if to say he means no harm. “You’re a wise lass. I know you will do as God guides you. But make sure you remember to value your time, Verena. As your Aunt Eleanor would say, time’s as precious as endless fortunes of gold.”

I respond with a bittersweet smile. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good. ‘S been good to see you, lass.” He smiles down at my dog, who’s now up and alert. “You take care of her now, Dílis. Eh?” 

He leans in for a hug goodbye and I lead Dílis back to the door. Thomas is already waiting in the car. 

“Visit your crazy uncle more often, eh? Slán.”

His Irish phrase brings a smile to my face and I wave goodbye before climbing into the car next to Thomas and Dílis.

“Tot ziens, Uncle Colon. Thanks a million.”

The driver revs the engine and begins driving down the muddy road. As the cottage gets further and further behind us Thomas makes no move to speak. Did Uncle Colon have news for him? Did they accomplish anything?

“What did you think of my uncle?” I outright ask in a laid-back tone. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Thomas pauses, still staring ahead. “You’ve said family is everything to you… Never thought it was this deep.”

“What do you think I first thought when I first saw how your familie runs itself?”

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[bunnylouisegrimes]

A Massive Thank You

So this is very random (like most things lol), but I wanted to announce that my (slightly over week long) hiatus from posting content will be over, and I'll be posting writings and drawings whenever I'm able to.

My mental health has been doing much better these last few days thanks to some of my closest friends on here encouraging me and keeping me afloat. It also helps that I finally got done with the required amount of NCLEX prep in order for my (now former) professor to send something to the Board in order for me to get an official test date. Hopefully, that will be here soon, and I can finally take the big test that will allow me to start working as an RN, as I've spent three whole years in school for. I feel a massive relief and weight off my chest, and I realize most of my depression stemmed from feelings of failure and massive burnout and exhaustion from my time doing both school and work for the last semester of school, my fears of not being able to achieve all that I have worked towards, and my own problems with comparing myself with the rest of the fandom, a hobby that means a lot to me and serves as my only form of socialization outside of my house and work (as previously mentioned before).

With this all being said, when you feel like a burnt out failure, it can be hard to find confidence in yourself when you're stuck in a mental state where you compare yourself to everyone and feel less than based on low numbers (which shouldn't mean a thing), and your own disbelief in your own hobbies.

But the truth is, I shouldn't feel bad about not creating content that is popular here. Others like PaulPat? They can have it. Others like abusing Patrick? They can have it. Others can produce x reader stuff and super interesting OCs? I can admire it and consume whatever ones I want, and they can have it, too. If I wanna make self ship content, if I wanna produce gentle maledom/femsub smut, the fluffiest of fluff, the most niche of angst, and even some kink stuff every now and then featuring my shitty self insert, I should and can. Even if it doesn't make everyone happy, I can't and shouldn't try to do such an absurd and impossible task. I should instead focus on the friends and mutuals I am truly grateful for and enjoy engaging with more than anything else.

Maybe I will always be an odd one out no matter what fandom I join. But that's something to take some pride in. And I definitely need to start looking at it that way. No matter what I or others produce, no matter how many notes something gets or doesn't get, there will always be someone somewhere that will find it and enjoy it.

I know I have a bad habit of not listening to my own advice, but without some of you offering that crucial advice and support I need to hear, maybe I wouldn't listen to myself at all. And for that, I am forever grateful to those of you who have been patient with me, supportive, and genuinely caring. I am proud to call you my best friends (you know who you are). No matter the distances that keep us apart, I feel that friendship connection that I am unable to feel from others around me. It's crazy to think a fictional serial killer can bring so many people together. I never would've thought back in the fall of 2021 that there would ever be a chance for me to meet some genuinely amazing people before this fandom even became a thing as it did shortly after I left Tumblr for the first time.

So thank you all so much again! I love and appreciate you all more than you will ever realize 🫂🫂🫂💘💘💘

[wintuvern]

I loved the li facts, thank you for sharing! 👀✨

I was wondering how you edit the psd files on your phone on canva bcs I cannot seem to be able to edit psd files on canva for the life of me, only canva exclusive templates. Do you convert it to another type of file? I'm such a grandma when it comes to editing. 😂😭

Hi 💛 so I'll try my best to explain, however I'm a bit terrible at describing stuff so bare with me please😭

So the template you want to use, you upload and it should say "start creating from your media" with your photos at the bottom of the page after pressing the + button. So you pick the template from your photos and it'll load a new page on Canva.

Then you add the frames for the photos, although adding the square frame from "grids" lets you edit the dimensions which is sometimes better.

Now because there'll be some bits that are off, you can use text overlays as like fix-its I guess. So if something is overlapping something it shouldn't, you can make the text and the text border the same colour and now you have a colour strip overlay that matches the boxes. To get the colour background for text, you need to go on "effects" and scroll to the last one.

Next for any text, I've noticed most of the templates I personally use, use the Montserrat fonts, but that might differ based on what templates you use. The Montserrat fonts are on Canva which makes it a whole lot easier though.

But yeah for text you'd write what you want to write, and then you'd also add a text background, the same colour as the page I guess, and then place that over the original text so you can't see it.

↑ So for reference, in this case the text background would be the same colour as the whitish colour and the pink.

It'll take quite a bit of time, but the presentation and quality is quite neat considering, and then you save the image when it's done, and you can edit it any way you please.

For the pattern backgrounds I take the edit onto PicsArt, and get rid of the background using "cutout" and then add in whatever background I want.

Hopefully this helped, feel free to send in another ask if that wasn't clear or if you have any other questions 💛 I love answering asks so I don't mind at all :))

[nattikay]

the constant inner struggle of a Na'vi speaker/teacher browsing Na'vi OCs

[magnolia-sunrise]

one sided // mutual

still obsessed with the intimacy of body language when the faces are obscured. inspired in part by Mead Schaefer's limitted palette paintings

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[arttsuka]

How does one know about their sexuality? How do you figure it out?