#jan really needs to ask what people are comfortable with before making them a thing

[saucyjothoughts]

I know this is such a weird request ,but I've asked who of them would be most likely to be a sperm donor ?

I think Jure.

I completely agree with your assumption of Jure, Anonyboo! Unfortunately, I went way too far with Bojan's answer.

Jure: has absolutely donated anonymously to a fertility service on several occasions. He was just upset they wouldn't let him write his own bio in the catalogue. "Sexy successful rockstar offers premium spunk for prospective parents seeking highly intelligent, GSOH, golden complexion, built-like-a-greek-god offspring. Superb genetics - come and get 'em."

Nace: might donate for a loved one through the proper medical channels, though he definitely wants to raise his own biological kids too and might be cautious of the implications. Would not donate to an anonymous fertility service.

Jan: would consider doing this for a loved one but would prefer to avoid getting doctors involved. Would be really chill about passing on his genes (he's just giving you some gloop in a pot, whatever happens after that is none of his business) until he sees the kid.

Kris: might donate to an anonymous service out of the goodness of his heart to help people who need it. Doing it for someone he knows, however, would have too many emotional complications.

Bojan: one of his best friends has a favour to ask. No, it's not the sort of thing they can ask over the phone. If they fly in, can they meet him for coffee? No, don't be nervous. It's a good favour.

So they want a baby. Except they have no intention of finding a life partner first and want to raise it on their own. Bojan begins to figure out where they're going with this. So... will he help a buddy out? He doesn't need to be involved after the conception, it would purely be a genetic gift. But they want to do it naturally if possible. Yes, that naturally.

The friendship has skirted the edge of something else before, maybe they've even been physical together. It wouldn't have to mean anything, it's just about baby making. So, Bojan - what do you think? You don't have to decide right away.

Around the most suitable dates, Bojan's friend makes another trip to Ljubljana.

The first time is awkward. They're friends, it doesn't feel like sex. Bojan's body doesn't want to. It almost ends with nothing, they almost call it off. But decide to spend the night together anyway, just catching up. Just getting physically comfortable with each other. A cuddle, a kiss. Someone has an orgasm by hand. No one gets pregnant.

The second time is better. Bojan is having fun, this feels like a good idea. Their baby is going to be so pretty, and conceived naturally in a cosy room full of affection and respect.

The third and fourth times are better still and by the fifth, Bojan wonders why they never thought of doing this before. They're so good at it.

It doesn't stick.

So next month, his friend makes another trip. All these plane tickets are still cheaper than IVF.

By now, Bojan has almost forgotten it isn't just a date, a dirty weekend. He's almost forgotten they have a job to do. Until his friend is lying on their back, their hips lifted, trying to keep everything inside, to let Bojan's seed find it's way. He looks after them, keeping them away from cigarettes and alcohol and making sure they don't do anything too strenuous and that they take their vitamins. He asks them if they're hoping for a boy or a girl. If they've thought of names. They're going to be the most wonderful parent.

This time, it sticks.

Bojan gets a very loud, enthusiastic facetime, the test being thrust up towards the camera so it's not even in focus but Bojan knows exactly what it means. It worked! There's a little baby growing in there! Bojan is going to be a da- no. He's a sperm donor.

And his friend has no reason to visit any more. Not now that Bojan has completed his promise. It was just a favour to a buddy, that's all. He doesn't have to be involved after the conception.

His job is done.

It's over.

[technicallycleverdetective]

7 for Jance and 29 for Bojere please? :)

Thank you so very much for these TWO prompts :) It really gets the juices flowing. It's a little imbalanced in terms of length, but I hope you enjoy <3

7…to shut them up. (Jance)

When Jan was interested in something, he liked to understand everything about it. When Nace was interested in something, he liked to tell people about it. They were a good match, a talker and a listener.

Talking was a sign that Nace was comfortable. He usually spoke for a little bit and then, as if hyperaware of the fact that he might bore people, would clam up sharply. If the listener wanted to hear more, they had to ask. And Jan did ask, not because he had any great interest in turtles or Pokémon, but because Nace was so happy when he did. After they’d been together for a few months, when he seemingly felt confident that Jan wasn’t going to tell him to shut up if he was overly enthusiastic about all the little facts he knew, he started to talk for longer without being asked.

“Oh, and there’s also this thing…”

“I just remembered something else…”

“That reminds me, did you know…?”

Jan didn’t really understand a lot of it, but Nace’s eyes were so bright and his smile was so wide when he spoke about his interests, and he was always the picture of attention when Jan talked about his thesis or tried to explain the workings out of a maths problem. It was only fair to give the same courtesy in return.

That being said, Jan did have his limits.

Nace had recently discovered the joys of online Pokémon games and was spending entire afternoons on his laptop, going through round after round. Jan had tried to be a good boyfriend and ask questions, because showing an interest seemed to be the only way to get the pleasure of Nace’s company, but he was really struggling to understand how the game worked. Nace had been explaining it for several days – the different creatures, their abilities, their strengths and weaknesses against each other – and Jan had been trying not to let his fatigue show, but really, there was only so much he could listen to when he had no actual interest in any of it.

Nace had been talking about it throughout breakfast this morning, throughout washing the dishes, and Jan had just walked into their bedroom to find him on the laptop again. He glanced up with a sunny grin.

“Jan, come see, I got my Eevee to evolve.”

Jan was vaguely aware of Eevee. It was very cute and apparently very versatile with its evolutions.

“Well done,” he said, hoping Nace wouldn’t try to explain it any further. No such luck.

“I’ve been trying to get an Umbreon for ages,” he said, turning the laptop screen around to face Jan. “Look, it’s a black cat. And do you know they’re really protective of their trainers as well? It’ll be like having a Pokémon version of you.”

He looked at the strange alien-feline creature and then at Nace, who was visibly excited at having a Pokémon that reminded him of Jan. Or maybe just a Pokémon that had good stats. Hell if he knew, and he didn’t care, but Nace was being irresistibly cute right now. He crawled across the bed, forcing Nace to put the laptop aside to make room for Jan in his lap, and held his face between his palms. Nace’s eyes were fixed on him, as if an invisible string had looped them together, and Jan savoured the unbroken attention before the string pulled taut and he leaned in for a kiss.

He could feel Nace still smiling against his mouth while his arms circled Jan’s back, pulling him in and parting his lips. Maybe Jan wasn’t the only one who’d missed the togetherness, the way he often didn’t realise how hungry he was until he actually ate something.

They were parted only by the need for air and Nace blinked up at him, less excited now, more contented and a little bit dazed. “What was that for?”

“You’re adorable and I wanted to.”

Nace turned a little red and tried to hide his face. Jan grinned and pressed a kiss to his cheek, continuing to the sensitive spots beneath his ear, on the side of his neck, in the hollow of his collarbone. “How about you leave the Pokémon version of me for a while and play with the real thing?”

“Mm…” He felt Nace’s hand slide under his shirt even as he pretended to think about it. “Okay, let me save the game and then I’m all yours.”

All mine. Yeah, he liked the sound of that.

*

29…as a promise. (Bojere)

There have been a lot of promises made over the few months since they met.

“I’ll come to Finland,” an easy promise said with a kiss on the cheek, an affectionate expression of pure delight.

“Everything is going to be alright,” whispered in between dozens of hard kisses pressed to cheeks and brow and mouth and temples, not sure whether the tears were for the loss or the impending separation, but trying to be an anchor even as his own emotions threatened to spill over.

“I’m here,” said as arms wrap around the shorter frame, planting a kiss on top of black hair.

“I’ll see you soon,” said all too soon afterwards, a gentle press of lips as Jere’s head tilts upwards, eyes closed.

And then again, like deja-vu, the same promises made all over again, the same hellos and goodbyes with a kiss to mark each one.

And then the promises stop.

The vague suggestions start. “I’ll try. Maybe. If there is time.”

The kisses no longer find their way to warm skin, instead flying and dying against the cold plastic of a webcam.

What are they? Officially nothing has changed, but how can this be sustainable?

Bojan asks the question. “When do you think we can meet up again?”

“Hmm, you tell me.”

He asks again.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

And again.

“No, we are not doing this today.”

And again.

“Not this question again.”

Again.

“Last time you ask about this, we argue.”

He stops asking. He doesn’t give up, but he lowers his expectations. Long distance was always going to be difficult. He was always the one to make promises. A part of him is scared that if he stops trying, Jere will do the same, and losing him is worse than having him for only short periods of time. He loves him. Even despite the distance, even despite the feeling that he’s no longer an important part of Jere’s life, a piece of his heart still lives in Finland and keeps calling him back.

He goes back, mainly to capitalise on the success of their last visit, because he is a professional before anything else. But when he sends a text to say the band have a couple of Finnish dates and he hopes Jere will be able to see them – just to say hello, just for a little while, he’s not trying to make demands on his not-quite-lover-but-still-kiss-and-have-sex-sometimes friend’s precious time – he can’t concentrate from nerves until the reply comes through to say that Jere does have time, that in fact his schedule is miraculously empty for those exact dates, and Bojan breathes and wonders if it’ll be okay after all.

It’s okay. It’s always okay with Jere. Time and distance have allowed Bojan to forget how good it feels to be around him, but now he remembers and forgets how he learned to be okay without him.

It’s the part that comes afterwards which kills him.

Finland is only the start. The rest of the tour beckons and after that…Bojan doesn’t know what’ll come after that. A holiday, he hopes, and where will he spend it? What does the rest of Jere’s year look like? They haven’t talked about it very much lately, haven’t really talked about anything that would risk upsetting the joy they find in each other. Their lives are so stressful and both of them want the other to be a source of relief, not another worry, so they never touch the difficult topics.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can ignore it.

He is not watching the TV, focused more on the feel of Jere’s hair through his fingers and the hands of the clock in the corner. The guys are in the hotel and Bojan is here, a guest in Jere’s apartment. It was never a question that they’d spend every available second together. The knowledge that it’s all temporary is torturous.

“Do you think you’ll have time to meet up again this year?” he asks.

“For you, yes, always. Tell me when is good.”

He sighs deeply and Jere pulls away from him, sitting up. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” Everything.

“You sigh like this when you are sad. Why?”

“I’m just…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Jere turns the TV off. “We go to sleep?”

“No.” Yes. He can’t be exhausted tomorrow, but sleep is an admission of defeat. He’s back to being a schoolchild on a Sunday night. “Why don’t you tell me when is good next time?”

When he turns, Jere looks confused and a spark of anger ignites. Is it such a foreign concept that he might take initiative instead of waiting around for Bojan to come to him?

“I am busy…”

“Yes, I know you’re busy. I know you’re a lot busier than I am.”

“I do not say this. You are busy too.”

“I am. Do you have any holidays this year or is your calendar just packed all the way to December?”

Jere blinks and looks at Bojan like a kicked puppy. “My holidays maybe don’t match yours.”

“You can make them,” Bojan suggests. “After our tour, we’ll be in the studio for a while. You can take time off and stay with me in Ljubljana. I know I’ll be working, but we can still hang out.”

Jere shifts uncomfortably. “It is difficult.”

“You promised you’d come to Slovenia,” Bojan blurts out. “Why have I come to you three times and you’ve never bothered to come to me? Why is it always me who has to get on a plane?”

“I have no time.”

“You had time to go to Thailand!”

Jere’s mouth falls open and Bojan knows that was a low blow. “I go with my family, Bojan!”

“I know…”

“I know you know! You leave your boys for family. You know it is important.”

“I’m sorry…” He leans forward and grips his hair in both hands, taking a few deep breaths before he speaks again. “I just want to know, will you ever come to Slovenia? I understand if it’s not a promise you can keep anymore, but I’d like to know so I’m not waiting forever.”

He feels an arm rest around his shoulders and Jere’s face against his, the ends of his hair tickling a little. “I mean it when I say it and I still do, but maybe not now. Maybe when all is less crazy.”

“Things will always be crazy if you keep doing so much.”

Jere sighs. “I maybe need you to make me take holidays. It is hard, always too many things and not enough time, but then you tell me you are coming here and nothing else matters. Only you. Then it is easy to say no. Nobody else can make me do that. Even Mikke has to book Thailand first to make me go or else I keep putting it off.”

Bojan lifts his head, something painfully close to hope stirring in his chest. Jere’s face is so close to his, peering at him with concern, and then he cups Bojan’s cheek and wipes away a tear that he didn’t realise was there.

“If I create some free days, can you do the same and fly over?” he suggests.

Jere nods. “I would like that. Then you can have fun time cancelling things and not me for once.”

Bojan giggles, realising he’d never considered the situation from that perspective. “It’s a deal then.”

He offers his hand to close the agreement. Jere looks at it dubiously, and then takes Bojan’s hand in his and presses his lips to the knuckles, staring up at him through his eyelashes.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Oh, look, more Ted Lasso 3.1 thoughts

So many. Let's go to the bullet points:

Rebecca thinking she's fine about the whole Rupert and Nate thing and clearly NOT being okay with it to the point of wanting Ted to be an asshole in response to Nate, but then, when Ted is Ted, Rebecca's realization comes from Keeley PRAISING her for a decision she didn't even make. But Rebecca realizing through Keeley's genuine praise (because Keeley wasn't there) that the best decision is to let Ted be Ted was just a really great, layered Rebecca moment.

Keeley's office doesn't look like Keeley. The neon sign does. Her wardrobe does. Those people in that office? The couch furniture in her own office? None of that is Keeley. That is Keeley thinking this is what it looks like to go into corporate PR with investor money. I look forward to watching furry pillows and glittery accessories take over the office as Keeley finds her confidence in a different phase of her career.

We all fucking know Roy is the one who decided they needed a break, and Roy, you fucking walnut. I get it. I look forward to the story of it. But the story is Keeley saying, "If I put this off again," and trying to comfort Roy, and Phoebe, smart nugget that she is, knowing stupid when she sees it. Keeley has agreed to this break up because Roy thinks it's needed, and she has no doubt spent a lot of time trying to talk him out of it. They deserve each other wholly, and I can't wait for Roy to get slapped in the face with that.

The himbos are doing great. So proud of all of them. But, yes, especially Jamie but also Richard making clear that a fine wine is not an expensive wine. But also also, all of our boys.

I love you, Jan Mass. You keep up being Dutch, kiddo.

Beard being proud of Ted for learning soccer shit and also knowing how long to wait before getting back on the bus with a toad venom-addled driver is just the perfect dichotomy of Beard.

I have a lot of thoughts about Ted's actual relationship with Henry (clearly positive and happy and healthy) and what he thinks the relationship is (distant and unhappy because he's not physically there), but if I go down that road, I'm never coming back. In short, I hope that part of Ted's journey this season is realizing he is a great fucking father and that physical distance doesn't change that.

Ted calling Sharon for a clearly planned session right after dropping off Henry? That is fucking PROGRESS my friends. And not just that, but also he doesn't question Sharon setting time boundaries OR setting personal boundaries.

I LOVE that Sharon allows him to ask personal questions because the personal connection is absolutely what Ted needs. And I love that she refuses to give him clear answers and doesn't rise to the bait he tries to set out with 'You usually say no'. The way he asks the team and the sport then asks the number of Australians, then guesses rugby, and Sharon confirms NOTHING? That's top-tier therapist shit. And we all knew she was that good, but now Ted clearly knows it too and TRUSTS it, more importantly.

I didn't notice until gif sets, but they named the stadium after Earl. Which. Shut up.

Higgins having matching Keeley mascara on his shirt makes me SO HAPPY. Because it tells you without showing you that Higgins and Keeley are still close and caring about each other. And Rebecca and Higgins having a moment about it is so NICE. Just NICE. It's fucking NICE.

I mentioned Sharon's boytoy in another post, but I want to repeat it because 1) she deserves it, and 2) he shows he deserves HER because he's wearing headphones while she talks to a client, and he doesn't take them off until after she walks in the room, clearly off the phone. He respects her as a professional. This is very important and excellent.

I am going to find Rupert and kick him in the balls as many times as I can in one minute, then I'm going to take a five minute breather and start again.

The isolation of Nate at West Ham (alone on the escalator; not answering to a polite hello; standing far away from his co-coach on the field; working far away from the locker room) is intentionally uncomfortable for us as an audience. We're used to a very collaborative coach in a close-knit environment. But that's not Nate's story. Nate's story is one of thinking isolation and arrogance will save him from his worst self-fears. We all know that shouldn't be his goal, but it isn't about how WE know he's wrong. It's about NATE figuring out he's doing it wrong.

There is no fucking way Rupert didn't know it was Nate's car when he towed it. New guy. New car in the fancy lot. Does he ask, though? No. That would be healthy. Instead, he sets it up so Nate can see he's disappointed in him without him saying it (a common abuse tactic), and then lovebombing him with a new car as a way to tighten his control (another common abuse tactic). He also encouraged Nate's worst tendencies to build a sense of safety that isn't actually there because Rupert will absolutely use those same groomed instincts at a later date against Nate (more abuse tactics).

I hope Rupert gets him by a team bus is what I'm saying. And I want Nate to be driving it and do it on purpose, frankly.

I don't want it to be Rebecca only because she's beyond that point of her anger. But I def want her to be a character witness for Nate.

I want Ted to stay in England. He's talking a lot about how he doesn't know why he is where he is or doing what he's doing. And I know a lot of people hope he goes back to Kansas. But that's not my hope. My hope is that Ted will realize he's doing great stuff with these boys and that he's a great dad even with physical distance, and he finds a new love and appreciation for himself that is directly connected to making this huge, confusing, and messy leap to go to England.

You can do something dumb (run to England to escape your failing marriage) and learn that while your instincts may have been dumb, the overall result is positive and good for you.

Which, also, could be Nate's arc this season. He made several dumb decisions about being a source and going to West Ham, but the end result could be, "Oh, shit, I don't want to be this shitty person." and then he can grow and change on a similar but different path to Ted.

Okay, that's enough. That's very long. I get a lot of feels.

[penitent-stranger]

Whumpuary Jan 11-12 - Exhaustion / Blindfolded / Old Injuries

(cw: forced labor, abusive environment, loneliness, isolation)

In hindsight, he probably should have known his crew would leave him behind. Really, why else would a team assign the riskiest part of the job to their youngest and least-experienced member? He couldn't really blame them for the actual leaving part, either. Made sense. Why risk everyone getting bagged when you can just cut your losses and dead weight in one go and skedaddle?

And it wasn't like he could get mad at the other crew. They did catch him trying to break and steal their shit. They didn't stuff him through an airlock. They hadn't even shot him. All things considered, they didn't treat him much differently than his old crew had.

Sure, his old crew never blindfolded him or kicked him in the ribs until he couldn't breathe, but, like. He could tell they wanted to, sometimes. Most people did. He had very kickable ribs.

They threw him into a cargo hold as some sort of makeshift brig. The way they’d cuffed his hands behind his back wrenched the old break in his wrist from when he was twelve. He thought about faking tears to get them to cut him loose - or at least to secure his wrists in front instead - but after the first fifteen minutes, he didn't have to fake them. Pins and needles coursed through his hands. Pain shot through his wrist like it had when he’d first broken it, and it splintered up his forearm all the way to his elbow. 

He pressed his forehead to the floor and sobbed until someone heard him. They relented, eventually, and set his hands free. Even gave him a bit to get feeling back before handcuffing him again. Maybe he still looked enough like a teenager to make them feel guilty.

He still was a teenager, technically - but things like that didn’t usually matter in the Long Rim.

At some point, they pulled off the blindfold. The magcuffs stayed. The captain of the ship crouched in front of him, members of her crew crowding around menacingly as he looked up at her.

He had a debt to pay, she told him. Fix the shit he broke, and work to recoup the losses of what his crew had stolen from them. Had they actually grabbed anything worth taking? No one told him. He didn’t feel like asking. He supposed he’d just have to take their word for it.

They ran him ragged around the ship. Typical Northstar transport, barely staffed with enough people to fill two alternating shifts, let alone schedule any overlaps. He’d learned enough from his time in space to not burden anyone with a need for training, and growing up on a station made him handy with a wrench, at least. The things he didn’t know, he picked up quickly enough. The hardest part, though, was the bone-deep fatigue that plagued every waking moment.

Being exhausted all the time did have its perks. It never took long for him to fall asleep. He didn’t get the chance to lie awake for hours missing home - the parts of home worth missing, anyway. He didn't need the warmth of another body next to him or the smell of kitchen spices to help him relax anymore. As soon as the workday ended, he collapsed into his cot and simply passed out. 

The only times he didn't immediately fall unconscious were when his body ached too much for him to get comfortable. The shadowy silence of the ship’s night cycle did little to distract him from his sore muscles. Or to keep his mind from wandering. On nights like that, he curled on his side and tried not to remember the feeling of being held.

He did consider breaking things again, just out of spite. Based on their reaction whenever he messed up on accident, though, he decided not to test it. It was hard enough to work through the itch of dried blood on the inside of his nose, or bruised fingers from where they’d been stomped on. He didn’t want to imagine the punishment for willful negligence.

The captain locked him in the cargo hold again for the first few times the ship docked for refueling. Sans blindfold, this time. Which - he had to admit - was a plus. They did gag him, though. Belting out spacer shanties until his voice grew hoarse and kicking random crates in protest didn’t go over very well with the crew they left behind.

He suspected this kind of discipline was less to keep him in line specifically, but to send a message to the rest of the crew. With such few hands, the captain couldn’t afford to lose any to desertion. She also couldn’t afford harsher measures to prevent it. Not without risking mutiny. Luckily, she had someone aboard who couldn’t hit back. And he always lived to please.

In time - and after enough beatings - they didn’t consider him as great of a flight risk. They let him roam the ship freely when they touched down. A few stops without incident, and they started sending him out with a small group. Always with a hand gripping the back of his neck, and never far from the loading docks. But at least he could stretch his legs. Look at something more than twenty feet away.

When he saw other people for the first time, he fought back the urge to call for help. There wasn’t anything stopping him, really. Just the knowledge that if he did, he’d sport a wonderful array of bruises the next morning. Or maybe they’d stick him in the cargo hold again with the heat turned down. That had been a fun night.

Besides, no one would believe him anyway. And who would even care? He hadn’t seen a star chart in months, but he knew they were nowhere near Calliope. The planet’s resident honor-bound crusader pirates didn’t make it out this far, and no one else really gave a shit about stuff they saw all the time.

Best to play along, for now. The crew’s contract would run out eventually. Or maybe he’d manage to slip away, one of these days.

On one of these jolly little outings, he let his eyes scan the clusters of people gathered around the station terminal. One group in particular grabbed his attention, and only partially because of the obnoxiously huge mechs they stood next to. Swatches of sky blue stood out on their plugsuits. No other markings. 

Were they that close to the Dawnline Shore? No one ever told him the details of where they were going, but he’d been able to pick a few things up. They were close-ish. Still not Ungratefuls-hanging-out-in-port close though.

He kept staring as he walked by, and one of the lancers happened to glance his way. She caught his eyes. For the first time in months, something other than fear or loneliness squeezed at his heart. She saw him. Someone in this godsforsaken wasteland of space actually saw him.

A blue plugsuit alone did not an Ungrateful make. He knew that, of course. However.

Things couldn’t really get any worse, could they?

Taking the first chance he got, he broke away from his crew and bolted toward the lancers. He nearly careened into them, but managed to catch himself on the woman’s arm before completely losing his balance. 

“Please-” he gasped. “You gotta help me. I’m a prisoner on the Diligence. They’re making me work for them, and-”

A hand latched onto the back of his shirt and yanked him away. He’d stopped struggling against whatever the crew threw his way a long time ago, but he struggled now. He tried to fight his way to his feet so he could walk without being dragged, for all the good that did him.

“We spit on the hand that feeds us because it’s not our own hand!”

A savage pull on his shirt collar choked out any other words before they could form.

He was in the cargo hold again when the attack came. He could hardly stand to lift his head off of the floor at the sound of yelling and running outside, nor could he bring himself to care. He always figured he’d die on the ground, curled up like some sort of bug. He was already halfway there. Might as well add a pool of his own blood to lie in.

Human voices gave way to more aggressive sounds: the screeching metal of hangar doors wrenched open, booming rattles of impossibly heavy footsteps. Ooo, stepped on by a mech. That was certainly a way to go.

The noise stopped after a bit. That certainly didn’t take long. Feeling some sort of survival instinct kick in, he dragged his arms underneath him and pushed himself at least halfway upright. He was looking around for some sort of improvised weapon when the doors to the cargo hold opened. He froze.

The woman from the station came into view. The Ungrateful he'd all but crashed into. She scanned the hold until she saw him, then knelt down in front of him. Smiled in a familiar way that made his chest ache.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said. “It’s alright. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He blinked the eye that wasn’t swollen shut and swallowed. He should probably say something. His arm buckled instead, and he nearly collapsed back to the floor.

The Ungrateful caught him before he could fall. She helped him sit up again, and kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him as he swayed in place. The contact made his skin buzz under his sleeve. The first touch of explicit care since…he shoved all thoughts of her out of his mind.

“The sky is as much yours as anyone else’s,” the woman said. “What’s your name, comrade?”

Despite himself, he grinned. There was probably blood between his teeth, but it was the most genuine smile he'd cracked in months. “Call me Kick-back.”

[causethisismyblog]

Episode 3! Here we go...

Did August really never realize that publishing the video meant he could go to prison? Really?

Ayub and Rosh being very awkward and quiet when Simon says he doesn't understand why he can't just fall in love with Marcus. Why do they react like that and yet still push him towards Marcus?

When Wille brings up Erik and Boris then says "so you don't feel like you might hurt someone". This comment makes me think that Erik might have been self-harming or suicidal, or thinking about those things... What if his crash wasn't an accident...?

I really appreciate angry petty Sara when the people come to take a look at Rousseau

What is the history of this school that a song about heartbreak sounds like it is fitting for a school song....

Simon saw Marcus before he entered the barn to talk to Sara. I feel like he went in there to talk to her about Marcus and his thoughts and how unsure he was about things. But when he so that August was there with her, and the fact that she got really closed off when he asked her about August made it so that he couldn't have that conversation with her.

The way Marcus treat Simon gives me the heebie-jeebies. The scene where Simon says he isn't ready for a serious relationship, I just feel so tense and anxious my body actually has a physical response.

I know some people say that August really just invited Sara over to talk but, I can't get over the fact that he is working out moments before she gets there so that he looks "buff"er. So as much as I think he did invite her over to talk, I think he was also hoping something more might happen.

August turned off the light just before him and Sara had sex. Is that because he's insecure about his body, or was he being considerate for Sara? The light was on when he and Felice were together if I remember correctly, but they weren't facing each other and August clearly did not care about Felice

As much as I hate August, and everything Sara did this season, they are just too freaking adorable together.

Why would Felice read the "if you're in a relationship" part of Sara's horoscope to her? She believes that Sarah is single.

Forest Ridge was ahead of the other team even after Vincent fell off. They can't blame Simon for them losing if they lost after that it happened.

Fuck, I hate Marcus. Simon just looks so uncomfortable from the second he showed up at the rowing competition.

Also August standing up for Simon against Vincent. Uh, what why?!?! He has nothing to gain from that. And Wille just saying nothing... 😢😢 (I don't think Wille is even paying attention to the conversation in front of him until Simon says fuck you I quit.)

The amount of thought that goes into every aspect of this show.. the tone of the music changing when Wille goes from moping inside to wandering and moping outside. Just add so much to the scene that I didn't know I needed.

If August thinks he is going to be punished why does he so willingly go to meet the queen?

The queen knows what a terrible person August is . But, Jan-Olaf and the Royal Court could not have known about what August did. Otherwise they would never have recommended to pull him in as next in line and prepare him to be Crown Prince if Wille fails, could they? They're afraid of Wille failing because they think he's unstable, but what August did just screams horribly unstable.

How is August related to Wille? Was his father the queens brother? I know it is stated they are cousins, but how is the link?

Edvin has spoken in an interview about the fact that Simon and Wille are so comfortable together because they allow each other to be awkward, and that's a stark contrast to the scene Wille shares with Felice. But I just can't find any interaction between Wille an Simon to be awkward, in my brain it's just reads as adorable and quirky and cute and passionate. However, the scene with Felice, every second of that makes me feel unbearably awkward.

Bless Henry. That is all.

[auntpuppy]

Apparently

Apparently the depression hits the hardest around this time in Aug each year. Well been a lot going on. Last Aug I was in an apartment with no friends hating everything. Now I'm in a house I bought still no friends hating everything. So I guess not a whole lot there has changed.

So to recap what's been going on and how I'm feeling, lets start with what's been going on.

Sept still working at the same place doing the same stuff. Luckily our system switch that happened a few months earlier had started to settle and feel routine. We still lived in the apartment and were still not in a good place in out marriage. Although we didn't know the worst was about to come in just a few short months.

Oct started Weight Watchers to start losing weight again, was doing really well and started to lose some weight. Started working out mildly again, still hate it and couldn't really find anything I liked to do that I could stick with but I kept trying. Also Halloween, no one at my work dressed up but me so I looked like a complete loser, so that was great.

Nov started writing a book based on a new character I started with my tabletop group. I really liked her and was so excited to play her. Unfortunately I learned very quickly that my character didn't add anything to the group and she was just as much an useless outcast that only talks to her machines much like I do now. Had some doctors appointments trying to work out this TMJ in my jaw. It's mutated into ear pain which I'm hoping to work out next week with a specialist. My favorite holiday Thanksgiving happened but didn't feel the same because much like the character I created if I wasn't at the event literally no one would notice. Positive thing that happened I was the only one in the group that finished or even cared about writing so I wrote a 50k+ word book. Reading it back I really liked it, ask my husband to read it and make notes this year because I finally feel comfortable enough for him to read it and nothing.

Dec my least favorite month because of the absolute pressure Christmas brings. Again I put a ton of effort into find just the right themed gifts for everyone and I was really truly an after thought. I even suggested matching PJs which for once everyone agreed to but no one was actually excited to wear them. New Years came and same shit different day. I bought a new dress because we were supposed to go out...we didn't so I sat at home watching other people enjoy themselves in various places. Positive note I did get to see Miley Cryus' thing so that was cool.

Jan worst month, we looked at a bunch of houses that were just blah and unappealing couldn't really find anything I liked. Think we looked at another 20 houses. It never really snowed so I didn't even get to enjoy my favorite part of winter.

Feb we looked at more houses, finally found one we really liked. Put in an offer was told the house was pending the day before. So at that moment I said I need a break, we'll wait til April to start looking again I just can't keep being disappointed. The moment I really finally let go of us finding a house they called our relator and said it was back on the market, the other buyers back out after the inspection. We put in the offer and within 48 hours I was looking at paperwork to buy a house. At that moment though I was like shit this is where the worst part happened the last time and it was drawn out for months. But I worked with the bank my sister has and it was great, all in all took about 2 weeks before we closed on the house with a move in date of April 1st. We didn't start making mortgage payments until May but we had to be in our appartment until June. We decided we'd give them notice that we'd be leaving end of May. They said we'd still have to be responsible for June but were like what are they gonna do kick us out?

March we are starting to feel really good and we have our closing date on the house its wonderful. Everything is going great we close on the house we really look like we might be on an upward path then it happens. The single worst day of my life. We get into a fender bender, old lady hits car behind us, he's forced into us. We call the police like were supposed to cops come. I wasnt driving so they didn't care as much about me. So they are talking to everyone involved but it seems to be taking a long time with my husband. Turns out he has a fucking warrant out for his arrest! So he gets taken to the county jail while he waits to be moved to the county where court case happens. I don't know what to do this has never happened to me I have never experienced this. I call my sister and his mom. I can't talk to him, no clue what is happening to him can't see him nothing. So I wake up and go to work. Finally able to figure something out and can talk to him. It's hit or miss on talking to him. I still haven't been told all the details of what happened or anything. I piece it together from documents but i don't want him dicussing it over a recorded line. It's 3 days until he is transferred. This is the friday before Easter. I think there's no way I'm going to get to see him. We get a lawyer, he explains the process and what I am going to do to get him out. Thank the stars his mom could cover it. He finally gets transferred to the right county. I wait almost 18 hours for him to be released. Court officers tells me at 6p that he should be available for me to pick up in a few hours. Midnight comes around and I still haven't heard from him. I go into the court offices to see what's going on. I'm sobbing and they were so nice about it and surprisingly caring. They say the officers are running 10 hours behind and he will call when he is released. He will then have court in the AM to determine if he can stay out on OR (which is what he was provided). 2am after I have driven home and started to fall asleep he calls to say he's out and I can come get him. I tell him it'll be about an hour. I drive and pick him up. Not much is really said I think I'm still in shock and so is he. I started therapy that next week.

Honestly the rest of the months are much of the same. Off and on dealing with his shit and working through issues. We still weren't back on track. We move into the house, our anniversary comes, my birthday and everything just feels empty.

I want to get to the part today where I feel useless. I just realize how much people just don't notice me. I obviously don't want to be the main character any where but I don't think I'm even the main character in my life. I think if I went missing there would be almost 0 response for where I am. I just really feel like I'm invisible or an after thought. This is terrible but I don't get hit on anymore because I"m just not pretty any more, I'm not thin, I can't get thin, I don't know how to really do my hair so it's just blah, I stopped making stuff, I don't go out. Hell I haven't worn my wedding ring in a few years now and no one noticed.

I just really wish I had 1 person I could talk to about stuff. My best friend is gone (i mean she was gone a while ago but besides liking photos or status that's the only way I know she's alive). I literally come across no ones mind unless they can ask for help at work because my boss isn't available. It just really sucks to always be some ones no name side kick in a story. I just for once want to be important or noticed at all.

[murasaki-sama]

So, gonna rant for a minute into the void.

I just got banned from a discord server, and man, am I hurt. Like, really hurt. Sad, angry, all mixed up, you name it.

See, the main problem is this one other member of the server. They were going through some hard times, and I tried to comfort them. But i find empty platitudes like “everything will get better” and “it will be okay” to be annoying and frustrating, so I tried to be a bit real and say something like “things could get worse, but they will hopefully get better”. And this person was like “what you said was really painful, can you give me some space?” (this a day after blocking me and ignoring me). And I was like, sure?

Then, a day or two later, they were having a problem and talking about it in the food and health chat, and I had an answer; wanting to be helpful, because I knew they were going through hard times, and because I knew they had blocked me they could not see my normal posts, I tagged them. I figured, one comment, they’d see, did not have to reply, and could keep going on with their day.

But they reported me to a mod.

The mod got on my case about “not giving them space” as they requested. Okay, so no more being helpful, got it.

Well, I did my best.

Thing is, this discord server has these things called Food Checks, where those of us struggling to eat get tagged by everyone doing the food check, generally 3-5 times a day, and we, and anyone else in the server, reports on what we ate. Its a good reminder to eat. While, this other person, me, and a third person (who I am pretty sure also has me blocked, but has not made an issue of it or told me why), have all asked to be tagged.

You can see the issue already. If I do a food check I can either 1) not tag a person who has requested it, which everyone else in the server can see, and makes me look like a jack ass, or 2) tag a person who has asked me to give them space, and potentially look like a jack ass to that one person. While, I’ve tagged them twice before in food checks and have not been told anything, because they are food checks and I tag everyone who is currently requesting it.

While I guess they reported it again, because I woke up this morning to be told I was banned.

What? You say. Two times I failed to give one person space on a large server and I was banned? Yeah, I was surprised too. The mod also quoted two long conversations from like Dec/Jan, where “we struggled to get any response from you that indicated a willingness to adjust for our community“, so they could make it seem like its more than just one person has a problem with me, but its still BS.

See, the previous conversations? Two jokes I made didn’t hit right. The first was a joke about a dog who didn’t look like a dog, and the second was a joke about a book by the author who the server is dedicated to - the author herself is there, and she was not offended by the joke - but other people in the server were like “she could be offended by this joke who dare you” sooooo?

But like, jokes not hitting is not something that needs change. Its a cultural miscommunication or misunderstanding that only needs understanding from both sides that their cultural and personal experiences are different and the things they think are funny are and can be different. The thing is, the people in this server seem to think that ANY and ALL miscommunications are the result of FLAWS IN ONE PERSON (the person who annoyed or offended someone else, never the person who got offended out of nowhere), and that that person must change their communication drastically. This is wrong, and greatly so, and creates a very toxic atmosphere.

Also, I did demonstrate a willingness to change? I talked it out with them until I figured out that the tone of the comments, and the inability of everyone to read the tone was largely the problem, and therefore I should try to use tone indicators (like tumblr does in parenthesis), and that I would do so. That was a willingness to change! But I refuse to admit my joke wasn’t funny for anyone ever and I am so sorry to have offended all of reality, when sorry, in certain circles my jokes were funny, and the author herself wasn’t offended how could they even justify the whole damn argument on that issue?

Anyway, so now I’m banned, I lost a whole circle of friends I was just beginning to really click with, and now I am back to only my family to talk to. I am going to on the verge of tears all day, and I don’t even know what I can do about it. Is there anything to do? Do I want to bother? Is a problem with what seems like 2 or 3 members of the community worth losing the entire community over? (especially if at least one or two of those members are mods?)

Will anyone even notice I’m gone?

[jaemlynscharacters]

(This post contains OMITB S1-3 spoilers.) I really hope to all the gods that they're going somewhere with this because:

(Buckle up!)

A) My sister thinks Joy will be the murderer in the future and I just really hate the idea of that happening to Charles TWICE (especially after Joy told him she initially thought "this man dies alone"). Come on, let's please not make it a JOKE that Charles is MEANT to be alone because he's only attracted to murderers. That's cruel. Please tell my sister that. B) I just don't understand Charles feeling so sorry for this fish that he carried it around with him, but as far as we know he never tried ONE SINGLE TIME to try to get Joy back.

He just thinks that if Joy decreed it, it must be. His life is the glass pitcher that Joy put him into.

He can't even cry about it. It pisses me off, honestly, because he is SO proactive in other ways. Like when Jan was trying to kill him, in his own mind he was being a hero, helping to bring her down. When it came down to it and they needed to record the police interviews in his dressing room, he managed to make it through his entire song without going to the white room or making an omelet. Any time they need pictures of people for the murder board, he pretends to take selfies so they can get them. He defended Mabel when they caught and followed her with "tie dye guy" ... but he questioned whether Joy was the murderer and was afraid to ask her about it?

WTF, Charles?

That just seems a little bit out of character to me. ... Except for one thing -- it wasn't JOY's integrity that he questioned. He questioned himself -- his ability to choose a partner, his ability to interact with people. It was never Joy he didn't trust. It was himself. Just like Sazz says, in so many words. The Jan situation must have really thrown him.

Some people here have said that they felt Joy was trying to change Charles into a person he just isn't, but I disagree. It seemed to me that Joy accepted his faults. In fact, she listed how she looked past several of them right before she left. She was very considerate of his needs when they moved in together after MONTHS of dating and made sure to ask him if he felt "it was too much" aka "Are you overwhelmed by this?" She knew being that close would be a huge change for "Charlie" and she was thoughtful and careful about it until he assured her it was fine.

And to just BELIEVE him when he assured her, and not question whether he was in denial or lying, showed that she had faith in him to tell her the truth.

Maybe she was overly optimistic or even naive. I think she realized that later.

When she found out... - That he had questioned whether she murdered Ben.... - That he had ACCIDENTALLY proposed to her and never admitted it, even through all the wedding planning.... - That Charles had talked to not just Sazz but also Oliver and Mabel about her behind her back.... ...all while she's the one he's in an intimate relationship with, she's his chosen partner, he climbs into bed with her (often twice a day), she's the one that he should feel most comfortable confiding in when he's questioning the world ... THAT BROKE HER HEART.

It wasn't just a matter of Charles not being open. It was that while all that was going on, while they made plans about aisles and decorations and where they would get their wedding cake, he questioned her, and therefore their relationship was not as solid as she had been led to believe.

And for that matter, what kind of best friends convince a guy who is in a seemingly happy relationship that he would be happier alone?

For the sake of his play, Oliver literally convinced Charles to break up with Joy, and we know the rest of THAT story, Matthew Broderick. When the breakup finally did happen -- after Charles realized he did not want to be alone -- neither Mabel or Oliver offered any comfort, encouragement, or much sympathy. I think they were glad to see Joy AND joy go, which is entirely unfair in that 1. they encouraged him to be with Jan, 2. Mabel has had at least 3 relationships, and 3. Oliver is in love with Loretta (and she looked far more like the murderer for a while than Joy ever did).

It's one thing to not want competition for your best friend but Joy didn't seem to ever discourage the OMITB obsession or murder investigation. Yes, she thought it would be good for their relationship when Death Rattle ended on opening night, but once Death Rattle Dazzle was going strong, she not only tried to help Charles get through his patter song block but even helped Ben with his makeup on opening night -- without a single complaint.

All three of our heroes or antiheroes in this show are deeply flawed, even horrible people sometimes, and that's why we love them.

But in conclusion of point B, Joy is the victim in all this. I think she truly loves Charles and MIGHT be the only person in existence that really sees him and wants what is best for HIM -- him as an individual. And all she wants from him is that same consideration.

She saw the winks in the mirror and the kick in his step years ago. What does he see in her?

I am just so aggravated at that entire situation!!

And finally

C) President McKinley. The fish is a parallel to Charles, obviously. He is "meant to be alone." Charles feels so sorry for President McKinley after Joy leaves, and identifies with him so much, that he worries and carries the damn fish around with him and tries to find him water when he thinks the bag is leaking. I don't think the bag was even leaking. Do you? I think maybe that was Charles's psychological way of crying and releasing his grief. (Let's not even try to get into the symbolism of a toilet or being trapped in a room with a smoke/fog machine.)

Why in the world is that fish's name President McKinley? "I always wanted to be friends with a president but this one is a bully." What?

The real President McKinley was a controversial figure. He took a pay cut when he stopped being a lawyer to be a politician. He also furthered American imperialism. He was staunchly against slavery and fought in the Civil War. And he also did very little to help black people who were being harassed and attacked in the USA during his presidency. He defended a group of striking miners against their mining companies and all but one of them were acquitted.

And President McKinley was MURDERED. But he also called off the mob that might have killed his assassin. He has an interesting story, and I find it very interesting that of all the presidents, Joy named her fish after him.

What's that about?

In conclusion, there are so many reasons for this story between Charles, Joy, and this fish to be headed somewhere. And this is the kind of stupid detail I get hyperfixated on and it ends up making or breaking a show for me.

Don't disappoint me, OMITB!!

Okay I’m finally watching omitb season 3 and it may be the sleep deprivation talking but charles’s dumb loser ass truly loving and completely failing to care for his breakup fish is like. Doing something to me. I’ve nearly got tears in my eyes right now he’s such a pathetic old man

[thebibliomancer]

50 More Days of Comics! 32/50: Firestar #4 of 4 (1986)

Oh good.

This miniseries is kind of infamous. Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men made it into a kind of running gag.

Because its the one where Emma Frost kills a pony and tries to gaslight a teenager into becoming an assassin.

Its basically politics. Sebastian Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club, asked Emma Frost, White Queen of the Hellfire Club, to send one of her students to kill Selene, Black Queen of the Hellfire Club, because Shaw was afraid Selene was plotting a coup against him and by his muttonchops, he will not stand for that!

So Emma Frost has been training Angelica Jones/Firestar in how to use her powers, while keeping her socially isolated from the other students, and subtly nudging her towards complete devotion to Frost. And then she set the stable on fire and gave Butter Rum the pony a heart attack to convince Angelica that her powers were still out of control.

Alas, poor, sweet Butter Rum.

BEAR IN MIND: Firestar was introduced in the popular cartoon for kids Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends.

She appeared in an X-Men issue before this miniseries but this is the most substantive focus she got after the cartoon.

Hell of a way to introduce her into the comics continuity.

Anyway, the last issue of this miniseries starts with Emma Frost faking an assassination attempt on herself and blaming Selene for it.

In a very Emma Frost twist, once Angelica is out of earshot, she yells at her guy that organized the fake hit for hiring someone so careless as to let her get hit by a piece of flying glass.

The fake hit worked though. Angelica says that the thought of using her powers on a living being disgusts her but she’ll do whatever is necessary to protect the people she cares about!

She swears on this Symbolic Bracelet that Ms. Frost gave her which represents the BOND OF LOVE BETWEEN THEM.

Meanwhile, Frost has a call with Shaw where he goes ‘hey is my assassin ready yet i’m real sick of Selene’s shit.’

Frost laments that its wasteful to expend Firestar on a single obvious suicide mission after all the time and effort that went into training her.

Shaw privately worries that Emma actually feels something for Angelica.

Which is possible.

Aside from her entertainingly terrible she is, Emma Frost’s redeeming quality later on is that she honestly loves being a teacher and cares for her students.

Doesn’t stop her from forging ahead with the operation despite misgivings. Or killing a pony, like that time she did.

Meanwhile, Angelica’s assigned bodyguard, Randall Chase, has been getting suspicious of things. How an assassin snuck on campus when it has ridiculous security. How Emma Frost is taking Angelica to a dance at the Hellfire Club even though there was just an assassination attempt.

So he goes digging into things and learns about the plan.

Which leaves him lost as to what he should do.

He’s Angelica’s bodyguard and he cares about her. But he works for Emma Frost and he’s scared of her. Why, she might even be reading his mind even now!

And she is!

And she has a bunch of guys beat the shit out of Randall for sticking his nose places.

The next morning, Frost tells Angelica that Randall died BRAVELY uncovering a mole that Selene had at the school.

She also tells Angelica that she has just learned that Selene plans to attend the Hellfire Club dance so maybe dead Randall was right that it is too dangerous for Angelica to go.

Because she wants Angelica to think it is her own idea to go. So Emma lets Angelica ‘convince’ her to let her go to the dance to protect Emma after ‘one heck of a battle.’

Actually aware that she could die that night, Angelica calls home and speaks to her dad.

Angelica: “Daddy? It’s Angelica. Listen, I know you’ve never quite accepted the fact that I’m a mutant. I know you’re still afraid of me, but... I still love you, daddy! I never stopped.”

That’s the whole conversation because dad Jones doesn’t manage to say a thing.

Meanwhile, Randall is still alive. In a weird bit of mercy that’s going to bite her in the ass, like Freeza letting Dende go the second time, Emma Frost left him alive but imprisoned.

He breaks free but gets shot in the attempt. But he manages to make it to Angelica’s room. With his last words, he tells Angelica how Emma has been using her. And then he diiiiiies.

And Angelica dramatically rips off the Symbolic Bracelet in her grief and anger.

Dying Randall also told Angelica not to try to fight Emma but Angelica has her dander up.

So when Emma Frost goes looking for her when she doesn’t show, she finds that the school’s secret underground facilities have been torn through and an entire army of Hellfire goons have been beaten up.

And here’s a weird thing. Emma Frost is wearing her party dress. And then there’s an explosion which knocks her on her ass. And then she’s wearing her supervillain fetish wear.

Explosions only make Emma Frost sexier. She’s far too powerful.

Anyway, what follows is several pages of Firestar kicking Emma Frost’s ass.

Emma Frost: “Look at yourself, Firestar! Can’t you see what’s happening to you? Your power is growing with each passing moment! You’ll never be able to control it without my constant supervision, my training! You need me more than ever before! You can’t survive without me!”

Firestar: “You’re wrong! I don’t need you. I never did. I can make it on my own!”

And then with Emma against a wall, Angelica pretends to burn her face off. Just to give her a scare.

With that, Angelica makes Emma promise to leave her alone and never bother her again.

Firestar: “I don’t want you to ever forget that I deliberately chose not to kill you! So I’m going to leave you with a little something to remember me by...”

And then she blows up the underground facility.

Later, Emma Frost tries to baby word games her way around her promise to Angelica by getting Shaw to go after her but Shaw says they’ve wasted enough time and effort on Angelica Jones already.

On the last page we see that Angelica and her dad have made amends and she’s living back at home.

And Angelica realized that by letting loose, she’s realized that she’s always been capable of holding her power back. She can control her powers, she can start getting on with the rest of her life.

Of course, she’ll later discover that she can’t totally control her powers actually because they were activated too early. But rather than being a risk to others, she’s mainly a risk to herself. Extensive use of her microwave powers having a deleterious effect on her own health.

But Hank Pym will hook her up with a special suit that prevents the backlash on her and helped her acclimatize to the powers so she eventually wouldn’t need the suit anymore.

I guess the point is that she did get on with the rest of her life. Became an Avenger for a while even.

So that’s nice.

Butter Rum would be proud.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Space Heaters

Prompts: so your fic "grounded" reminded me of one of my favorite headcanons - that janus is coldblooded and remus a living space heater, means perfect for cuddling - and also of the fact that in some of your writings remus switches into soft clothes when he comforts someone - so i really would love to read something like that with dukeceit being soft? only if you wanna of course and your writing is always amazing no matter what you write 💛💛💛 - anon

Okay. So I don't know if this is where you're supposed to submit prompts or not, but since reading one of your latest Sander's Sides ficcs, I MUST have one about Roman being Janus's space heater, and I refuse to believe I'm the only one. - lifezvictory

Read on Ao3

Warnings: kinda hypothermia, not really, just cold snek

Pairings: roceit, dukexeit, kinda, can be platonic or romantic I don't care

Word Count: 2984

Creativity runs warm. 

It’s getting colder outside and the Mindscape isn’t exactly season-proof. 

Even Logan would agree that this is a logical choice of action.

Janus stifles a noise, curling further in on himself as the blankets rustle around him. He grits his teeth against the draft that threatens to slim under the top layers and tugs them closer, ignoring the way his arms protest the movement. 

It’s getting colder outside and the Mindscape isn’t exactly season-proof. 

The cover of blankets makes his breaths double back and hit him in the face. It’s an awful feeling, he decides, and he doesn’t want to feel it anymore but as soon as he pokes his head out from under the blankets, the cold rushes in and he whines, burying his head back underneath. 

It’s cold. It’s so cold. 

“Jan-Jan,” comes Remus’s voice from somewhere too far away, “we were supposed to do the thing today, where are you?”

Janus just sighs and resigns himself to suffering in his inadequate blanket nest. What he really needs are a lot of sweaters with people’s body heat trapped in them, but Virgil’s gone who knows where and Remus…well, Janus doesn’t exactly trust Remus to keep his sweaters clean. The blankets will have to do. 

“Snakey, where are you?” Remus is getting closer. “I have plans, and you said you would—oh.”

The way Remus suddenly stops talking and then stays silent tells Janus all he needs to know about what Remus is thinking. 

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the outer layers of the blanket nest start to shift and then he’s hissing as the chill hits his scales. 

“Snakey?” Remus’s face peeks in over the mound of blankets. “You okay in there?”

“Put it back,” Janus snarls, aiming for intimidating and missing by half a mile, “it’s cold.”

“Are you cold?”

“That’s what I just said. Now put it back.”

“Snakey, did you—how long have you been here?”

Grunting, Janus reaches out and tugs the blankets away from Remus, curling back up in his huddle. “I don’t know, Remus, now stop stealing my warmth.”

“Janus, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Oh. Oh, shit, Remus just used his full name. Oh, dear.

“…Remus, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Remus’s voice is even and serious and part of Janus is glad he’s already hiding so he doesn’t have to see his face. “If you’re cold and you’re not moving, your limbs are going to freeze up and you might seriously injure them. We need to get you warm.”

“What do you think,” Janus says through gritted teeth, “I’ve been trying to do?”

Remus sighs, almost too quiet to hear, before there’s a slight rocking of the blanket bundle. “Can I pick you up, Snakey?”

“Can you?”

“Don’t correct my grammar,” Remus warns, still speaking in his serious voice, “are you alright with being picked up or not?”

Janus huffs, breath doubling back on him. “I was asking if it were possible for you to—hey!”

Remus scoops him up like he weighs nothing, carrying him off down the hall in a wriggling pile of blanket and cold snake. Resigning himself to one, being carried, and two, not knowing where they’re going, Janus curls as much as he can into the blankets and—and—

“Easy,” Remus murmurs as Janus shudders with the sudden feeling of warmth radiating through the blankets, “easy, Snakey, it’s okay, we’re almost there.”

The sudden reemergence of the pet name shouldn’t make him feel warm either, but here they are. 

There’s a pause and the creak of a door opening before Remus sets him down on something soft, reaching for the blanket layers again. 

“I need to get these off of you,” he says quietly, “we need to see how you are.”

“But it’s cold.”

“Shh, shh, I know, Snakey, I know, but these—“ Remus tugs the blankets— “aren’t helping.  Clearly.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Janus whines, clinging to one of them as Remus begins to shift the blankets away, “and nothing else will keep me warm.”

“I’ll keep you warm.”

Wait, what?

But before Janus can ask what exactly that means and why it didn’t sound like an innuendo at all, Remus pulls away all of the blankets but one and Janus whimpers, the cold striking his scales and trying to burrow under them. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” Remus murmurs, hands landing like irons on Janus’s shoulders, “hang on, Snakey, just hang on a minute for me. Just let me look at you for a second and then we’ll get you warm.”

“Hurry,” Janus croaks, “hurry, please, please, it hurts—“

“I know, Snakey, I know.”

He doesn’t know what Remus does or what it means, he only knows that staying still while the chill rushes over him is hurting and he’s doing this for Remus and he wants to be warm so badly but if Remus doesn’t hurry up and finish he’s going to cry. 

“Thank god,” Remus mumbles, “okay, you’re okay. Let’s get you warm now.”

About damn time, Janus wants to hiss, but only a burbled noise makes it out of his throat. He hears the sound of Remus snapping his fingers and then his hands are being picked up and rested on something warm and soft. 

“C’mon, Snakey, come steal my body heat.” Remus—it’s Remus he’s touching, how is he so warm— “that’s it, Snakey, you c’mere.”

Warmth under his hands turns into warm arms around him, scooping him up again like he weighs nothing and lying down. Different blankets are pulled over him, thick and warm, pressing down on him with a substantial weight this time. There’s a high-pitched noise coming from somewhere and he only realizes it’s him when the chest under him chuckles and Remus’s voice is calling him a little noisemaker. 

“It’s okay, Snakey,” he says after Janus buries his mortified face in the crook of Remus’s neck, “you don’t have to be embarrassed, you’re cold. It’s okay.”

“’S stupid.”

“No, you’re you and you get cold and you need cuddles to warm you up.” The warmth around him squeezes. “That’s okay.”

“You’re soft.”

“Mhm. You like soft things, so I’m soft now.”

“You’re warm.”

“Like a space heater. Which means there’s more than enough for you to snatch and hide away under all your scales.”

Janus shifts, hooking his chin over Remus’s shoulder and closing his eyes, letting the scaled side of his face rest against the warmth radiating from Remus’s nick. He wasn’t exaggerating, he really is a space heater. Janus can feel itself sinking further and further into Remus’s embrace. It’s almost like he’s lying on a sun-warmed rock, that’s how warm it is.

“Aw, thanks,” Remus chuckles when Janus makes to voice the thought out loud, squeezing him a little tighter and rubbing his cheek against the scales, “now, are you gonna need to stay here for a while?”

“I might not get up ever again,” comes the threat that’s only about half-empty. 

Remus chuckles. “Oh, Snakey, how long have you needed this?”

“Told you,” Janus manages, his voice beginning to slur from the onset of exhaustion, “dunno. Been…been cold.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. Then the arms around him move and shift and his head is being pulled back enough to look at his face. 

“Anytime you need to be cuddled,” he says, voice all serious again, “you come and you find me, okay? I don’t care what’s going on, if you need to get warmed up, you tell me.”

Janus just stares at him before nodding slowly. Remus nods back and pulls him in. 

“Now you go to sleep, Snakey, I can tell you want to.”

The last things he notices are the blankets pulled tighter around them, the shifting of  so Janus is fully on top of him, and the kiss pressed to his scales.

He could get used to this. 

————

It is winter and he is cold and he is hungry. 

Janus’s skin itches now when he accidentally brushes his arms against his sides. He wears his sleeves longer and thicker, his cape wrapped around him, folds his arms and his hands and remembers to keep them to himself. A barrier is better than nothing and those whom he would touch, has touched, he knows better now. 

He will not be needy, not when he has to keep his head. 

When the distance is there, he can hold it. But when it isn’t, oh, he wants, to drown himself in it until his ears fill and his eyes wither and his tongue turns black and falls out of his head. But that would be greedy and he will not be his worst self in the face of that greed. 

As you might be able to tell, Janus gets dramatic when he’s cold. 

He wouldn’t normally object to stealing body heat, no, he’s pressed himself up against Remus and Virgil and shamelessly stolen it, flirted with Logan and Patton to make them all warm and flustered, but he’s trying to be better about respecting boundaries and they—

They don’t trust him yet. 

That’s okay, he understands. 

So when he begins to sniffle at the end of the week, he ignores the aching burn in his hands by stuffing them into ticker gloves and hunching his shoulders against the mass of shoulder pats and hand clasps that surround him as he sinks out. He burns all the way to the Dark Sides’ living room, trembling hands excused with a weak smile about how cold it is outside. He can’t quite get his fingers around the door knob, fumbling with the handle, and shivers as he runs into the walls trying to find the light switch in the dark. 

By the time he struggles out of his coat and gloves, he is nothing more than tremors. His nose is raw from tissues, blistered from the cold, protesting even as he swallows the pills in his cabinet. 

His stomach turns at the thought of food so he doesn’t. His arms ache, his skin burns as he slumps against the walls. He has to get out of his work clothes, they’ll be such a hassle to clean if he ruins them. Softer clothes, easier clothes, clothes that can be ruined. Clothes that can be destroyed with a touch and no one would look. 

A sniffling and trembling mess huddles on his bed, blankets piled high until he feels that he can hardly breathe, but it’s not enough. The cold is young, yet older than he can name, lingering just under his skin where the blankets can’t reach it. It’s not enough, either, to fill the well of loneliness as he shifts, the sound of the blankets too loud in the room. His body is tired. He aches. The best he can manage is a low whine as he tries, tries, tries to get warm. 

The next tissue is filled with tears. 

His imagination is cruel as he tries to fall asleep, taunting him with the memories of seeing carefree touches and casual affection. A ruffle of someone’s hair, clapping them on the shoulder, linking arms as they walk. What does that feel like, it whispers, do you even remember?

Do you hate the process of asking for touch, it continues, undaunted by the whine that escapes his throat, because you know that they would never understand how much it means for you?

Is that why you refuse to allow yourself the permission for casual touch, because you know it means much more for you than it does for them?

He wants Remus but Remus isn’t here. 

As if it can hear his unspoken answer, or if it takes pity on the whine that emerges despondent from his throat, his closed eyes well up again as the phantom sensations of fingers carding though his hair makes him shudder. But the empty promise of someone being here, someone running their hand through his hair is enough to soothe the worst of the tremors. 

Perhaps he’s got a better control of the Imagination than he thought. 

His sleep-slack brain keeps going, imagining the hand brushing his hair back from his forehead. He imagines it lying there for a moment, the back of it resting against damp skin, checking is he has a fever. It lingers there for another minute before smoothing a few stray hairs out of the way. He mumbles, scrunching his eyes tighter to cling to whatever figure his longing has conjured. 

The hand pauses, and for a moment, he’s afraid it will disappear entirely, but then it moves again, somehow more carefully than before. It moves with purpose now, the pads of their fingers pressing gently against his scalp. 

“Janus?”

He must be exhausted, it sounds like someone is calling his name. The hand in his hair doesn’t stop, but it feels…warmer, now, somehow, as if there’s a weight to it. 

“Janus,” the imaginary voice calls again, “are you awake?”

“I thought I told you not to wake him up,” says another voice—what’s—what—

“You’re the one who’s yelling.” The voice softens, the hand passing over his forehead again. “You can open your eyes now, you can stop pretending.”

His eyes don’t want to. He wants them to be real. But…but…but…

“Hello, little snake” Roman says softly, his hand still brushing his hair back from his forehead, “you’re not well, are you?”

Janus blinks at him. Why…why is he here? Why is he touching him? He’s going to get sick—he tries to pull away but only succeeds in rucking up the covers a little. 

“Don’t move too much,” as the hand slides up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangled in the hair there, “you need to rest.”

“Which is why—“ Remus, that’s Remus— “he wasn’t supposed to wake you up.”

The hand on him is warm. It’s warm and it makes his head feel fuzzy and that means it was real. There was a hand that carded through his hair, there was a hand that carefully checked if he had a fever, there was a hand that stroked his head and oh, oh—it was real and—and—

“Does it hurt,” comes the voice, worried now, as a thumb swipes a tear from his cheek, “are you in pain?”

It burns. The memory of the touch on his face is almost more than he can bear. The hand pulls away and he whimpers, trying to chase it. 

He hears a rush of breath from above him and a rustle of fabric, then the hand returns, a thumb gently caressing his cheek. 

“You can have it,” Roman murmurs, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

If he were slightly more awake, slightly less unwell, or slightly less drunk on simple touch, he might question why he’s here, why Remus is here, why they’re in his room, or why Roman sounds sweet and worried. But he isn’t, and he can feel the questions leaving his mind the longer the hand stays on his face. 

“Hey, hey,” and now Roman sounds like he’s speaking to something precious, “don’t cry, little snake, it’s alright.”

He’s…crying? Roman’s other hand comes up to cup his face and yes, yes, he’s crying. 

“Shh, shh,” Roman whispers, leaning down to murmur the words right up against his forehead, “you’re alright, little snake. It’s okay.”

“Ro, if you get sick, I swear to god—“

“You and I both know we run way too hot for that.”

Janus whimpers. It’s not fair. The two of them have so much body heat and he has none. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roman sighs, sliding one hand up to card through his hair, “you want to steal some body heat? Is that it?”

But Remus is busy. Remus is doing things and not here and Janus is still crying. 

“You can steal mine, little snake.”

What? 

Roman—Roman is letting him what?

“R-Roman?”

“Yeah?” Roman smiles at him. “You want to cuddle, little snake?”

A wounded noise leaves his throat before he can stop it and Roman chuckles, snapping his fingers and changing into a soft shirt and boxers. 

“Roman runs hotter than I do,” Remus’s voice says, “steal all of his so he doesn’t inflict it on me.”

Janus is not listening anymore because Roman is settling into bed next to him and it’s like having a furnace he can cuddle and Roman is not allowed to leave anymore. 

“Am I just an oversized teddy bear?” 

Remus chuckles at Roman’s bewilderment. “Oh, did I not mention that he gets a little…snuggly?”

“A little snuggly? Remus, I don’t think I could move if I tried.”

“That’s how you know you’re being cuddled right.”

“This explains so many things.”

“You might as well get comfy and go to sleep, you’re not getting up until he lets you out of there.”

“Oh, no,” Roman murmurs, sarcasm drawing sweetly over them like another blanket as warmsafecomfortable arms wrap around Janus, “what a tragedy, however will I survive?”

Janus would love to come up with a retort but his brain is currently sending out very strong warm good, sleep now signals and he just hums. 

He could get used to this. 

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@reddstardust@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous

if you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

��Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[uomo-accattivante]

Excellent article about bringing a re-make of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage to fruition, and the twenty-year friendship that Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain share:

There were days on the shoot for “Scenes From a Marriage,” a five-episode limited series that premieres Sept. 12 on HBO, when Oscar Isaac resented the crew.

The problem wasn’t the crew members themselves, he told me on a video call in March. But the work required of him and his co-star, Jessica Chastain, was so unsparingly intimate — “And difficult!” Chastain added from a neighboring Zoom window — that every time a camera operator or a makeup artist appeared, it felt like an intrusion.

On his other projects, Isaac had felt comfortably distant from the characters and their circumstances — interplanetary intrigue, rogue A.I. But “Scenes” surveys monogamy and parenthood, familiar territory. Sometimes Isaac would film a bedtime scene with his onscreen child (Lily Jane) and then go home and tuck his own child into the same model of bed as the one used onset, accessorized with the same bunny lamp, and not know exactly where art ended and life began.

“It was just a lot,” he said.

Chastain agreed, though she put it more strongly. “I mean, I cried every day for four months,” she said.

Isaac, 42, and Chastain, 44, have known each other since their days at the Juilliard School. And they have channeled two decades of friendship, admiration and a shared and obsessional devotion to craft into what Michael Ellenberg, one of the series’s executive producers, called “five hours of naked, raw performance.” (That nudity is metaphorical, mostly.)

“For me it definitely felt incredibly personal,” Chastain said on the call in the spring, about a month after filming had ended. “That’s why I don’t know if I have another one like this in me. Yeah, I can’t decide that. I can’t even talk about it without. …” She turned away from the screen. (It was one of several times during the call that I felt as if I were intruding, too.)

The original “Scenes From a Marriage,” created by Ingmar Bergman, debuted on Swedish television in 1973. Bergman’s first television series, its six episodes trace the dissolution of a middle-class marriage. Starring Liv Ullmann, Bergman’s ex, it drew on his own past relationships, though not always directly.

“When it comes to Bergman, the relationship between autobiography and fiction is extremely complicated,” said Jan Holmberg, the chief executive of the Ingmar Bergman Foundation.

A sensation in Sweden, it was seen by most of the adult population. And yes, sure, correlation does not imply causation, but after its debut, Swedish divorce were rumored to have doubled. Holmberg remembers watching a rerun as a 10-year-old.

“It was a rude awakening to adult life,” he said.

The writer and director Hagai Levi saw it as a teenager, on Israeli public television, during a stint on a kibbutz. “I was shocked,” he said. The series taught him that a television series could be radical, that it could be art. When he created “BeTipul,” the Israeli precursor to “In Treatment,” he used “Scenes” as proof of the concept “that two people can talk for an hour and it can work,” Levi said. (Strangely, “Scenes” also inspired the prime-time soap “Dallas.”)

So when Daniel Bergman, Ingmar Bergman’s youngest son, approached Levi about a remake, he was immediately interested.

But the project languished, in part because loving a show isn’t reason enough to adapt it. Divorce is common now — in Sweden, and elsewhere — and the relationship politics of the original series, in which the male character deserts his wife and young children for an academic post, haven’t aged particularly well.

Then about two years ago, Levi had a revelation. He would swap the gender roles. A woman who leaves her marriage and child in pursuit of freedom (with a very hot Israeli entrepreneur in place of a visiting professorship) might still provoke conversation and interest.

So the Marianne and Johan of the original became Mira and Jonathan, with a Boston suburb (re-created in a warehouse just north of New York City), stepping in for the Stockholm of the original. Jonathan remains an academic though Mira, a lawyer in the original, is now a businesswoman who out-earns him.

Casting began in early 2020. After Isaac met with Levi, he wrote to Chastain to tell her about the project. She wasn’t available. The producers cast Michelle Williams. But the pandemic reshuffled everyone’s schedules. When production was ready to resume, Williams was no longer free. Chastain was. “That was for me the most amazing miracle,” Levi said.

Isaac and Chastain met in the early 2000s at Juilliard. He was in his first year; she, in her third. He first saw her in a scene from a classical tragedy, slapping men in the face as Helen of Troy. He was friendly with her then-boyfriend, and they soon became friends themselves, bonding through the shared trauma of an acting curriculum designed to break its students down and then build them back up again. Isaac remembered her as “a real force of nature and solid, completely solid, with an incredible amount of integrity,” he said.

In the next window, Chastain blushed. “He was super talented,” she said. “But talented in a way that wasn’t expected, that’s challenging and pushing against constructs and ideas.” She introduced him to her manager, and they celebrated each other’s early successes and went to each other’s premieres. (A few of those photos are used in “Scenes From a Marriage” as set dressing.)

In 2013, Chastain was cast in J.C. Chandor’s “A Most Violent Year,”opposite Javier Bardem. When Bardem dropped out, Chastain campaigned for Isaac to have the role. Weeks before shooting, they began to meet, fleshing out the back story of their characters — a husband and wife trying to corner the heating oil market in 1981 New York — the details of the marriage, business, life.

It was their first time working together, and each felt a bond that went deeper than a parallel education and approach. “Something connects us that’s stronger than any ideas of character or story or any of that,” Isaac said. “There’s something else that’s more about like, a shared existence.”

Chandor noticed how they would support each other on set, and challenge each other, too, giving each other the freedom to take the characters’ relationship to dark and dangerous places. “They have this innate trust with each other,” Chandor said.

That trust eliminated the need for actorly tricks or shortcuts, in part because they know each other’s tricks too well. Their motto, Isaac said, was, “Let’s figure this [expletive] out together and see what’s the most honest thing we can do.”

Moni Yakim, Juilliard’s celebrated movement instructor, has followed their careers closely and he noted what he called the “magnetism and spiritual connection” that they suggested onscreen in the film.

“It’s a kind of chemistry,” Yakim said. “They can read each other’s mind and you as an audience, you can sense it.”

Telepathy takes work. When they knew that shooting “Scenes From a Marriage” could begin, Chastain bought a copy of “All About Us,” a guided journal for couples, and filled in her sections in character as Mira. Isaac brought it home and showed it to his wife, the filmmaker Elvira Lind.

“She was like, ‘You finally found your match,’” Isaac recalled. “’Someone that is as big of a nerd as you are.’”

The actors rehearsed, with Levi and on their own, talking their way through each long scene, helping each other through the anguished parts. When production had to halt for two weeks, they rehearsed then, too.

Watching these actors work reminded Amy Herzog, a writer and executive producer on the series, of race horses in full gallop. “These are two people who have so much training and skill,” she said. “Because it’s an athletic feat, what they were being asked to do.”

But training and skill and the “All About Us” book hadn’t really prepared them for the emotional impact of actually shooting “Scenes From a Marriage.” Both actors normally compartmentalize when they work, putting up psychic partitions between their roles and themselves. But this time, the partitions weren’t up to code.

“I knew I was in trouble the very first week,” Chastain said.

She couldn’t hide how the scripts affected her, especially from someone who knows her as well as Isaac does. “I just felt so exposed,” she said. “This to me, more than anything I’ve ever worked on, was definitely the most open I’ve ever been.”

“It felt so dangerous,” she said.

I visited the set in February (after multiple Covid-19 tests and health screenings) during a final day of filming. It was the quietest set I had ever seen: The atmosphere was subdued, reverent almost, a crew and a studio space stripped down to only what two actors would need to do the most passionate and demanding work of their careers.

Isaac didn’t know if he would watch the completed series. “It really is the first time ever, where I’ve done something where I’m totally fine never seeing this thing,” he said. “Because I’ve really lived through it. And in some ways I don’t want whatever they decide to put together to change my experience of it, which was just so intense.”

The cameras captured that intensity. Though Chastain isn’t Mira and Isaac isn’t Jonathan, each drew on personal experience — their parents’ marriages, past relationships — in ways they never had. Sometimes work on the show felt like acting, and sometimes the work wasn’t even conscious. There’s a scene in the harrowing fourth episode in which they both lie crumpled on the floor, an identical stress vein bulging in each forehead.

“It’s my go-to move, the throbbing forehead vein,” Isaac said on a follow-up video call last month. Chastain riffed on the joke: “That was our third year at Juilliard, the throb.”

By then, it had been five months since the shoot wrapped. Life had returned to something like normal. Jokes were possible again. Both of them seemed looser, more relaxed. (Isaac had already poured himself one tequila shot and was ready for another.) No one cried.

Chastain had watched the show with her husband. And Isaac, despite his initial reluctance, had watched it, too. It didn’t seem to have changed his experience.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” he said. “And I can’t imagine doing anything like it again.”

###

[sidespart]

For the fake fic title, “who tf is Larry?”

Human AU /fake dating AU Intruality or pre relationship Patton/Janus/Remus

okay so Patton Sanders is away at collage and he is a Good Boy (tm). He volunteers Saturday, goes to church on Sunday, arrives 30 min early for his 8 am Monday lecture and brightly asks how everyone’s weekend was. He brings home made cookies to his seminars and lets everyone copy his notes and is always polite and kind to everyone he meets.

Unfortunately, a lot of this gets him labelled as weird, childish, naïve etc etc

Which he can cope with when it’s strangers, but he can’t help but get annoyed when it comes from his family.

He’s got three big brothers. Roman and Logan are both massive overachievers, Roman is super social and has had an endless parade of boyfriends, Logan claims he isn’t social but runs like 5 different clubs at his college and has an endless parade of minions. Both of them have a bad habit of talking over Patton and not truly listening to his contributions. Virgil’s a bit more chill but he’s completely overprotective and treats Patton like he’s a kid who can’t survive on his own. (Early episode vibes).

So there's some family obligation (mom wants them to...take grandma to the... old folks .. .church picnic? IDK something) and everyone just straight up assumes Patton will go because 'its not like he's doing anything else' and its just one step too far and Patton just blurts out "UM actually I'm busy that day. With Larry."

Which...who tf is Larry?

After that Patton maybe gets a bit addicted to the Larry excuse. Can't bring cookies because his boyfriend Larry licked all of them. Can't help you move this weekend, going to SeaWorld with Larry. Oh wait SeaWorld's unethical? Yeah he knows, it's a protest. Larry's going to dress as an ochrea and scream at people. Cant lend you the money - Larry needs it for bail.

(This might not have escalated so much if Patton wasn't TERRIBLE at lying, juts blurting out the first nonsensical thing he thinks of, but also has such a reputation of goody-two-shoes-ness that no one suspects him of lying. But everyone is very concerned about his association with Larry.)

The only person who knows Larry is fake is Patton's roommate Janus, who was there when Patton was on the video call and originally came up with Larry. He thinks the entire thing is hilarious and does absolutely NOTHINHG to reign Patton in, frequently helping him maintain the ruse/ escalating it further ("Patton would DIE if he knew i was telling you this, but the real reason he can't come to your birthday is Larry's old prison injury is acting up again..."). This whole thing has brought them closer than any of Patton's prior attempts at bonding with his roommate so he's a bit pleased.

Things go wrong when his brothers insist he bring Larry home for thanksgiving break. He's already told them that Larry got disowned by his family (seemed easier than making up a whole supporting cast) and is unemployed so he can't think of a great excuse (and his brothers are VERY insistent) so he ends up agreeing.

Patton and Janus get drunk in their room to toast the end of the Larry ruse. Janus insists Patton should just get a friend to pretend to be Larry to keep the game going but Patton says his only real friend is Jan and his family already know what he looks like (he has a pretty distinctive face tattoo) so that cant happen. Jan say's in that case lets just hire someone on Craig'sList to be your badass brother bothering boyfriend and Patton laughs and then has no memory of the rest of that evening.

So Patton drive's home. Hungover and resigned to having to come clean about lying for months and months. And when he walks in the door his mom hugs him and says “oh! Larry got here just before you! You never told me he had a moustache!”

So then a guy Patton has never seen before in his life is planting a big ol sloppy kiss on his cheek and yelling 'Heya honey bunch!!" and his brothers are in the background looking like they're about to have a collective breakdown and um.

He really just needs to get 5 minuets away from his family and 'Larry' so he can call Janus and ask what the fuck have you done, but with Larry clinging to him like an octopus and his brothers refusing to let them out of their sight that's almost impossible

bonus points!

Remus considers himself a method actor and refuses to respond to anything but Larry/ stop pretending to be Pat's boyfriend even when they're alone

Pattons mom is, inexplicably, completely charmed by Remus/Larry and wont stop telling him how much more confident and happy Patton has been since the two of them got together

his brothers are all horrified by Remus/Larry

Patton does eventually get in contact with Jan who is like...okay yes maybe i wrote the criaglist add after you passed out but in my defence i was extremely drunk at the time

Patton tells his mom that Janus wasn't invited home for thanksgiving (which tbf, is true, because his family's in freakin' europe) so of course she insists that he drive over an join them

this does not calm anything down, as he pisses off Virgil within the first 20 seconds of arriving, but he does distract everyone to give Patton more chances to sneak away with Remus

eventually Patton has a bit of a break down/ rant to Remus about the whole situation and Remus finally drops character to comfort him and is like "I don't get why you need to lie about yourself anyway?? Like I've spent this whole weekend learning about you and you're awesome the way you are??"

Patton: HEART EYES EMOJI

Anyway so eventually OBVIOUSLY they fall for each other and fake boyfriend becomes real boyfriend

Remus and/or Jan deliver some sort of smack down speech to the bros about how they need to have more faith in Pat/not treat him like a child etc etc

Patton learns to stand up for himself and also realises he's so lucky to have so many people who love /care about him even if they are all completely ridiculous

at some point, Remus initiates a food fight

[swtki]

Anonymous said:

Heyy! Can you do a Cedricxfem!reader smut? Where the reader get stood up at the Yule ball and Cedric heart breaks since he has been in love with the reader for quite some time. And then they do the nasty you know thank you

A/N: Okay so basically...I am a stupid fucking Cedric simp,,,,and since I got home today, and my course work is fairly light for this week (no promises) my requests are open and I will try to get as much out as I can this week before my birthday! Jan 24th and you will get an about me post. ALSO, thanks for 700 (now 710 no brag) followers! I love you guys! Ok onto the fic!.

moodboard

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, SAPPY CEDRIC, BAD WORDS OH GOD OH FUCK

(Y/N) stood in front of her full length mirror in her dormitory room, admiring the fabric hugging her hips. Very rarely did she ever get to see herself like this, never mind other people. Her hand reached up to move a stray strand of hair back into place, a minor detail that although she doubt mattered, she could not refrain from. It was the night of the Yule ball, a night that the girls in her year wanted perfection more than ever, (Y/n) not excluded. 

It would not be unheard of, however it would be rather embarrassing to show up un-courted. Nobody to dance with, nobody to share a moment in the moonlight with. That’s why when Miles Dane asked her to the ball, she did not hesitate to say yes. 

To be quite honest, the two seventh years had never really talked. Though, they did have potions together. Surely, she would get to know him while sharing a dance, and she had to admit that he was quite charming and handsome. A tall Ravenclaw boy, lankly in the most perfect way, his skin a medium tone that glowed in the sunlight, so the carriages weren’t out of the question either. 

The clock on the wall read six fifty, there was no sign of Miles, only (Y/N) and her twiddling thumbs. She wanted to scream, to cry, to hurt him even, but above all, she wanted to believe he was coming. Everything was going to be perfect. It should all be perfect.

Inside the hall, Cedric Diggory, the Golden Boy of Hogwarts, was pretending to be interested. The mundane conversation between Cho, his date who he now was sure didn’t even remember who she came with, and another seventh year girl droned on. Despite the banging of the loud music into his ear, Cedrics head was silent. Bored. Without saying anything, he slipped away from the table, creeping into the corridor for a breath of fresh air. 

The cold December air hit Cedrics face with a refreshing feeling, the pressures of being a Tri-Wizard champion melted off of his shoulders. Though, he didn’t like to admit it, he sometimes questioned if this path was right for him. Would it have been better if he had stayed put, never scratched his name upon the parchment? He knew that he couldn’t change the past, no matter how much he wanted to. Cedrics tall, lean body slumped against the stone wall. All was quiet around him, a welcomed environment. Then, he heard the faintest gasp, causing the hairs on his neck to stand up.

“Fuck,” (Y/N) sighed out, wiping the small bead of sorrow that had escaped from her eye. She knew Miles was not coming. A dark figure leaning over her crouched body interrupted her racing mind. Instinctually, she looked up from her knees.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?”  Cedric said in a soft voice.

“Nothing..nothing is wrong Diggory.” She avoided eye contact. Cedric and (Y/N) had been friends in years prior, particularly in third year. But as time drew on, their paths separated, effectively making them strangers to one another. He had gone on to be a hearthrob who was wanted by every girl, while she had focused on her studies and the go-to for casual sex.

“You know, we may not have sat together for three years, but don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying?” He squatted on the cement next to her, becoming eye level. “Now, what are you doing out here? You look so gorgeous, I’m sure your bloke in there is missing you.” His hand gestured behind him to the large archway leaking a bright tune. 

“Yeah, thats the thing,” she drew a sharp breath in, tilting her head up, “My bloke never fucking showed up. Look at me, all dressed up and no one to dance with.” Her eyes closed, painting a small smile in an attempt to conceal her pain.

“Oh...I see.” Cedric stood up and offered his hand to the girl below him. “Well, let me fix that for you.” She rolled her eyes, but happily accepted.

Opting to stay where they were, the two swayed in each others arms. The warmth of Cedrics arms comforted the girl, soothing her in a way Cedric had not soothed her in years. 

“Didn’t you come with a date?” she asked, her head on his chest.

“Yeah, shes inside. She lost interest with me I’m afraid.” Cedric made a small chuckle that made her bite her lip. “You know...I’ve heard about your reputation. I’m a little surprised, I thought you would always hate boys. Cooties was it?” He teased, resting his chin on her head.

“Oh fuck off. For the record, I did like boys. I liked you, Cedric. I still do.” He pulled away from her figure slightly, his eyes searching over her face. Then without any hesitation, he collided his lips to hers.

Shocked at first, she froze. But within a second, her hands were cradling his face. The kiss was deep, full of years worth of emotion. His grip tightened on her waist. Time stood still for the pair, it felt like hours before Cedric pulled away.

“Do you want to go to my dorm?” He said, panting. 

“Won’t people notice if you run off?? You’re like a celebrity around here, Ced.” She grinned up at him. Cedrics face took a more serious appearance, but his manor became relaxed.  

“Fuck ‘em.” His large hand grasped hers, leading the way to his dormitory.

(Y/N) sat on the soft mattress, her body stiff and unsure. Cedric fumbled around, locking the door, playing suave. He stood a mere three feet from her, wondering how he got so lucky. 

“Did you want to just chat because...Cedric, I can do far more than chat with you.” She gave him a seductive look, making the boy swallow hard.

“Well I... I mean trust me, the way you look sitting on my bed is amazing, and I’m all for it. But the question is, are you - I mean do you want to? With me?” A rose blush creeped upon the Hufflepuff boys face, making (Y/N) giggle.

“Come here, Ced.” She beckoned him over to her with her finger. He happily obliged, walking over to sit next to her. But before he could sit, she put a hand on his chest, stopping him in his place. “Stand...I want you to stand while I sit. Is it okay if I..?” she gestured to the growing errection inside his trousers. 

“Fuck...please darling.” She bit her lip and started undoing his pants, enjoying the sight before her eyes. She stroked his cock, admiring the way his eyes scrunched up when she ran her thumb over the tip. Smiling, she leaned over and put it in her mouth. His soft moans filled the room as he ran his slender fingers through her soft hair. All of the sudden, he yanked her off, pushing her on her back.

“My turn, love.” Cedrics mouth started leaving sloppy kisses around her mouth, trailing down to her neck while his left hand massaged her tit over her dress. Her elbows pressed into the bed, pushing her up.

“Wait, lets get these off, yeah?” Cedric kissed her, then unzipped her dress, fumbling to strip himself as quickly as he could. Once she was left in just her knickers, he continued where he had left off. He traveled until he got to her covered pussy, looking up at her to see if he could continue. She nodded, her eyes filled with need.

Cedrics left hand pushed apart her legs, letting him get a proper look at how she felt about him. His other hand yanked off her knickers, little did Y/N know how mental simple white cotton undies made Cedric. Without hesitation, his mouth started attacking her sensitive clit. The pleasure was unlike anything she had ever felt with her previous fucks, because this pleasure was dedicated with love. Her eyes rolled back into her head, a wanton moan escaping from her throat. This encouraged him to suck on her clit, and then to Y/Ns delight, inserted two fingers. Filthy moans filled the room as her cunt felt so pleasured in a way she had never felt. 

“Fuck thats so fucking...oh my god Ced.” He moved his fingers at a faster speed, attacking her clit simultaneously. Eyes rolling back into her head, a pure groan of pleasure filled Cedrics ears as she bucked her hips, reaching a climax unlike any other. 

Cedric stood, climbed on the bed, then looked at her. 

“Do you want to..keep going or?” He ran his thumb over her lips.

“yes but..I wanna be on top” His heart beat faster, his erection becoming somehow even harder.  He laid down on his bed, allowing her to swing a leg over his hips. Y/N grabbed his member and ran it through her folds, watching as his face contorted in pleasure. Then she sunk her body onto his, both of them in seventh heaven. 

Her hips started rocking against his, making his cock hit all the right parts inside her. Cedric was in love with the sight before him, his eyes looking at her like she was a goddess. Her hand reached down, rubbing her clit, maximizing her pleasure. It wasn't long until her next orgasm washed over her, making Cedric even more eager to put himself to use. When she was back off her high, he  brought her down to him, chest to chest. Thrusting up into her was the best feeling he could have imagined, it went on for minutes, both of them feeling amazing. 

Y/N leaned over into his ear to whisper,

“Please cum inside me, Ced. Please, I want you to use me and leave my body stained with your cum.” Cedric, finding out that now he had a thing for cumming inside her, sped up. His hips clashed with her arse as his climax grew closer and closer. 

Cedrics eyes rolled into his head, his body releasing his cum into hers. His legs shook a bit, he had just had the best orgasm he had ever had. The girl on top of him rolled over, now laying beside him. Both of them sat in silence, trying to catch their breath.

“I love you so fucking much, Y/N”

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E121 (Jan. 19, 2021)

Aaaand we're back! The epic pet montage at the start is still the greatest thing ever.

Tonight's guests? Matthew Mercer and Marisha Ray!

We begin with an extensive discussion of waffle farts. As you do.

Matt is asked what it's been like to get to build out the characters in the Tombtakers. Lucien is Matt's favorite, but they've all got some fun traits to them. "It's one of those rare experiences as a dungeon master where you get to watch your players combat with the necessity of playing along. The instinct is: fuck these guys, I want to fight them, we'll take their shit... or I guess we have to play nice. And they begrudgingly grit their teeth and I smile internally."

On the Lucien accent: "You guys are all so mean to Taliesin!" Matt knew his own take would be a "weird mutation" of Mollymauk's accent anyway.

How's Marisha feeling about a lot of her predictions panning out? "Aw, I mean, gee, me? What? Noooo. It's definitely vindicating, I'm not gonna lie, and rewarding, but I also know that I write a lot of shit down in that notebook that's never relevant ever again. It's definitely a good feeling to know that I didn't go on that fifteen-minute deep dive and was utterly wrong about everything I said." Matt: "I was super proud. I was just silently cheering you on as you went on these long tangents."

What does Lucien think of the Mighty Nein? "Lucien is definitely curious about why they're getting involved in his shit and what they're planning alongside them. One, he hates Beau because he doesn't like people who challenge his authority. He gravitates towards Jester to an extent because she's the most open, which from his standpoint makes her easiest to manipulate. He loves toying with curiosity, and so between Jester and Caleb, those are the two people that he's the most comfortable interacting with. Caduceus makes him feel a little weird. He's amused by them. Fjord to Lucien is one of the more guarded and less accessible at the moment."

Is Beau enjoying getting under Lucien's skin? "Beau's picking and poking still kind of stems from her defensiveness and guardedness and her feelings, in a lot of ways, and the way that she's coping with things. It's a few steps removed from her default and what she often resorts to when she starts throwing up those barriers. She still has in the back of her head that she's looking at her dead friend. It's her way of protecting herself if she can go, fuck you, I don't care about you. This isn't too dissimilar to the way she reacted when Yasha was brainwashed." Matt: "It's a unique social sparring match the whole time they're traveling side-by-side. It's unique to have an antagonistic force that you're--" Marisha: "That we're going camping with."

Navigating the Tombtaker/M9 relationship as a DM is "challenging. At any given moment, a wrong statement could escalate matters one way or the other. It's having to pay attention to a lot of things at all points in time to be ready for how those chain reactions can happen and where it might go." He likens it to trying to follow and participate in two different conversations simultaneously at a party.

On the note from Yasha: "Oh man, you guys. Oh, it was so sweet. I don't think Beau was expecting Yasha to be so forthcoming with everything, and so complimentary and eloquent. Beau is awkward with healthy relationships, so she doesn't know how to handle them. She's still processing that and wants to not ruin it. No, it was magical." Ashley told Marisha after the episode that she was trying to think of what to say and wound up basing it on what she would say about Marisha.

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Vax (by stormfeather_cosplay, photograph by travi_b, both on Instagram)!

On using variations on the Wild Magic table: "I wanted to give it some variation to consequences. They took some of the tooth out of it from earlier editions. I knew it would be fun once I gave them the specifications of when these things would happen - players are just waiting for someone to roll a 20 or a 1 at all times."

Why is it so important to Beau that she and Yasha have a proper date? Part of it is a fresh start. "So much of Beau's past relationships have been rooted in some toxic behavior. Beau feels like, well, maybe we should just start from the beginning in the most us way possible: fighting through the tundra with our dead-ish friend."

The sci-fi-ish theme came toward the end of developing Aeor, but it mostly comes from rationalization. Matt is intrigued by how all these different societies want to usurp the gods... which has parallels with modern society. He notes that focusing more on the science of the magic means the aesthetics pull away to "instead facilitate the utility or the most direct route to the answers you want. You streamline as opposed to focusing on the aesthetics."

Beau’s reaction to all the weird magic stuff? “I think Beau’s just so focused on the pragmatic aspects of it all right now. There are greedy people with motives and the will and want to corrupt across all spans of cultures and times. She’s trying not to get lost in the magic, both proverbially and literally, of it all, and just trying to focus on the motives of these people at hand.”

In some ways, Matt was surprised by Caduceus’ strong reaction to the creepy woods. “It was the first major reveal that there are some other sides to the coin that he hadn’t learned about. I had no idea how he would react. It pushed him away more in ways than I expected.”

Fan art of the week: an amazing Lucien! (by oratorkayla on Twitter)

What’s Dagen’s motivation? “He’s definitely a man of his word when it comes to fulfilling a contract and getting the other half of his pay, but it’s not hard to see they’ve grown on him a little bit. He’s really good at getting around the tundra unseen and unnoticed.”

Brian: “In true Sam fashion-” Marisha, instantly: “OH MY GOD.”

Marisha: “Here’s the thing. Here’s the tea, okay? If I ever hear one more fucking person trying to claim that I’m ruining things by metagaming, I’m going to point to Sam. I’m expected to respond accordingly to Veth being a Sam troll. Gods damn him! Raven Queen curse upon him! Let chaos reign! He made me pull out my earphones, I can’t hear anything you’re saying. It’s frustrating because I’d be mad at it if it wasn’t so god damn funny.” Matt notes that at a different table this wouldn’t be great behavior, but they all know each other well enough (and check in with each other enough) that it’s comfortable teasing.

With a bit of a deeper pull, Matt is asked whether he knew Avantika would return someday? “I knew she was a fun, interesting option out there. The M9 still have in their grasp the single most important artifact, in Uk’otoa’s opinion, at the moment. As long as they carry that artifact, his eye of Sauron is upon them.” Matt notes that he has more encounter tables going, so a lot of the time even he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

Caduceus suggested contacting Essek, but Beau and Caleb nixed that idea. Does Beau trust him? “Gods no. Absolutely not. She can like Essek personally. As a person, he’s fine, I guess. But I think a lot of people might be forgetting that he’s kind of a war criminal and kind of set off a lot of bad things in motion with this war with the Empire and the Dynasty, because he wanted power and to know things. So now here he is, also in Aeor. Yeah. Just kinda putting two and two together there. It is another one of those things of, you’re walking that line on trying to keep him on your good side and having a mutually beneficial relationship before it could easily go completely south.”

On the Star Razor being a Vestige: “I don’t want this to be--- the Vestiges aren’t always a thing where it’s like, you get a Vestige and you get a Vestige! I want them to be still considered special and rare. This is one that had to be earned, it had to be reforged. I didn’t know the circumstances that would involve it coming about.” He based it on the circumstances of Fjord’s evolution into a paladin. “In essence, not only did he finish the creation of the sword, but he Awakened it at the same time as he made this transition. It is Exalted at this point, it’s in its final form.”

What does Beau think might lie ahead? “I have no idea. I am trying to abandon expectation when it comes to that. I know what we don’t know, and that’s it. Beau is trying to compensate for the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. I hope we can keep this tenuous relationship through to Aeor, because we need more answers before it explodes in our face. Beau, and Marisha, is hoping for a little more information before shit hits the fan.”

[miceenscene]

'tis the damn season

frankie/reader | childhood friends to lovers | pre-canon

wc: 1.8k/2.5k

summary: At one point in your lives, you knew Frankie better than anyone else on earth. When did that change?

warnings: none

an: don't let anyone tell you that second person doesn't work from another character's perspective, least of all yourself while editing

Masterpost | ao3

Chapter 2: Who am I Related to?

December 8, 2012 18:57

Hudson’s was a shitty bar just up highway 210 outside of Fort Bragg, the nearest watering hole to the base as the crow flies.

As a result, it served pretty damn near exclusively military personnel. When it changed ownership about four years back, the new management decided to reflect that and so the place looked like the Fourth of July and Top Gun had thrown up on it. Never mind that Fort Bragg was an Army base. Still, they had cheap booze and greasy food that was far better than the commissary, so it was always busy.

Pope had texted the usual suspects a few hours ago that he was heading to Hudson’s that evening, making Frankie immediately ditch his plans of drinking alone for drinking with Pope and whoever else showed up. Most likely just Benny and Ironhead now that Redfly had semi-retired down to Florida. It was a short drive to the bar from the dorms on base, but it was enough to make Frankie groan and press hands to his lower back as he got out of his car and made his way inside.

Pope was sitting at the bar and didn’t look up from texting on his phone as Frankie gingerly eased into the stool next to him.

“Hey, Fish,” Pope said, rereading the email.

“Hey.” At the bartender’s attention, Frankie pointed to Pope’s beer before daring a slight back stretch.

Pope sent his email and then looked over. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just finished PT.”

He chuckled once. “Back still fucked?”

“More tired than fucked anymore,” Frankie managed, shaking his head and wincing. The bartender delivered his beer, and Frankie took a swig. “When did we get old?”

“¿De qué estás hablando ‘nosotros’, viejo?”

Frankie jabbed an elbow and grinned slightly down at his next swig. “Culero.”

“Hey, before everyone gets here–” Pope looked at him, an oddly serious expression on his face for their usual bar. “I found out today you haven’t re-enlisted yet.”

Frankie immediately dropped his gaze to the suddenly very interesting glass in his hand. “Ah, no. No, I haven’t.”

“I’m trying to pull strings to get Benny into our unit full-time. I think he’d fit well with the team. Then Simmons tells me you haven’t signed your new papers yet. So what’s up?”

Frankie glanced over to see Pope still focused on him. “Nothing, nothing. I… I’m still thinking about it.”

He chuckled. “What’s there to think about?”

“We all want out someday, right? If we’re lucky enough to choose when we leave.”

“Yeah, but there’s thinking and thinking.” Pope smacked his shoulder. “What – are you gonna become a real estate agent like Redfly?”

No. Definitely not. Even just the idea of shilling condos was enough to make Frankie’s eyes glaze over. But still–

“Real estate agents make more money than we do.”

Pope made a considering face for a moment then brushed it off. “Yeah, but you’d miss it. You’re like me. We like the rush.”

Frankie nodded slightly. This is why he was still just thinking about it. It wasn’t a small thing to walk away from fourteen years with the Army. Especially since everyone knew the retirement benefits were absolute shit until you hit twenty. But he could already tell, he didn’t have another six years in him. He wasn’t even sure he had another deployment.

“You know the deadline’s New Year’s, right?” Pope said, cutting through his thoughts.

“Yeah, I know. I have some leave I have to take before the year’s out anyway.”

Pope nodded. “Good. Clear your head, get some perspective. See how fucking boring civvy life is, and then come back Jan 2 and join my team.”

Frankie smiled wryly; Pope always could make anything sound easy. “Something like that.”

“You have holiday plans then?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the bar.

Frankie sucked in breath. “I guess I’ll go back to my parents’. My mom’s been wanting me to visit for a while now.”

“How long’s it been?”

“I saw them in DC last summer, but I haven’t been back home… since I joined Delta.”

“Remind me where they’re at.”

“Up north. Little town in the middle of nowhere. Still in the same house I grew up in.” He could picture the wreath on the door, the twinkling lights his dad always strung across the front fence every December. A matching set used to be hung on the fence exactly opposite across the street. Who lived there now, he wondered. Would they put the tree in the front window too?

“Soldier coming home for Christmas. Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

“Fuck you,” Frankie replied as the others finally arrived.

--

Frankie got his answer as he ducked out the front door of his parent’s house about a week later. His breath immediately fogged as he sucked in a few calming breaths of night air, the pressure in his head slowly levelling. Out in the still darkness, the noise level coming from the living room was finally manageable. Inside, with all of his cousins and his aunts and uncles and the music and everyone talking over each other and the heater set far too high for the number of people inside– he… he just needed a break.

Seven hours was a decent stint for his first day. He’d be around longer tomorrow. Wading in. That was the key. Because he was now the kind of person that had to treat time with his family like running a marathon. Apparently.

He walked down to the twinkling front fence, making a mental note to shovel the front walk tomorrow, and stopped. The house across the street – your house, as it would forever be in his mind – was completely dark. A small sign posted in the front yard announced some sort of home refurbishment company was going to be arriving soon. No doubt they would come in, strip away wallpaper and old tile and heart to paint it all beige and granite for the quick resell.

He hadn’t had the heart to ask his mother yet how long the house hadn’t belonged to your family. No need for another reminder of how much time had passed, how much he’d missed. He had more than enough already.

The front door opened behind him, casting a temporary warm glow across the dark snow, and his dad stepped out, pipe in hand. He meandered down the front steps to join Frankie at the gate, puffing a few times before speaking.

He shook his head. “It’d break his heart to see it so empty, but I understand why she sold,” he said, looking at the forlorn house with him.

“How long ago?” Frankie asked.

“Few months. Not too long after the funeral.” Dad looked his way for a moment. “I’ll give it ten minutes before I tell your mother you left.”

“I… thanks,” he replied weakly.

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back.”

Dad nodded slowly, leaving just the pipe smoke wafting between them for a minute. “Take it slow, no need to rush.”

“Thanks.” He stepped through the gate, fishing in his pocket for his car keys.

“Francisco,” he said, making Frankie stop and look at him. “We’re glad you’re back.”

Frankie just nodded and went to his car. Even though he couldn’t bear another minute in the noisy press of his loved ones, the idea of going back to his lonely hotel room was truly abysmal. So after some finagling with the ignition, he started the engine and headed to the one bar he’d ever been to in his hometown.

--

There were Christmas lights in the window and a dancing Santa on the bar as Frankie walked in. Some sort of forcibly cheery holiday classic played over the speakers tucked between quirky memorabilia that hung over every square inch of wall space. And even though public smoking had been outlawed by the state well over a decade ago, cigarette stench had sunk into the very foundation of the place.

It was nothing like Frankie remembered. But it would do.

Eyes automatically sweeping across the moderately busy room for a Thursday night, he headed for a stool at the far end of the bar, ordering a beer when the bartender came by. It was just one step up from swill, but comfortably numbing in its mediocrity. He looked across the room again, checking for familiar faces this time and finding none. No surprise there. A decade was a long time, and really he hadn’t been around too much for the years before that too.

There were couples on dates here, friend groups, some sort of girls’ night happening in the corner, a few loners like him hovering at the bar. Most everyone was smiling, talking, laughing so hard their whole bodies shook. A whole world of Normal. And Frankie was a tourist.

Pope was right. He couldn’t go back to this. He couldn’t make it through one whole day with blood relatives anymore. What was he thinking? That he could just settle into a normal life like the last decade of his work was nothing? Get a 9-to-5 and a mortgage and a girl – not that he’d ever had too much luck in that department. Especially when there was one girl that eclipsed all others, and he didn’t even know her phone number any more.

The door opened, making the Santa on the bar dance, and every thought in Frankie’s head immediately stopped. His eyes drew wide as he stared, jaw barely restrained from slapping against his chest. Was it really – course it was, there wasn’t anyone else it could be. A whole century could pass, and he’d still know that face.

It was you.

Live, in the flesh you. Cheeks pinked from the wind, haloed by the street lights outside, wrapped in a truly astonishing number of woolen layers. Not a half-remembered fantasy, but Real and breathing and even more beautiful than his memory had claimed.

He watched you shake a few flurries out of your hair and stomp the excess snow off your boots, shutting the door behind you as you waved to the bartender. Your gaze swung across the bar, completely skimming past him, and landed on the girls’ night in the corner. You smiled. He stared.

You began to head over to the people you were obviously here to meet. On nothing but pure instinct, he immediately got out of his stool and followed you. Falling into step behind you, he stretched a hand forward to hook a few fingers inside your elbow.

You looked back at him, and for a heart-breaking breath there was no recognition in your eyes.

Till he gave you a half-smile and said, “Hey Bo.”

You blinked, mouth dropping open. “Frankie?” you asked.

He nodded.

Your astonishment ballooned so wide it froze your whole face solid for a moment. Then you laughed, out of far more shock than amusement, and gave him a smile all his own. “Oh my god!! You’re here!”

You immediately wrapped him in a hug. And though it took him a moment to return it, for the first time in ten whole years, he was home.

Chapter 3: Not my Homeland Anymore

taglist: @kelenloth ; @darnitdraco ; @gracie7209 ; @616wilsons ; @icanbeyourjedi ; @astroboots ;