#it fully looks like a normal engagement photo

[senanatheskenana]

The Sinclair Twins With Baby Fever

This contains smut so minors do not engage thank you. Contains graphic depictions of sex/ sexual acts.

(Also i havent written smut in a while so im sorry if its bad lmao)

Bo Sinclair

Bo never thought he'd want kids.

He thought they were sort of like inconveniences from how his parents acted when they were kids.

But that idea slowly began to change after meeting you

For one, it takes two people to make one, and in a ghost town, there isn't an abundance of living women.

And Bo didn't really believe he would be a good parent.

However, it all flipped rather suddenly for Bo.

You had been showing him photos from an old vacation you went on with family and he stumbled across one of you and your niece.

A tiny one-year-old, in cute pink dungarees, all swaddled up in your arms with big blue eyes and one of her chunky hands in her mouth on an exploration.

Bo admitted that it was rather cute and you started to ramble about the times you've looked after family and children.

And it occurs to Bo that while he may not be wonderful with children, you certainly were.

The thought comes along all too suddenly for his liking and before he knows what he's doing, he's imagining you with your baby- his baby.

It makes his chest flutter, the image of your swollen belly and milk-filled chest burning into his eyes.

He tries to give it some serious thought, weighing up the pros and cons of such an important choice.

Bo of course brought it up to you. He wasn't going to just grin and bear the need he was now experiencing.

~~~~~

"Oh my god," you grin up at him. He scowls and huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What? I don't see what the big deal is." he's still pouting and you have to admit he looks pretty cute like that, with blushy cheeks.

"Bo, you've got baby fever!" you giggle and him as he huffs again. 

Bo throws his arms up in the air and sighs. He knows he isn't going to win that battle. "Look did you want to have a baby or not, sugar?"

You give him a long drawn-out silence, leaving him in anticipation for what he deems to be far too long, however, he doesn't want to push his luck on the situation.

You finally give him a smile and a wink, "Of course I do, Bo." he fights back a smile and slinks closer to you to give you a peck on the cheek but lets out a chuckle when you pull him back again for a proper kiss.

He smirks and practically throws you into the bedroom, not wasting a moment to take off his shirt and throw it to the side. He tugs down his jeans and you both begin to shed clothing as fast as possible. You can hear the clink of your husband's belt hitting the floor over the sound of your loud heartbeat. He finally moves to slot himself between your thighs, grinding against your clothed heat.

Bo hasn't felt this nervous in a long time. Normally, sex is rough and teasing with Bo, but every little touch against him feels like fire and it has him moaning into your chest like a virgin. The image of your swollen belly ingrains itself into his mind again, and he feels himself becoming too needy to pace himself. Before he can fully grasp what he's doing, he's already rutting into you with quick deep thrusts. He doesn't bother pulling out and wasting time on long thrusts, choosing to just chase the pleasure you both want so badly.

Bo loves the way you look under him like this, eyes nearly closed and rolling back with your mouth agape from the breathless moans you're making after every rub of his cock against your g-spot. He can feel you tightening around him, and he honestly can't recall a better feeling than this. He can tell you're going to cum soon with how loud you are and how your hips try to chase his.

Bo slips a hand between you both and plants it on your folds. He'll be damned if he was going to cum this soon without you. You let out a moan that sounds like it was straight out of a porno, and Bo feels it travel like electricity down to his groin. You can feel him twitch deep inside you, kissing against your internal ridges. You're so tight that Bo can barely move without moaning like a bitch.  

He comes close to your face, watching your fucked out expression closely. His fingers speed up, deftly finding your clit and circling it like he's begging for you to cum around him. "'Gonna cum, sugar?" his southern drawl drags you out of your fever dream state and you nod up at him, failing to find words anymore. You grip his shoulders and you wrap your thighs around his waist. He laughs at the idea that you're stopping him from pulling out. You cum and he can feel you completely spasm around his cock. Bo knows he can't take another second of that intense pleasure before he's cumming so hard he's seeing coloured patches in his vision, moaning as he stills inside of you. Hot ropes of his cum spurt out into you, making you gasp from the new feeling.

Bo nearly collapses on top of you after, head laying on your comfortable chest while your fingers rake through his wet hair. He can't bring himself to pull out of you just yet, and he's still breathless from finishing inside you for the first time. He can feel your thighs rocking still with the aftershocks of the experience. He kisses your chest lightly and looks up at you.

"I love you, Sugar," he murmurs softly against your skin, "I love you so much."

You don't miss how one of his hands rubs gentle circles into your tummy.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent's biggest problem is his lack of communication. He can't simply speak about how he's feeling most of the time.

If he could, you may have found out about this sooner.

Vincent has always been more tolerant of children than Bo was so he experienced this quite early on but didn't know how to approach you about it.

He was worried that you would think he was weird or that you wouldn't want kids and then leave him.

So for months, he suffered in silence, fighting the urge to paint your insides with himself, and fantasising about what life would be like if you had a baby.

He's touched himself to the thought of you swollen and glowing, and imagining it's you he's coming in before the reality sets in again and he feels disgusted with himself once more.

You've started to notice his hesitance in intimate moments and you finally confront him, asking if he doesn't think you're attractive anymore.

He moves his hand to different parts of the basement, all filled with paintings and sculptures of you. It was a stupid thing to ask, of course, he thought you were gorgeous.

~~~~~

So you finally ask him what the problem was, and why he was suddenly not willing to touch you.

Vincent is of course quiet. He, in all honesty, was trying to hold off sex because he didn't feel he could trust himself to pull out anymore. He was worried that the temptation would be too great and he wouldn't be able to help himself. He's not really sure how he can say that and not come off as a huge pervert.

So he just comes close to you and embraces you momentarily, before placing a hand on your abdomen. It's just barely present but you can feel the touch. Then he takes his hands and makes a cradling motion.

For a moment you're confused. What does he mean by 'baby'? until it clicks in your mind. Did Vincent think you were pregnant? Was that why he was being so careful?

"Vinny, sweetheart, I'm not pregnant you dont need to worry about hurting me or anything-" Before you can finish, Vincent shakes his head and begins to sign.

'I know he looks at you to make sure you're following him, 'I think that's the problem'

Some sort of realisation becomes apparent to you and you ask the question he's been wanting to ask for months.

"Do you... Want a baby?"

He waits a moment and then nods before looking down. He begins signing again but doesn't look up, he doesn't want to see your grossed-out face.

'I was scared to force something on you but I wasn't sure how to say it. I didn't think I could trust my body during sex anymore.'

Your heart swells a little bit at the confession. Had Vincent been beating himself up for wanting to get you pregnant?

"I think I want a baby too, Vince" you giggle when his head shoots up from looking down at the floor. He signs too quickly for you to follow but you can just about catch the words 'Angel' and 'love'.

He stops signing and abruptly picks you up, spinning you before holding you bridal style in his arms. He hasn't said but you have an idea of where he's taking you. Vincent kicks the door to your shared bedroom open and gently places you on the covers. He removes his own clothing- save for his mask- and then patiently removes your own, kissing the skin that is revealed. 

Usually, Vincent gets quite needy during these moments, and his touch is feverish. He's painfully hard at this point, but he wants to savour you. He doesn't want to lose himself just yet. 

You're the one who removes his mask, taking in his flushed face and pulling him closer for a kiss. He can't begin to describe how much he loves you at this moment. He puts little weight on you as he traps you on the bed between his arms. 

You make a noise of surprise when he pulls back from you to lean on his feet. You're about to ask what he's doing but he's already sliding down your body to slot his head between your thighs. He gives the left of a small nip before kissing it again. Your core floods with anticipation when he gazes up at you like that. He waits for you to push his face closer to your folds to make sure you're okay. As soon as you do, he pushes his whole face against you, breathing you in and flattening his large tongue against your pussy. He lets out a raspy moan before he truly begins to lick. You know what's coming and the anticipation makes your thighs shudder around his head. 

He looks up through his hair to see you throw your head back in pleasure. He's always loved how you look like this, with his head between your thighs and your hands in his hair. The sight is so hot that he knows he could probably finish from it alone. 

Your breath hitches when you feel his hand travel from your hip to your folds. He uses his hand to part them before he gives a few kitten licks to your clit. His own eyes roll back as you spasm, and he continues that motion, fingers sliding into your wet core. He moves his two fingers slow and deep inside you, crooking them upwards halfway through each languid thrust. And just like that he can feel you tightening on his fingers with each lick and movement. Your moans get louder but he continues, spurred on by the look of pleasure you give him.

Your hips rut against his face and he moans against your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking it. Just like that his fingers bring you over the edge, moaning and shaking as you wrap your legs around his face. Vincent removes his fingers and pushes his face into you again, licking up your juice before rising once more to be above you. You still look fucked out and he takes pride it in. You pull him in and kiss him deeply.

Vincent's hands travel down your thighs and stop at your knees. You briefly wonder what he's doing before he pushes them up and pins your legs against your chest. He's never tried this angle before.

But he likes it. A lot. 

You can see from his expression that he's enjoying the view and briefly his eyes flicker between you and a sketchbook. You grab his face gently and make him look at you.

"You can draw later. Right now I want you to fuck me, Vincent" 

His one good eye widens as if to say 'Yes ma'am' and before you know it, he's slotting himself into you, using his body weight to keep your legs pinned against your chest. Already he's so deep inside you that he's pushing against your sweet spot without trying. Vincent takes a moment to gather himself- he doesn't think he's ever been this deep inside you and suddenly he loves this position even more. He begins to roll his hips against you slowly, teasingly. He knows you want more so he begins to move, throwing a fair amount of his body weight into each deep thrust. Vincent can hear your breathless moan with each slap of his hips against your backside. He leans down on his strong left arm and uses his right to fondle your bouncing chest, making eye contact with you. It's your half-lidded hazy expression that makes his heart hammer in his chest. Vincent mouths the words 'I love you' and 'so pretty' over and over like a chant.

He's sure you can feel every little twitch and pulse of his cock with how tight you are around him. Fuck, he thinks, you feel so good. He's missed your pretty cunt so much and he's certain you've realised by how desperate his movement is becoming- degrading from measured, long, strong thrusts to irregular, quick jabs accompanied by crackly whimpers of pleasure. He's worried that he'll cum first now so he pulls his hand from your chest and pushes it between your folds to play with your clit.

A low, fractured murmur of "G-Gon' cu-um" falls from his open mouth and you're shocked for a moment.

Vincent stills against you and you feel your insides flood with warmth. The feeling along with his fingers still rubbing you tenderly, makes your own orgasm wash over you and he moans again as your pussy sucks him in further. He waits until you both finish before slowly pulling out of you, globs of excess cum seeping out of you. He uses his fingers to scoop the leaking cum up and fingers it back inside of you, humming when he sees that it isn't leaking anymore.

"I love you, Vinny," he looks at you and smiles, placing a pillow under your hips. He comes back to you with a flannel and washes the sweat from you and places a kiss on your forehead. Vincent lays beside you on the bed, placing his head against your chest and running his palm over the soft part of your tummy. 

[novellafaire]

TWST BOYS AS YOUR BOYFRIEND

Just some headcanons on what I think they would be like as boyfriends ♡

Heartslabyul - Savanaclaw (here!) - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomefiore - Ignihyde - Diasomnia

• you’re basically the only person he’s willing to put effort in for

• if he decides to date you, that means he’s fully committed

•he’s not gonna waste any effort if you didn’t mean so much to him

• he will tease you often, but that’s just who he is

• he’s super rich and not afraid to spoil you

• most of your dates include napping and cuddling with each other, but he makes sure to include proper dates as well

• people will often send you to wake him up and bring him to class because they think you’ll have the best chance at succeeding, and sometimes you do, but sometimes he’ll just pull you down to skip class with him

• just because his eyes are closed and it looks like he’s asleep, he’s not — he will listen to anything you have to say and remember it all, even if it’s just random rambles

• thrives off of praise; fuel his ego even more, especially if you’re telling him he’s better than his brother or Malleus

• he may seem aloof or that he doesn’t care, but he does, a lot

• if he sees someone messing with you, he’s gonna put a stop to it immediately, and will resort to underhanded methods if he needs to

• will make sure Ruggie tracks whoever it was down

• arguments usually arise because of how he acts, and he’ll be stubborn and refuse to apologize, but not long after he’ll make sure to do something that proves that he cares for you a lot

• also, it’s not that he’s opposed to PDA — he could care less about what others think — he’s just too lazy most of the time to engage in it

•whenever you’re by each other though, his tail is almost always wrapped around you somehow

• will allow you to pet his ears

• he’s confident, so he doesn’t get jealous often, but that doesn’t mean he likes people flirting with you or getting to close to you

• when this happens he’ll saunter up to you, and normally his presence is enough to get the person to back off

• if it’s not tho, he’ll glare and smirk at them, all while criticizing them

• whenever Cheka stops by, Leona will drop him on you to babysit

• Cheka loves you, and always asks if Leona is gonna marry you

• Leona’s brother, Falena, is just happy that his younger brother found someone to make him happy

• Ruggie appreciates your presence because it makes Leona more agreeable

• Jack is amazed that someone could actually deal with his dorm leader’s attitude

• he isn’t the best at comfort, but he’ll listen to you and offer advice whenever you want it

• him teaching you how to play chess, if you don’t already know it!

• won’t let you win tho—

• overall, this Prince would be sometimes annoying to deal with (namely his laziness and pride) but he would treat you like royalty ♡

• Ruggie is often busy running errands, but he’ll do his best to always make sure he has time for you

• dates with him won’t be super elaborate, simply cause he can’t afford it, but he’ll make sure you’ll still be really happy

• so usually dates include just hanging out, or working with him

• he works really hard though because he does want to plan better, well-developed dates and give you nicer gifts

• he just wants to provide you with a nice life

• if you make him food, especially donuts, he might just decide to marry you right then and there

• he also loves it if you’d praise him and appreciate the effort he puts in, because he doesn’t get that enough

• if someone messes with you, he’ll be scheming against them, and may even get Leona involved if it’s that serious

• if you’re ever upset, he’s actually great at comforting people because he grew up taking care of the neighborhood kids

• he’ll be able to make you laugh and let you vent your emotions

• let’s you play with his ears

• definitely has a photo of you guys in his wallet, especially because he carries it everywhere with him

• will help you if you need, but jokes about you being indebted to him

• he doesn’t actually mean that though, he would do anything for you without hesitation, even if there was no reward

• not a very jealous person by nature, in fact, chances are he would find the situation funnier than anything else

• except if you were uncomfortable, then he would quickly intervene

• doesn’t think much about PDA, if it happens, it happens — he plans ahead but he also lives in the moment

• it’s not common though, mainly cause he’s busy so most of the time you hang out in private anyways

• would love it if you came to his spelldrive practices

• Leona could care less about your guys’ relationship tbh

• Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion either, but is happy to see his upperclassmen in such a good mood

• lightly teases you

• pinches your cheeks

• will immediately take care of you if you’re injured or sick

• would love for you to meet his grandma and the neighborhood kids

• is a bit insecure about his upbringing and financial lacking ):

• arguments don’t happen often because he’s good about avoiding such crises

• over all, a very hardworking and helpful boyfriend who just wants to provide a good life for you ♡

• best boy who makes an even greater boyfriend

• this man is so loyal and committed to you, there’s no question

• will treat you with the upmost respect

• not only do his morals dictate this, but he also just thinks you deserve the best

• dates with him may seem very typical, but they’re still incredibly enjoyable

• allows you to play with his ears and tail, but will get embarrassed

• if you beg hard enough he’ll let you cuddle him in his wolf form

• his tail wagging will always gives away how happy you make him

• however if you get in trouble or something, he won’t bail you out; you’ll have to face the consequences of your actions

• will try to convince you to work out with him, but understands if it’s not your thing — he just wants you to be healthy as well as happy

• will protect you if you ever need it, and usually he doesn’t have to resort to violence because the perpetrator will back down after seeing Jack’s incredible physique

• because of his stature and strong arms, he gives the best hugs

• is decent at comforting physically, but not as much with words, given his more quiet nature

• will let you know he can see and appreciate your hard work, even if he doesn’t give many straightforward compliments

• arguments are rare between you guys because he’s brutally honest and makes an effort to communicate

• always has a soft smile when you’re around

• not very jealous because he trusts you a lot and he, himself, is a very loyal person

• if you’re ever uncomfortable though, he’ll immediately help you out of the situation

• not huge on PDA because he’s a more private person

• Ruggie and Leona don’t mind your guys’ relationship, as long as it doesn’t bother them

• Jack would love for you to meet his family since he’s naturally a family oriented person

• he will always be a gentleman to you and expects everyone else to be as well

• can get easily flustered if you catch him off guard

• especially if you compliment his body or muscles

• plant parents!!! would love to take care of plants, especially cacti, with you

• makes sure you’re taking care of yourself

• over all, Jack is a sweetheart who would value you and respect you until his dying days ♡

[comphy-and-cozy]

unforgettable - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 3.1K

Author's Note: This is fully the most self-indulgent and personal fic I have ever and will ever write, so if no one likes it I'm still not gonna be sorry. This is wildly contrived and barely passable as realistic. It is quite literally Y/N's Story (C's Version). You'll know what I mean when you read it. Thanks to @smileysvech for listening to me be unhinged about this for like two months straight - you a real one. And in case you are wondering, this is the fic in question.

Warnings: Suggestive/adult content (18+ recommended), discussions about sex/sexual implications, alcohol use/consumption, full insanity. Like a medium burn/banter that's basically foreplay but no actual sexy times.

series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 2

November 2021

Meeting a personal idol is always a special experience, full of excitement, nerves, anticipation; hopefully making a connection to tell them how much you admire them or what they mean to you. Even if it’s the intention, it feels a little embarrassing to be at a fan event put on by the team, like you’re too old to be at a function for the sole purpose of meeting professional hockey players, and the concept of being perceived is, frankly, almost overwhelming.

But then they turn out to be kind, funny, and courteous; not at all what you expected. They smile at you, ask you your name, thank you for coming, engage with you like you’re a regular human being. Like they’re a regular human being. (They are, of course, but it’s difficult to comprehend that when you’re used to them being little men on your television screen with ice knives strapped to their feet.)

When you get to your favorite TV Ice Man, he’s beautiful, and it takes you a moment to get rid of the shakiness in your voice when you hear him say your name for the first time. The warmth of his hand on your back when you pose for a photo together lingers long after he pulls away, smiling at you as he says, “Tag me in that on Instagram.”

It’s exhilarating, enough to have you bouncing from cloud to cloud as you leave, heart soaring. Still, after walking out on shaky legs with the most precious memories and photos tucked safely into your phone, you’re in need of a drink to settle the nerves that have been floating in your belly since the night began. 

As soon as it touches your tongue, the drink helps to calm you down, and you’re in a dreamland as you reflect on the evening behind you. A real conversation with JT Compher, the man you’ve had a crush on for years—and he talked to you! He is aware you exist! And though you’re sure it’s a figment of your imagination, you’ll remember the warmth in his eyes when they connected with yours for the rest of your life.

Luck is on your side, it seems, when you catch a group of tall, muscular men walking in out of the corner of your eye; the aura of the room instantly changes in their presence, like the room automatically got ten degrees hotter. In the middle of the pack is the unmistakable red hair, styled meticulously, only now he’s lost his tie in favor of unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. He looks good, dressed down in a way that makes him look even more delicious than before.

His aura is different now that the event is over, like he’s able to remove the mask he put on for the public at a work event; now, he’s just a normal guy out on a Friday night with his friends. Other than the Gucci belt and Tom Ford suit, one would have no idea that he’s got an extra digit at the end of his paycheck, and he loves that.

Until he sees you. You, who knows exactly who he is, who is fully aware he’s unwinding from a long and tiring fan event with his friends. He’d have to be an idiot to forget your face, the one that made him pause when you told him your name, his breath hitching in his throat just for a moment.

When he sidles up next to you at the bar, the last thing you expect is for him to greet you, let alone remember your name. You look at him in surprise when he offers to buy your drink, gaping for a little too long until you’re nodding shyly. 

“Have fun at the event?” he asks after sliding his card across the bar to open a tab, leaning up against the ornate marble as he faces you. 

“It was incredible,” you reply with a blissful smile. “They—you guys—are always so nice.”

The corners of his lips curl upward, just slightly, pleased at your positive review. “I’m glad to hear that. The fans are so important to us, so I—we—like to be able to give back when we can.”

“It doesn’t get exhausting? Talking to all those people?”

Something shifts in his eyes, and briefly you wonder if he’s toying with the line of talking to a fan versus just a stranger, contemplating if he should drop a layer of his public persona. Eyeing the extra sliver of creamy skin peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, you’d say he’s already halfway there.

“It can be a lot,” he admits. “But it really is fun. And very humbling.”

Your drink is placed on the bar in front of you, and the bartender nods at JT when he asks to keep the tab open. Your heart does a flip, but you remind yourself he’s here with friends.

“How long have you been a fan?”

“I’ve been watching hockey since I was a kid,” you say, and he nods in understanding. You tell him of the photos of you as a toddler, standing in your neon windbreaker next to the Stanley Cup; you note the way his eyes glitter when you mention it, like he’s wistfully envisioning the day he’ll lift the trophy himself. You note the way you like it.

“Let me guess. Your favorite player was Joe Sakic.”

“Actually, you might hate this, but my favorite player was Steve Yzerman.”

JT’s eyebrows raise as he shrugs. “Hard to argue with that, even if he did beat the Avs. Are you a Wings fan?”

“I went to U of M, so I went to a lot of games when I lived in Ann Arbor. So I think I am by default.”

You can see his eyes shift at the mention of his alma mater, like something’s permanently altered in the dynamic between you. He doesn’t need to tell you that he went there, too, but he does anyway. “Go Blue.”

With a smirk, you raise your glass and clink the base against his as you say it back. Your eyes flick to the group he arrived with, upstairs in the VIP area, surrounded by pretty girls in tight skirts.

“Do you need to get back to them?”

JT takes a sip of his own drink, an Old Fashioned, then licks his lips again like he knows it’ll catch your attention. Then he shrugs, nonchalant. “Would rather stay here with you. Have to make sure the drink I paid for doesn’t go to waste.”

He’s too smooth, you think, warning yourself to keep an eye on him or you’d be swooning at his feet. Not that you aren’t already ready to, your own willpower barely holding up under his gaze and your Amaretto Sour weaving its way into your senses. 

“What’s a Wings fan doing in Denver?”

It’s a simple question, the logical one, but you’re still surprised that he asks, that he wants to know more about the one of many fans he met tonight. Still, you answer, explain that you’re visiting friends who are big Avs fans. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’ve had a crush on him for years, that you timed your visit to coincide with the event. That you’re having an internal meltdown just existing in his presence and trying desperately hard to remain cool and composed. 

And you can’t tell if he’s flirting with you, or if he’s just being nice, which makes you panic even more, gulping down the remainder of your drink in an attempt to calm your nerves. Do his eyes keep shifting down to your cleavage, or is that your imagination? Is he letting his cheek brush against yours when he speaks into your ear, or is it just an accident? 

Another round of drinks later, and he’s still here, and now you’re sure he’s at least some kind of interested. His friends are upstairs, loud, rambunctious, and he hasn’t even given them so much as a glance, instead focused on you and making you shiver under his attention.

The conversation has been steady, making its way through hockey, past childhood, and college, and jobs, and now you’re onto hobbies. And you may have accidentally let it slip that you like to write. 

It’s against your own will that your mouth announces, out loud, to a professional athlete, that you write hockey fanfiction. Or, wrote. Have written. Either way, it’s the alcohol’s fault, and you’re tempted to dump the remaining contents of your glass on the ground to avoid saying anything else.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, a grin breaking out onto his face. “Oh, now you have to tell me more.”

You’re shaking your head no, face sweltering hot when you realize what you’ve just admitted. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I just said that. I think this conversation is done.”

“Aww, come on, tell me,” he prods, nudging your knee with his. “Was it about someone I know?”

You draw your lips tight, shaking your head to tell him your lips are sealed. 

“It was!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “I bet it was about Gabe. Wasn’t it? All the girls love Gabe. He’s a dreamboat.”

Covering your mouth with your hand, you shake your head at him again. This cannot be fucking happening right now.

“No Gabe? Hm…” he looks around, as if he’s searching for the subject in front of him. “Oh! Josty. He’s got a whole following of fangirls.”

Part of you wants to laugh, and the other part of you wants to die immediately on the spot, buried beneath the ground without another word. He isn’t wrong, but he is dangerously close to discovering the truth.

He sees your reaction, inferring that no, it wasn’t Josty, and he takes another sip of his drink as he racks his brain. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, mulling over the options like he’s mentally running through an encyclopedia of NHL players. Then, his eyes shift, a glitter returning to them before they’re landing back on you, and suddenly you feel hot all over, sensing the end of your life hurtling rapidly towards you.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

Face scorching hot, you can’t help the defeated smile on your face as you cast your eyes away, mortified beyond belief. Why did you have to say anything? Things were going so well, and now you’re preparing for him to make a quick exit and dash upstairs to laugh at you with his teammates, a story that would surely make the rounds through the league. You’re contemplating which path to the door is quickest, which will get you out of there fast enough to avoid dying of embarrassment on the spot.

But instead of making a run for it, he just laughs, a surprised expression on his face. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m just gonna go now—”

“No, no,” he’s quick to say, waving his hand to show he isn’t bothered, and maybe an air of, please, stay. “I’m flattered, honestly. I didn’t think anyone liked me like that.”

Oh, they do, you think, but your semblance of self-control has taken over again, covering your mouth before the thought can verbalize; at least you can shut the fuck up sometimes. Instead, you shrug playfully, then take another sip, thinking that at the very least, you can drown out your humiliation with more alcohol.

“You gonna tell me what it was about, or you playing hard to get?”

His question is subtle but clearly twofold in meaning, and you nearly choke on your drink again. Is this real? This has to be a dream. 

Forcing yourself to get your wits together, you say, “I’m gonna need another drink if you want to even remotely convince me to share that.”

“I can do that,” he grins. “Say no more.”

It’s only after he returns with another drink in hand that you notice the flush in his cheeks, the way the warm mahogany of his eyes have turned a little more molten. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe—unlikely—it’s you. Probably the former. Surely the former.

He keeps the conversation light, allowing you to ask about life as an NHL star, about his favorite part about Denver, about who his funniest teammate is. He’s surprised, though, when you ask what he misses the most about life before the NHL; what he wishes he could have amidst the fanfare of being a professional athlete.

Mulling over your question, he takes another sip of his cocktail, and you seize the opportunity to admire his face, up close. The neat landscaping of his beard, the perfectly styled coiff of his hair, the deep mauvey-pink shade of his lips. God, he’s handsome.

His laugh pulls you out of your daydream, and he raises his glass toward you. “Thank you.”

You’re confused for a moment, until you realize that your thought wasn’t an internal commentary at all, but something that slipped out of your mouth by accident. You have quite literally turned into a stuttering, bumbling fool in his presence. He doesn’t seem bothered, though, swiftly moving past the moment to answer: “Honestly, I think what I miss most are conversations like this. Where I don’t have to be ‘on,’ where I can just be a normal guy with a pretty girl at a bar.”

“A girl telling you she wrote smutty fanfiction about you is ‘normal’?”

JT’s face shifts, and all at once you realize the additional descriptor you used, immediately groaning at the accidental admission. Why do you keep doing this? Why does it have to be him?

“Smutty? Like, it’s spicy?”

“No,” you lie, but the speed of your reply is a dead giveaway, and suddenly he’s grinning.

“You wrote—” he drops his voice to a whisper, “—sexy times about me?”

Your non-answer is an answer in itself, and the smile on his face is so wide, he might as well have won the Stanley Cup. Your face burns, could probably fry an egg on your cheeks, ready to slink into a hole and never come out.

“Oh, come on, now you have to tell me!” he says. “I won’t judge. I swear.”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. It’s firmly secured under lock, key, and shark-infested waters with lasers attached to their heads.”

“Okay, fine, I can play this game,” he grins, pretending to crack his knuckles. “Was there… a blowjob?”

“Jesus, JT. Coming in hot, are you?” Then, “No.”

“That hurts, but I understand,” he places his hand over his heart. “What about… cunnlingus?”

“I am shocked that you know what that word means.”

“I have an elite education. You should know.”

“The leaders and best,” you say with a raised glass.

“Stop deflecting. Did I eat you out or not?”

The intimacy and bluntness of the phrasing makes your heart flutter, along with the area in question. The devil on your shoulder is whispering, fuck around and find out. So, with an internal shrug, you do. “You may have.”

JT beams. “Excellent.”

He rapid fires off more categories—spanking, handcuffs, edging, foot fetish?—all of which make your cheeks burn the more he inquires, as casual as asking you about what you do for a living.

“Threesome?”

“No.”

He hums. “Good. I didn’t want to share.”

The admission catches you off-guard, and judging by the way he eyes you for your reaction, he said it intentionally to rile you up. You hope he can’t see the rapid way your heart beats in your throat, the idea that this professional athlete would ever be possessive over a fan with a crush.

His last question pulls you from your thoughts and also makes you nearly snort your drink out of your nose. “Anal?”

“Jim Tim, I’m really gonna need you to cool it with topics I’m wildly unprepared to discuss.”

“That sounds like you’ll be ready at some point, though.”

“Maybe if you call me in about 100 years, I will be.”

He hums, then swirls the ice left in his glass. “What about the time it takes me to cash out and Uber back to mine?”

Your brain completely shuts down at the invitation, the proposition striking you in the face. He couldn’t have seriously been flirting with you this entire time, could he? Surely, he was just being silly with a girl—a fan—who he’ll never see again?

But he’s looking at you, and it feels like the time has long since passed if he was going to announce that it’s all been a joke. He’s waiting for your reply, for a confirmation that all of his hard work and perfect banter has not gone to waste.

So you nod, letting out a loud sigh as soon as his red hair disappears back into the crowd to pay his tab. Your hands are shaking, your heart threatening to leap out of your throat, and you glance around like everyone is going to start laughing at you for believing that JT Compher would want to take you home.

-

JT’s skin tingles as he signs his check, nodding a ‘thank you’ at the bartender before pocketing his wallet. This wasn’t what he expected when he prepped himself for the event tonight; he anticipated photos, nervous fans, hand aching from signing so many hats and jerseys—and afterward, decompressing at the bar with the guys, having a few drinks, guffawing along as Bo surely makes a fool of himself. Instead, he feels like he’s been smacked in the face, in awe of the girl he met and promptly learned he can’t get enough of. It’s only been a few hours, but he’s hooked on her smile, on her quick wit, on the way she makes his cock twitch in his pants when she laughs. 

He yearns to be with her, now, to try his chances at feeling her pretty lips on his, to get a better glimpse at the jeans she painted on over the tempting curve of her hips. Though he’s confident—she wrote fanfiction about him for Christ’s sake—it’s far from a slam-dunk, but he’s eager to embrace the challenge ahead, and equally content to just spend more time basking in her presence. 

But when he returns to the spot he left her at, she’s nowhere to be found. He scans the crowd, searching for the eyes that have captivated him so deeply. A tinge of nerves blaze through him, the thought of being ghosted flitting through his brain, but then he remembers the way she looked at him, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in close to her. 

So, he searches for her, sure she’s just stepped away for a moment. He checks the bar, the restroom, the front door, the back door—nothing. And then he finally accepts the truth: She’s gone, disappeared without a word, far too good to be true.

JT Ubers home alone, left to quell the burning in his gut in the somber solidarity of his bedroom, wistfully wondering if your paths will cross again someday.

SIMILAR CONTENT: Already Ready to Go* A Night in Paris* Adore You

Tagging: @somuchf4rstardust @laurenairay @senditcolton @fallinallincurls

[triflesandparsnips]

(eta 10/10/23: Having just realized that this is now a very easy to google explainer, please also see the full end-of-game roundup here: "when something is definitely not a game, but most definitely a gift" or my related #definitely not a game tag. We now return you to your regularly scheduled nonsense, currently in progress.)

So... so.

So this just dropped.

And listen. LISTEN. For people who haven't been following this Our Flag Means Death-related alternate-reality-shenanigan fest, the following will make no sense to you-- or, wait, fuck it--

A Brief History of the Javid Denkins Alternate-Reality Game

(I didn't intend "overly long essays about in-depth fandom-related shenanigans" to be my brand, but by god I'm here now and I will make us all suffer through it.)

Reality (As We Know It)

Established and verified gay pirate showrunner David Jenkins is a regular shenanigineer on twitter: retweets fanart, retweets cosplays, calls fans sluts (endearment), has ongoing fight with medieval cats.

Back in 2022, David Jenkins implied heavily that he had joined tumblr, but did not cough up his account name.

This is the sum total of real and actual events and identities.

Through the Looking Glass

Fans started looking for David Jenkins's tumblr. What fans found is the tumblr of one Javid Denkins, who appeared to be new, had a variant of Jenkins's twitter icon, and seemed to be cheekily maintaining an incognito by steadfastly asserting that he is definitely not David Jenkins.

Fans got weird about it, because that is the nature of fandom. I said something about it here, because I have Feelings about the Rules of Incognito and also about Not Being Weird About People Who Make the Content We Like. I put it as a reblog to the post, as per regular tumblring, no response requested/required because babes, if I'm going to be perceived, I want it to be organic. (ahem... FOOTNOTE 1)

I kept a cursory eye on things, because it can be Really Lonely to be a famous person who just wants to have a regular online experience, and if that's what whoever was on the other end wanted, then that's what they should get to have imo. Unlike a regular tumblr that I might reply to directly or engage with on a same-level kinda way, I let them set the rules of engagement because unless/until they came clean, they would always be Schrodinger's Showrunner to me, and therefore subject to my internal Don't Be Creepy ruleset.

My second Javid reblog was pretty much what I would do to any other newbie tumblr person (as they professed to be): adding on to a gag by referencing the "color of the sky" meme and also a seagull, for OFMD-related reasons (which fit within the ruleset, because Javid was actively connecting himself with OFMD type things). And Javid reblogged it, so hey, I was winning at tumblr interactions, a thing that is normal to want and possible to achieve.

Time passed. Javid dropped (what will be revealed to be the first of many) photo manipulations. (FOOTNOTE 2)

On the same day, Javid posted what looked like an accidental smashkey. I reblogged with a seagull, because again, established rules of engagement and me winning at tumblr interactions. He reblogged himself, though, with what looked like another smashkey, but was actually a goddamn Caesar cipher-- and started using the tag #definitely not a game.

From there, Javid started up a stream of fairly fun puzzles. I didn't keep up with it fully, but since it looked like Javid wanted people to interact, I interacted (while trying to ensure that other people could keep having fun too). He also started subtly changing his icon, his tumblr header, etc., expanding the bounds of the puzzle space, as it were. (And if you want a complete rundown of the puzzle history and the associated answers, this twitter thread is enormous and thorough, thank you @eefaevie.)

The seagull made an appearance every once in a while; I threw together various season 2 bingo cards in response to these potential spoilers; I spent my time largely keeping back so I could eat popcorn and Not Be Creepy. But... but.

The thing was, Javid's method of posting (in a "heeeere fishy fishy fishy" manner) seemed, to me, to be the actions of someone trying to play with the audience and/or provide enrichment for the enclosure. So after some thought and, again, remembering the loneliness of being a Creative Person but trying to be mindful that this person was still incognito and could be the actual dude, I started using the seagull to reblog extra content, links, whathaveyou, with the tag #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures-- with the idea that, if Javid wanted to look, he had the option to do so-- and if he did, he'd be rewarded with, again, no demands on him or his attention, but just: some content. Some enrichment. Some fun. A "picking up what you're putting down" kind of vibe from one person to another, both of whom are, at the very least, interested in communicating with an audience.

To be clear: For me, at the end of the day, it had to be a choice. I needed to provide room for Javid to choose to enter the magic circle of my additional game play-- but I also wasn't going to hold my breath about it. This was Javid's space, with intentions and purposes I had no way of knowing (nor should I)-- I was just, metaphorically, bringing another set of dice and maybe some graph paper with an extra room drawn on it that he could easily enter if he wanted, to play in a space intended to complement his. He was putting in a shitton of labor for what was essentially just a gift; I wanted to show appreciation for that labor, while putting in some of my own to gift back.

So when the first round of puzzles ended, and a new one began, I linked the answers to one of his anagram puzzles inside some seagull gifs-- but I figured, why not add something extra? I used his pigpen cipher to dare him to use a book code next. To even see the dare he'd have to want to decode the gifs-- and if he ultimately didn't want to engage, no skin off my nose. (That's why there's a border around the magic circle with clear entrances and exits.) Either way, I was having a nice time.

The next puzzle type was a stereogram. (Neat.) The puzzle after that, though? I get tagged and informed that Javid has, in fact, posted a motherfucking book code. (FOOTNOTE 3)

Enter the Thunder Parasocial Dome

This is the point where I first have to be pulled down from the curtains by rational people who have only my best interests at heart.

(Having a whole Thesis Statement about why I was engaging with Schrodinger's Showrunner is one thing. Having possible evidence that my engagement was, like, actually engaged with is quite another.)

By sweet and loving friends and family I was reminded that:

Other people are, in fact, allowed to be clever about things too.

That all sorts of pre-planning may have gone into all this, and that therefore the timing was a coincidence.

That there are a limited number of easily accessible ciphers out there, so the code type could also be a coincidence.

And that either way I still have my important Don't Be Creepy code of ethics.

So. I took a deep breath. Cool. I was totally and absolutely cool about this.

...And in a totally normal manner I proceeded to lay an elaborate trap.

AHAHAHA JUST JOKING what I mean is: I replied to the tagged post, acknowledging that the sphere of potential puzzling had now expanded beyond tumblr. I used Javid's own fake-link trick to link to a seagull laugh. And in the tags I threw in a lot of potential internet-related alternate reality stuff.

But also, crucially... some more ideas for Javid to use. (FOOTNOTE 4) If he wanted them. If he was actually looking.

Since I was now playing In Earnest, I spent some time putting together a youtube channel, an alternate tumblr, a neocities account -- a whole new field of play, if Javid wanted to engage there. I pulled out the dusty memories of a Yuletide fic I wrote several years ago that used similar shenanigans to tell an interactive fiction story about Monty Python. (Hilariously enough, my first RPF.) I continued to play with all these new and fascinating toys.

A Strange Ship on the Horizon

What with one thing and another three years pass, a Javid puzzle eventually lead to an AO3 account-- which to me definitively opened Schrodinger's box: maybe this was a member of the production playing with fire, more likely it was a clever fan whose brain is fucking fascinating, but it most definitely was not David Jenkins.

But. Javid was still in incognito. And I still don't know if I had been perceived.

I read the fic the Javid account is writing (which is still a work in progress and pretty great ngl)-- it's a fandom AU, where Ed and Stede are fans of a gay pirate romcom called Blow the Man Down, featuring Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur. The showrunner is named Javid, who doesn't have social media but gets cornered into agreeing to join twitter (rather than our universe's tumblr). And Ed decides, on a lark, to start a fake twitter account, tag it #definitelynotjaviddenkins... and then freak out because a large contingent of fandom shows up on his metaphorical doorstep saying HELLO, JAVID.

As if this weren't enough: beyond the fic itself, suddenly a whole multimedia alternate universe suddenly appeared, with multiple twitter and AO3 accounts beyond just Stede and Ed, forming an entire fucking fandom, Goncharov-style, around Blow the Man Down. It was and continues to be fucking wild. It's also amazing. And the porn is surprisingly approachable. (BUT SEE AGAIN FOOTNOTE 1)

Grappling Hooks Breaching the Parasocial Divide

The thing is, though. The thing. That is.

I have officially reached Level 2 Curtain Clawing.

As I read the fic and the accompanying universe, I started to. Notice things.

References to soap (but... but surely that's normal. Many people talk about soap, not just amateur history enthusiasts like myself).

References to obscure scents (LABDANUM. Someone referenced labda-motherfucking-num. But surely. Surely it is not an entirely unheard of thing; I am not the first person to discover it or the fact that it gets combed from goats jesus christ the goat thing I forgot about that--)

References to the drilled coin from the wreck of Sam Bellamy's ship, which appeared as a random bit of possible future lore for Javid in this bit of enrichment (but I put in lots of possible lore! I had a whole thing going about figureheads! Bad luck to kill a seabird! I had a whole thing for a while where I thought maybe the digraph code Javid was hinting at was actually a Playfair cipher! I have been wrong many times before and added lots of random possible narratives. SO SURELY THE COIN IS A COINCIDENCE).

References to... okay not really references, and I've never articulated it quite like this (though this is definitely my vibe), but references to the idea of these puzzles and enrichment being a conversation in and of themselves, held at a remove and existing entirely in call (Javid) and response (the audience).

Finally... I started to notice that Stede decodes/interprets Ed-as-Javid's puzzles in a long twitter thread (like... like the one linked above) but also... sends back puzzles. Like, well, me.

"But STILL," I screech from the top of the curtain rail. "This could ALL BE COINCIDENCE," I yowl as friends and family try to bat me down with a broom. Even, by god, today's drop... which uses a password-protected url shortener. The exact same one I used in an earlier enrichment. But! It's not like there are a lot of those! Maybe this was just the first one that cropped up for Javid, just as it was the first that cropped up for me! (BUT THEN AGAIN, MAY I REFER YOU BACK TO FOOTNOTE 4)

The fic is at chapter 14. There are, if AO3 is to be believed, 7 more chapters to go, plus who knows how much additional extra-universe material. There is so. much. here.

...And so many more opportunities to climb all the curtains.

“It's a great huge game of chess that's being played—all over the world—if this is the world at all, you know.”

So at this point... what, in fact, is happening?

I'm inside a Schrodinger's box whose sides are entirely composed of parasocial uncertainty.

Maybe Javid is here. (HELLO, JAVID.)

Maybe he isn't! (HELLO, THE MIRROR IN MY ENCLOSURE.)

Maybe I'm not actually being referenced at all, but the writer of that twitter thead, @eefaevie, is (HI EEFAEVIE WHAT'S UP HOW'S THE PARASOCIAL AIR IN YOUR ENCLOSURE DOIN')

I don't know. I can't know. Unless someone opens the box.

and my god, what if they never do?

tl;dr. This is the most enriching fun I've had in months, and if the magic circle is going to widen to include me, then friend, I intend to BRING MY A-GAME.

---

FOOTNOTES

1. During the course of that mini-essay, I say the following:

"If it's someone who is not the dude but just a tumblrite who managed to catch on really quick? Well goddamn, good for them, and also A+ Wink-Nudge acrobatics. Real dude can have a peaceful time reading critical analyses of Goncharov, Javid here can quietly start introducing strange lore and running gags and other fun-with-plausible-deniability shenanigans".

One day later Javid starts answering questions about characters with enigmatic season 2 spoilery things; a little less than ten days later, we get the first fake link (which, imo, is the real start of the game).

2. This is now only 24 days after my "strange lore and fun with plausible deniability" post.

3. My dare: January 26. Javid's book code: February 4.

4. My tags on the post wherein I acknowledge that the dare has, possibly, been taken up, read: #you know what's cool? besides how #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures #is how much you can do with html #like sure sure we've all seen the embedded links #but I remember the days of hidden source code messages #websites with delayed redirects #passwords hidden on one site to open the locked contents of another #you know #~normal things~ #I'm certain none of this will become relevant #because this is #definitely not a game

[ciaotoska]

Anyway, following up on my previous post about noir Bret and the aggravating blond man getting in his way:

(also on AO3)

a/n: This turned out longer than I expected lol so splitting into two parts

Bret got a lot of calls to catch cheating spouses — he always saw himself doing more noble work once he set up as a private investigator — but this one struck him as a little different. For one thing, the alleged divorce lawyer hadn’t given him a name and, truthfully, Bret didn’t care so much when the check slid through his mail slot from the “Greenwich Trust” cleared. All he said was that the spouse, something of a wildcat, had been blackmailed before and the attorney figured that was worth following up on.

They’d never met, but Bret knew plenty about the guy he was supposed to be following. Shawn Michaels, the younger son of a Texas oil family who’d used his family’s name to get engaged to another billionaire and move off the oil fields and into a Mission-revival mansion and make trouble.

He was an easy enough kind of guy to take pictures of, and not just because he seemed like he didn’t have anything to hide. Bret spent most of the couple of days he’d been following him watching the man in stores Bret couldn’t even stand near without getting a sideways look.

On the second day — the last of his contracted nothing burger of an assignment — Bret was about to call it a day when he followed the man to his house and parked a little ways down the street. The night before all he’d done was watch him make several animated phone calls by his bedroom window. He was too far back for Bret to hear him even with the window open, but he had a close call when he was sure the blond was looking right at him.

The second night, however, was far different. He ended up at home much earlier than the day before, after a hard day of a late breakfast and browsing the farmer’s market. The mansion was fully staffed, so Bret was surprised to see the housekeeper and butler sent away in the early afternoon on a Thursday.

Then he saw the reason.

Not long after the two left, a Mercedes entered the driveway driven by a man Bret recognized; he knew him as one of Hunter’s business associates, the one that Bret guessed was put in charge of bribes specifically, considering how often he’d seen him around during his time at LAPD.

A huge man — he must’ve been near seven feet tall, from Bret’s vantage point in the bushes — was met at the door by his target, who greeted him in a silk robe with a lingering kiss. Maybe the divorce lawyer had been onto something.

Bret snapped a photo and then followed them through the wall with his camera lens, waiting for them to reappear in the upstairs bedroom. Without bothering to shut the window — maybe he hadn’t expected an audience, or didn’t mind one — he made quick work of the larger man’s clothes and was tossed onto the bed. The blond quickly changed their positions to straddle the other man, and Bret snapped several photos of the blond in the throes of passion. Just doing a thorough job for the client of course.

Bret returned to his office the next morning, developing what he had in the makeshift red room he’d made from the space a secretary would normally occupy. He had a large office, mostly because no one wanted to be in this part of town, spreading out in the top floor of a pre-war art deco building that had seen better days — and worse ones — than a B-movie starlet.

Photos developed, Bret went back to work on his usual batch of background investigations, tailings, and surveillance, with radio silence from the divorce lawyer who’d hired him as he waited in his office.

Bret could hear someone opening the door in his front office developing room. The creak from a door off its hinges thanks to more slammed fists and hurried exits than Bret could remember added a layer of security.

He saw a shadow sidle up to the door and watched it click open before he had time to reach the handle of the gun he kept on the underside of his desk — just in case.

The person who opened the door wasn’t a gangster or wronged client out for blood. It was someone altogether more dangerous, Bret could already tell: the good-looking blond he’d been hired to photograph.

Before stepping fully inside, the man ran a finger over the Hart & Associates label on the door and made a show of glancing around the office.

“And where are your associates?”

Bret hadn’t talked to him, just taken pictures of him, so he wasn’t expecting the low, raspy voice that came out of the blond — not the type of voice for a society boy to have. In fact, it was one that spoke more to long days of hard work, Bret decided.

“Out in the world when I choose to associate with them, Mister…” Bret said, offering an opening for an introduction.

Not finding a seat, the blond perched himself on the corner of Bret’s desk, where he immediately noticed the stack of photos Bret had developed.

He lifted his sunglasses to look at them and then back at Bret. “I know you know who I am.”

There was a flash of something dangerous there; a challenge.

“Right. Anyway, I prefer a solo operation.” Bret leaned back in his chair.

“Do you prefer it, or does your bank account?”

Bret cleared his throat, watching the other man push through the stack of photos for a moment before reaching out a hand to stop him. Bret had gotten rid of the more personal ones. Well, he’d locked them away in his desk drawer.

The man paused on the one of himself in his bedroom, talking on the phone.

”This is a good picture of me, don’t you think, detective?” He showed it to Bret. “Did you forget your job was to make me look bad?”

He pocketed the photo and put the stack back down. “And since you know who I am, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Bret wasn’t sure why, not entirely. He’d been sure he’d be served or had at the very least expected a second lawyer in tow with a legal threat, but instead the blond had shown up here alone in a long black coat and sunglasses, looking exactly like the dangerous type of character the detective always ruins his life for in a Marlowe story.

“Well, I heard about the blackmail. If you’re here to sue, I wasn’t going to publish these.” Bret gathered up the rest of the photos and put them in his desk drawer — a different one.

“It’s not to sue; it’s about my missing husband,” the blond said. “Although, my lawyer is the one who suggested I contact you.”

“Oh?” Bret hoped he sounded less surprised than he was.

“I’m not sure which part of that you were surprised by, but I don’t think it was the last part.” He turned his head to look at the Times in the bin by his desk, then gave Bret a pointed look. “Don’t you read these papers before you throw them in the garbage?”

“Well,” Bret bent to pick up the paper. “Maybe I need a refresher.” And there it was on the front page: Billionaire Helmsley Missing — Tycoon Last Seen Tuesday.

Good riddance, Bret thought. He’d never cared much for Helmsley anyway.

The blond watched him read and must’ve been twigged by the face Bret’d made.

“His parents called to talk to him and he wasn’t home, so they get the reporters involved.”

He reached inside his coat pocket for a pearl cigarette case and put a Marlboro to his lips. Bret was used to clients reaching for a smoke, but it was normally with shaky hands and fingers that couldn’t quite get the flint to light. This man was all ease.

He pointed back at the story’s placement on the front page, some of the ash burning a hole through the photo of his husband. “Slow news day.”

He held out the case in Bret’s direction and put it away when Bret declined.

Something about the other man set Bret off course; not quite making him uneasy — he was still interested in the case. Even moral men had bills to pay, after all.

“So what can I do for you?” Bret asked.

“The LAPD have been in Hunter’s pocket since we lived here — you know that better than anyone,” he met Bret’s eyes meaningfully, “so of course they suspected me as soon as they got a chance to.”

“You want me to help clear your name?” It was less a question than one of the services on Bret’s menu board.

The blond was already pulling out a checkbook. “I’ll pay you double whatever that idiot was paying you to follow me.”

Bret huffed out a laugh. “’That idiot?’ Your missing husband?”

It was the other man’s turn to laugh. “My husband is not the one who contacted you.”

And Bret knew that was true. While the “lawyer” on the phone hadn’t left a name, Bret had had to speak to Helmsley enough to decide he didn’t like him, after all. He’d certainly recognize his voice.

“Mr. Michaels —”

“My husband’s missing, not dead.”

“Mr. Helmsley?”

“Shawn.” Shawn gave him a wry smile. Now he was just being difficult.

“Shawn, I’m not sure —”

“Whatever you’re about to say, scrap it, and say you’ll take the case.”

Even if Bret had on objection, he wouldn’t have had time to voice it before Shawn was off his desk and at the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, detective.” Shawn held up the photo of himself in his room he’d swiped from Bret’s desk. “I know you know the place.”

When Bret pulled up, the driveway was full of more LAPD cars than the lot at the station during shift change.

It was the maid who answered, but Shawn was right behind her, a catlike smile as soon as the door swung open to reveal him. Not that he needed much more revealing, considering the shoddy job he’d done closing his robe — the same one he’d been wearing the other day.

“Detective.”

Bret paused to wipe his shoes at the doormat.

“Don’t bother, I was hoping to add a few more muddy boot prints to my collection,” Shawn said, loud enough for the patrolmen passing them from outside to hear.

Bret followed Shawn into the sitting room, where he noticed that Shawn had already had the surveillance photo of himself framed. He sank down next to it in an overstuffed armchair.

Shawn produced another cigarette from the case in his pocket.

“They’ve been in and out of here all day.” Shawn tracked the boys in blue with his cigarette before putting it up to his mouth. He searched for his light, but Bret beat him to it, offering it to his mouth.

He looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Never know when you need a light.” Bret pocketed the lighter and pulled out his notebook. “Makes sense they’re being so thorough. They thought of your husband like one of their own, right?” It came out more bitterly than Bret had meant it to, but the sentiment was there.

“If that’s the case, I wish they’d treat that rug the same way. They’ve been tracking mud all over it all day.” Shawn rolled his eyes. “It only got here last week. Christmas gift from Hunter or something, I guess. He never let me buy this one.”

Bret looked around while Shawn reached down to pick at an imaginary stain on the white fur. He was loved, clearly. Plenty of pictures of him and Helmsley from expensive-looking vacations and some just of Shawn.

“What’d you do before this, if you don’t mind my asking?” Bret was going to guess model, the past time of rich younger children who weren’t born ugly.

“Nothing. Now I do nothing with more jewelry.” Bret looked at the ring on his finger. Yes, he was loved.

Bret glanced around and met eyes with a group of cops the next room over. It’d been an uncharacteristically rainy day in LA, and Bret knew he’d need to move quickly if there was anything to find. The cops must have known the same thing and sent out half the force.

Bret recognized most of them, still working for the LAPD even after everything that had happened — it seemed not many other cops had had the same distaste for bribery that Bret did. But, true to Shawn’s word, they did seem to have a distaste for him — something Bret and Shawn had in common — and talked loudly in every room they occupied.

Bret leaned toward Shawn, elbows on knees. “Do you have somewhere quieter we could talk?”

Shawn laughed a little, bitter. “A bar.” Then he grinned. It was decided. “I’ll get ready.”

He shimmied out of the room, clearly expecting Bret to watch him leave — and he did, but only for a second.

Bret dropped his eyes to Shawn’s black book next to the phone as soon as the other man was out of view. He glanced around for his potential audience and moved to Shawn’s unoccupied chair to look at the open pages. Normal enough — certainly not quite as many numbers as Bret had expected a society swan to have — but there was one without a name attached.

The line picked up on the first ring.

“Shawn?” A drowsy voice answered, and Bret could hear an accent even on just one word.

It sounded familiar to Bret, but he couldn’t quite place it. He stayed silent on the line, hoping the man would continue.

“Shawnie, if you’re calling back about Hunter, like I said, I’d let you know when —”

Bret rubbed his thumb along the receiver, hoping it sounded like a bad connection, and placed the receiver down. He definitely recognized the voice, but he still wasn’t entirely sure from where. But the accent and the local area code certainly narrowed it down.

The outfit Shawn Michaels wore to a bar before noon on a Sunday wasn’t much more conservative than the robe he’d been wearing at home.

Instead of one of the dives Bret was used to — or one of the high-end places he expected society people to go — Shawn had dragged him to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint.

Shawn gave up on translating the menu to him — “there’s nothing to translate, detective, all of the drinks are what they say they are” — and ordered him the same thing he was having — and continued speaking to the bartender in Spanish for longer than Bret thought necessary, both looking over at Bret a few different times.

They took their drinks to the small patio in the courtyard of the complex, string lanterns offering a little light from the rain still drizzling around their table umbrella. Bret wiped down his chair with a discarded table cloth; Shawn stood to the side, expecting Bret to do the same for him and rolling his eyes when he didn’t, pulling his coat off to drape over the seat instead.

Bret was used to the relative cold outside, but maybe Shawn had already had something that was warming him up.

Bret inspected both of his drinks, one a shot of something clear and the other what Bret guessed was a margarita. Dark liquors and beers were more his speed. He opted for the shot first and had to wince back when it burned his throat. He coughed.

“I have to say, Shawn, not many of my clients looking for a missing person wait until the next day to start looking.”

Shawn threw back his own shot and met Bret’s eyes dead on. No wincing. “I’m not looking. I’m sure I know where he is.”

Bret couldn’t help the head shake and little smile he could feel forming on his face. So far, nothing about this case had been typical.

“And where is that?” He asked.

“I think,” Shawn started, turning the margarita tumbler in his hands with a smile of his own. “He decided he was having a little too much after-Christmas fun with his little friends and I’ll see him next week. Probably went down to Mexico.”

Bret reached for his notebook, thinking more of taking notes on his client than on the missing husband. “An after-Christmas cruise? Do you not normally tag along?”

“And watch my husband flirt with some whore on a boat? I don’t care for it. Unless I get to be the whore, that is.” There was that smile again.

Bret flipped to a new page in his notebook. “He much of a partier?”

“No, that’s me.” To illustrate, Shawn toasted his near-empty margarita to him. “He doesn’t like the drinks, but he likes the ladies who bring them.”

“You don’t seem terribly concerned.”

“About what?”

“About… anything.”

“I’m not concerned — and I just told you why I wasn’t. But I’m sure you know how it would look for me to be unconcerned.”

Bret knew how people like Shawn came off. Bret had been thinking of him the same way. The clothes, the jewelry, the flirty touches, and the easy smile that didn’t reach his cloudy eyes. Of course a guy like that would make his husband disappear, and of course everyone would think that.

“Well, if you say he’s on boat to Mexico, then what should we be working on?”

“He normally leaves out of Long Beach.” He leaned forward to finger Bret’s sleeve. “I guess you could poke around there if you’re already sick of me.”

Bret pocketed his notebook and stood from the table. “I’m starting to think you hired me to be your friend.”

“I have friends.”

“Not in LA.”

On a good day, you could be in Long Beach in under two hours. On a day like this one, where the port was blocked off by yet another set of cops and what felt like miles of crime scene tape, it took longer.

Bret was less than pleased when he pulled off the side of the road and was greeted by a familiar face strolling up to his car. Jannetty, a late night partier playing dress up in a trench coat and badge, leaned his arm on the roof of the driver’s side as Bret made to open his door.

“Doing an investigation, Hart.”

“Explains all the tape.” Bret moved his eyes away from the scene in front of him to meet Jannetty’s. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Case I’ve been working on. New developments, so I followed them down to Long Beach.”

Bret made to open his door again but was blocked by Jannetty’s knee nudging it closed.

“What I meant was I don’t normally see you around the scenes of investigations — doesn’t matter where they are.”

Bret would have written this off as a bust. Talking to Jannetty was never much use to him — but it did give him some important information this time: the identity of the man on the phone. Shawn had been calling Jannetty’s number and seemed to have a direct line.

Since it didn’t seem like he’d be doing much here — not with Jannetty breathing down his neck, anyhow — he’d do some other investigating. Shawn was covering the gas.

They’d worked together for a few years back when Bret was a detective and Jannetty was wearing a detective’s uniform, but Bret had never known much about the other man other than that he clearly wasn’t an LA native. Not too strange: LA was always a city of new residents. Bret had moved there himself after the war.

They’d started off on the wrong foot — Bret turning down Jannetty’s offer to go to a club after work one day — and ended on another wrong foot — Jannetty’s mysterious lack of punishment for a flub that saw an innocent officer punished instead. Well, it had served as a wrong foot for both Jannetty and Helmsley, in Bret’s book. The two had always been buddy-buddy and it didn’t take genius to figure out how Jannetty got off scot-free. Bret left the force soon after.

He wanted to know just what Shawn would’ve been calling a man like Jannetty about. Knowing he wouldn’t get access to Jannetty’s files, Bret decided to try his luck with a newspaper search. Jannetty was an uncommon enough last name, and if he’d done anything noteworthy, he’d show up. The library staff was used to Bret enough by this point that he had his own login to the microfiche and records. Doing a word search of Jannetty’s name proved easy enough, and he was able to find a few records in Georgia and Texas. Finding nothing in Georgia other than a few reports about Jannetty’s apparent amateur wrestling skill, he moved onto the results in Texas.

They weren’t long afterward, and Bret had guessed Marty moved west looking for work and wound up in central Texas. Not interesting on its own, but what was was the engagement announcement from several years back: one Martin Jannetty and a Shawn Michaels. Bret didn’t think he had a very common name either — certainly not common enough to overlook this coincidence.

Bret couldn’t find a photo of either of them in this paper, but he did find a photo of someone else in another newspaper for another town in Texas, near Dallas. A tragic accident — a young heir falling off a boat. A young heir who happened to be named Shawn Michaels. There was a photo of the family in the newspaper, taken in some opulent living room on some sprawling estate, Bret was sure. It was helpfully labeled for his convenience.

He turned the dial to look closer at the picture. The young man in the photo didn’t look a thing like the Shawn he knew — even in the grainy newsprint, he could tell he had dark hair. More importantly, he was dead — and had been for about five years.

[fungifanart]

False Happiness

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Dire Crowley, all of the students, like literally all of them, Nurse OC that's mentioned by name maybe twice

CW: Cursing, trauma (I think?)

Word count: 4.5k

Disclaimer: All of the students (except Ortho for robot reasons) are depicted as being college age and I will die on this hill.

Notes: It genuinely warmed my heart to see some of y'all asking for a part 2 to this fic so how could I say no?

@obamas-divorced-aunt @sacrificialwife1

One week has passed since the Prefect’s overblot and the silent tension in the air hasn't let up even a little as everyone waits for him to wake up.

It would take the most oblivious person in all of Twisted Wonderland to not notice the stark contrast between before and after the Prefect’s incident. How numerous classes go quiet each day as several key members remain lost in their thoughts or are absent altogether. How grades are already going down as a large group of students are too distracted to complete their assignments.

Of course, Crowley knows better than to fully blame the students for this. They're only like this because of the Prefect’s condition and if he wanted to find the catalyst to blame for it, then he would only need to look into a mirror, but this would only bring his mood down further.

And so, he decides to distract himself by making his rounds across the school and its dorms, much to the dismay of their members.

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Upon entering Heartslabyul, Crowley is greeted by the usually cheery sight of an unbirthday party, however, the air feels as though it was physically drained of its light atmosphere as Mr. Trappolla and Mr. Spade are engaged in a very intense discussion that looks like it might turn into a fistfight at any moment. Crowley would normally expect Mr. Clover, Mr. Rosehearts, or even Mr. Diamond to have attempted to break them up by now, however, he looks over to see all three of them distractedly doing some other actions.

He sees the vice housewarden absent-mindedly passing around pastries despite his fingers being littered with bandages covering injuries one might have from cooking while distracted. He sees the orange-haired man making numerous attempts at taking a photo of the tart in front of him for Magicam, but failing due to the trembling of his hands. Finally, he sees the housewarden himself languidly picking at his own tart with a dark expression on his face.

"Mr. Rosehearts. A word, please." Crowley says in order to bring the young man from his thoughts.

With a jolt, the shadow cast over the young man's face lifts as he turns to face Crowley, but not before a look of annoyance flashes across his face upon realizing who he's talking to.

"H-headmage! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Mr. Rosehearts says almost robotically.

"I realize that this must be a trying time both for you and your dorm mates, but I don't think that means you can leave Mr. Trappolla and Mr. Spade to get into yet another fight." Crowley replies while motioning to the two men in question.

The housewarden's eyes go wide and he immediately gets up to go break them up.

Crowley can immediately tell that the other dorms must be out of sorts as well if THIS is the state of Heartslabyul. And so, he leaves the dorm to its own devices and begins walking to Savannaclaw.

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Now, Crowley is well aware that he isn't exactly the most liked person among the staff of NRC, especially after his role in the Prefect’s overblot became common knowledge, but he hardly thinks being growled at by every Savannaclaw member he walks past is necessary.

Regardless, he will not be deterred.

He starts making his way to the room of Mr. Kingscholar, but is surprised to instead see him, Mr. Bucchi, and Mr. Howl diligently practicing spelldrive on the field below.

At first, it seems like a regular game, but, upon getting closer, the anger and frustration in the air become so thick that one could slice it.

Crowley waits on the sidelines for them to finish, only to be almost clipped by a spelldrive disk embedding itself in the wall next to his head.

"You must have balls of steel to show your face around here after what happened last week." Mr. Kingscholar says while retrieving the disk with a scowl.

"Control yourself. A housewarden you may be, but do not forget which one of us is the Headmage." Crowley warns, not appreciating the younger man's tone.

"And yet, you still don't act like one." The beastman fires back indignantly.

"Enough. I'm simply here to check on the wellbeings of yourself and the other students..........and also to thank you again for being one of the first at the Prefect's side after the incident." Crowley says while mustering every drop of professionalism he has to give a thankful bow without saying anything petty, "I would've thanked Mr. Clover as well, but he seemed...distracted."

"......Hmph. It was the least I could do after everything we'd clearly put him through." The lion replies curtly, but not before Crowley sees a visible shiver go down his spine and up his tail, no doubt as a result of recalling everything they saw that day, "Anyway, as you can see, we're all doing fine as usual and we're still in the middle of practice so if you'd be SO kind."

Crowley nods in understanding before turning to leave, while still very aware of the piercing glares digging into his retreating back from the wolf and hyena the lion was playing with.

--------‐----------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley can immediately tell that the events of last week had a profound effect on the housewarden of Octavinelle purely by the Mostro Lounge being closed on a weekday.

'It’s worse than I thought...' Crowley thinks to himself, knowing how Mr. Ashengrotto would never risk losing even a single thaumark unless something serious was going on.

Crowley knocks on the office door and enters upon hearing a distracted "Come in" from the other side.

He enters the Lounge and walks towards the back to check on the octo-mer in his office and passes by the brothers Leech who seem too engrossed in their own discussion to notice him.

"I must say, I was quite surprised to see the Mostro Lounge closed during prime business hours, Mr. Ashengrotto." Crowley begins, causing the young businessman to look up from his documents with an unamused glare.

"Yes, well, two of my best workers are still out of it from the incident last week and business has been slow over the last few days anyway so I figured closing for a day or two would do everyone some good." Mr. Ashengrotto says while returning to writing on several pieces of paper at once.

'Yourself especially.' Crowley thinks, noting the dark circles under the young man's eyes.

"If you came in just to question how I choose to handle my business, then I'd appreciate it if you'd see yourself out now." The silver-haired man says while clearly running out of patience.

"O-of course. My apologies." Crowley gives a slight bow before exiting the establishment while still going unnoticed by the brothers Leech. He remains focused on his task, but manages to catch one sentence as he walks by, "Those voices we heard at the end...they were ours, weren't they?"

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When entering the Scarabia dorm, one can usually expect to hear the sounds of a parade or even just general merrymaking and have a solid fifty-fifty chance of being correct. This time, however, Crowley is met with complete silence.

He makes his way through the halls, only encountering a handful of students, before reaching the housewarden's chambers.

Just as Crowley is about to knock, he suddenly is grabbed by the arm and dragged into a dark hallway where he finds himself face to face with the vice housewarden himself, eyes practically glowing with fury.

"Dire Crowley, you are going to listen to me VERY carefully." Mr. Viper begins, not waiting for a response from the headmage, "I don't know where the hell you got the impression that you can just waltz on in, but you can’t. Thanks to your little fuck-up, I've had to deal with a mopey Kalim who can't even be bothered to leave his room most of the time, all without the Prefect to cheer him up, meaning that his grades are already suffering and his parents are on MY ass for it! With that in mind, I'd suggest turning around and steering very clear of Scarabia until you fix this mess you've made." He concludes, leaving the headmage in stunned silence.

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After being essentially kicked out of the Scarabia dorm, Crowley feels reasonably nervous at how his arrival will be received by the students of Pomefiore. And lo and behold, he was right to feel this way.

Before he can step one foot through the gates, an arrow sails by dangerously close to his face and embeds itself into the ground next to him. Of course, it wouldn’t take much brainpower to determine the culprit, given the students the Prefect is acquainted with, if he weren't already striding towards the frazzled headmage.

"Dearest me! My sincerest apologies, Proviseur Corbeau! I was practicing my archery in the nearby forest when my hand oh so tragically slipped! Are you uninjured?" Mr. Hunt inquires while inspecting Crowley for any cuts or gashes.

"Fortunately, your arrow just missed me, Mr. Hunt." Crowley says, not missing the minute 'tch' that escapes the young man's lips at his response, "In the future, I would recommend you take more care when aiming so as to avoid any real tragedies." He concludes with a hint of warning in his voice.

"But of course! You can expect nothing less!" The young huntsman exclaims, "Ah, but where are my manners? What brings you to our humble dorm on this fine day?"

"It’s my understanding that the Prefect's incident last week has left a significant number of students quite disturbed. So I figured I would check in with you all to ensure you're in good health!" Crowley says with aplomb.

"Ah! Truly you are a role-model for headmages across all of Twisted Wonderland! I already feel my eyes watering at how you care for your students!" Mr. Hunt says while wiping a tear from his eye, "But rest assured, the students of Pomefiore are no worse for the wear than before the incident. So a check-in will not be necessary!"

"Are you quite sure, Mr. Hunt? I should like to talk to Mr. Schoenheit and Mr. Felmier myself just to be sure, seeing as how they are both close friends to the Prefect-" Crowley begins, but is cut off by the young huntsman.

"I CAN ASSURE YOU, Proviseur Corbeau. Roi du Poison and Monsieur Cherry Apple are in NO NEED of conversing with you." The young man says while maintaining his normal composure, but with a hint of warning and something more sinister behind his honeyed words.

".....If that is truly how you feel, then I will not press the issue further. Good day to you, Mr. Hunt." Crowley turns and begins walking back to the hall of mirrors, ultimately deciding to heed the huntsman's warning against poking the bear.

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Continuing on to the Ignihyde dorm, Crowley hadn't expected much to change, given the introverted nature of its housewarden and students. However, when opening the front door, expecting to see and hear no one, he instead sees all of the students bustling about with all manner of cleaning supplies in hand.

"May I ask what's going on here?" Crowley questions a passing student.

"Housewarden Shroud enacted a dorm-wide cleaning initiative after the incident a week ago." The student responds hurriedly.

"Correct, which we are STILL behind schedule on because no one in this dorm knows how to pick up after themselves, apparently!" The younger Shroud says in exasperation as he approaches the headmage, causing the other student to scurry off.

"Ah, the younger Shroud! Lovely to see that you're doing well!" Crowley exclaims.

"I'm sure it is, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave now." The younger Shroud states.

"Excuse me??? Why???" Crowley asks, taken aback.

"Idia's explicit orders when announcing the cleaning initiative were that only pre-approved individuals would be allowed inside the dorm until its completion and that Dire Crowley is to be permanently off that list for fear of tarnishing the cleanliness with his 'horrendous vibes'." The cyborg concludes matter-of-factly before beginning to push the headmage back towards the front entrance.

"Wh-- Of all the childish--" Crowley takes a breath to collect himself, despite currently being pushed towards the door, "May I at least ask why your housewarden would enact such an initiative in the first place?"

The younger Shroud pauses for a moment before speaking, "Very well, I will show you a recording from my memory of when I questioned Idia on this decision, but you must leave right after."

Crowley hears a few beeping sounds from the young cyborg before the plating on his forearm opens up to project a video in front of him.

"Brother, I fail to see the point in all of this!" The younger Shroud says in the recording.

"Ortho, didn't you see all those memories of the Prefect tripping over random stuff we've left lying around all over the dorm and getting laughed at for it?! That wouldn't have happened if we were more diligent about cleaning up after ourselves! Taking it a step further, we basically caused his overblot!" The older Shroud's recording replies urgently.

"Idia, I HIGHLY doubt--" The recording would've continued, but is instead cut off by the older Shroud in the flesh.

"Ortho, I believe I was very clear about whether Crowley is to be allowed in the dorm." He says in an uncharacteristically stern tone of voice.

The young cyborg quickly turns around in surprise, "I-Idia! I know! I'm sorry! I was actually just in the middle of seeing him out."

"Well, then let's see him out together." The older Shroud says before joining his brother in fully pushing Crowley out the front door, "Have a good day, headmage." He says as the door shuts forcefully behind him before Crowley can get even one word in.

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With his rounds almost complete, Crowley arrives at his final destination: The Diasomnia dorm, which somehow feels even more gloomy than usual.

As he approaches the front entrance, he's nearly struck by three separate bolts of green lightning, but continues with determination and opens the front door only to be greeted by Mr. Vanrouge hanging upside down right in front of him.

"I see that you aren't too keen on taking a hint, headmage." The bat fae says nonchalantly.

"And I see that you're doing well, Mr. Vanrouge." Crowley replies while walking past him into the foyer, "I was hoping to check in with Mr. Draconia and his bodyguards. Are they available right now?"

The bat fae lands on the ground and gives a snide grin, eyes almost radiating distaste for the man in front of him, "Even if they were available, what makes you think they'd want to see you? As you recall, Malleus was quite upset after everything that happened last week."

"Be that as it may, it's still my duty as headmage to ensure the wellbeing of my students." Crowley responds, eliciting a mocking laugh from Mr. Vanrouge.

"Oh, that is QUITE rich coming from the same headmage that somehow managed to cause a magicless student to overblot! We ALL saw how you so heartlessly told the Prefect he can’t go home." The bat fae retorts ruthlessly.

"And I'VE told you all numerous times that that wasn’t how I--" Crowley's rebuttal is cut off by a new booming voice filling the room.

"Excuses are a thaumark a dozen, Dire Crowley." Mr. Draconia says maliciously while entering the foyer and being followed by his two scowling bodyguards, "You've made an impressive show of playing 'The concerned headmage', but I think it’s time for you to take your performance elsewhere."

"I--" Crowley is about to argue when suddenly he feels his phone receiving a call, "Oh, for the LOVE OF--" He breathes in before turning around to answer the call, "Yes? Crowley speaking."

"Dire Crowley? This is Nurse Goht. I was told to call you if the Prefect's condition changed?" The nurse says over the phone, causing Crowley’s heart to skip a beat before turning around and putting the phone on speaker.

"I'm calling to tell you that the Prefect has regained consciousness, but--" The rest of the nurse's sentence is inaudible over the sound of the four other men in the room rushing out of their dorm at a full sprint.

Crowley considers following them, but remembers that the nurse had more to say, "I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't catch the second half of your sentence. Would you mind repeating it?" He asks cautiously.

Nurse Goht clears his throat on the other end before continuing, "Well..."

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You'd had quite an interesting awakening with the first thing you saw being Grim's tearstained face rubbing against yours and then being told by the nurse that you'd been asleep for a whole week.

"Oh crap! I'll need to apologize to everyone for making them worry. Geez, and I can already see all the homework I'll have to catch up on." You say before entering deep thought about your next actions.

You're taking the time to plan out who you'll talk to first while comforting Grim who is blubbering unintelligibly in your lap when you're startled by the door to the infirmary suddenly slamming open to let in a large group of familiar faces, all out of breath as if they'd run all the way here.

The nurse tries to tell everyone to give you space, but that doesn't stop Floyd or Kalim as they immediately tackle-hug you back onto the bed with abandon. You're then met with a barrage of the others talking to you at once.

"We all heard from Sebek! How are you feeling???" Deuce asks urgently.

"You sure took your time, didn't you, herbivore?" Leona says nonchalantly, despite his tail swaying back and forth happily.

"All the stress from waiting for you to wake up was bad for my heart, y'know!" Ruggie whines from your bedside.

"You gave us all quite the scare back there." Jade comments.

"I'm just glad you're okay! I barely knew what to do with myself after what happened!" Kalim says while rubbing his face against your shoulder.

"Speaking of, due to those recent events, I've drafted a new contract with terms that I think you'll find more equitable than the previous ones." Azul says while fishing through his coat pockets for the contract in question.

"I'm willing to help you catch up on the material you missed, if you'd like." Riddle offers while already taking out his notebook.

"Oh come on, Riddle. He JUST woke up from a week-long coma after overblotting. Doesn't he deserve even a little break?" Trey points out.

"Trey, that's exactly why he needs to--" Riddle would've continued, but Trey's last statement compells you to speak up.

"Wait, what? What do you mean 'overblotting'? Who overblotted?" You say in confusion.

A wave of silence washes over the room as everyone takes in what you said.

"WH-- HUMAN, THIS IS NO TIME FOR JOKES." Sebek scolds you as you look at him with genuine confusion in your eyes.

"Sebek, I'm not joking! I actually have no idea what you guys are talking about! Did someone overblot while I was unconscious or something??" You say while racking your brain for any applicable memories.

"You mean you seriously don't remember?" Silver asks with concern in his voice.

"Well, the last thing I DO remember is making my way to Crowley's office 'cause he wanted to talk to me about something, but I tripped at the top of the stairs and fell all the way back down and blacked out." You say thoughtfully.

Jamil quickly speaks up before anyone else, "Right! Of course! A random student ended up overblotting near where you fell and we'd assumed that he was the reason why you were unconscious! Right, guys?" He says while making eye contact with some of the others and they nod their heads in agreement.

"Hmm, I do think I remember feeling an earthquake and seeing that black miasma that always shows up before I blacked out so that tracks." You say as you reevaluate your memories, "Oh yeah! I still need to hear what Crowley wanted to talk to me about! Do you guys know where he is?"

What you weren't expecting was an immediate "NO!" from everyone present before Ace speaks up.

"I wouldn't worry about that! It was probably just some generic progress report about him trying to get you back to your homeworld--" Ace's sentence is cut off by Deuce throwing his hand on top of his mouth, but that doesn't stop you from hearing the end of it.

"My 'homeworld'? .....Alright guys, come on. I thought we were past this." You say in an unamused tone.

"Uh...past what, exactly?" Epel questions cautiously.

"Oh, don't play dumb! I know my hometown was pretty remote compared to everyone else's homes, but you don't have to go acting like it was in a completely different world!" You accuse Epel as you feel Floyd, Kalim and Grim go stiff in your lap.

"Y-your home...town?" Floyd repeats in a shaking voice.

"'Was'?" Grim quotes nervously.

"Yes? My hometown was destroyed by a freak hurricane a little while after I came here? I'm pretty sure you guys would remember that, considering how I shut myself in Ramshackle for a week after I found out." You say, once again, with great confusion, but also sadness at remembering the deaths of your family.

Another wave of silence washes over the room, this time, accompanied by a sharp drop in temperature as everyone's faces go pale.

"What is happening?" Idia whispers to Ortho.

"No idea." Ortho whispers back.

"A-ah! But of course! How could we forget such a painful time for our dear Trickster? You have our most sincere apologies!" Rook says while elbowing Epel and Vil.

"Y-yeah, you're right. We're sorry for bringing up bad memories." Epel says while bowing apologetically.

"Indeed, how careless of us. How about we go fetch you some refreshments to make it up to you?" Vil offers while already motioning for the others to follow him out the door.

"Oh-- no, it's okay! You really don't have to!" You try to protest, but most of the students have already cleared out, leaving just Floyd, Kalim, Ruggie and Grim to keep you company.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Trey can already feel death glares from some of the others as they walk out into the hallway outside the nurse's office. Of course, he knows that he kind of deserves it for dropping the ball like that.

However, a new voice breaks the silence before anyone else can.

"I assume you all just finished speaking with the Prefect?" The headmage says while walking towards their group.

"Yes, but we still don't know what's going on!" Cater says urgently.

The headmage sighs before responding, "It would seem that the Prefect was in a worse state than we thought. After Mr. Draconia and the others left, I spoke with the nurse some more and found out that the Prefect seems to have repressed all of his memories from his homeworld and unconsciously rewritten his current ones." He explains.

"Wh-- rewritten how?" Jack asks.

"From what we've gathered, the Prefect seems to think that he's always lived in Twisted Wonderland and the reason he can’t go home is that it was destroyed." Crowley concludes with a troubled expression.

Trey is at a loss for how to process this information, "So...what do we do now?"

Trey's question hangs in the air for several minutes as they all wonder how they could possibly proceed in this situation.

The silence is finally broken by none other than Malleus.

"I say we do nothing." The dragon fae says, earning confused stares from Trey and the others, "The Prefect’s overblot made it exceedingly clear that his memories from his homeworld were a continuous source of pain for him, which is why his brain went to such lengths to repress them. Therefore, if we play along with these new memories he's created then he won't have to face that pain anymore. 'Ignorance is bliss' as they say." The housewarden proposes.

"But are we willing to accept that burden?" Lilia speaks up, "I understand your wish to protect your friend, but if something happens that causes his old memories to resurface then he may end up in a worse state than before. He may even overblot again." He warns.

".....Then it's up to us to make sure that doesn't happen." Trey says resolutely.

"Heh, you've finally said something I can agree with." Leona remarks, "Though, I'm surprised that the 'headmage' over here isn't jumping for joy already. If the Prefect thinks his home doesn't exist anymore then he doesn't have to keep pretending to look for a way to send him back."

"I will have you know that I have been and will continue to look for a way to send him home!" Crowley says, getting looks of genuine surprise, "Whether he remembers them or not, the Prefect still has a family in his homeworld that is waiting for him to return. With that being the case, my duty to him as headmage has not changed. I will see to it that he gets home, no matter the cost." He concludes, earning only a few unimpressed huffs.

'......huh.' Trey thinks to himself, 'I'm interested to see how long this sentiment lasts.'

"Hmph, very well. Let's assume he's telling the truth for now." Riddle says with authority, "In the meantime, we all know what we must do, correct?"

They all nod in response, ready for the long road ahead.

-------------------------------------------------------------

And so, they all begin lying to the Prefect.

They never once bring up his homeworld, or rather, homeTOWN ever again.

They never ask about his family and specifically avoid talking about their own in front of him unless he asks.

Whenever it seems like he might remember even a part of the truth, one of them always distracts him long enough for the memories, the pain, to reshroud themselves in fog.

Trey invites him to an unbirthday party. Kalim takes him on a magic carpet ride high above the clouds. Leona challenges him to a game of chess. Ruggie snatches something from his pocket to get him to chase him. All of this amongst numerous other ploys.

In every instance, the usually intelligent and inquisitive Prefect always ends up stopping right at the cusp of remembrance, as if even he is unconsciously holding himself back.

Of course, they all realize this may seem immoral from an outside perspective. That the Prefect may end up hurt even worse because of their actions.

However, if they have the power to preserve the smile on his face when he sees them for even a day more, to keep the fire of hope burning inside him for just a moment longer, then they will use it without hesitation.

After everything he's done for them, they would do anything to protect their beloved Prefect.

[hischierdevils]

Hiya Crystal! Can I request “i’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you.” And “Could he make you feel as good as i do?” With Mitch Marner please? Thanks so much!

Hi! I changed the prompt a teeny tiny bit. :)

Mitch wasn't worried.

He wasn't worried when you left him, claiming you needed a more stable home life. Something his NHL career couldn't provide for you. You two had been together for a couple years, but he could see how taking the back burner to support him had hurt you.

He wasn't worried when multiple common friends left subtle hints that you were dating again, because every time he was in town, he found himself in your bed.

Even when you had called him to tell him that one of these dates was getting serious, he wasn't worried. You were calling him for godsakes. If this new guy was so great, why wasn't he the one you wanted to talk to?

He fully believed the two of you would find your way back to each other. Even when he saw the engagement photos when he was innocently scrolling through social media. That same night, you were at his game. Sitting right at the glass wearing his jersey.

He scored his first hat trick that night, and when he walked out of the locker room later on, you were there to greet him. The next morning when he woke up, you were cuddled up close to his chest.

So, no. He wasn't worried. You were still his girl.

But then you called and asked if Mitch wanted to meet your fiance. He had reluctantly agreed, mainly to see if he truly had competition.

When you meet for lunch, your fiance Henry is running late.

"Are you happy?" Mitch asks you once your greetings are out of the way. He can't help but notice how your smile doesn't quite meet your eyes. The ring on your finger is the complete opposite of what you like and you keep spinning it nervously around your finger.

"I'm happy to see you. And for you to finally meet Henry." Your voice is quieter than normal and you look exhausted.

"Y/n, I still love you, you know." He tells you.

You sigh as you look into his eyes. He's surprised to find tears in yours. "I know. I've made a mess of everything haven't I?"

“I’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you.” Mitch reaches over and wipes a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

"I can't keep doing this to Henry..."

"Does he make you feel as good as I do?" He asks as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

"Nobody makes me feel like you do." You admit, leaning into his touch.

[team-enlighten-official]

—[Salutations from the team whom will be the one on top.]

Hello. There are a few various beings posting here, but I have, as of May 15th, been put in charge here (as if I didn't do enough around here), to attempt more engagement. I will keep Z's introduction- but for your information, I am the head executive, Asuka.

If you're worth our time, I won't need to explain any further.

—[ I am the overseer of this blog, Z. I am a fully evolved Porygon. My trainer is the captain of this team. I have created this blog for publicity. ]

—[ We are not like those.. Cretins’ teams. We cherry pick those worthy of joining this team. We have tiers you will be able to climb up with will, drive, and talent. One will be kicked out if not efficient enough. ]

—[ Team Enlight (Also known as Enlightenment, or Enlighten to some.) is a unity of the strong. Those who fall above all the rest. We will take no less than the exceptional. We reside in Altosi, the region north of Unova. ]

—[ There is a second overseer to this engagement blog. ]

hey heyy!!! i’m the captain’s renninculus!! i don’t have a proper name (none of us do..) but you can call me ren!!

i’m the second mod here. i’m less work and up-tight than Z over there, but yknow. SOMEONE has to have some whimsy around here. actually, here’s us two in a photo !! if you see us, ask about team enlight :) (i don’t look much different from the normal renninculus but Z looks different !)

that’s!!!!! me in the corner. Z was floating away so i couldn’t get the rest of my body in there but whatever the quality of it isn’t blurry so it’ll do !

anyways some of the lower tiers (grunts) will post, some of the higher tiers (executives) will post, but it’s real general and there only will be like.. a few reoccurring humans. otherwise it’ll be us as the constant! we don’t bite, so feel free to say hi :)

..or the boss may metaphorically “bite”. he’s an old man who’s got a little too hard of a perfectionist streak. oh well. you’ll grow to love him! (maybe.)

—[ THE IMPERFECTIONS OF THE WORLD WILL BE GONE SOON. ]

CURRENT EVENT: NONE

//OOC BELOW

hey! mod @aimless-aimz !! back with another pokeblog!! (mod is a minor no nsfw please)

-THIS IS FOR A FAKEREGION. it is akin to Canada. You can go to my main to look about it, but feel free to ask about Altosi in, or out of character! (please ask abt it i am so normal)

-this teams values are prejudiced. my morals do NOT fall with this team. this is a pokemon EVIL team. The leader (more will be revealed about the captain soon) is an abusive man. he believes in conceited things but i hope you know MOD DOES NOT AGREE.

-you can send IN CHARACTER anon hate. that is okay, but DO NOT send death threats in my inbox. if you do so you will be blocked. please, i don’t want to wake up to “kys” in my inbox.

-peliper mail, malice, and magic anons, that of the like (except unmail) are on!! go crazy lol (no nsfw obviously lol)

TAGS:

there’s a simple “ask” tag and “art” tag. means what it says on the tin. i was sent an ask or i drew the image shown.

there also is a fun lil thing that is "workplace confession tag" !! a team member makes an anonymous confession. for sillies and funnies !!

there are tags for organization purposes! every event has a tag. there are no past events to be listed.

there are also tags because this is a multi muse blog!! They are:

“Z post” - post made by Porygon Z ”Ren post” - post made by renninculus ”Grunt post” - post made by human team grunt ”Executive post” - post made by human higher-up "Asuka post" - post made by Asuka

so uh. yeah! i will add more to the pinned later. please be nice. basic dni criteria. please try to stay in character too!

[qwilman]

Losing your Twitter Audience: Some Shit of the Top of  My Head, by Me

Reposting a Twitter thread I just made because it's got a lot of thoughts I've had stuck in my head lately:

I don't have a fully-formed version of these thoughts, but I think what a lot of artist are asking when they say "where will we go after twitter" is actually asking "where are all of the normal people going to end up?" I can name a half-dozen sites that are ready and waiting for more artists to come flooding onto their platform. I'm sure there are just as many for writers, musicians, filmmakers, everything else. The actual question everyone needs an answer to is where is the AUDIENCE going.

I've been terminally online for well over two decades at this point. I've been obsessed with the internet since middle school and I can honestly say I've never seen anything like twitter's user base in my entire goddamned life. I've never seen a website that EVERYBODY uses. The closest comparison I have is Facebook, which was really the first internet community that normal people ever truly appreciated. At it's core though, Facebook was a tool that kept you connected with people you knew in real life. As much as it changed, that idea was its bones. Twitter isn't really like that. It doesn't have shared calendars or photo albums or a base instinct to keep you hooked into communities you're already in. Twitter has performance in it's core. It's a bullhorn you pick up to shout to as many people as possible. As much as it's changed that's still it's core feature, the thing it's always going to want to do. That's why it's so appealing for every performer in the world, and I think since most people who don't want to be on stage want to watch a show, that's why it got so huge.

So a bunch of performers can reach enormous audiences and a bunch of us managed to make a living off of it. The question now that this stage is burning down with us on it is where is the next one, and I just don't think this massive audience is ever going to move in unison. I think the thing we all need to be prepared for is that we're going to fragment. We're going to find our own corners again and the more savvy members of our audiences are going to find those same corners as they seek out what they love, but our causal viewers will veer off. Twitter has been an incredible tool for us to put our art in the faces of people who would never think to look for it. This was a big part of what the people who found success on Facebook benefitted from as well, the audience who treated social media like television.

The people who are just looking for an entertainment box to turn on and comfort them without effort are most likely never going to use a Pillowfort, or a Tumblr, or a Cohost, and DEFINITELY not a Mastodon, because they all require a base level of interaction and engagement. And to be clear, this isn't me calling those people stupid, or a "bad" audience. People have their own lives and their own interests. Curating a feed of content requires effort and seeking out new artists is a skill. A lot of people just want to crash after they got off work. So those people aren't going to follow us to new sites. Either because those new sites are improved, but more esoteric, or just because signing up for a new site is a hassle of it's own. We're going to lose that audience. Period. Mourn them if you need to, but accept that.

I think success for artists online in the future is going to look a lot more like what it was in the early 00's-10's. Artists and willingly-engaged audiences seeking each other out. I just don't think putting as many eyes as possible on our work will be a winning strategy. Instead of finding as many people as possible, we need to be focused on finding the right people. 100 followers who are excited that their you, specifically, just posted are as valuable as 1000 followers who don't remember you that well and just want to see some cool art. A lot of people stopped trying to find their 1,000 true fans and focused completely on reaching 10k, 50k, 100k followers, no matter how closely they're paying attention. Honest to god, I think the later is going to be suicide in five years.

FWIW, I've never actually been any good at doing that. The biggest following I've ever had in my life is a little over 3,000 followers in TikTok. I think I just feel weird seeing a bunch of artist who have "made it" panic that they'll be losing everything when Twitter's gone. If you have 10k, 50, 100k followers right now, I don't think it's useful to focus on how many you're about to lose. Instead focus on who the best 10% of those followers are, the ones who've supported you financially and by sharing your work, do what you can to meet them where they live.

Anyway this started as an attempt to excise a stray thought I've had stuck in my head all week, didn't mean to spend 45 minutes on it. The point is get ready to post like it's 2007 again. Best case scenario, the internet is going to be asking a little more effort from all of us pretty soon, but I think at the end of the day if things go right we're all going to come out the other side better for it. If you made it this far, dig through your feed, pick one or two of your favorite artists who have links in their bio to give them money, then give them a little money. I promise you they'll notice.

[thelonesomequeen]

Hello! I listened to this garbage so you don’t have to! —Part 2 (April 6, 2023)

I typed up a transcription from the podcast that I will post below. I typed quickly, so please excuse any typos I might not have caught. Don’t drag me for the grammar. That’s all DM talking. I just typed it out the way she said it. For those of you wanting to hear it for yourself, she starts at 52:30.

————————————————————

DM: Well. I did a little poll on Instagram. Because I posted that Chris Evans is Boston’s hometown hero. And I did a little pill for the Bostonians. I said Who is your hometown hero? Ben Affleck or Matt Damon, I grouped them together, Chris Evans, Mark Wahlberg, or Hilaria Baldwin who I just threw in for good measure. And Matt Damon and Ben Affleck won the poll by a landslide and I just need to clarify for my Boston followers, I didn’t realize that Chris Evans didn’t grow up exactly in Boston, he grew up in Sudbury which

Lex: Yeah, Like a suburb.

DM: Which is like right outside of Boston, so I had someone write in and say “grew up in Lincoln Sudbury, was about 8 years behind Chris, but fully agree with this.” so the Sudbury people, and I hope I’m saying that right, they do think that Chris is Boston’s hometown hero.

Lex: Right.

DM: This person says “Lincoln Sudbury” I’m assuming that’s the school “was obsessed with Chris and our whole theatre department was like a shrine to him. He’d come home frequently to visit his family in the early 2000s and we’d see him at the local Natick mall. Him and his family are super suburb-normie. Like I think his dad coached youth soccer when we were all younger. He’s for sure a Sudbury hero, but not Boston. Just a star that loves Boston and Massachusetts." so I felt like I needed to make that distinction because I didn't realize that before I claimed Chris Evans as the...

Lex: I love this distinction. You know, any chance to talk about Chris Evans is a chance I'll take.

DM: Bost (laughs, cuts off word). Wait, I was just going to say! Aren't you, don't you love Chris Evans? Do you still love him so so much?

Lex: I mean, I do but it's so hard because I'm not getting enough content. That's why I posted, you posted those like high school or elementary school, his like bowl cuts year book photos and I was like "I needed this today!" I feel like we never see him anymore because he's got his girlfriend! But we're gonna get some press soon, right? Because he's got that movie coming out on Apple with Ana de Armas again.

DM: Yes. And he's in New York right now with Alba.

Lex: I mean, yeah, like in my, I don't know what the rumor is circulating or blah blah blah, but like, I just feel like they've been engaged since last year. He would not do the People magazine, come out about his love life, again, you wanna talk PR game. That is all strategic to keep the crazies at an arms length...

DM: You think so?!

Lex: satisfy the beast, but still maintain his privacy. Yes! Yes, yes ,yes!

DM: So you think that their relationship is PR?

Lex: Oh no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I think their relationship is real.

DM: Got you. Got you.

Lex: I think he gave...he's normally very private, but he like gave the PR the big, uh, People's Sexiest Man Alive and blah blah blah to then double down and then drop his relationship so that it's like, you know, he's given, he's giving us, he's breadcrumbing us a little bit and then he can still have his life.

DM: You know, I had heard People magazine was pissed about that. Because he didn't disclose to them..."

Lex: Stop, that he was in the relationship?

DM: When he was....yes. Yes.

Lex: Oh my God.

DM: Mhmm. And he did the photoshoot, did the article, was in the magazine, was in the article, and then was like SURPRISE! I'm in this relationship and they were kinda like...why didn't you just tell us? Like you were just on this huge cover and...

Lex: Talking about what you look for in a relationship...

DM: Yes!

Lex:...and like, what you want in a relationship.

DM: Yes, yes. They were like what the f-ck, but whatever. I mean, you know, happy for him. He seems really happy. I'm still...

Lex: So happy.

DM: in the...

Lex: I'm devastated.

DM: I'm still in the camp that if they do get engaged, or if they are currently engaged, I would not be surprised. I'm still in the camp.

Lex: Same. A thousand percent, I agree.

--and then they move on to the next topic.

[cursivebloodlines]

☎️ - lydiaa <3

Send ☎️ And I Will Tell You:

What My Muse Has For Your Muse’s Contact Info:  Aaron 😻. Why the cat hearteyes emoji? Well, even if she doesn't fully admit it, she is absolutely heart eyes over this man fr. And the normal person one is too boring - she thinks the cat is cuter. Sorry Aaron but you won't get much more than that because Lydia finds it inefficient to change contact names around! It would only mess up her list and she likes her orderly, easy-to-find list to access when she needs it :)

What Their Ringtone Is:  She doesn't really go with ringtones either - no, I lie. She does. But they're usually just a random song from a soundtrack in a movie score or video game soundtrack (regardless of whether or not she is familiar with the material, lmfao!). For Aaron, she has him set as Treasured Times from the NieR Automata soundtrack. Even though she doesn't really know the game, she likes the soundtrack and she thinks Treasured Times is a fitting title because she always treasures their time together :) also it sounds like there's someone maybe a kid going lalalalalaaa so if her phone goes off in work, it creeps people out lmfao!! Imagine if she's out at a crime scene and he doesn't realise (just assumes she's in her office!) and he calls her. and like she's working doing her thing and they're sorting stuff out and all you can hear is a childlike voice going la la la la. But she likes the song title and thinks the music is pretty. So it's a win/win really. But that part that's like in the middle of the song, that's def the part she has set for him. :')

The Last Text They Sent Your Muse: So I went into the staff room and someone asked what hours you worked/what your job here was! Congratulations! You are now officially hired as my food provider and seat filler <3 also on another note, Maggie was asking about you. Which is 1) weird, because she never engages in ordinary chitchat with me. Ever. Which leads to 2) I think she has the hots for you <3 don't blame her. Get in there ;-) (Or not. For the record, I saw you first.)

What Image My Muse Has For Your Muse In Their Phone: Hahahaha the first one was an impromptu one Lydia probably took when they went to catch a movie! God knows what movie it was, probably something random. And you know they probably wouldn't be watching the movie anyway, would probably be too busy talking to each other. Or making fun of whatever was on screen and Lydia stating any obvious scientific inaccuracies. They provide their own sources of entertainment! And then the second one? Well. They probably took a trip to the beach just because fun stuffssss. and well. She was clearly looking respectfully <3 a perfectly framed photo if you ask her :') Lydia has no chill lmfaoooooo!!

Accepting | @overnightheartbeats

[regretsofalifeandlovelost]

Internet is bad mkay

After she storms out I am left feeling aroused, horny. I start to flick through porn on my phone. I find a channel that has content that I love, it's cuckquean and cuckold content with normal people. As I watch the scene's play out I refrain from any satisfaction and use the experience to build up and abstain. I know that the longer I abstain the bigger my eventual orgasm will be. As I watch more I keep getting advertisements coming up between videos. After the third video one captures my eye. It's an escort service for women. I click through the link to find pages of guys offering their services, some straight, some bi, some gay. This trips me over the edge, I start to flick through their profile photos, clicking on the guys I find attractive and reading their descriptions and their rates.

After some time and many profiles I get to a buried page and see a guy who's so hot. He's blonde, blue eyes, athletic. I feel drawn to his profile photo and click through to read their profile. In his photos he looks hung and comes across as being more intimate and tender. I automatically click on the phone number and call it. I am on autopilot. I did not even check the rates. We chat on the phone, he sounds Canadian but he could be from anywhere in North America. I sheepishly ask him if he's circumcised. When I hear "of course" I ask when I can see him, he tells me he's not booked for the rest of the day. I ask where he's at and find he's about half an hour away. I tell him I'll come to him and be there in about an hour.

I shower and do myself up like I am going on a date. I feel amazing and speed all the way there. I suddenly stop as I am about to press the buzzer to his flat. Am I coming across as too eager, do I come across as being desperate. I don't care, I press the buzzer. We introduce and then the door unlocks and I take the lift up. My heart is racing, It doesn't even occur to me until several days later that this is crazy and risky. When he meets me at the lift my heart races even faster. He's so much hotter and taller than in his photos. I feel like a midget beside him, he's at least 6ft6 maybe taller. As we enter his apartment he asks me if I want a drink or anything, when I say water we then get some formalities out of the way... I am staggered by the rate.. one hour is my entire days pay but i am here and I am busting to be fucked properly. We engage in small flirty talk for about 10 minutes before he takes the lead and massages my shoulders, he helps relax me.. this all flows into him slowly undressing me and then him caressing my body and kissing my neck from behind. My nipples feel like they are going to pop off they are so hard. I can feel my pussy gushing onto his leather sofa. His kisses on my neck, his nibbles on my ear so intense, so tender and wonderful. My mind is thinking of my sisters husband, and hoping that this guy can match his expertise, so far it's equal. After the kissing and caressing he lifts me and carries me into the bedroom like he's a fireman, he feels strong, he's in control and I am almost busting at the seams with arousal. He's still fully clothed when he goes down on me, his fingers gently massaging my a-spot like a master, I cum so quickly, and then again... I tell him to fuck me like hes never fucked anyone.

I watch him undress, his shirt first, then his pants, then as he removes his underwear his cock flops out. It's so beautifully circumcised, his head so large, his length flaccid is at least 20cm, his cock so thick I just want it in me. I tell him to come over to me so that I can suck it. He's there in a flash, as his cock hardens up my hands are not big enough to completely grip his thickness. it's so hot. After he's hard I tell him to fuck me.. he goes to the drawer and puts on a condom, something that I didn't even think about in the haste. As he gently works it into me, working it in I can feel the latex and remember how much I hate that feeling, but understand why..after a few minutes of slowly working it and being gentle he's completely filled me, his glands pressed firmly into my a-spot, it feels incredible, I've never had such a large cock inside me, it's filling me and feeling incredible, he lifts my hips the same way that my sisters husband does, uses the same hip movements, I am screaming with enjoyment.. its toe curling good I cum, squirting like I've just turned on the kitchen tap.. he doesn't relent.. i count five orgasms before he finally cums. I feel his cock swell, it feels even more filling than i thought possible before a sudden release and I feel it shooting..

As he pulls out the condom filled I am surprised to see such a small amount of cum, but then remember he's probably drained from all his customers and chuckle to myself. We lay there talking for a moment before i tell him to get another condom.. he tells me that's extra and I agree.. I straddle him grinding as hard as I can given how hung he is it's slightly awkward. I cum once more, I don't bother to let him cum. I wobble as I walk around finding my clothes, putting them on as I find them. He passes me a can of expensive European sparking water. I drink it, make sure the payment processes and leave feeling satisfied. On the way home I am shocked at myself.. I've just paid for sex.. and it was incredible sex. It was sex that I can't really afford. I think about the sex I've just had and other sex and realise that what I have been getting free was equally as good if not better. I decide that I am going to have to try this guy out again in a few weeks when my funds have been replenished. The first time with anyone is never as good as when you start to know each other. I figure what was already incredible could be so much more. Later that night after the endorphins leave my body I feel dirty that I've just used a prostitute.. I feel sad but the mental gymnastics of having something that I needed and paying for it seems like normal commerce. I figure that this will need to be my little secret, I feel my friends would judge me if they found out.

As I arrive home everyone is asleep and I enter my bedroom to find my partners sister asleep. urgh.

[modernbeautyjournal]

How Do You Maximize the Results of Gynecomastia Surgery?

Surgery for gynecomastia, explains New Jersey plastic surgeon Dr. Mohit Sood, is also known as male breast reduction. This procedure is designed to reduce the size of enlarged male breasts, resulting in a more traditionally masculine chest contour.

This procedure can provide incredible, life-changing results that can enhance a patient’s confidence and self-esteem. However, to ensure the best possible outcome and longevity of the results, patients need to follow certain guidelines and adopt healthy lifestyle practices. There is not much recovery time required—you’ll usually be able to resume normal activities within a few days—but that doesn’t mean your responsibilities are over. Wondering what you can do to optimize and best preserve male breast reduction results? Here’s a comprehensive guide on how to maximize the results of gynecomastia surgery.

Choose the Best Surgeon for You 

The first step is to take time choosing your surgeon, as this can greatly affect the type of results you achieve. Research potential surgeons, review their credentials, and look at before-and-after photos of their previous patients. A skilled surgeon with considerable experience and the right qualifications will be more likely to perform the procedure effectively. It’s important that when you meet with your potential surgeon, you are aware of the type of results that are possible and other details about the surgery. 

Follow Pre-Surgery Instructions

Your surgeon will provide specific pre-surgery instructions, which are crucial for a successful procedure and recovery. These may include avoiding certain medications that can increase bleeding, quitting smoking, and ensuring you are in good overall health. Adhering to these instructions helps minimize complications and sets the stage for optimal healing.

Maintain a Stable Weight

Patients sometimes wonder: Will the fat come back after gynecomastia surgery? Remember that gynecomastia surgery won’t prevent fat from accumulating on the chest or surrounding areas if you allow it to do so. That means fluctuations in weight can affect the results of gynecomastia surgery. Significant weight gain can lead to the accumulation of fat in the chest area, potentially compromising the surgical outcome. Conversely, substantial weight loss can cause skin laxity, so aim to maintain a generally stable number on the scale.

Wear Compression Garments

Post-surgery, your surgeon will likely recommend wearing a compression garment. This garment helps reduce swelling, supports the new chest contour, and promotes proper healing. Wear it as directed by your surgeon, usually for several weeks after the procedure.

Follow Post-Surgery Care Guidelines

Follow all post-operative care instructions provided by your surgeon. These instructions are tailored to your specific case and are designed to minimize complications and support healing. You will typically need to avoid strenuous activities for around four to six weeks. Your surgeon will provide detailed instructions about how to care for yourself at home after surgery. 

Avoid Strenuous Activities During Recovery 

In the initial weeks following surgery, avoid any strenuous activities or heavy lifting that could strain the chest muscles. Engaging in such activities too soon can interfere with the healing process and potentially affect the results. Gradually reintroduce physical activities as advised by your surgeon.

Maintain a Healthy Diet

A nutritious diet supports overall health and recovery. Foods rich in vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants promote healing and help maintain the results of your surgery.

Engage in Regular Exercise

Diet and exercise play a major role in maintaining male breast reduction results. It’s important to engage in regular exercise. In fact, exercise can make gynecomastia surgery results more defined and impressive. Once you have fully recovered, regular exercise is crucial for maintaining the results of your gynecomastia surgery. Focus on a balanced exercise regimen that includes cardiovascular activities, strength training, and flexibility exercises. Target the chest area with specific exercises to maintain muscle tone and a firm chest contour. Exercising and maintaining a healthy weight help you to prevent a reoccurrence of gynecomastia. 

Ready to discover more about how to get the best results from surgery to treat gynecomastia? Contact New Jersey’s Sood Center for Aesthetic & Plastic Surgery for more advice. Call (609) 904-5390 (Linwood) or (856) 403-9686 (Haddonfield) or submit a contact form to request a consultation. 

[ooopticdotcom]

"Checks in Summer with OOOptic"

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[synonymouswithanonymous]

More Thoughts and Body Language thoughts

My thoughts, I like to do commentary. Again I don't ever expect anyone to even read my thoughts. Just throwing them out there. 😊😊😊

This is so Ridiculous, looking at completely normal photos from events where they're posed in front of cameras on the red carpet, and trying to come up with a body language assessment? This is really, really irrational. I mean do people really think from the smallest glimpses imaginable they can fully assess and legit theorize about a person's character and then randomly say they're a narcissist? Again overused and not understood. Based on red carpet photos. Are you freaking kidding me? I mean really what the Hell? You want her to seem bad so badly you take great photos and try to flip them to find a meaning that validates your hate. The face in the third one of a set looks "chilling" to you? Her stopping laughing long enough to do a model pose chills you? This is ludicrous. A normal red carpet photo lol, where they look happy chills you. This is almost as bad as the whole "he's too close to Roberta" clips edited to not show he was actually behind her a bit, talking to another woman to R's right. Other than that looked like regular group photo chaos to me. Bc they wanted the clips to be seen a certain way. They even said that's why they showed them spliced that way. A way that's not exactly truthful, designed to make him look bad. To perpetuate an idea, that you wanted to see tension where there is none. 🙄🙄🤔🤔

Why are people so quick to do a snap judgement on another person based on practically zero information? As if you could read the emotions and intentions of people none of us know, on their face from a few snaps of a camera. or tiny 8 second videos. Well here's an article where people talk about how body language isn't really reliable. Which should be obvious bc we are all different people, not robots programmed to a set of defined movements And behaviours, but I guess it's not obvious. Or they just are really stretching themselves to try to make this woman look bad (they're failing) bc she's living with her boyfriend AHA and close to engagement or already engaged.

"But the idea that body language can be “read” like a book is false. As three researchers on non-verbal communication wrote, “There really isn't such a thing as ‘body language’.”

“There is no scientifically validated dictionary for understanding what people are thinking but not saying, based on their face and body movements,” said Vincent Denault, a postdoctoral fellow in psychology at McGill University who is also the co-founder of the Center for Studies in Nonverbal Communication Sciences at the Research Center of the Montreal Mental Health University Institute."

I'd like to say I not only find hating on an actor's GF, none of us know, to be ridiculous but the methods of hate and manipulating their words/actions to be ridiculous as well.

Do people really believe they're all Sherlock, because they read an article or saw a video about body language? To have such delusion in your own abilities, about people you've never met in real life, isn't that a trait a narcissist would have? Not saying these haters are narcissistic, bc you can't diagnose someone without many hours of in person sessions etc. But it is a trait that's common (one could argue everyone with confidence has some of these common traits, my point is just bc of confidence and one trait, does not a narcissist make). So why judge someone in such a way, when you cannot know?

And is humour dead? Since when is a good diarrhea story a bad move? It's one of the most relatable and embarrassing things humans go through. It's funny, it's humanizing, why are people acting like he's just ruined their pristine view of this very human, human? He's also in some ways downplaying it, a little kid could hear this and think, ok it happened to him it's not so bad. It's nothing to fret over forever. 😊 Or thinking that he's going to regret sharing a funny story of the night of diarrhea? Lol don't ever watch South Park if poop humour isn't for you. 😂😂😂

Why are people still saying he used to be all about privacy before Johanne? He was only ever selectively private. But more private than a lot of celebs. From Twitter love letters to his and Rikke's "first time" I mean come on, he's been naked on a beach with naked Malte and naked ladies, years ago, with a hat covering just his and their private bits. And some people are actually believing he was ever anything more than selectively private? No judgement from me, he sowed his wild oats til he found the right one. Imo. Totally normal. He's a celeb, he's careful with his image. I'm not a fan bc I think he's perfect and deserves a pedestal, but bc he's a good actor, seems like a good person overall, better than most celebs, and he's savvy enough to try to control his public image. Trying to tear him down bc he's in love, is also imo, just rude and the way it's being done is irrational/ridiculous. Just goes to show imo that if that's all you can come up with for either party, body language, irrational theories, lies/manipulations, "privacy", and spliced vids, then your argument doesn't have legs to stand on (especially since his fam/friends have high opinions of her and that holds more weight to me than internet haters) . then again I've always thought they were a normal lovely couple. They're just a couple in love, that started as really good friends, why not be happy that they're happy and found each other? Imo it's great when your lover, is also your really good friend. 😊😊😊

Maybe celebs need this as a t-shirt.

Ahh another long one! 😂😂😂

[onenettvchannel]

Ticket Booths of Montenegro Shipping Lines and other shipping companies to be fully resolved after eliminating all the unlawful fixers -- Dumaguete City Councilor

(via DYGB-FM 91.7mhz's Power91FM Dumaguete / with the Exclusive Reports from Power #6 news reporter Neil Ceriño Rio)

DUMAGUETE, NEGROS ORIENTAL -- Dumaguete City Councilor Franklin "GG" D. Esmeña overjoys and gratitude that the problem of redeeming ferry tickets at the Dumaguete Port had now been resolved by the city's construction of ticket booths at the Park Alley in Brgy. Looc, the said city.

As you might recall that the incident in May 2023 when a fraudulent Ferry Ticket fixer of Montenegro Shipping Lines Inc. (MSLi) potentially fired a female employee due to a direct violation of Republic Act #11032: Section 4e or the Ease of Doing Business and Efficient Government Service Delivery Act of 2018, which prohibits fixers from engaging in any transaction on behalf of a government agency or a private entity.

Unlawful fixers of MSLi are to be turned over to a local police at the Dumaguete City Police Station (DCPS), Negros Oriental Police Provincial Office (NOPPO) and other authorities in relation to the Anti-Red Tape law.

Workers of construction in some ticketing booths of MSLi and other shipping companies like FastCat at the said Port Area are recently working closely to solve the issue to illegal fixers, scammers and fraudulent purchase of tickets: "I would like to congratulate the Executive Department for looking into this consideration. This is a perennial complaint of local and foreign travelers who come here to Dumaguete City and the neighboring island provinces of Siquijor, Bohol and some selected areas in Mindanao", Esmeña said in Cebuano dialect.

(via Franklin "GG" Esmeña Jr. / FB PHOTO)

Per accordance of City Councilor Esmeña, he has conveyed a great joy of accomplishments, based from several experiences and a whole lot of queue lines: "In that aspect, we can be sure that our income will increase significantly for reasonable convenient and efficient ticketing shipping outlets. This is a very good development and I want to congratulate our E.D. for the able internship of Mayor Felipe Antonio 'Ipe' Buscato Remollo for the fast tracking of this request of our locals. And again, I would like to congratulate the Traffic Management Office for seeing a perennial problem of our trucks-de-carga going to Mindanao and other places. In our city of Gentle People, there is a healthy flow of traffic in our community", he said.

As everything else flows smoothly to purchase ferry tickets of MSLi and among others, transportation officials and workforce will resume as normal.

FILE PHOTO COURTESY for REPRESENTATION: Roderick Alam via FB PHOTO BACKGROUND PROVIDED BY: Tegna

SOURCE: *https://www.facebook.com/100007702143845/posts/1589725424627514 [Referenced FB File Photo via Roderick Alam] and *https://www.facebook.com/100063770387140/videos/664794295534826 [Referenced News Item via DYGB-FM 91.7mhz's Power91FM Dumaguete -- skip this timestamp of 1hr2m11s for an audible news item]

-- OneNETnews Team