#it’s ​like...it was predictable that the ending would go this way

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[hobbitkiller]

Pretending “oil and water” was just about Cait and Vi is very conveniently leaving out a huge chunk of the dialogue. “Topside and bottom, oil and water, that’s all there is. I was stupid to think it could be any different.” That statement wasn’t at all about personality clashes or different goals, because the two of them were very firmly on the same page there. It was about Vi thinking it would never work because topside and bottom could never work. That is simply the text.

You also seem willfully ignorant to what foreshadowing is. Obviously, the point of Jayce and Silco’s conversation wasn’t fighting the Noxians, but there’s a deliberate reason they planted that idea there at that time—also, why do you think the show introduced Ambessa in the first season? How odd to add this new character in so late. It’s almost as though she was being set up to be the big bad in season two or something.

Where did you think the show was going with the hex core? Did you think that was just some random bit of character development for Victor? Did you not catch on to Heimdinger’s apocalyptic predictions of doom?

If you want to say a common enemy is cheap, fine. But it was well set up that the show was going in that direction because of the decisions the characters made that took them to the point where the only way there could be peace was to defeat these common enemies they helped create.

In the quotes you used, they talk about an alien invasion—something completely external. That’s not what happened in Arcane. The danger from Noxus and Victor were the consequences of these characters and societies engaging in a cycle of violence. Ambessa would not have been able to take control if Jinx hadn’t attacked the council and Piltover hadn’t wanted vengeance. Victor would not have been driven to his actions if it were not for his despair at the state of humanity.

The show is called Arcane. It was always going to be about magic. Again, it’s a pretty typical story structure to start grounded and then get more grandiose throughout. You also have to take into account that they were working from source material, so, yeah, Ekko’s time looping ability was going to show up. Victor was going to become the machine herald. The show is based on a video game and you’re somehow surprised the climax was a big battle.

That said, no, it’s not like Age of Ultron, because the battle wasn’t just cool fighting and slow motion group shots. It was Vi and Jinx teaming up—important character moments; Jayce getting through to Victor and their love for each other, platonic or otherwise, saving the day; and the face off between Ambessa, Cait, and Mel—consequences of the choices Ambessa and Caitlyn made. They also took time to show us the regular people who ended up suffering for the mistakes of our characters.

Finally, a show shouldn’t have to explicitly spell out things for an educated audience to understand it. Maybe you would have preferred an epilogue with a montage of what exactly was done other than giving Sevika a seat on the council. Personally, I would find that obnoxious and unnecessary. I prefer it to be unsettled and unresolved because, as crazy as that sounds in this science fiction show, that is more realistic.

As I’ve said elsewhere, the plot of Arcane wasn’t Piltover versus Zaun. The class conflict was a background conflict that informed the characters and the decisions they made. The show was about how the characters become who they are and overcome the cycles that created them. The Piltover/Zaun conflict, and indeed the Noxian conflict and the Arcane conflict exist to serve the development of the characters, not the other way around.

“What happened to rebel Vi? Season 2 destroyed her character!”

“What happened to rebel Vi” is that Vander took her to the bridge where her parents died in his revolution and asked her what she was willing to lose. Then she meets Cait who is gentle and kind while still being tough and it makes her rethink how she sees topside. When Jinx tells her she changed too, that’s what she’s talking about.

I’m sorry if you thought Vi was going to be a topside-hating revolutionary in Season 2, but that’s clearly not where her character arc was going. Remember how she forced her way between Ekko and Cait? It seemed very straightforward that was the role her character was taking on.

I feel similar about people who act like the show was betraying its premise because it ended with reconciliation/Zaun and Piltover working together. Again, the fact that two of the most important relationships were between characters from both sides and that they made a point of talking about Zaun and Piltover first coming together against a common enemy was a pretty clear indicator that was the plan.

Now, I get being annoyed that that was what they chose to do. You don’t have to love the creative decisions of media, just like media doesn’t have to compromise its creative direction to satisfy you. But not liking that they went that direction is not the same as the show having bad writing or engaging in character assassination.

Everything Vi did in season 2 was very much in character with how she changed and who she became throughout Season 1. Hell, she used enforcers and Hextech to raid Shimmer facilities before Commander Kiramman ever threw on a beret. So, yes, actually wearing the uniform was a huge and complicated decision that she was definitely not happy about, but it also fell in line with what she had been doing.

There’s meat for another post at some point about the three different Zaun/enforcer partnerships we see in the show: Vander/Greyson, Silco/Marcus, and Cait/Vi; but I’m not going to go into that now.

TLDR: “Rebel Vi” who wants to fight all of topside hasn’t existed since the end of the second episode of the show.

Editing to add that Vi doesn’t see attacking Chem Barons as attacking Zaun; she’s taking down the people who are destroying Zaun.

[inspireartnotwar]

Art. Can. Die.

This is my battle cry in the face of the silent extinguishing of an entire generation of artists by AI.

And you know what? We can't let that happen. It's not about fighting the future, it's about shaping it on our terms. If you think this is worth fighting for, please share this post. Let's make this debate go viral - because we need to take action NOW.

Remember that even in the darkest of times, creativity always finds a way.

To unleash our true potential, we need first to dive deep into our darkest fears.

So let's do this together:

By the end of 2025, most traditional artist jobs will be gone, replaced by a handful of AI-augmented art directors. Right now, around 5 out of 6 concept art jobs are being eliminated, and it's even more brutal for illustrators. This isn't speculation: it's happening right now, in real-time, across studios worldwide.

At this point, dogmatic thinking is our worst enemy. If we want to survive the AI tsunami of 2025, we need to prepare for a brutal cyberpunk reality that isn’t waiting for permission to arrive. This isn't sci-fi or catastrophism. This is a clear-eyed recognition of the exponential impact AI will have on society, hitting a hockey stick inflection point around April-May this year. By July, February will already feel like a decade ago. This also means that we have a narrow window to adapt, to evolve, and to build something new.

Let me make five predictions for the end of 2025 to nail this out:

Every major film company will have its first 100% AI-generated blockbuster in production or on screen.

Next-gen smartphones will run GPT-4o-level reasoning AI locally.

The first full AI game engine will generate infinite, custom-made worlds tailored to individual profiles and desires.

Unique art objects will reach industrial scale: entire production chains will mass-produce one-of-a-kind pieces. Uniqueness will be the new mass market.

Synthetic AI-generated data will exceed the sum total of all epistemic data (true knowledge) created by humanity throughout recorded history. We will be drowning in a sea of artificial ‘truths’.

For us artists, this means a stark choice: adapt to real-world craftsmanship or high-level creative thinking roles, because mid-level art skills will be replaced by cheaper, AI-augmented computing power.

But this is not the end. This is just another challenge to tackle.

Many will say we need legal solutions. They're not wrong, but they're missing the bigger picture: Do you think China, Pakistan, or North Korea will suddenly play nice with Western copyright laws? Will a "legal" dataset somehow magically protect our jobs? And most crucially, what happens when AI becomes just another tool of control?

Here's the thing - boycotting AI feels right, I get it. But it sounds like punks refusing to learn power chords because guitars are electrified by corporations. The systemic shift at stake doesn't care if we stay "pure", it will only change if we hack it.

Now, the empowerment part: artists have always been hackers of narratives.

This is what we do best: we break into the symbolic fabric of the world, weaving meaning from signs, emotions, and ideas. We've always taken tools never meant for art and turned them into instruments of creativity. We've always found ways to carve out meaning in systems designed to erase it.

This isn't just about survival. This is about hacking the future itself.

We, artists, are the pirates of the collective imaginary. It’s time to set sail and raise the black flag.

I don't come with a ready-made solution.

I don't come with a FOR or AGAINST. That would be like being against the wood axe because it can crush skulls.

I come with a battle cry: let’s flood the internet with debate, creative thinking, and unconventional wisdom. Let’s dream impossible futures. Let’s build stories of resilience - where humanity remains free from the technological guardianship of AI or synthetic superintelligence. Let’s hack the very fabric of what is deemed ‘possible’. And let’s do it together.

It is time to fight back.

Let us be the HumaNet.

Let’s show tech enthusiasts, engineers, and investors that we are not just assets, but the neurons of the most powerful superintelligence ever created: the artist community.

Let's outsmart the machine.

Stéphane Wootha Richard

P.S: This isn't just a message to read and forget. This is a memetic payload that needs to spread.

Send this to every artist in your network.

Copy/paste the full text anywhere you can.

Spread it across your social channels.

Start conversations in your creative communities.

No social platform? Great! That's exactly why this needs to spread through every possible channel, official and underground.

Let's flood the datasphere with our collective debate.

[bvidzsoo]

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

            Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

            The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

            You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

            It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

            Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

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[ilikekidsshows]

Have you seen the Sublimation leaks? Pretty much the entire episode has been leaked by now and people have made a 19 minutes super cut xD I'm asking cause I don't want to send an ask about Sublimation if you haven't seen it and don't want to be spoiled

---

The entire episode came out while I was busy answering the ask game and I checked it out to respond to this ask properly . But, for future reference: unless it’s a show I’m liveblogging it’s open to spoil.

Okay, so the episode went just like I predicted with Marinette easily forgiven. Even before I saw the whole thing, I saw the collected clips and I could smell the upcoming Marinette validation in the final scenes. And yet, just like this show does time and time again, it's still worse than even what I prepared for. Of course the episode couldn't just be "Marinette gets forgiven without her having to do anything", of course her saying sorry and making reparations aren't just things she does after being forgiven, like she's the one rewarding her victims for their good behavior of forgiving her. No, they had to go even further and end the episode with Marinette's victim coddling her over her "friendship fears".

This episode is so manipulative in how hard it leans on the audience to pity Marinette throughout. Like, seriously, her Lucky Charm calls her the villain? The amount of self-pity there goes way beyond all the other cases of Marinette acting like this that have come before. Little miss “if I make myself miserable asking me to make up for what I did wrong would be cruel” now has her own superpowers take part in her self-flagellation just to make sure no one with the actual right to be mad at her gets there first.

Marinette always does this. She makes a mistake and rather than think of a way to make up for it, she calls herself the worst and whines. “The Lucky Charm pointed her out as the villain” is not Marinette facing consequences or the episode treating her as in the wrong. It’s once again Marinette being her own worst critic whenever she does something wrong, to make sure the audience feels bad for her first and foremost so that they can instantly forgive her even when she never actually learns. “Marinette loves to learn,” my ass. “The villain was me” is just “I’m the worst Guardian” with a new coat of paint.

The important part is that the person with the right to be mad at Marinette, Sublime, had already forgiven her before Marinette even had her little villain realization. Just because a character says something that’s right on paper doesn’t mean it’s being presented as the correct perspective in the episode. It depends on that framing I’ve been harping on about. So, while Sublimation rightfully chewed Marinette out, all the scenes before her Akumatization have her acting entitled, cold and harsh, calling Sublime’s dad a failure and getting on his case for coddling her when he merely offers her a balancing hand and not taking Sublime’s opinions on things into account. In all these scenes, her husband talks calmly while she’s snapping; the writers intend her to come across as misguided or downright unreasonable. This makes it so that her yelling at Marinette comes across as her just being unreasonable again and like we’re meant to see her as being mean, especially because Marinette also looks the saddest in the episode specifically when Sublimation is yelling at her. To further make Sublimation's points worthless, her power to make people the best version of themselves doesn't work on Marinette because she already "perfect". If she's already so perfect, then why does she keep doing this shit?

The only characters calling Marinette out are herself, in her typical “I’m the worst” fashion, and a “jerk-coded” character whose opinion we aren't supposed to respect. This was already visible in the leaked scenes and made it very clear to me that Marinette wouldn’t be suffering any real consequences for what she did, her feeling guilty is meant to be the consequence and punishment. And I was proven correct. When Sublimation is dealt with, no one is mad at Marinette anymore, because being mad at her is what villains do. It doesn’t matter that Marinette claims she was in the wrong because she does it in an overly exaggerated manner that the viewer won’t take seriously. It doesn’t matter that the other characters have a “this is going to end poorly” attitude about Marinette’s nonsense, when they’re clearly pitying Marinette and not her target. It doesn’t matter that Marinette gets called out when the character doing it is the supervillain in an altered state of mind we’re supposed to see as unreasonable.

This episode is so disrespectful towards Sublime. No one voices concern over whether or not she would need to be protected from the downfall of Marinette’s shenanigans, all Tikki, Alya and Trixx are concerned with are that Marinette will come out of this smelling like roses with that “mistakes are an opportunity to earn and Marinette loves to learn” nonsense. Yeah, Marinette loves mistakes because no one is ever concerned with the people those mistakes hurt! Sublime should not be getting treated as a teaching aid in universe, when she’s supposed to be a person Marinette wants to befriend. Like, it’s clear she only wants to befriend Sublime for control freak reasons to make sure she isn’t talking to Adrien behind her back, considering how obsessed she is with that thought, but that is still the stated end goal.

Speaking of, Sublime should not have wanted to be friends with Marinette no matter if Adrien told her she has difficulties making friends, her reaction to Ladybug shattering her legs should not have been “I’m okay!” She should want to stay away from Marinette’s clearly unbalanced ass. She should have been pissed at Ladybug, it was her right. But, no, she couldn’t possibly be upset about any of that because being upset at Marinette is what bad people do and Sublime is a good person and good people always put Marinette’s feelings before their own. It’s a good thing Marinette’s Miraculous Ladybug can fix any damage caused by anyone on the same day a villain fight happens or otherwise she couldn’t have rewarded Sublime and her family for being such good people who forgave her before she could even apologize or make reparations.

Also, if I got cornered by my new friend’s stalker girlfriend alone in a dressing room, I’d book it, not offer to talk about whatever she wanted to talk about to make her comfortable with me. Everyone in Miraculous is either a master of emotional control, or they get Akumatized, except, of course, for Marinette, who can do whatever messed up thing she comes up when she's having an emotion and she will be instantly forgiven because she was just being emotional. Well, in the real world, sometimes, when you do messed up things because of your emotions, another person's emotions make them yell at you for it, and they'll be right to do so.

The fact that Marinette did all that and is getting rewarded with the friendship she wanted at the start of the episode and more coddling from her victim just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Marinette’s magical powers of super convenience fixed her mistakes as a superhero and her super perfect therapist boyfriend's damage control saved her civilian reputation, not her own actions. And she still dared to be upset when she heard that Sublime had been talking with Adrien behind her back, because god forbid Adrien spend time with people who are not Marinette or a part of Marinette’s posse. What is Marinette teaching kids in this episode? That it’s okay if you fuck up and act like a menace as long as you say “I’m sowwy, I don’t deserve to be our friend”. Still keeping up the trend of teaching kids exactly how to manipulate people into forgiving you, I see.

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. This kind of ran away from me. It was supposed to be quick and smutty but sweet, achy feels managed to sneak in, culminating into a pretty unhinged combination of tags. Don’t even ask. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. "Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“ Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Here's a horny headcanon for you. If Buck gets fucked regularly he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy's dick without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, you know? When there's a long break between sex though, Buck needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again. A warm bath to relax his muscles and get himself thoroughly clean, breathing exercises, Tommy needs to give him indulgent massages, first his entire body, then focusing on his hole. It's moments like these where Tommy likes to play with and finger at Buck's hole without ever entering it for a while. Instead he uses his fingers to tap, stroke, pulsate, circle, until it starts winking at him. Until it remembers him. You see, Buck has gone through his prep routine but now it's time for Tommy to go through his. Which involves tongue and finger fucking Buck until he's crying. Tommy partially drags things out out of genuine concern, to make sure Buck doesn't feel the slightest bit of pain. Another part wants to tease and chastise Buck's hole for having forgotten him.

oh my goodness anon... this is beautiful. i have no words, this is perfect, this is beautiful, this is everything.

i will love you forever and forever anon

[blue-aconite]

"Would you please just kiss me?" With Jake Seresin!

I would apologise for not posting sooner but we all know how life gets. Without further explanation, here's your blurb ♥️ Thanks @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over!

Blurb Night Masterlist

It’s been over half an hour since she left the Hard Deck, wandering out onto the beach and walking along the shore. She hadn’t gone far, close enough that the light coming out of the windows was still visible but far enough that she could no longer hear the people out on the patio. 

The sun disappeared some moments ago and the moon is taking its place, casting a cold grey light over the sand. 

“What are you doing out here?”

She keeps her eyes on the waves, tracing the overlaps and motions, even as she answers him. “Thinking.”

She’s hoping the short answer will be enough, that he’ll go back inside and leave her alone but fate has other plans. She should have known it wouldn’t be enough. Like a dog with a bone, Hangman wasn’t the one to let things go. 

Her hope is further crushed when he comes closer, taking a seat in the sand next to her. He’s close enough so that she can feel the heat emitting from his body, his cologne invading her senses. Not in an unpleasant or unwelcome way, just in a way she hadn’t expected. 

“You know, there’s a party going on inside, yet you’re out here alone, thinking.” Hangman says, leaning back onto his elbows and stretching his legs out. She doesn’t look away from the water but his movements can be seen in the corner of her eye. 

“Which is exactly why I’m here. Too loud to think in there. Out here though? It’s quiet, simple.” She murmurs, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.  She can feel his eyes on her, watching her. “What do you want?”

Hangman takes a moment to answer, as if he has to decide what to say. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m good, thanks.” She’d rather lie than tell him what’s really bothering her. There’s no reason for him to know. He wouldn’t even understand.

Unfortunately, Hangman sees right through her. “Could have fooled me.”

He pulls himself upright, matching her position. It’s odd seeing him look so vulnerable, smaller than he usually presents himself to be. 

When she doesn’t reply, he hesitantly continues, as if he’s afraid she’s going to run off if he pushes too far. “You can talk to me, you know. If something’s bothering you. You’d probably prefer Phoenix or Bob but I don’t see them running out here to check on you.”

She rolls her eyes at the last bit. Even when he’s trying to comfort her, he can’t help but take a shot at their teammates. It’s all in good nature nowadays, but it’s so predictably Hangman that it makes her smile. His concern is touching but she still keeps her guard up. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she pauses slightly before adding, “but thank you.” 

Hangman shifts, turning his body sideways so he is closer than before. “I think there is something to talk about, you just don’t want to.”

If getting on her nerves is his mission, he’s succeeding at an alarming rate. Gone is the gratefulness at his earlier offer. “And pray tell, Hangman, what would that be, hm?” She spits out, unsuccessful in keeping the annoyance out of her voice. She knows it isn’t fair to react this way, not when he’s been nothing but kind to her but anything to steer him away from the conversation she doesn’t want to happen.

Hangman holds his hands up, as if to placate her. “Maybe the fact that you’ve been avoiding me ever since Payback’s birthday? The fact that whenever we’re off base, you slink away to sit somewhere by yourself? Or maybe we should talk about how we kissed and you refuse to talk about it?”

Fuck.

The last part of his rant makes her tear her gaze from the water, swirling around in the sand to face him. They end up close, too close, but neither moves. “You remember that?”

It’s a weak response, she knows that but it’s the only thing she can come up with. 

The look in his eyes portrays disbelief. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you were drunk? And you didn’t talk to me for the whole day afterwards, so I figured it was just something.. -”

“I didn’t talk to you because when I woke up, you were gone. I wasn’t going to hunt you down over something you clearly regretted but I still think we should talk about it.”

She knows they need to address the whole situation but as he speaks, she can only focus on one thing. “You think I regret it?”

Now he’s the one refusing to meet her eyes. “What was I supposed to think? Like I said, you’ve been avoiding me ever since, so I figured you were just trying to let me down easy without having to say something, which is a shitty move by the way, even for you -”

“Let you down easy?” She’s full of bewilderment at this point and while she knows what he’s insinuating, she can’t make herself believe it. There is no possibility, she’d been telling herself for months. 

“Oh, spare me. You can’t honestly make me believe you don’t know. I think I’ve been very clear about my feelings for you.” Jake declares, a distinct look in his eyes as he straightens up. But the vulnerability on his face betrays his emotions, even if his voice stays strong. 

She feels like she’s falling, a wide black abyss consuming her entire being. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d find herself in the situation. “You have feelings for me?”

She’s well aware that she should probably try to unearth more but she’s still not entirely sure she isn’t hallucinating. This can’t possibly be happening.

Jake laughs incredulity. “Are you telling me you actually don’t know?”

“Well, you never said anything!” She implores.

“I didn’t think I had to! It's pretty obvious.” He responds, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t just drop a major bomb on her.

She throws her arms out, almost whacking him in the face. “OBVIOUS? How about you use your words instead of just thinking I can read your mind? I had no idea!”

“Why would I kiss you, if I didn’t like you?”

She stares at him blankly, at a loss for words. Everything she had wanted since her stupid crush had manifested itself was happening but for some reason, she couldn’t respond in the proper way. How many times had she wished he would reprecipitate the feelings she had developed for him during their time together? How much had she beaten herself up over kissing him back at Payback’s birthday almost a month ago, knowing that he didn’t feel the same, knowing it was the alcohol? 

She’s vaguely aware that he’s speaking again but her mind is racing, as is her heart, and she blurts out the only thing she’s thinking about. “Would you please just kiss me? Again?”

[moons-and-runes]

My First (proper) Microfic!! Prompt 01 - Lover

@wolfstarmicrofic  Date: 02/02/25 | Time: 31 mins | Word Count: 474 Warnings: none

Hey, hey, hey, lover

You don’t have to be a star

Sirius grins widely before spreading his arms wide and shouting, “But I’m always a star!” 

As per usual, the crowd goes wild– said crowd being the last few students lingering in Gryffindor tower after another famous post-game party. A small cluster of fifth year girls are giggling uncontrollably at Sirius’ very on the nose joke. Remus has learnt to predict these sorts of jokes now and no longer laughs at them. Instead he just admires from afar as Sirius dances with Mary and Lily, truly carefree and in his element.

As the popular Daughters of Eve song continues, Sirius downs another shot of firewhisky before leaving the girls and sauntering over to Remus, where he’s sat in his favourite armchair by the fireplace. 

Hey, hey, hey, lover

You don’t have to be a king

During this lyric Sirius stops in front of Remus and looks down at him lovingly. He rests his hands on top of Remus’ own, where they’re sitting on the arm rests, before slipping his hands underneath and starting to pull Remus up and out of the chair. 

Remus groans– he knows where this is going– but he lets himself be pulled to his feet anyway, practically melting at the pleased huff of laughter from Sirius.

Hey, hey, hey, lover

You don't have to have a thing

Sirius tilts his head up to speak directly in Remus’ ear as he softly sings the next lyric, for only Remus to hear.

For I’ll be satisfied

Long as you are my guy

Remus feels his cheeks warm up and he’s sure his face is as red as the Gryffindor flag right now, but he can’t find it in him to care. Not when Sirius is looking at him like that, as if he personally hung the stars in the sky. 

He would, you know. 

If Remus had the chance he’d hang every single star in the sky, just for Sirius, and he’d make sure to place the brightest one right next to the moon. 

Sirius has brought him right into the middle of the common room floor now, pulling his arms back and forth in an attempt at getting him to dance. As the song is nearly over and the few remaining party goers are taking themselves off to bed, Remus relents and starts to sway along to the music.

Their dance is short lived but the pair end up in each other's arms and Remus couldn’t have asked for a better end to the night.

“So, lover,” Sirius says in a low voice, staring up at Remus through his lashes, “wanna take me upstairs?”

Remus knows that tone. Remus likes that tone. Remus may have been wrong as it turns out, there definitely is a better way to end the night.

[whatdoidosatoru]

arise, fair sun

baji keisuke/fem!reader | ao3 meeting at the bridge goes about as well as you could predict, baji can't tell you about his plans, and you can't ask him to spill. you know he has something up his sleeve though. wc: 5196 cw: shakespeare (sorry) a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff

The Shibuya-bashi footbridge was surprisingly quiet today as if reflecting the sombre mood of the boy leaning against it. His hair was a long black curtain on one side of his face, the other side uncovered thanks to a strand tucked behind his ear. 

When you spotted him, your breath hitched. His new jacket caught your eye, being a new addition to your best friend’s outfit, a white jacket with a headless angel on the back - the Valhalla uniform. His dark hair contrasted with the white of the jacket, and seeing him wear it felt… unnatural.

You walked towards him in casual clothes, not wanting to stir any tensions between the gangs, and you hadn’t even reached him when he spoke in a voice low enough that he couldn’t be overheard, but loud enough that you could understand him clearly.

“You can’t change my mind, I’m not coming back.”

You stopped a few feet from him, leaning against the same fence and looking over the traffic underneath the footbridge.

“I know.”

You just wished he would tell you what was going on. It was clear that he wasn’t honest about it, that he hadn’t left Toman for some bullshit reason like he had said. However, you weren’t going to push him like Chifuyu had asked you to. You trusted his plans, trusted that he knew what he was doing, even if you desperately wanted to be included, be by his side like the old times.

“You’re not going to ask me why I left?” He spoke bluntly, with a little trace of surprise in his voice, but his gaze stayed on the moving traffic below. There was hardly anyone on the bridge but you two, just a few people rushing to and from work, nobody paying you any mind.

You looked down at the traffic, picking out cars that honked at others to focus on something other than your heart beating so loudly. You shook your head to answer his question, knowing he could still see you in his peripheral vision since he didn’t turn his head to face you.

Baji let out a long exhale, he could tell you weren’t there to pester him to spill everything. He knew you well enough to know that he could share his pain, you had shared everything before. Even through his stupid decisions, dumb and rash moves, you had always been by his side, either pulling him out of his mess or ending up in it with him.

“Then why are you here?” he continued in a low voice, still not tearing his gaze away from the cars below.

“Wanted to see you.” Your voice was equally as low, impacted by the immense emotions fighting inside you. Sighing, you didn’t look over at him. Your thoughts were with the moving people under the bridge, with the passage of time, and the ever-changing nature of everything in this world. 

He gripped the fence of the bridge a little tighter. Despite knowing you wouldn’t be here to question and push him, he didn’t expect such an answer. I wanted to see you. Of course.

“Did you come here alone?” He spoke up after a few moments of processing your words. Finally, he looked up from the traffic and turned his head in your direction. You saw his movement from the corner of your eye and followed suit, facing him while still leaning on your palms, gripping the fence.

A simple nod answered his question. You couldn’t have known if he’d be alone or with someone, not yet sure how much Valhalla trusted him. But you were out of the Toman uniform, wearing casual shorts and a T-shirt, not a single sign of being a gang member on your clothes.

“Chifuyu is doing alright, by the way. The bruises on his face are fading.” You spoke a little more softly. He had done a number on Chifuyu to prove that his ties with Toman had been cut, but Chifuyu didn’t hold a grudge against him. He believed that Baji had a plan he simply wasn’t sharing with anyone. Baji furrowed his brows in guilt and shame, feeling awful for having to leave Toman.

“That’s… good to know.” He mumbled slightly, his voice carried a tone of relief despite the turmoil he felt inside. A flock of birds flew overhead and you lifted your head to follow their movements, the breeze from their wings lifting Baji’s and your hair, rustling it before it settled down again.

“Missed you at game night last night.” You didn’t say it to make him feel bad, though you knew inevitably it would. You needed him to know you missed him being there. You missed him being your friend, not just your division’s captain. A random person shuffled past you while talking on the phone hurriedly, getting out of earshot before Baji replied.

“I know… I miss game nights too.”

“Not the same without my Pictionary partner.”

You slid ever so slightly closer to him along the fence, bending your knee and resting it against the railing, making your stance look almost casual. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Baji.” You continued in an almost sad tone, unable to let him go on without letting him know, in your own subtle way, how much you were all worried about him, how much everyone… how much you missed him.

He let out a chuckle, but his instant grin was quickly replaced with a serious expression when you spoke. He knew better than to think you would guilt him into leaving Valhalla, you’d spent many years by each other’s side and he knew manipulation simply wasn’t your style.

“I know what I’m doing, alright?” He assured you, and maybe even tried to convince himself as well.

“Is anyone from Valhalla around?” Your question made Baji quickly look around to make sure nobody was lurking. “No, I came here alone.” He was still glancing around to make sure that, despite his lone outing to the footbridge, nobody had decided to check on him. 

“You’re staying safe?” You slid a little closer again, now standing within whispering distance from him. 

He looked over at you briefly and let out a sigh at the question. He knew you were just worried, checking on him to make sure he was alright. He nodded slightly and closed his eyes.  “As safe as I can be,” he whispered, keeping his voice low and quiet, “but I can handle myself, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know.” Your response was immediate, though you didn’t know why he still bothered to tell you not to worry as if you hadn’t done this dance a million times before. “I know you can.” 

You slowly reached out to touch his face tenderly, brushing his cheek with your thumb. Your eyes focused on the shadows under his eyes, more prominent now than before leaving Toman.  Baji closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing slowed and he leaned into your hand, as if this gentle touch was exactly what he was craving.

“Then why do you still worry so goddamn much?” He quietly mumbled against your palm, opening his eyes and finally looking right at you. Sliding a little closer still, you looked up at him with a solemn expression, taking in the relaxed expression that clashed with his stressed-out demeanor.

“I can’t stop.” It was an honest answer, but one he either wasn’t ready to hear, or didn’t know how to act upon hearing.

“Damn, you’re such a pain.” His voice carried no annoyance, only affection despite the harsh words.

You softly chuckled before getting up on your tip-toes to get closer to his face. Your soft lips ghosted over his, barely touching at all before you got back down, pulled your hand away from his face and jokingly punched him in the shoulder for calling you a pain. You nearly gave in when his breath hitched in anticipation, but it wasn’t the time. He let out a fake grunt in pain when your closed fist collided with his shoulder, rubbing the area softly. 

“That hurts, you know…” He mumbled, faking a hurt tone. Quickly, he switched to a grin and punched you back, albeit incredibly lightly, on the shoulder.

“No, it doesn’t.” You rolled your eyes replying, slightly smirking and letting the playfulness into your tone, making Baji’s grin widen. 

“I think you bruised me.” He said through a light chuckle, rubbing his shoulder dramatically with a look of fake pain. Now, you didn't mean to feel it, but the light banter in his words kicked the air out of your lungs. It seemed so… normal, but at the same time, it obviously wasn't. Nothing about this was normal. Your jaw clenched at the light-hearted tone that he had used just like nothing had changed, though everything was different.

“I think you deserved it.” Your voice came out as a little whisper while a few tears pricked your eyes, threatening to spill and make this into a bigger deal than it was.

Of course, he picked up the sudden change in your voice, the front you had put up, the pretense that everything was fine. That your heart wasn't breaking.

His face changed into an expression of guilt. Despite believing what he was doing was necessary and right, there was a part of his life that was going to be affected regardless. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, it was clear in his voice when he finally mumbled quietly.

“I suppose I did.”

You looked down at your feet before managing to meet his gaze again.

“You know I'm always on your side, right? And so is your entire division.”

His eyes followed your gaze, meeting your eyes after looking down, as if in shame.  Baji knew you weren't trying to make him feel guilty, only to reassure him and remind him that no matter what, you'd still support him.

“Yeah… I know.” He replied after nodding slightly, letting out a long sigh.

“Then do what you need to do,” you reached up to softly touch a strand of his hair and then his cheek, “but don't hesitate to ask me for help if you need it. And come back to us afterwards… come back… to me.”

You felt his movement, leaning into the touch on his face while closing his eyes, savoring the moment of tender intimacy between you two, one that you both needed.

Both of you knew he couldn't ask for help right now, he couldn't ask the rest of his Toman division. He had to do it alone. But… hearing your words made him feel a little less alone. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was softer.

“I will. I… promise.” After hearing his words you quickly wiped a tear from the corner of your eye before it could roll off your cheek. Returning your hand into the pocket of your shorts, you forced your body into a relaxed stance and pushed yourself off the fence.

“You better. I'll be waiting.”

With that, you turn to leave, walking away with feigned nonchalance. Baji watched as you walked, noticing the slight tension in your shoulders while you did your best to act casual and not look back. His hands itched to reach out to you, call out and pull you back, but he didn’t act on it. He stayed still. He watched your figure get smaller and smaller until he couldn’t see you anymore, keeping his voice as low as possible as he whispered your name.

The next few days seemed never ending. Though Baji was being kept busy with Valhalla business, his mind often wandered, sometimes to that day on the footbridge, sometimes reminiscing about the good old days with Toman. Most of his nostalgia-induced daydreams ended up being about game nights with you, nightly conversations with you, bike rides with… you. The way you had held his face in your gentle hands that day at the bridge was driving him insane with overthinking. There was certainly a pattern there… Finally, there was hope for a day off, no bullshit tasks within Valhalla, Baji was free to do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted… was to check something.

He started walking in the direction of your house, almost in reflex to overthinking and struggling. Clearly, his mind wouldn’t shut up about how he had left things at the bridge, he tried to rationalize his thoughts, but to no avail. Just go, check on her, make sure she’s alright.

So he found himself across the clearing from your window.

Baji felt a hit of nostalgia as he remembered all the times he would sneak through that same window on the first floor just to chat the night away, wiping away your salty tears and talking your ear off about something random just to make you smile again.

He walked through the clearing, stopping just several feet away from the window, observing your seemingly relaxed state as you sat on the windowsill and let your damp hair dry. He suddenly felt the extent of how much he had missed you. Your game nights, your laughs, your movie marathons…

As you sat on the windowsill of your bedroom, you tried distracting yourself from thinking about Baji. The book you had picked up to try and read was lying on the floor, face-down, long forgotten. Your mind was switching from one memory to another, reminiscing the days when you’d message Baji if you got into a fight with your parents or had a generally shitty day and he’d immediately come over, spending the night sitting on this very same windowsill and talking until the sun came up, getting no sleep, but giggling deep into the night.

Reminiscing the days when he would invite you over to his place, when his mom would ask you to make him do things he had been too lazy to do (“why the hell would i clean my room when it’s gonna get messy again anyway?”) or beg you to make him study for tests and do projects due the following week. It had always been a losing battle, but you could appreciate the fact that she thought you had any sway in his head.

Snapping out of your daydreaming and looking down to where he stood, at first you thought you imagined him standing there, but he had his signature grin on, there was no way your mind could replicate that so perfectly.

You opened the window fully, poking your head out.

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” You recited in an overdramatic tone, sporting a smirk in amusement despite the circumstances.

Baji chuckled when he recognized the reference, shaking his head slightly while preparing to climb up to the window like before. He sat down on the windowsill, looking at you and returning your smirk.

“I suppose that makes you Juliet then?” His tone made your sly smirk turn into a smile.

“I suppose so.” You replied almost instantly, missing the easy banter you once kept constantly.

“What, not very happy to have Romeo here?” He teased when you didn’t run into his arms like you would before. You eyed the Valhalla jacket that he wore, your heart clenching at the sight of it worn so casually, so… openly.

Your smile slightly faltered as you sat together, the tragic comparison with the fictional characters suddenly glaringly obvious and fucking sad.

“You do remember how they ended up, right?” Your point hit home, but he waved it off. Baji clearly didn’t want to think about the story, instead finding slight amusement in the way he, once again, climbed through the window like some kind of hero, saving the damsel in distress. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t ruin it.” He said with a lighthearted scoff.

“If I remember correctly,” you started with a light smirk again, “when we covered that play in school, your words were something along the lines of… ‘well maybe they should have communicated better and not been idiots’.”

He let out a genuine laugh, the nostalgia about the school days bringing out the humor of his words.

“Yeah, that was it. And I stand by it, they were idiots.”

“So have you come here to communicate, Baji?” You pulled your leg up on the windowsill, folding it under yourself at the same time that he leaned his head back against the wall as you faced each other.

“I have… I think.”

Baji’s fingers seemed to twitch, as if itching to touch you as he folded them on his knees in an attempt to appear casual. He paused for a moment, savoring the silence that had settled between you, though he had questions on the tip of his tongue, all of them scrambling over each other to be let out first. Instead of asking how you were doing, if you were alright, how things were… he was just silent, paralyzed.

“You been okay?” You broke the silence in a soft voice for him.

His eyes betrayed the look of relief that you had spoken first, alleviating his stress of having to initiate. Despite that, his brown eyes reflected sadness. Guilt that he hadn't reached out first. I should've asked her first, I was the one who left.

“Yeah, I'm… I'm fine.” There was an unsaid as fine as I can be in his response. 

“Kept busy?” You smiled as you asked, relieved that at least he wasn’t… hurt physically. As far as you could see.

“Yeah, that's an understatement.” He chuckled through the reply, a humorless noise, an attempt at lessening the severity of the circumstances.

In truth, he had been busy most of the week, mostly because Valhalla was trying to use him for anything they could. It wasn't every day you got a highly capable first division captain of a rival gang to join you, they would've been stupid not to use the situation.

“I'm not gonna ask more about it, I know you can't tell me…” You followed up quickly, making sure he knew that you still didn't expect him to divulge his plans, that you understood his need for secrecy.

Baji nodded, a part of him wanted to confide in you… needed the comfort of another person, his best friend, telling him it would be okay and he was right to make those choices. He quickly changed his tone to a more light-hearted one, nudging you with his foot.

“I would tell you if I could, you know that.”

“I know.” You responded in a soft voice before looking down to where he nudged you as you played with a strand of your damp hair. “How’s your mom? And Peke J?”

His lips curled into a little smile, it had been a while since he talked about his mom and the cat.

“They're both doing fine. They're good,” he paused a little before adding, as if contemplating whether or not to say anything more, “my mom says she misses you.”

You smiled through the pang of guilt, though it wasn't exactly your fault that you hadn't visited.

“I miss her too, miss Peke J’s loud ass meowing as well.” You missed spending time at his place, sneaking into his bedroom, playing with Peke J and giving him catnip stuffed toys while his mom made you coffee and sandwiches. It was sometimes eerie how similar his mom and he looked, but it was heartwarming to see he was Ryoko’s son through and through.

He, too, remembered the good times at his place, you two, his mom, and the cat. Some of his favorite moments. 

“Yeah, he's as noisy as ever, I swear he's yelling louder every damn day.”

“I wouldn't be surprised, actually. He's probably part hyena or something.”

Your heart soared when Baji snorted with laughter, the closest it came to the way things had been before. 

“I'd believe that. Little bastard wakes me up every morning with his yowls.” With a brush of his hand through his long hair, he sighed.

It became so easy laughing again, sitting on the windowsill with him, your legs touching as you escape reality for a while.

“Can you please take that off?” You pointed at his Valhalla jacket, the only visual reminder of the harsh reality, the only thing that ruined your daydreaming of simpler times.

Baji tried to keep things light-hearted for a bit longer, playfully scoffing and raising his eyebrow at the request though in his eyes it was evident he noticed your somewhat sad tone.

“You want me to strip for you, is that it?” There was no other way he could have expected you to react apart from a roll of your eyes and a click of your tongue.

“Don't want a Valhalla member in my bedroom… just want to see my Baji…”

My Baji.

The words made his chest feel a little tighter and his heart started hammering. He didn't want to be just a Valhalla member to you, didn't want to be anyone else other than… your Baji. He took a deep breath and slid the jacket off his shoulders, unceremoniously dropping it on the bedroom floor. Once the jacket came off, he was back to being a regular guy, clad in a regular t-shirt and regular jeans, the thing you liked seeing him wear the most, other than his Toman uniform.

“Thank you, Kei.” You didn't use his first name too often as most of your other friends just called him Baji, but sometimes… when the mood was just right, when he was more than just Baji, he was Keisuke. Kei. Now he was finally your Keisuke again. 

No gang, no defection, no bullshit.

It didn't seem like he understood what a big deal it was for you, seeing him like that with an aura of normalcy instead of wearing that damn thing until you called him by his first name again, reminding him of the connection you’d always had. Baji shifted slightly, his foot sliding a little closer to yours, touching the side of your ankle. He was silent for a moment, as if reminding himself that he was still him.

“I'm still the same person.”

“I know,” you leaned forward, reaching up to his face and cupping his cheek gently, just like you had done at the footbridge, “just don't need to see that damn symbol.”

Your touch was so gentle and careful, as if holding something precious in your hands, it made him instinctively lean into your palm again, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh. He finally seemed to understand that seeing him in that jacket reminded you of the stupid goddamn situation you were in, of the fact that he shouldn't have even come here.

“I never wanted it to be like this.” He admitted quietly.

“I know, I get it,” your thumb just slightly brushed against his cheek, “that's why I'm not asking you to tell me your plans… or to include me, though I really want you to. I trust you.”

His throat tensed as he swallowed thickly at your words. 

“You shouldn't trust me so easily.”

“Think it was easy?” You let out a surprised laugh, short and sweet.

He lifted one black eyebrow in surprise, taken aback at the reply, as if he expected you to tell him you’d always trust him, that it was easy because it was him. 

“You sayin’ it’s not easy trusting me?” Curiosity got the better of him.

“I’m saying,” you pinch his cheek lightly for a brief moment, “that it wasn’t easy to get to know you back then. But once I knew you… really knew you, I knew I could trust you.”

He hummed softly before nodding, remembering how he kept away from most people at school, not really taking to friendships easily. But once you’d got through to him and befriended him, you became inseparable. His body leaned in once again, resting against your warm palm in a subconscious search for comfort.

“Guess you’re just too stubborn, huh?” He teased.

A slight breeze through the open window ruffled over you as you sat facing him, crossing your legs over his on the windowsill.

“Good thing you love me stubborn.”

His hands rested on your thighs, a small smile gracing his face as he marveled at how soft your skin was and how warm it felt under his palms. It felt good being close to you like this again, even if only for a little while, even if it could hurt even more once the moment was done and back to being in Valhalla, having no ties to Toman, no ties to you. For now, he was just relishing the moment, and in the moment he let out a half-playful, half-serious scoff.

“Hmph, more like unfortunate.”

“Oh yeah, very unfortunate to have someone by your side whatever the weather, right? Poor you.” You chuckled, tempted to smack his cheek.

“Oh absolutely, it’s truly a struggle living with the burden of your unwavering support and loyalty.” Baji grinned and patted your thigh playfully, finally relaxing fully in the familiar banter, this is how it’s supposed to be.

“And yet you always come back for more… masochist.” You retorted, soaking up all the smiles on his face, the way his lips curled and showed the sharp points of his teeth was so familiar, so cheekily and deeply him. It was obvious he was enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment, a brief respite from the weight put on his shoulders since joining Valhalla.

“Oh you have no idea. Nothing gets me off more than being around your stubborn ass.” His hand squeezed the flesh of your thigh gently, in a slow motion, as if reminding you (and himself) that he was still here, and this was real. You rested your forehead against his shoulder, sliding your body closer to him.

“Knew it, you can’t keep away from my stubborn ass.”

Baji smiled. You lifted your gaze to catch his eyes, skin crinkled around them as it always did whenever he let himself show a big grin, his sharp canines on full display. 

Oh, how you loved it when he smiled. 

The sight of it made your face soften even more, as if caught off guard by such a sincere reaction, as simple as a smile. 

He didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he turned his head to the side to look at you better. He held your gaze, drinking in your closeness, the way you looked at him like he mattered. Like he had a place in this world. 

Oh, how he loved it when you looked at him like that. 

Both, suddenly and slowly at the same time, you lifted your head and stretched your neck to ghost your lips over his again, just like the other day on the bridge. They barely touched before you pulled back slightly, not even trusting yourself to take a breath before returning to a safe distance from his lips. 

Baji wanted to grab you, pull you closer, and kiss you until you were both gasping for air. He wanted to remember this moment, to store the memory of your touch in his mind. He didn’t act though, letting you pull back slightly before he spoke in a low voice.

“Unfair…”

Your voice comes out more strained than intended, as if struggling to find the strength to squeeze them through your teeth. “I will kiss thy lips.Haply some poison yet doth hang on themTo make me die with a restorative” You barely made it through the last line before quickly, afraid you would chicken out, closing the distance between your lips and softly kissing him.

He kissed back almost immediately, almost like he was about to lean in and kiss you himself had you not acted first. His mind was clear of everything apart from you. All his focus was on this blissful moment, hanging in the balance between the outside and the inside, between past and future. Between you and him.

The kiss soon became more desperate, Baji couldn’t help himself, his lips took more, pulled sounds from your lips, swallowing them hungrily. He moved his hand from your thigh to cup the back of your neck, greedily pulling you even closer to him. Deepening the kiss, brushing his tongue against your lips, he sought to taste you.

Desperate for more contact, you shifted to settle on his lap, pressing yourself against him and placing your suddenly restless hands on the back of his neck, pulling him in even more, closer, never enough. You kissed him like he was an oasis in the middle of a desert, like you were dying of thirst and he was sweet nectar. 

Once the kiss was broken, you search his eyes for anything resembling regret, anything that could break your heart as it lay out in the open. Your quick-flitting eyes made you focus on his breathing, analyzing every molecule of the tension between you. 

If there was one thing he was sure of, it was this – Baji Keisuke could never regret kissing you.

“I missed you every day you weren’t here.” Your voice was raw and quiet, but the proximity made it unnecessary to speak any louder, the warmth in your voice was enough to make his heart ache. Baji’s hand gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin before he responded in a soft voice.

“I missed you too. More than you know.”

They always said that learning stupid old dramas and literature was pointless. But you had a blueprint for a tragedy that you could avoid. You couldn’t bear to think of the similarities with tragic heroes. Star-crossed, doomed from the start. Instead, your heart thrummed with a different melody, rebellious, hell-bent on overcoming this bullshit, to hell with Valhalla and these grand schemes. You would fight and emerge victorious.

You kissed again, and again, lips gently meshing together in a slow dance, taking all the time you could steal from the universe, carving out a space and time for yourselves where you could exist in a bubble with no real-life consequences.

Baji’s eyes fluttered as your lips left his to continue their gentle affections across his jaw, down to where it met his neck. Your lips parted to press soft kisses and you let out little moans at the incredible feeling of finally having his sensitive skin under your lips like this. It was addicting.

It was nearly dangerous. He shouldn’t have even been here, but he was. Holding you in his lap, sitting on your windowsill with his hands resting on your ass, pressing you against his body that was going completely pliant as you traced your lips across his neck, down to his shoulder and back up to his jaw. That damn Valhalla jacket stayed forgotten on your bedroom floor, completely unwanted and irrelevant in this perfect moment, isolated from the rest of the world. 

And all he could think about was how to hold you even closer, closer, closer.

thank you so much, @just-one-more-beer for lending me your eyes and brain to beta-read it months ago <3

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Tainted

Steddie || wc: 6k || rating: E || cws: DEAD DOVE DNE, steve harrington whump, Vampire!Eddie, post break up second chance, sexually explicit, blood (like a lot of blood), chronic pain and illness, recreational and prescription drug use/abuse, heavy angst, EVENTUAL HAPPY ENDING THE COMFORT IS COMING!! || ao3

Steve pulls the needle from his arm, long since used to the sensation. He expertly applies a cotton ball and bandage over the puncture wound he'll remove as soon as Robin leaves.

She's giving him that look again. The one she always gives him when he's draining. Her lip is swollen from biting, and she won't meet his eyes as he wraps the tubing up and seals the heavy, red medical bag.

He knows she won't say anything. She's done arguing with him about it, mostly because she knows he's done caring what she has to say. So he heads to the garage, where the lone, tall, white freezer stands with a sharpie taped to the side and a log sheet hanging next to it. 

It's only logged a few months back to January. The rest of the monthly sheets are meticulously filed away in his office, going back nine years now. 

Robin's good at bookkeeping, took it upon herself so he could drain at home without having to go into The Lab. She's even better at scheduling his monthly check-ups at the clinic, coordinating his medications, and all-around keeping him upright and arguably functional.

All Steve has to do is bleed, log, and ship.

He doesn't even have to pay for shipping. Eddie takes care of all of those little details– well, Paige does.

Which is nice, since apparently shipping bodily fluids like blood requires a shit ton of caveats for a civilian. But it was pretty easy to heap the exorbitant costs his way, since Eddie's got enough rockstar money and guilt to spare.

Not that Steve blames him. How was Eddie supposed to know that every time he sunk his fangs into Steve's neck, it boiled his blood with a cocktail of toxins? There's no way they could've predicted that their first feeding would doom them both. A love ruined before it even started.

It wasn't a problem for Steve. He tries not to dwell after so many years, but when the nights are long and the pain thrums in his limbs, Steve thinks they could've made it work.

Everyone told him it was the venom, like Eddie was pumping some kind of stupid fucking love poison into his veins, that Steve didn't have real control over his emotions. Eddie was bad for Steve, and everyone agreed– even Eddie.

Steve didn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter in the end. He fell in line, like he always did. Still does.

Steve grabs a styrofoam box from the stack and fills it with dry ice Robin bought at the grocery earlier today. He adds the fresh bag to the "new" shelf, and puts the two bags on top of the "old" shelf into the box, sealing it shut with packing tape and sticking a prepaid shipping label on the top.

According to Robin, it's all monitored by the government and Owens’ team. Steve’s not sure the man's very involved in the whole Hawkins used to be actual hell bullshit anymore, since there's not much left. Beyond his and El's– and presumably Eddie's– annual appointments, there's not much left for him to do.

The world fell apart. Monsters decimated the town. They won, eventually. So Owens and the government fucks off like everything’s back to normal. Except El murdered a man she had once considered a brother, and then unraveled with grief. Max lived, but refused to use her wheelchair, refused to admit she’s blind, refused to get out of bed. And Eddie...

Eddie was the one good thing to happen in the aftermath– once they purged him of Kas. Steve thought he saved Eddie when he captured Kas stalking around in the woods at night. He locked him in the basement, tossing down raw meat and boxes of live rats until Kas became little flashes of Eddie.

Until Steve could figure out what he really needed to become Eddie again. What's a little blood when he's risked so much more in such worse circumstances?

Apparently a lot. Because it fucking ruined his life.

“Wait–” Eddie interrupted Owens’ speech about unknown variables and additional testing– “you’re telling me that his weird bruises and the aches and the awful fucking migraines are because I poisoned him?”

Owens sighed, looking between the floor, Steve tucked into the hospital bed, and Eddie perched next to him, like he could come up with a better answer other than a simple ‘yes’. He couldn’t.

Eddie tried and failed not to cry as Owens explained how the venom in Eddie’s bite wasn’t an aphrodisiac, like they had childishly chalked it up to be. It permanently altered Steve’s kidneys, fucking up some shit in his bones to make him produce too much blood. “Most likely evolved as a permanent, reliable source of feeding–” Owens rambled, until Eddie vomited right onto the floor.

On the plus side, it turned out it was a condition pretty similar to one that already exists, which meant other than his annual appointment with the lab, Steve could do his normal check-ups at the hospital. “You’ll have to take a rigorous schedule of medications, along with at least one blood draw a week– unless Mr. Munson is around to, ah… assist.”

The blood disorder, according to Owens’ results, was a lost cause after the first bite. The bone-deep pain, however, “could’ve been mitigated had Mr. Munson not continued his feedings,” with an unsaid ‘like I suggested’ hanging off the end of his accusation. 

When they’d first brought Eddie in to be checked out, they’d been warned about continuing to feed, something about unknown prognosis, and possible long-term side effects. Steve had fought Eddie hard, and eventually convinced him that it didn’t matter. As long as it meant they kept feeding.

“How could something that feels so right be bad for us, Eds?” Steve whispered into the quiet dark of their room, Eddie curled up naked next to him. He didn’t respond.

Steve should’ve known it was the beginning of the end. Almost two beautiful years together, until the guilt ate Eddie alive. He saved Steve by leaving him and ran as far away as he could.

They haven’t spoken since.

Steve sets the box down on the coffee table only for Robin to scoop it up, with boots on and keys in hand. "It's only two bags this time," Steve says, "Owens took–"

“– the rest for testing. Yes, they already know." He knows she's not irritated, but the pity in her eyes grates on his nerves even though she’s still not looking at him. He knows it's there. The smell of pity is as ripe as the metallic tang in the air.

He walks her to the door. She spins back around to face him, lips pursed with a finger in the air. "I forgot to mention," she lightly taps him on the nose, and she giggles when he shakes her off like an annoyed dog, "I put the new bottle of serum Paige sent yesterday in the fridge for you. I saw you were low and figured it'd save time on thawing a new one."

She turns back towards the foyer, on her way out the door when Steve calls out "The fresh one? What about the one from last week, won't that expire?"

His concern is waved off with a shrug and not even a glance over her shoulder. "Christmas is only three days away, you deserve the good stuff." Steve's thin laugh barely has time to sour when she shouts, "I'll be back with Vickie in a few hours for dinner," as she closes the door behind her. 

Steve considers holding off on his next dose until Robin and Vickie leave for the night. Instead, he heads into the kitchen, pulling the small, brown, glass vial out to warm in his hand. Steve hasn't dosed venom– serum, as Robin calls it, like a name means all the difference– cold since the first time, and he'll never do it again.

The chronic pain of withdrawal from Eddie's toxin isn't nearly as bad as the permanent blood disorder because of it, but it's not easy. On the best days, it's an annoying ache in his limbs. The worst days leave him immobile in bed, burning from the inside out.

Steve misses the heavy blossom of euphoria coursing through him with each bite, almost two bottles worth of doses equal to one feeding. He misses the sudden relief of tension, leaving his body molten, unfiltered lust filling out his cock so fast he almost passes out.

Except nine years ago today, Eddie curled up next to him in the back of Steve's new pick up. The sky was dark but clear, the air frigid with a light snowfall. Hot little puffs of weed smoke poured from between their lips. It was one moment of a thousand between them where the electricity was so palpable it left him buzzing. The only difference, however, was that Eddie finally closed the distance with a kiss. 

His lips felt like coming home. The slide of his soft, warm tongue against Steve's was a claim of not just hunger or desire. It was love, companionship. Life. 

They lasted five minutes before they fed and fucked. But then later Eddie crawled into his bed, moved all his stuff in the next day, and never left.

Until he did, of course.

Steve calls Robin to tell her he's tired. She must know he's lying, but Steve argues and she caves, agreeing to see him tomorrow instead. Robin knows what today means to him. Normally, he’d be thankful for how much she cares, how much she worries about him. It’s still nice to finally spend today, of all days, alone.

Steve props the small bottle, now warmed to room temp, on the coffee table in front of him as he settles into the couch. He did as much as he could to change out everything in his apartment when Eddie left. Not that it was contaminated, just tainted– like everything they once shared is now. 

The couch is Steve's favorite by far. Nothing fancy, only a simple blue sofa with fluffy armrest for him to lay his head on. He sleeps better here than his own bed most nights. It's a love seat, but he's always slept curled up anyway.

There are two little drawers in the old, wooden coffee table—the one on the right holds just enough storage for remotes and other small trinkets. Steve opens the one on the left. He sets a black box next to the large rubber tie next to the syringe next to the unwrapped needle next to the little brown vial.

But Robin's right. It's almost Christmas. It's his ex-anniversary. He's doing so well at the firm that his dad clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a glass of his personal whiskey. And he hates all of it.

Steve doses half the vial. It's not lethal, not even dangerous. The venom can't do more damage than it already has. It only layers more and more blankets of relief over him until he’s lulled back into the euphoria-filled lust he's craved for years.

The buzz hits him instantly. Steve knows what's coming, so he strips off his clothes and moves to the floor. His skin glistens with sweat before he pulls his last sock off, tossing it on the couch. Desperate heat rolls through his chest, settles in his gut. 

Steve’s cock twitches, untouched, as he fumbles to open the black box. A pathetic whine escapes him looking at the set of homemade toys inside, nothing like the basic dildo and cockrings upstairs in his nightstand.

You always were a sad little slut for me, sweetheart.

He moans in the quiet of his living room. Fingers trembling, he sets the box down and pulls out his first indulgence. An oversized dildo, almost an exact replica. Pale, matching skin-tone at the balls and base, fading up into a dark black at the swollen tip. It even includes the silver, metal ball pierced just under the head.

A gift. Steve tries not to cry just looking at it.

One of the first things Eddie spent his big-time rockstar money, having his giant fucking monster dick molded just for Steve. It was one of the last gifts he ever gave him. Except the weekly shipments of venom, which Steve doesn't count. 

It's a toy he rarely uses but fails to forget about. 

He mounts it on the side of the coffee table before he preps himself. It taunts him, mocking his desperation as he hastily shoves two fingers into where he’s hollow. The angle’s all wrong, lube spilling over his wrist, dripping down his forearm and onto the carpet beneath him. 

He should get comfortable, lay down on his back instead of staying on all fours, but Steve’s skin is too tight for his bones. He’s shaking, sweating with lust and he just needs some fucking relief. Just needs something for once in his fucking life to feel good again, to go right again, after everything went so fucking wrong.

A tear slips free as he lines up and spears himself on a toy that isn’t Eddie, but feels so painfully close. Rocking himself back until he feels the balls pressed against him, he rides the toy hard enough to jostle the table with each thrust. 

It’s not the easiest position. He should’ve pushed the table up against the couch next to him, or laid a soft blanket on the floor to protect his now burning hands and knees from the carpet. Steve knows he should slow down. He's not relaxed enough, hasn’t prepped well enough if the pain means anything. 

It doesn't. Pain means nothing when drops of Eddie course through his veins.

You're so tight, baby. Feel so fucking good on my cock. Look at you Stevie, crying, you're so desperate for me.

Steve swipes the back of his hand across his damp cheeks. It leaves a streak of lube he hadn't seen through his blurred vision, but he doesn't care. Better than tears, anyway.

Frustrated, Steve rummages the box again and pulls out a similarly colored fleshlight. Fingers shaking, he barely manages to keep hold of the bottle as he coats the inside with an excessive amount of lube. He closes his eyes, slows his fingers into a firm roll.

Fuck Stevie, love your fingers deep inside me.

Steve tries to remind himself this isn't real. It's all plastic and silicone and a ghost of a voice in his head.

The sentiment is lost as he slips the swollen, red tip of his cock inside. He curls forward, bracing his weight on his head and shoulder. Steve screams as the dildo finally punches his prostate. Lightning sparks down his spine, sending him into a frenzy.

It's everything he denies himself because no one feels like this. How can anyone ever wonder why Steve's relationships always fail when this pathetic display is better than any fuck he can find? Because there is no moving on from Eddie, not really.

So Steve revels in Eddie's name on his tongue and the metal ball driving into his prostate and the wet, slick sound of fucking into what he pretends is Eddie's tight little hole until he's sobbing. He's close. Tension coils deep in his gut. Snot drips from Steve’s nose as his sobs echo in an empty home, but it's no use. It’s not enough. He needs more, knows exactly what he needs, and he hates himself for it.

Relief still sits in the box. A small metal contraption Steve managed to create all on his own, lost in the worst of his depression. It looks back at him with the same disappointment it does every year.

Two old mouth guards he wore for football, wired together at the back and molded just big enough for Steve to slip his fingers into the teeth-shaped grooves. He rubs the pads of his fingers over the smooth, metal nail heads, sharp tips pierced through the other side. 

He keeps trying to remind himself it's not real. They're not his fangs. There's no swipe of a tongue across his skin or lips suckling at his neck. It's not Eddie. But he can pretend it is, just for tonight. 

Writhing with anticipation, he pours a bit of the venom in the bottom of the box. Steve opens the fanged-jaws wide and coats the two nails fused into the top and the two on the bottom. He jostles the box as he fucks Edd– the dildo– faster, drops of venom splashing the carpet. Tension coils low in his gut and it takes all of Steve’s willpower to wait. Wait until the nails are completely covered, dripping fat, clear drops into the box. 

Tongue lolling out of his mouth, Steve holds the fangs above him, head tipped back as the venom drips down into his mouth. Another sob morphs into a guttural moan and he knows he’s out of time.

It’s been almost a decade but Steve still knows where his favorite place to feed was, so he lines up the bite. Except just the tips of the nails against his skin sends Steve careening over the edge.

The empty house is filled with Steve's screams as he comes . With his last remaining brain cells and a firm grip, he closes the metal contraption into his throat, plunging the nails inside.

Mine to bite, to drink, to love. Only mine, forever.

"Fuck, Eddie, yes. Only yours. Fuck–"

The injected venom rips out another orgasm, almost painful in its intensity. Come spills out of the warm, hollow toy that isn't Eddie and onto the floor, adding to the mess of lube that drips from his throbbing hole as he pulls out the other toy that also isn't Eddie. 

Exhausted, Steve has just enough of mind to grab the blanket draped across the couch behind him before he passes out.

~~~

Part 2 coming soon! ao3

Header graphic kudos!

[deiaiko]

#24.3 Hatz vs Grace

"Hatz, can you teach me how to wield a sword?"

Hatz recalled a conversation he had with Grace from a few years back. 

"Why?"

"I want to learn swordsmanship. And you seemed to be the best person to ask."

It had surprised him greatly then. After all, he knew that Grace was registered in the wave controller class. And it was a really hard favor to refuse, especially because he took pride in his swordsmanship, and it would be an honor to teach his friend.

Hatz let the memory fade into the present. He adjusted his grip on the wooden training sword that Agni's team had prepared, and took a deep breath to steady himself. 

In front of him, Grace mimicked his move. His form still needed some improvement, but it looked firmer than his first time learning.

"Five minutes. Start!" Dan cheered as he dropped the previously used wrinkled paper from his hand. It hit the ground rather uselessly as none of them took their chance to lunge forward.

Hatz walked carefully to his right, circling Grace. He wasn't sure if he should attack first or wait until Grace made his move.

Everything about Grace was confusing. He offered a hand and befriended him and spent a good amount of time getting to know everyone, but he left without saying goodbye. He knew a lot about the tower, but he didn't know how to play basic card games. He was a pacifist who wouldn't unsheathe his sword at the slightest conflict like Hatz did, but he decided to join FUG, which was the most dangerous criminal syndicate in the Tower. On top of it all, Hatz was still worried about whatever had happened to Grace a few days ago, yet Grace acted like it never happened.

Grace followed his pace and kept their distance, so Hatz decided to make the first move. He let some of his frustration out with the strike, giving it enough force to let Grace know how worried he had made him be for the past years.

However, Grace blocked it rather effortlessly. Just like how his feelings for Grace had never mattered to begin with.

Hatz gritted his teeth. With one smooth motion, he twisted his sword and aimed for another more powerful strike.

If it were a real sword, perhaps it would've cut Grace's palm, with the way he stopped the blade with his bare hands.

Grace let the sword go like it was molten hot. "Ah, oops. Reflex."

Hatz felt a smile tugging at his lips. It was the time like this that reminded Hatz, that Grace wasn't born a swordsman, just like how he wasn't born a wave controller.

There were just things that Grace did in his own way, whether purposely or not. Whether he was or wasn't aware of how his actions would affect others, both good and bad.

"To block that move, I suggest twisting your sword like this." Hatz angled Grace's hand to the image he had in mind, and rehearsed his previous move to make his point. "It'd allow you to block with minimal effort, and be able to prepare yourself for a follow up move."

"Oh that's smart. I'll remember that. Thank you." Grace sounded genuinely impressed that it filled Hatz with pride.

"I thought this was a match! Not a sword training session!" The princess booed from the audience seat.

Some chuckles and cheering could be heard afterward, and they resumed their match.

Hatz realized that Grace still remembered the lessons that he had taught him way back then. And not without improvement too, which proved that he had been practicing now and then.

While it neither solved any mystery regarding Grace nor eased his worry, just knowing that Grace took his teaching seriously had lifted a lot of weight off his heart. Because it showed that Grace cared about the thing that mattered to Hatz, and it made Hatz feel like he was worth something to his dear friend.

The match later ended with a draw, to the majority's prediction.

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[birdgenetics]

I just remembered I was going to do an analysis at the end.

It was all a social experiment... I was watching, observing... *evil laugh*

Ok, but seriously, I had a few predictions going in. I figured people were going to choose as many mutations as possible, even though, as I've said, I tend to prefer wild type and a few very specific patterns. Aside from Blue and Dominant White, I don't even like any of the dilutions.

I was kind of worried I wouldn't know what to draw at the end (and my painting is probably totally off especially in the neck area) and I was also worried it would turn out mostly white. It did turn out so diluted it was almost white, but in a pleasing psuedo-dominant white way, in my opinion. We were *this* close to it having the lavender gene, which would have been just painful for me to paint.

I don't like lavender and to paint I need to enjoy it and have sufficient motivation, so thank you for not making me do that. I do think that in some forms lavender can be pretty, but I do have a special loathing for the lavender gene nonetheless. That and painting white on white. I left the background white to make it easier, but unfortunately the white doesn't really stand out very well and for that I am sorry.

For the skin color, it didn't surprise me one bit that you guys went the exotic route. I was entirely expecting that. I voted for the fibro with black earlobes for maximum contrast with the white plumage, even though red with white earlobes is one of my favorite combos.

However, I wasn't expecting pearl eyes, which in many cases are just plain white (and I prefer orangey bay.) But since the birds were fibro I made them yellow since the only example I've seen of a pearl eyed fibro had yellow eyes.

It's definitely a unique and terrifying combination and I really love it.

Overall, I am very happy with how it turned out.

E^Wh/E^Whmo+/mo+B/Bcha/chaml+/ml+Pg/PgMh/MhDb/db+co+/co+s+/s+Bl/bl+I^d/I^dC+/C+choc/chocLav+/Lav+cb+/cb+di+/di+Ig+/Ig+id+/id+W+/W+Fm/Fm

This is my imagined phenotype for this genotype: I could be totally off but I did my best!

The pearl eyes staring out of the fibro skin kind of scared me when I first drew it, not going to lie. It is an interesting juxtaposition of the very intense skin and eye color and the soft and subtle plumage...

What should we call the plumage color? I think khaki mauve necked red ginger barred is kind of a mouthful, don't you?

[pygmalimoon]

-They say pain fades with time, but not for me.-

I'II see you in there.

We'll find out, won't we?

commission done by @/damaotizi

[chirpsythismorning]

I just remembered they devoted a whole scene to Mike and Will burying a dead body for no reason other than to poke fun at—

[themyscirah]

Heard about TK wanting to write WW for 100 issues and do a Trinity spinoff?

Yeah.... that's the word on the street 😔

To be honest with everybody though, I don't think he's hitting 100 issues. I think Tom King THINKS he will be writing 100 issues of WW comics, but I'm very skeptical. Like it's true he got pretty close to 100 issues when he was writing Batman, but that was during Rebirth, when comics were being published twice a month. At a normal monthly pace, 100 main title issues works out to be a bit over EIGHT YEARS. Even with specials and annuals and possible events (or the Trinity spinoff) compressing that timeline, there's still no way in my mind that Tom hits 100 issues in any less than five years. He spent three on Batman. You know, Batman, his #1, the guy he has to bring up every issue? Do we really think he's going to spend over twice as long on Diana?

Like personally I'm just not convinced that Tom King cares enough about Wonder Woman to write her for that long. Like I think he likes her, and I think he thinks she's cool, but reading his book he seems to love to put the focus anywhere except on Diana. Like all the narration is done by the villain (meaning we don't get Diana's actual thoughts on any of this) and the backup are all TK's audition to write supersons (so we're losing page space that could be utilized to develop the current narrative in favor of possible future stories with no plot relevance)

Like idk. Tom King is talking the talk and I think he has the power at DC currently to walk the walk if he really wants to do it and his hype squad keeps sales high, but he hasn't convinced me so far with his work that he has it in him to see out so many issues of Wonder Woman, especially when Diana finally defeats the Sovereign, and if Trinity gets her own book, like what is he going to do with his remaining 80 issues? Actually telling WW stories?

It seems to me from what I've read of his WW and interviews abt it is that this "100 issues of Wonder Woman" thing is coming from his opinion that Diana deserves a 100-issue run, rather any great, passionate love for Diana that would actually motivate him to write her for that long.

So anyways, my stance is that if he's really putting in a long one (however long it may be) we just hope for the best, (Diana getting her narration boxes back and being central in her own story again, Trinity getting booted back to Themyscira to be forgotten raised offscreen, etc.) and try to make the most & wait it out

[lord-squiggletits]

One TF fandom argument that confuses me is when people put Megatron and Starscream versus each other like, when people say that it's "unfair that Megatron gets redemption but Starscream doesn't" (in regards to IDW1) because like. One, IDW1 in phase 2 was written by like 4 different writers, so you can't try to claim that there was some unified vision where the nonexistent Singular Writer of IDW was like "no Starscream isn't allowed to have nice things."

And second, I don't think the writers would even think of it that way? It's not like the writers were like "okay we have one Get Out Of Jail Free Card and we're going to spend it on Megatron, sorry Starscream maybe in the next reboot you can get it." The divisions fans make between X character likers and Y character likers are completely made up fandom drama and sometimes I feel like people don't understand that the writers aren't privy to fandom infighting/drama and wouldn't write Megatron and Starscream in opposition to each other as if one character's gain must come at the other's expense.

And finally............. IDW1 Starscream literally does get to be portrayed as a more morally gray person, have his feelings shown and treated as human, even make some friends/have people treat him nicely? IDK what fucking comics people are reading where they think that Starscream is treated as an evil villain with no redeeming qualities at all. Maybe it's the same Starscream fans who shit on TAAO/Scott or something, that's the only way I could explain it.