#like. first off that's kind of a weird place to go perform but second. second.

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to you randomly throwing yourself on the floor and yelling "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

The very moment your body hits the floor, he’s already in motion—no hesitation, no thought, just pure, unfiltered chaos. He throws himself down beside you with a level of theatrical commitment that would make a seasoned Shakespearean actor weep.

"BABE?!? BABE, NOOOOOOOO!" he cries out, his voice cracking mid-scream like an overworked opera singer. With all the grace of a man who has never known the concept of subtlety, he dramatically shakes your shoulders as if he's trying to reset a Nintendo 64 cartridge.

The situation escalates immediately—because, of course, it does. One second, you're lying there in mild inconvenience, and the next, Gojo has fully committed to the bit. He cradles your head in his lap, clutching you like you’re a fallen soldier in a tragic war film. He tilts his head back, gazing up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, and suddenly—he's monologuing.

“Oh, cruel fate! How merciless you are to steal away my one true love in the prime of their youth!" His voice trembles with emotion as he strokes your hair, his other hand clutching his chest. "What good is my power if I cannot protect the one I hold dearest? Am I even worthy of the title of strongest?"

You stare up at him, absolutely dumbfounded. Somewhere in the background, you swear you hear the faint echoes of tragic violin music (probably playing from his phone).

Before you can protest, Gojo takes things to an even more unnecessary level. He yanks out his phone, thumbs moving at light speed.

"WE NEED A HEALER—" he bellows into the receiver.

Your brain short-circuits. “Gojo, what the—”

"SHOKO, YOU HAVE TO COME QUICK!" he cries dramatically, pacing now, as if the weight of the world is crushing him. "IT'S BAD. IT'S REALLY BAD."

You sit up with a sigh, rubbing your temple. “Gojo. I literally just dramatically fell for attention. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause. A suspiciously long pause.

Then, like a switch flipping, his entire demeanor immediately changes. His teary, grief-stricken expression vanishes in an instant, replaced with his usual mischievous grin. He blinks down at you, casually ending his fake emergency call like he didn’t just cause emotional devastation for fun.

“Oh.” He dusts off his pants, completely unfazed. “Okay, cool. So, like, wanna go buy something wildly unnecessary and stupidly expensive to heal your soul?"

Before you can even process what just happened, he’s already pulling out his Black Card, holding it up like a golden ticket to financial irresponsibility.

You exhale sharply, placing a hand over your heart. “Gojo, I think I actually am dying now.”

“See?! I knew I wasn’t overreacting.”

And just like that, you’re being whisked away for a completely unnecessary shopping spree because, in Gojo's mind, retail therapy is a legitimate medical treatment.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

You collapse onto the floor like a dying swan in a tragic ballet. Geto, currently sipping his tea like a man who has mastered the art of serene detachment, watches your performance unfold with the emotional range of a houseplant. He doesn’t react—not immediately, anyway. He just tilts his head slightly, blinks once, then takes another slow, thoughtful sip.

“Rough day?” he asks, as if your corpse-like sprawl isn’t deeply concerning and like this is a normal Tuesday for you (which, to be fair, it kind of is).

“Yes, actually,” you groan, face-first into the carpet.

Geto hums, a low, considering sound, like he’s analyzing the weight of human suffering itself. And then—with absolutely zero hesitation or context—he drops to the floor beside you. “If you’re going down, I’m going down with you.”

Now, you’re just two bodies on the floor, lying side by side like the world's most exhausted crime scene victims.

For a second—a very brief, fleeting second—you feel touched. This is kind of romantic in a weird, stupid way. He could have ignored your suffering, but no. He chose to join you in it. “That’s sweet.”

“I know,” he replies. Then, completely deadpan, he adds, “Shall we hold hands and ascend to the next realm?”

You’re laughing before you can stop yourself, and Geto just smirks, clearly very pleased with himself. He’s not the type to make a huge fuss, but he is the type to match your energy, even if your energy is currently Existential Crisis via Floor™.

Eventually, he pulls you up and forces you to drink warm cup of tea because, “If you’re going to suffer, at least be hydrated."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami is in the kitchen, minding his own business, making his morning coffee like a responsible, tax-paying adult. And that's when you dramatically fling yourself onto the floor like you’re in an overacted soap opera. He doesn’t react immediately—he just stands there, silently stirring his coffee.

You wait.

And wait.

A full thirty seconds pass before he finally exhales, long and suffering, like a man who has already lived through a thousand lifetimes of nonsense. “Do I even want to ask?”

“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE,” you wail, the sheer agony in your voice so theatrical it deserves a standing ovation.

Nanami takes what might be the longest, most exhausted sip of coffee in the history of mankind before muttering, “Neither can I.”

This is a man who has fought for his life against special-grade curses. A man who has endured the unrelenting chaos that is Gojo Satoru’s existence. A man who has spent years dealing with the absurdities of Jujutsu society. And yet, somehow—somehow—you, sprawled out on the floor, being extra—seems to be what breaks his spirit.

He crouches down next to you, his tie slightly loosened, looking so tired. “You say that often. And yet, you persist.”

“Yes, because I’m suffering.”

Nanami sighs then reaches over and gently peels your arm away from your covered face. "What happened?"

You sniffle. "I just remembered that my favorite childhood snack got discontinued."

Silence.

Not just silence, but Nanami silence—the kind that could make even Gojo rethink his life choices. Nanami stares at you for a long, long moment. Then, without a word, he gets up, walks to the kitchen.

You peek over the couch like a guilty dog. “You’re not even gonna roast me?”

“No,” he says simply, grabbing his phone and pulling up a search page. “If I did, I would not be a man worthy of you.”

You clutch your chest like you’ve just been struck by divine intervention. “NANAMI, STOP, I’M GONNA CRY.”

Completely unaffected, he continues scrolling. “What was the name of the snack?”

You whisper it reverently, as if speaking its name too loudly would make the grief too real. He nods once and, within seconds, finds a recipe online with the efficiency of a man who probably filed his taxes in January.

The next thing you know, Nanami is moving with the focus of a Michelin-star chef. He’s measuring ingredients, mixing them with precision, his expression unreadable but his actions entirely sincere. You can only watch in shock as he moves around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brows slightly furrowed.

This is the Nanami experience: a man who will not entertain your nonsense, but will also go to ridiculous lengths to support it in his own methodical, devastatingly attractive way.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

The moment you throw yourself onto the floor, Choso looks genuinely alarmed. His entire body tenses, his eyes immediately scanning the room for threats. This man has spent most of his life fighting, so his immediate instinct is that you’ve been attacked. He’s already prepared to throw hands, use his Blood Manipulation, and avenge your fall.

“Who did this to you?” he demands, voice laced with deadly seriousness.

You peek up at him from the floor. “Capitalism.”

Choso frowns, staring at you like you’ve just uttered the name of an ancient, malevolent entity. “Is that a curse?”

You sigh, the weight of the world pressing against your soul. “Basically.”

He stands there, actually considering fighting 'capitalism' for you. In this moment, you are not just his beloved—you are a victim of an unseen force, and he must destroy it. You see it in his eyes—the sheer, genuine concern. You have to clarify that you are, in fact, just being dramatic.

Once he realizes this, he crouches beside you and with an almost painfully stiff movement, he gently—oh-so-awkwardly—pats your shoulder. It’s the kind of stiff, tentative touch you’d give a traumatized pigeon you’re trying to befriend.

"There, there,” he says, voice unnaturally formal, like he’s reading dialogue from a handbook titled 'How To Human: Basic Comfort Edition.' “It will be okay.”

You stare at him. His movements are so mechanical, so stiffly rehearsed, like he’s performing a first-aid procedure on an injured bird he has no idea how to care for but really, really wants to help.

You want to laugh, but honestly? You’re touched.

Choso doesn’t always understand human emotions, but what he does understand is that you are sad, and that makes him upset. He cannot let this stand.

So, in the only way he knows how to truly show solidarity—he joins you.

Without hesitation, Choso lowers himself onto the floor, lying beside you. He takes your hand in his, his grip firm, and grounding.

"If you need anything," he says, voice low and sincere, "just tell me. I will do my best to make the world a little less exhausting for you."

And that? That’s when you actually start crying.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is sitting on the couch, one leg stretched out, scrolling through his phone like a man with zero responsibilities and even less motivation to gain any. He’s so relaxed it’s almost an art form—the pinnacle of bare minimum energy.

And then, in a move so dramatic it could win an Oscar for Best Overreaction, you collapse onto the floor like a medieval peasant who just got diagnosed with the plague and a tax increase in the same breath. Arms sprawled, face pressed to the ground, you release a noise that is one-third sigh, two-thirds existential despair.

Toji’s response?

The barest flicker of an eyebrow raise.

He gives you a long, considering glance, the way someone might look at someone's spilled drink in the room—mildly aware of the issue, but not entirely convinced it’s his problem. Then, deciding it is not, he calmly resumes scrolling.

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Wow. Not even a little concern?”

Toji doesn’t even pause. “Did you die?”

“…No?”

“Then you’re fine.”

You groan louder, rolling onto your back like you’ve been emotionally sniped. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.”

“Then don’t.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes. “That’s not how life works, Toji.”

He finally, finally looks up from his phone, just enough to make prolonged eye contact while lazily shrugging. “Sounds like a you problem.”

You are so close to throwing something at him.

Toji is absolutely not the comforting type. If anything, he finds your suffering mildly entertaining. You can practically see the amusement glinting in his eyes every time you get extra like this. He thrives off it.

And yet.

Despite his lazy indifference, despite his refusal to play into your dramatics, despite every ounce of his cold-blooded energy—

He nudges you.

With his foot.

Like you’re actual roadkill, and he’s checking if you’re still breathing.

“C’mon, get up,” he mutters, like he’s doing you the world’s biggest favor. “I’ll buy you food or whatever.”

Your soul immediately resurrects.

In less than a second, you shoot up from the floor like a zombie reanimating in a horror movie. The promise of food has restored you.

Toji smirks, fully aware of what just happened. He knew exactly what he was doing. Food is the one thing that can drag you back from the depths of despair.

So, yeah. Toji absolutely won’t give you some deep emotional pep talk. He won’t hold your hand and whisper encouragements about your worth and potential. But he will bribe you with food to make you stop being dramatic.

And honestly? You’ll take it.

[inbabylontheywept]

can we get more security clearance stories? they are amazing

Yeah, sure. Remember how getting contractors in to perform regular to the maintenance is basically impossible? One of the issues that we have is that the roof is kind of fucked. Like, in the newer sections, it's fine, and in the older sections, it leaks and we just have big barrels to catch the rainwater, and in the oldest sections there are actual holes. Which is crazy, because the oldest sections are where a lot of the tests happen. Those are almost always the most important parts of the facility. And the holes have been a problem for a while, but it is only "recently" (the last ten years) (yes, that is recent in government time) that the holes got big enough to fit birds.

So we have been getting birds into our secret facility.

This causes several issues.

The first issue is that, surprisingly, the people here are gentle, and they don't like seeing birds die. Some of the old hands are pretty jaded about it, and they have tennis rackets that they used to use for uh... bird removal. But the newer batch threw a fit when they suggested that, so now we have to make a big ordeal out of getting the birds out of the building. And if I sound bitter about it, I'm not - I am one of the people that said absolutely no bird smashing. But it is much easier to catch a bird than it is to just smack it out of the air.

(Another layer of difficulty is the whole "working in a labyrinth" thing. The birds have a lot of places to run.)

The second issue is that sometimes we can't get the birds out, and they die in weird places. This isn't just sad - it makes the test areas smell bad for weeks afterwards, and a lot of us spend the majority of our working hours in those locations. So it's sad and gross and stinky.

And the third issue, which is actually kind of the worst, is that government knows about the "perimeter leaks" (IE, large holes in the ceiling) and instead of fixing the holes, they put extra security measures in place. You know, in case spies climb in through the holes. Which means that, unfortunately, instead of getting the holes fixed, we got a state of the art alarm system, complete with motion detection lasers.

So the birds get in, and we actually can't leave until they get out, because they will, and have, and frequently do, trip the alarms. And when the alarms trip, people get called in to check the site and confirm for the 10,000th time that no, it's not Russians: It's birds.

It's always birds.

(Some of the techs actually kind of enjoy those calls during the weekends, because it means free overtime where there's literally nothing asked of them. Getting the "bird alarm" call is just 4 hours of OT where you check the test cell and confirm, no spies, just birds, then sit there and play checkers or read or whatever until the airforce base calls back and says that it seems safe enough for you to go home.)

(Engineers like those calls less, because we don't get time and a half, and we also don't need the cash quite as much as the techs do.)

Anyway, the crazy scenario is when it's like, 30 minutes to quitting, and a bird gets in. Because now we can't leave until we get the bird out. And the scene that happens is actually quite pretty.

So, the first thing that will happen is that there will be yelling downstairs. The downstairs people are always irate about birds getting in close to quitting. The anger is directed vaguely at the bird, and vaguely at the government, and more specifically at whatever absolute fuckhead bought us an alarm system instead of fixing our roof.

The majority of the crowd of grousing engineers and techs will then move into the upper offices. A couple will break off to grab the floodlight and shine it down the stairs, a few more will prop the doors open, and someone will venture back into the basement to turn off the light.

Click, the light goes off, it's dark, there's this big, warm, yellow pool of light just dripping down the stairs like a river of melted butter, and there's a crowd of tennish people + whoever is poking their heads out of the office to watch. No one will be breathing at all... and then, 9 times out of 10, a little bird will flit out of the basement, up the stairs, towards the light, and trigger the apocalypse.

Everyone chases the bird.

The goal at first is not to catch the bird. That's very difficult, and none of us have very good hand eye coordination. The goal is to thunder along and keep the bird from sitting down and having a breather.

We are there to exhaust the bird.

It is just accepted that this thundering herd will go wherever the bird goes. If your office door is open, and the bird flies in, it doesn't matter what reports you're filling out, or what phone call you're on - you are expected to deal with the panting and scrambling and general primal chaos of the hunting party until the bird goes somewhere else. Eventually, the bird will slow down enough that someone can catch it. This is a semi-coveted position, because, yes, you do get to hold a bird in your hand. And holding a bird is a wonderful thing. They are so soft, and so small, and you feel so careful with the poor thing. But also, it will bite you. Always. And the birds out here bite like needle nose pliers. It hurts so bad. I have been the guy holding the bird before, and it's this kind of beautiful scene again - to be standing there, hands cupped gently around this thing that is chewing the fuck out of the squishy webbing between my thumb and my palm. Tears streaming down my cheeks, surrounded by my little hunting party, that is telling me how much further until the nearest exit, opening all the doors for me. Hushed in the silence as they acknowledge my sacrifice. Inspecting the chomps afterwards and giving their opinion on how long it will be until it stops hurting.

I'm getting a little lost in the sauce here and don't really know how to end this. It's a really good job. Wouldn't be half as fun if it was run in a sane and competent manner.

I'll make this into a post at some point.

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐁𝐘𝐀𝐊 ✮ FLORIAN WIRTZ

summary. it’s kind of pathetic the way the two of you always come crawling back to each other.

warnings. emotional warfare. florian is down bad. light smut but heavy feelings. florian is lowkey pathetic in this. 18+

gabri speaks! unfortunately i am a florian girlie. anyways i’m back! heavily inspired by byak by alvaro diaz ft. rauw alejandro.

THE CROWD GROANS as florian hits the crossbar for the second time that night. the camera man makes sure to zoom in on him as his hands go up in frustration. florian stares at the goalkeeper in disbelief as he runs back into his position. another missed chance, another bad rating, another night of him stressing himself out. if there was one person in all of germany that night happy about his performance it was you.

your relationship with the player was controversial, what was once a promising relationship had turned sour, and quickly. the two of you had mutually decided that a committed relationship wasn’t in the cards for either of you. it had grown toxic to the point where you’d flirt with his teammates on purpose to provoke him which worked because you’d always end up in his bed and never in a foreign room. in fact you couldn’t quite remember when was the last time you had hooked up with anyone else.

meanwhile the brunette found himself staring at his phone on the ride home. chatter and music filled the team bus yet only one thing clouded his mind, did you watch the match? he was hoping a teasing message of yours would already be in his notifications, and when he saw there’s wasn’t one he sighed. as his teammates argued over their errors and mistakes he couldn’t help opening the messages between the two of you. the countless deleted messages and hidden pictures as well as the timed ones made him remember the many nights the two of you would spend on the phone.

the sound of your voice filled his head and when he saw you were online he immediately turned off his phone. was it possible you had finally gotten tired of your messed up relationship?

“bro, are you okay?” kai asked seeing the state his teammate was in. florian’s leg was bouncing and his demeanor had changed dramatically.

“i’m fine, thanks.” he offered him a curt smile before staring out the window again.

he wasn’t fine, he was far from fine, in fact he felt worse than he did after missing the goal. he’s not sure why but as soon as the team arrives back to the hotel he’s on his way to your flat. he makes a quick stop at the chinese place the two of you like beforehand making sure he doesn’t show up empty handed. it was already pathetic enough that he was showing up past midnight he could at least make up an excuse with the food.

he hopes the black hoodie he wore is enough to hide his identity from bystanders. although with all the pacing he does outside your hallway he hopes no one thinks he’s a robber. as he adjusts his hoodie he can’t help but think, why am i so nervous? after all it’s not the first time he knocks on your door at these hours.

“do you hate me?” is the first thing you hear as you open the door.

you study his frame and notice his disheveled hair and the training kit from the national team. you’ve never seen him so disorganized and upset — if that was the right word to use — you were amused. as his face grows concerned with your lack of answer you notice the takeout he has in his hands. the poor guy was either desperate or he had lost his mind. both of which could be true.

“what the fuck florian?” you look at him weird as you question him.

“you didn’t text me today.” he says as if that simple sentence answered your question.

“so what? i don’t text you every other week and you never show up at my apartment with food. what’s going on?” you’re even more confused than before.

“you always text me after a game.” he tries to explain like it’s the most logical thing ever.

you can’t help the half scoff and half laugh you let out. he couldn’t be serious right now. was he seriously at your apartment past midnight because he was freaking out over a message?

“okay seriously you need to get a girlfriend you’re starting to creep me out.” you joke.

“you say that while you’re wearing my jersey.” he l doesn’t even need you to turn around to know that you were wearing the leverkusen jersey he had gifted you months ago.

there’s a moment of silence between the two of you it’s entrancing. you stare at him and realize he’d made his way over to you immediately after the game. all because he was waiting for your message. meanwhile there’s something about you wearing his jersey for casually that makes you all more enchanting to him. there’s a mutual look between the two of you and in the blink of an eye his hands are on your waist, yours on his jaw, and his lips are on yours.

it’s poetic really the way he closes your door as he pushes you into your apartment and drops the takeout on your coffee table in the process. your hands already digging into his hair and his hold you tight as he carried you into your room. it’s all muscle memory. the darkness of your bedroom adds to the feeling of having him so close to you again.

“i think i-” he pauses not wanting to be so vulnerable in this predicament but you know what he wants to say. you freeze.

“florian you know i can’t. it didn’t work out the first time. i can’t do it again.” you grab his jaw making sure the two of you are making eye contact. his brown eyes captivate yours.

“i can’t either but i can’t live without you.” he whispers the end. “it will always be you.”

you drag his hand towards the waistband of your shorts. it would always be him too. the only person that consumed your every thoughts and the only person you were worried about getting hurt was him. always. you look into his eyes as he drags his fingers to your core and sigh as he begins to tease you. he’s also the only man you fantasize about.

“promise?” you ask him.

the moonlight barely allows you to see him fully but you catch the smirk on his face. the same one that had captivated you years ago at the bar. his fingers are so close to your needy hole. you can’t help but audibly gasp as he inserts them inside you causing an illicit groan from him. your nails dig into his shoulders as he starts fucking you with his digits. meanwhile he kisses you from your collarbone to your neck.

“i promise.” he whispers against your ear.

he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly helping you reach your high. it was only fair you were treated right. it was small details like this that had you wondering why the two of you couldn’t just commit to each other. you’re distracted as he leaves marks on your neck and his fingers curve inside you. you can’t help the loud moans that leave your mouth as you reach your high. your hands dig into the sheets as you come around his fingers.

he continues kissing you as he begins to take his hoodie off. you’re quick to stop him before he begins undressing himself.

“do i need to remind you that you didn’t score today? you’re not getting any tonight.” you adjust your shorts.

“so you did watch the game then.” he wraps his arms around you pulling you closer to him.

“i always do.” you whisper as you cuddle into him.

that’s how you spend the rest of the night, snuggled into his body as it rains outside. it’s quite an intimate moment shared between the two of you. you’re not quite sure if you should be worried or content with the turn your relationship with florian took. you decide it’s rather late and with the way he holds you you don’t think much more. after all he promised and while you knew florian was many things he was not an oath breaker.

[eldritch-spouse]

How would the other clergymen receive to cumming instantly for their obsession like in that ask with the icons? I imagine nebul would hate it. Patches wouldn’t notice for a bit lol

[Continuing from this ask, minus Santi.]

Morell struggles to understand. That didn't just happen. That's never happened, not since his first. As embarrassed as he is, he knows he can't give you too much time to think about it, so he overwhelms you with his fingers as best as he can. Morell is touchy about this and will keep ceaselessly trying to find a workaround. It's just no fun if, the second he's in you, it's over. Tease him and he may become unpredictable.

Gallon, entirely not predicting this, has a frozen moment where he simply processes his own orgasm. While he won't outright react to teasing now, he'll use several tendrils to make you orgasm into exhaustion, silently wondering why this took place. The experience was ruined, for his pride at least, and he'll show less interest in penetrative sex when he determines this is a pattern, scheming ways to fix the problem.

Patches does, absolutely, not notice it at first. He figures the next time he'll last a bit more. But he doesn't. Ever. It's as mildly horrifying as it is predictable. He knows it's a problem when Stitches suffers from it too, out of nowhere, and turns to the world of magic to find if he can either extend his endurance artificially, or negate any anomalous properties you might have. This can result in him never again being a minute man.

Grimbly honestly tears up from shame. This is gross and weird and it wasn't meant to end like that. Comforting him through it is appreciated, but the more this happens, the more Grimbly thinks there's something wrong with him. He wants to fuck you! He doesn't want to be pegged or penetrated by toys all the time!! He'll even resort to condoms to make things last longer. He never thought this would eat at him as much as it does.

Vinnel just sighs. Figures his sickness would ruin his sexual performance as well. Having days where his genitals simply refuse to work is one thing, now he's cumming in seconds? Fortunately, he can pull a switcheroo and keep fucking you with an approximation, but his own frustration might translate into sadism dealt onto you. Whatever.

Belo, well, he figures the first time this happens it's normal? There's suspicion it's not. You might need to have a talk with him. Ultimately, he's conflicted. On the one hand, this must mean you're very compatible, right? You resonate with him! On the other, he's aware he should offer his Lady/charge a more worthwhile experience of love in its' physical form. Could... Could he consult Krulu about this?

Nebul is eating this memory. No way you're keeping that. Penetration is off the table until he can find a workaround. He would rather not fuck you at all than orgasm in seconds. You will not have power here, not even power you're unaware of.

Sybastian grunted some kind of incomprehensible curse and looked as if something was deeply wrong with his body. Although he tries to stroke himself back to hardness, something he's regularly achieved, it might be fruitless. Sybastian doesn't quite know what to do with himself and fears that you now see him as subpar and laughable. He will seek reassurance subtly, also trying desperately to find ways to prolong his performance.

Fank-e has no idea how you achieved this?? This isn't supposed to be possible? He can go for hours if he feels like it, then you come along and he orgasms so hard that he nearly has to shut down. Very funny. Instead of feeling threatened by this, Fank-e resorts to his other incredibly effective means of making you orgasm, and later forcibly modifies all his genital attachments to a very diminished sensitivity. It took several tries to find a good balance.

Krulu has to resist the urge to pry your body open and inspect what caused this. His first idea is that the feedback response from your part was simply too intense. Irregardless, he's rattled that this didn't go according to how he wants it to, but his refractory period isn't notable to you, so he spends the time in-between isolating and nullifying the trait that makes your partners unable to perform. The trait is not erased, particularly because he thinks he can weaponize it. You know better than to tease him for that first encounter, hopefully. Silently savor the win of making a siadar bust immediately, if you're smart.

[distantdarlings]

CRY TO ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - (1960s AU) (Based on this) When Theodore Nott, the best dancer at one of the top clubs in the Wizarding World, loses his dance partner, he asks you to take her place. However, he pushes you too far and you quickly become overwhelmed.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (PIV), unprotected sex, kissing, language, inexperienced!reader, sub!reader, dom!theo, brief mention of masturbation, small amount of angst at beginning, fem reader, bad Google translate, not fully proofread (please lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Cry To Me - Solomon Burke

A/N: Okay so here’s that Dirty Dancing inspired idea I had. I know it’s kind of a weird mixture but I want to see what you guys think, so please lmk below!!!

- - -

“So, why? Why can’t we do the dance this way?” you demanded, pressing your hands to your hips.

“Because the performance is in two days! We’ve rehearsed it like this the whole time!” Theo shouted back, his face becoming red with anger.

You groaned in frustration, pressing your hands to your face. The sweat slipped through your fingers and down your arms. The two of you had been at it for 4 hours, practicing like your lives depended on it.

Your second to last performance of the season was approaching quickly, as was the end of summer. The two of you couldn’t come to a conclusion about what the finishing move was going to be.

You had argued back and forth for weeks trying to decide what was going to knock the rest of the performers off of their feet, and ensure the two of you would be the main entertainment for the rest of the season. Only that would pay yours and his bills.

You’d been partners since the beginning of summer, when the two of you had first met. You’d had no prior dancing experience and had been absolutely terrified to take on the challenge of dancing with Theodore Nott. One of the best dancers you’d ever seen.

The club you agreed to dance with Theo for had been threatening to drop you for another set of partners. They were better, faster, more qualified, but you’d promised Theo that you’d help him keep his job with this club.

But right now, you felt as though he was expecting too much of you. You’d promised you’d be his dancing partner for the rest of the season only to keep him his job. You didn’t agree to become one of the best young dancers on the scene. You weren’t good enough. Theo was, however. And he was expecting too much from you.

“Theo, I told you I’d help you keep your job. When your dance partner backed out, I stepped up to help you immediately. But I told you from the beginning, I’m not a professional dancer. I’m nowhere close to you or even your old dance partner. I’m just me! I’m telling you—I don’t think I can do this move!”

Angry tears had begun to cascade down your face. At the sight of your emotions, Theo seemed to pause and drop his defensive boundaries. His rage seemed to stutter.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping closer to you. You shook your head and turned away from him, so angry you couldn’t see straight through the tears or your fury.

“I’m sorry…I’ve pushed you too far,” he said. “How about we take a break?”

You sighed, covering your face out of embarrassment. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You wanted to finish the damn dance and move on.

“Amore,” he whispered, his voice rattling through the air. Your breath shuddered as he reached for you once more, trying to comfort you. The tips of his fingers brushed against your arm. Somewhat awkwardly, he tried to comfort you. Yet the way he spoke, and the way he touched you, led you to want more than his comfort.

Since the two of you had started dancing together, you couldn’t ignore the obvious attraction you felt for him and the tension that often hung through the air between the two of you.

“What does that mean?” You breathed, refusing to meet his eyes.

“What?” he chuckled quietly.

“Amore,” you responded. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘love.’” You gasped slightly at his words.

When you finally met his eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the back of the practice studio.

Behind the studio was a small building where Theo was allowed to stay while he was performing with the club—it had been part of his contract. He led you through the door.

His room was dark and smelled slightly of tobacco smoke. He walked past the fireplace and further into the room. You could feel his fingers unfurl from yours as he cast a small incantation toward the small candelabra in the corner. it was bronzed and quite plain but the boy it illuminated was cut like David.

Theo turned and walked toward you, stopping just before your body. His softly carved fingers traced slowly up your arms. Though you wore a long-sleeved shirt, you could still feel his fingertips through the material. Shocks went down your spine.

He pressed his hand tightly against the small of your back. You recognized this position as the one that he had done while you were dancing just moments before.

Your hips melded against his as he let you fall back against the brace of his arm. Your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed the dark boy to support you with full trust. You sighed as your back craned against Theo’s arm. He dipped you once before pulling you back up. You smiled slightly, allowing your hands to place themselves on Theo’s chest.

It was endearing how Theo seemed to incorporate dance into everything. He was a dancer, that much was clear, but you weren’t. You’d never taken any classes but the way Theo moved your body within his hands made you feel as if you’d always known what to do. Like you’d always felt the rhythm that Theo kept in his body.

He pulled you as close against him as you would go. Your lips trembled as the tall boy leaned you back once again, molding his blushed lips against your neck. You weren’t sure how you felt about this, feeling this boy's touch and wanting more. If your parents knew, they'd murder you but this was your way of rebelling against them. You knew that they'd hate you but you didn't care.

"K—" you breathed out, your chest shuddering beneath the pressure of his closeness.

"What?" Theo asked, his eyes flickering up to yours, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You looked into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall into them. You wanted to feel the brunette's arms wrapped around you and his cold lips on your chest. You wanted to feel the strings of his heart wrap tightly around your throat and suffocate you.

"Kiss me."

Theo exhaled shakily and, without another moment, pressed his lips to yours, holding your face in place with his gentle fingers. Within a breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck, attempting to be closer to him in any way possible.

You felt his hands fall away from your back and slip beneath the underside of your thighs. A gasp slipped from your lips as Theo lifted you off the ground and pressed your back to the wall. The feeling of the wood behind you and his soft body before you made you shudder with delight.

The boy’s lips melded perfectly with your own, allowing you to see that this is what you wanted. You didn't want to be constantly nagged at by your parents about finding a Ravenclaw man or a wealthy auror. You wanted Theo—this beautiful, Slytherin dancer.

You unwrapped your legs from his tight waist, placing your feet gently on the floor. You pushed Theo backwards and over to the lounge chair you’d seen when you first walked in. Theo fell down against it and allowed you to straddle his hips.

You pulled his lips back to yours, feeling the way the boy's chest pressed so beautifully against your own. A small moan slipped across your tongue at the taste of Theo’s lips.

He brought his fingers up to your hair, burying them within the soft strands. Your chest shuddered against his feelings.

Theo’s hands traveled down to your waist, pulling the hem of your training shirt out of the waistband of your skirt. You helped him slip it over your head.

Theo marveled at your body. Your skin was flawless beneath the white fabric, carved with the intricacies of an art form. He dragged his fingertips down your curves, reveling in the feeling of the soft flesh that blushed beneath his touch.

"You’re so beautiful," Theo whispered, his lips parted, a springtime blush painted across his cheeks and nose. His lips were a bit swollen from the pressure of yours.

Without another word, you pressed your lips back to Theo’s, allowing him to turn both of you over.

The small chair caused some issues with that but Theo quickly figured it out, getting to work on your skirt. His nimble fingers moved over the fabric like they were dancers themselves.

You watched his every movement, his chest elevating with each heavy breath. The brunette boy pressed his cold lips to your stomach.

A gasp escaped you at the sudden change in temperature. Your fingers wrapped in Theo’s hair just as he had done to yours.

Once your skirt was undone and slid down the length of your thighs, Theo slowly slid his pants down his legs. You helped him pull the firm material down and to the floor.

Though you both had waited for months to see each other, to touch each other, to love each other, you couldn’t wait another second now. It felt as though you’d miss out if you waited any longer. You were scared that Theo would slip through your fingers and you’d never feel his touch again.

“Can’t believe I waited this long,” Theo breathed against your flesh.

He kissed his way back up your chest, marveling at the roving dips and curves. Your hands which were still tucked within his hair led his head back up to yours. Your lips locked together once more with a fervor that left the both of you—inexperienced and experienced—utterly breathless.

The brunette boy's hands traveled down between the two of you, his pale fingers tracing down your abdomen. His hands slipped gently between the fabric of your undergarments and your flesh.

You moaned against Theo’s lips at the contact he was applying to the core of your body. His hands gently teased the your most sensitive areas, smirking against your lips at the sounds he elicited from you. The sound was intoxicating to him.

The only thing you’d ever felt down there was the touch of your own hands, but now you wondered how you’d ever lived without his. He touched every aspect of your body perfectly—almost like he could read your mind and knew exactly what you wanted. Perhaps he was a Legilimens.

“Theo, I need you closer,” you breathed, just as his fingers had just begun to edge your inexperienced body over in on itself.

Without saying another word, he slid his briefs down his pants and ever so gently slid himself inside of you.

The foreign stretch pushed your face to the sky. Your lips opened wide, crying out in silent bliss. His hand gently brushed your hair away from your sweating face.

“So beautiful,” he sighed. “You feel just as I’d imagined.”

The thought of him imagining you and himself like this had you teetering on the edge of pleasure.

With him inside of you, claiming you as his, you imagined him after one of your heavy, tension-filled practices. Ones where he’d brush his fingers down your body a little slower, a little longer, a little softer than he had the last time…or ones where he’d let his breath fan across your neck when he was standing behind you…or ones where you’d touched yourself after the fact to relieve even half of the tension he forced into your body.

And with one final thrust against you, you came breathlessly over Theo, with him very close behind.

At the tightening of your muscles, he gripped the cushion above your head and released into you, pressing love and warmth into you over and over again. You clutched at his bare skin, begging for purchase on anything as he rode out his high into you, assaulting what little strength you had left.

You could barely see anything—not his gorgeous face above you screwed together in pleasure, not the metal ceiling of the building overhead, and not the black beginning to cloud at the edges of your vision.

“S-stop,” you barely muttered out.

Within a millisecond, he completely stopped his movements. His high had passed and so had yours.

“I’m sorry, tesoro,” Theo breathed, checking to make sure you were okay and desperately kissing your fingers. “I didn’t mean to push you too hard.”

“It seems you have a bit of knack for that, hmm?” you whispered, giggling just a bit.

As he realized you were joking, he relaxed just a bit, returning your lazy smile.

Theo was a hard man to keep up with, whether it was dancing, fucking, or just living, and you realized that. But for whatever reason, his intensity only exhilarated you, no matter if it left you in the dust sometimes.

“I will slow down for you, bella,” he spoke softly. “Resterò qui. I will stay here with you, my love. For as long as it takes…”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout , @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @abaker74

[bl3upi3]

Loop of the Year

This one-shot is part of a series. You don’t need to read the rest to enjoy it, but you can check it out here if you want.

A/N: Not proofread. Also, not sure about writing smut, it feels kind of off writing about a real person. But let me know what you think.

Word count : 3,020

Summary: After a viral collab and a magnetic onstage performance, you and rising artist 2Hollis find yourselves pulled into a whirlwind of attention, rumors, and undeniable chemistry. When the internet begins shipping you two, it’s all noise… until it's not. A chance run-in at a Rick Owens afterparty reignites the spark, leading to a night of unreleased tracks, honest conversations, and a kiss that changes everything.

You and Hollis finished the song, but neither of you really talked about the collab afterward. You’d been in the studio with him on and off for a few weeks, but your schedule stayed packed so you never had much time to hang out with him or his friends, even though you both clearly wanted to.

You kept in touch mostly through Instagram. He’d reply to your stories or like your posts, little things here and there.

Then he left for a European tour. When he came back, he hit you up saying he wanted to perform your collab live. At first, you were skeptical. But he reassured you the song was fire, and he was convinced it was going to blow up. You liked performing your music, but you didn’t really know Hollis’s fanbase or how they’d react to you.

A few days later, you found yourself backstage at a small but packed venue in Silver Lake, the kind of place where the crowd screams every lyric like a personal prayer. The setlist was taped to the floor. Your name was sharpied in next to his, halfway through the set.

You watched from the side as Hollis took the stage, energy magnetic, voice steady. He made it look effortless. The crowd knew every word, arms up, bodies swaying. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this kind of intensity.

When it was time, he looked toward you through the stage lights and nodded.

“Special guest tonight,” he said into the mic, half-smiling. “You’ve probably seen her face in a campaign. Maybe heard her voice on something weird and beautiful. Either way, she’s here. And this next one… this one’s ours.”

The cheers were louder than you expected.

You stepped onto the stage, heart thudding. The lights were blinding, the heat immediate. But the second the beat dropped, your nerves melted. The loop hit, the crowd moved, and you sank into the pocket of the song like you’d been performing it forever.

You and Hollis traded verses, chemistry sharp and easy. Every look, every movement between you felt amplified, caught in the flash of someone’s camera, the scream of a fan. When your hook came in, the crowd started singing with you—stumbling on the words, but trying. That was the part that got you.

By the time the track faded out, you were breathless and grinning. Hollis pulled you into a loose one-armed hug, mic still in hand.

“Give it up,” he said, voice echoing through the room, “for someone I’ve been waiting too damn long to do this with.”

After that night, videos from the concert went viral. The song wasn’t even out yet, and people were already begging you to drop it on Spotify. You saw some really sweet tweets people calling it a breath of fresh air, saying it felt like the collab of the year.

Of course, some of his fanbase and yours were annoying. Some claimed you were ruining his career; others said he was just riding the wave of your current hype. 

You were at the beach, hanging out with your manager, when she showed you some tweets people shipping you and Hollis, or posting wild theories about how you two were secretly dating. Some even said that was the only reason he’d done such a “trash collab” with you.

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “People are insane.”

Your manager handed you her phone. “Insane, but viral. Engagement’s through the roof.”

You scrolled through the tweets some funny, some mean, some weirdly invested. A clip of you and Hollis on stage had already hit a million views. The way he looked at you mid-verse? Yeah, people were running with it.

You tossed the phone onto your towel. “We were literally just performing.”

“Yeah,” she said, squinting at the sun. “But you looked good together. And in this industry, looking good together sells.”

You stared out at the waves, the weight of her words settling in your chest. You hadn’t talked to Hollis since the show. Not really. A couple likes. One “we did that” text. Nothing deep.

But that night on stage wasn’t the last time you and Hollis saw each other and you both knew it.

A new Rick Owens store had just opened in L.A., and both of you were on the guest list. An afterparty was being thrown at a bar not too far from the venue, packed with other artists and influencers.

You showed up with your manager, already a bit tipsy from the champagne flutes passed around at the event. The music was loud, the lighting moody, and everyone was dressed like they were trying not to look like they were trying.

You spotted Hollis across the room almost immediately. He looked good better than he should in that dim light, dressed down in all black, casually leaning against the bar beside Roman and another guy you didn’t recognize, who you later found out was Nate.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he had and was just taking his time. Either way, you didn’t move toward him. You stayed where you were, finishing your drink, your manager deep in a conversation with someone from a label.

Eventually, your manager slipped away to say hi to someone from Vogue, and you wandered over to the bar, partly out of curiosity, partly because you were feeling just bold enough to.

Hollis noticed you this time. He turned before you even made it halfway, his eyes locking on you like he’d been expecting it.

He said something to Roman, who smirked and looked at you two like he already knew how the night was going to play out.

“You clean up nice,” Roman called over his drink, eyes dragging down your outfit and back up again. “Didn’t know Rick did angel-core.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t know you spoke runway.”

“I don’t,” he grinned, licking the rim of his glass. “But I know pretty when I see it.”

Hollis chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He gets flirty when the lighting’s moody.”

“And the company’s good,” Roman added.

You slid in between the two of them at the bar, ordering something with ginger and lime, feeling the way both their eyes lingered a little too long but not long enough to call out.

“So,” Hollis said, tone casual but his gaze anything but, “you’re just gonna come in here and act like you didn’t blow the roof off last week?”

You laughed. “I think you were the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“Nah,” Roman cut in, sipping his drink. “It was the way you two were looking at each other on stage. Whole room felt it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Were you taking notes?”

“Something like that,” he shrugged. “Just wondering if the chemistry’s part of the performance… or a preview.”

Hollis shot him a look, amused but pointed. Roman just raised both hands like don’t mind me.

You tried to keep a straight face, but your smile betrayed you. “Y’all always like this?”

“Only around people we like,” Hollis said, low.

You held his gaze. “Flattering.”

“True,” he said. “But also true.”

Your drink arrived, cold glass brushing your fingertips. You took a sip, letting the citrus bite pull you back to earth.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, glancing between them. “Just stand around here flirting with me all night?”

Roman leaned in slightly. “Is that a problem?”

You smirked. “Didn’t say it was.”

Hollis chuckled, eyes never fully leaving yours. “Well, if we’re not just here to flirt, what is the plan?”

You took another sip, letting the silence stretch just enough. “Actually,” you said, setting the glass down, “I’ve been working on something.”

That caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “New project. Real different from what I’ve done before. Rough edges, still weird, but cleaner. Still figuring it out.”

Roman leaned on the bar, clearly eavesdropping. “When you say different, you mean like… industry-approved different or ‘my label hates this but I’m obsessed with it’ different?”

“The second one,” you said with a laugh. “Definitely the second one.”

Hollis’s grin widened. “Now I’m interested.”

“I’ve got some demos,” you offered, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Nothing finished, just sketches.”

Hollis didn’t miss a beat. “Then let’s bounce.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how simple he made it sound. “What, now?”

“Unless you’re scared I’ll hate it,” he said, teasing but not unkind.

You narrowed your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I care what you think.”

He smirked. “You do.”

You paused, watching him. Then shrugged. “Fine. My place’s closer anyway.”

Roman raised his glass in mock salute. “Y’all have fun. I’ll tell Nate you eloped.”

You shook your head, setting your glass on the bar. “Thanks, Roman. Truly a man of grace.”

“Tell Hollis to behave,” he called after you both as you turned toward the exit.

“He won’t,” you shot back over your shoulder.

Hollis followed, a step behind, his hand grazing the small of your back

Twenty minutes later, you were back at your apartment. The city was quiet outside your windows, soft orange haze bleeding through your curtains. You kicked off your boots at the door, Hollis trailing behind you in that relaxed way he always had like he was already at home.

Your laptop was still on the coffee table, next to a pair of headphones and a half-used notebook.

“You want the aux or should I drive?” you asked, already crouching to plug in the cable.

“Play me what you hear,” Hollis said, sinking into your couch like he’d been there before.

You queued up a folder labeled “???” and hit play.

The first track that filled the room was haunting glitchy vocals, layered texturess. It didn’t ask to be liked. It just existed, unapologetic.

You watched him as he listened. Eyes closed. Head tilted slightly. No words, just focus.

When the song faded, he opened his eyes slowly. “Run that back.”

You did. Then another. Then another.

By the time the third track ended, he was sitting forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re doing something different here,” he said. “Like… no one’s in this lane. This is your own shit.”

That made you pause, heart skipping slightly.

You cleared your throat. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

He looked over at you, the space between you now feeling charged all over again.

“You know we should make more, right?” he asked. “Not just one track. I mean real shit. A full thing. You and me.”

You met his gaze, pulse humming beneath your skin. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Think harder,” he said, voice lower now. “Cause if you’re down, I’m in.”

The track still played softly in the background, the room dim except for the glow from your screen. You thought about what your manager said, about how the dating rumors were good for marketing, how looking good together sells.

But you didn’t want that. You didn’t want something real, something honest, to be reduced to optics. This connection between you and Hollis it wasn’t just about appearances.

“I’d love to,” you said, easing down beside him on the couch. “But I don’t want people thinking we’re dating.”

Hollis turned toward you slightly, his expression unreadable, one brow raised. “Is that a bad thing?”

You met his eyes, heart skipping for just a second. “It is if that’s the only reason people pay attention.”

He leaned back, letting out a low breath. “I’m not trying to make a PR move, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You looked at him, studying his face in the soft light. “So why me, then? Why even reach out back then?”

He didn’t blink. “Because you’re good. Really good. I don’t work with people just because they look cool in a feed. You hear different. You feel different. That’s rare.”

Your breath caught in your throat not just at the words, but at how sincerely he said them. 

“And if I happen to like how you look at me when you’re singing…” he added, voice dropping slightly, “that’s just extra.”

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him. Let the silence stretch, warm and charged.

He leaned in a little, close enough for you to feel the shift in his energy. “Unless you’re the one worried people will get the wrong idea.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, voice softer now.

“Good,” he murmured, eyes on your lips. “Because I don’t really care what they think.”

The air between you tightened. The music in the background faded into something slower, as if the universe was in on the moment.

Your legs were barely touching on the couch, but it felt electric. One small move, and you’d be in his space completely.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“Tell me to stop,” he said low, eyes still locked on yours.

But you didn’t.

He leaned in, his hand gently cupping your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone. And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It was all tension released at once, the kind that had been building since the studio, since that first message, since the way he looked at you on stage like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

You kissed him back.

Harder than you meant to, but not more than you wanted to.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled in the hem of his hoodie, anchoring yourself against the gravity of it all.

He pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was rough, uneven. “Been wanting to do that since the first take.”

You let out a quiet laugh, dazed. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth brushed yours again—this time slower, more deliberate. “You kept disappearing.”

“You didn’t chase me.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Aren’t I?”

Your hands slid under the edge of his hoodie, fingers meeting warm skin. He stilled for a second, then moved back in, his kiss deeper now, hungrier. His body angled toward yours as you both shifted, the couch suddenly too small for the space you needed.

Your knees bumped against his thigh, and you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in more, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. His hands moved to your waist, slow and sure, like he was memorizing how you fit into his space.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low and thick with restraint, though his fingers didn’t stop tracing circles against your hip.

You nodded once, then leaned in until your lips brushed his again, barely there. “You asking ‘cause you care… or ‘cause you want me to say stop?”

His breath caught. “I’m asking,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jaw, “so I can say I warned you.”

That made you smile smug, charged, your pulse in your ears. “Cute. You think I need a warning.”

He chuckled against your skin, and the sound of it went straight through you. His mouth found the spot beneath your ear again, soft this time, and you tipped your head instinctively.

Then you shifted, just enough to straddle his lap.

His hands stilled at your sides. “Oh,” he said, blinking up at you. “We’re doing this?”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Thought you didn’t care what people think.”

“I don’t,” he said, voice dropping again, “but I care what you want.”

You bit your lip, considering it for a beat too long. “Right now?” Your hands slid up his chest. “I want you to stop being so sweet and kiss me like you mean it.”

He didn’t hesitate after that.

One arm locked around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he pulled you down, lips meeting yours with heat that said finally. Your hips shifted without thinking, just enough to feel the tension building between you. 

He pulled back slightly, breath ragged, eyes locked on yours. His thumbs rubbed small circles into your waist like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. Like he didn’t want to.

“You keep kissing me like that,” he said, voice rough, “and I’m gonna start writing songs about it.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed. “Pretty sure you already have.”

He smirked but didn’t deny it.

You rested your forehead against his, your voice softer now. “What are we doing, Hollis?”

He breathed in like he was trying to steady himself, like you asking made it real.

“Whatever this is,” he said slowly, “it’s good. I don’t wanna mess it up. And I don’t want it to be just… this.” He motioned vaguely between your bodies. “I want to keep building. With you. On and off the mic.”

You blinked. The heat in your chest shifted still burning, but different now. 

Then he added, eyes flicking up to yours again, cautious but hopeful: “I’ve been thinking about the next leg of my tour. And I know your schedule’s wild, but…” He exhaled. “Would you ever want to come with me? Not as, like, my plus-one or whatever. As an artist. We could perform the track. Maybe more. Bring something new to the set.”

Your heart skipped. You weren’t expecting that not tonight, not like this.

You searched his face, trying to read between the lines. But there wasn’t anything hidden there. Just honesty.

You tilted your head, smiling. “Is this your way of saying you want to spend more time with me?”

He grinned, a little crooked. “It’s my way of saying I don’t want to stop this”

Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck. “Lemme think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That a maybe?”

“That’s a hell yeah, but I’m pretending to play hard to get.”

He laughed, pulling you back in by the waist. “I’ll take it.”

He kissed you again, all smile and promise, and in that moment, it felt less like a maybe and more like the start of everything.

[hopeymchope]

The utter brilliance of Castlevania: Nocturne S1 (and the fucking pox of right-wing YouTubers)

I just rewatched Castelvania: Nocturne's first season, and it's so fucking excellent. Upon first viewing, I already thought it was probably the second-best season of animated Castlevania, but now? I think it's probably the best one.

The character relationships offer so much drama and emotion. The dialogue is both clever/witty AND moving. The directing of the action sequences has always been top-tier on this show, but the vocal performances make them even more engaging and involving. The way they've infused historical context into the story is absolutely brilliant.

Some of the weird story decisions RE: Dracula at the end of the first series' fourth season (not unsatisfying decisions, mind you, but still just... bizarre, if you're adapting this franchise) really stuck the writers in a weird position as far as how to move forward. I could think of maybe three solid possibilities: one which would undermine the ending of S4 completely, one which would require a HUGE leap forward into the modern day, and the third? Is basically what they did.

Bringing in Erzebet Bathory, the primary antagonist of Castlevania: Bloodlines, was certainly a valid approach for how to deal with the Dracula situation. Applying her to the Rondo of Blood/Symphony of the Night era is surprising, but not terribly so; it's not like her historical counterpart didn't already exist. I have some qualms with HOW they did this (why is she Russian now instead of Hungarian.... ?), but there's no denying that she serves as an effective antagonist.

Look at that; that's literally Maria's design in "Nocturne" right there.

As a fan of the games, this is obviously a different world but still an extremely familiar one. Seasons 3 and 4 of the first series felt like we were drifting farther and farther away from our roots in the games, but Nocturne brings us closer to that inspiration again. Richter and Maria look like they stepped right out of the PSP's "Dracula X Chronicles," with their costumes nearly identical... though of course, Richter eventually adds and embraces the headband from his original "Rondo" design. Maria is just a handful of years older than she is in Rondo/Dracula X Chronicles, allowing her to be far less of the out-of-place childish cartoon character that she comes off as in Rondo (or Castlevania Judgment, for that matter). I realize that was the POINT of her character in Rondo — to feel like she invaded from a totally different series — but the writers do a great job bringing her in line with the tone and characters of the animated series and overall franchise in Nocturne. The characters' powers and abilities are very much based in the games; we even get an (incredibly rousing!) rendition of "Divine Bloodlines" when Richter pulls off a "Grand Cross"-style magical attack for the first time in his life. It's exhilarating. And that's even without me getting into how Richter uses his triple-knife throw, or how we get the lore of the woefully underrated "Harmony of Dissonance" rolled into this show when a certain character makes a surprise appearance (to my immense delight).

Regarding the original four seasons... "I'm going to eat your soul, shit it out and and use it to smother your fucking girlfriend" was not the kind of dialogue I expected to hear from DEATH, of all people.

There are times in the original four-season run when it feels like it's trying a little too hard to be edgy and grimdark—times when the excessive gore and the insane use of profanity feels like it's screaming "I AM AN ADULT ANIMATED SERIES" in a way that's undermining its best qualities. But Castlevania: Nocturne is too confident to fall into such traps. The gore is there, the profanity is present, but it's only in service of exciting action, consistent characterization, and powerful storytelling; no lingering still shots of blood-spattered cribs for shock value are necessary. It's just a smash from start to finish, and after each episode, I find myself pondering the implications of certain lines and stories — thinking about the goddamn philosophical underpinnings of this animated show based on video games.

Nocturne is a prime example of how and why we're in a golden age of video game adaptions right now. This thing is BEGGING for a deep dive into its world, its lore, and its characters' worldviews. It's the kind of thing that would make for killer YouTube essays exploring all of its facets, because there is just SO MUCH here.

So when I go onto YouTube, and I only find one video that even says "It's not that bad" amidst a goddamned SEA of "This show's writing is shit and this series is fucking woke trash"??? That's when I know WE HAVE FAILED AS A FUCKING SPECIES.

These fucking right-wing YouTube dudebros are ruining our ability to think logically, they are MURDERING our media literacy. They are an absolute cancer. The fact that we don't have strong counterpoints out there against them is a crime; the right-wing grifters have totally conquered the algorithm.

I wish I had the skill or knowledge or even TIME to make videos of my own.

Fucking ugh.

[shadowsandcoffedripss]

yo i’ll take any axel x reader crumbs plsss

You came in the right place anon!

I wanted to make a post for the mustache gang, since I got this request might as well write for Axel first ^^

(I also did Tommy, the first drabble/one shot I did <33)

This is more of a short imagine, hope Axel lovers enjoy this ^^ (Axel lover right here hehe)

Small plot: based on that video of Justyna saying that in her hotel there's a sauna, that wasn't in KAJ one. You decide to join the fun 👀, also since I have free will and ideas, in this drabble the reader is part of the trio, making it a quartet! Also I don't think I made the reader gender specific here, soo everyone is happy! And the ! mark in KAJ is your name ^^

Justyna's words almost made you jump in excitement. She.had.a.sauna.in.her.hotel.

A few crew members there in the rehearsal backstage might have looked at the four suited singers weirdly for more than usual.

Maybe because you four basically couldn't stop smiling at the thought of finally laying down for some time, enjoying a relaxing moment without any interviewer coming right at you, or having to dance for the 100th time.

It wasn't bad at all, you enjoyed performing your song so much, seeing so many fans making content for you four (although, you had to admit. Some were kind of weird..)

Especially with your colleagues and long term friends. Especially a certain four-eyed one.

But having to wear that suit all day long, smiling and waving and singing, wasn't the calmest thing ever.

Also holding your instrument, just like Axel was doing with his accordion, was another thing adding to your slowly "going insane" path.

So when you finally settled down in the wooden place, steam blowing off and warming up the space, you let out a low contented sigh.

Sitting in between Axel and Jakob, the events of the last few days washed over you. You managed to qualify for the Grand Final on Saturday, and you also found free time to go to one sauna.

Things couldn't get better.

You got closer to Kevin, and a small grin crept up on your face.

"So big Kev, we can say you are excited?"

A purposefully horrible Australian accent was given to the last bit of the sentence, and laughter filled the room.

You found yourself staring at Axel, glasses left out, hair slicked back from the warm temperature. Oh, he never looked better.

You had caught feelings for him since a lot of time before Basel, but never had the strength to confess.

Sure, doing all the crazy comical stuff you've done over YouTube and around Europe was easy. But confessing feelings for one of your bestfriends, who you knew almost everything, from his favorite color to how many cloth strokes he gave to clear up his glasses, really was impossible.

Noticing how you still hadn't done anything, a little shiny lightbulb turned inside of the youngest KAJ! member, and he caught Jakob's attention, motioning him to get closer.

"What now?"

"I think it's time for ! to confess to Axel."

Jakob's eyes lit up, and a half giggle escaped his mouth.

"Ooh, a steamy romance, like that."

"Okay, let's find a fitting excuse."

Jakob and Kevin thought for a second, and found a perfect idea.

Kevin turned towards the rest of the quartet, and while pointing towards the sauna's exit, the duo's diabolical plan started.

"We should update our fans about finding the sauna for the celebrations! I'll go get my phone, and Jakob needs to get more towels! Right, Jakob?"

Jakob's usual confused face manifested once again, and after some back and forth looks towards the others, he started nodding.

"Y-yeah! Towels, you never have enough of those! Okay !, Axel. We'll be right back."

You muttered a quiet okay, and while the two went out of the sauna, you were left with confusion and internal panic at the thought of being alone with Axel.

"Hey, !."

You successfully managed to look back at him, trying your best to not show the flustered expression you had.

"Yeah?"

"Have any idea why they wanted to leave us alone here?"

Oh no. He's clueless.

"No idea. You know Kevin and Jakob, always up for some mischief."

"Yes, maybe you're right. Do you mind blowing off some steam?"

"Wh-what?"

"With the ladle."

Right. You were in a sauna, so of course Axel meant the actual steam.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

You moved towards the ladle, your body grazing Axel's, and managed to do what he asked without anymore embarrassing accidents.

A few minutes of silence filled the room, and there still wasn't any trace of the two menaces. You were going to do worse as soon as you got the chance. That's for sure.

"You know, I think I might have realized why those two left us here."

Oh no. He's not so clueless.

"Really? Why then?"

He slowly, oh so slowly, got close to his partner and friend,

(even though it seemed more and more obvious that something was starting to sparkle between the two)

his face a few centimeters away, moustache faintly grazing your own lips.

"You like me more than a friend, don't you?"

Oh no. He's definitely not clueless.

Heat crept up from the other's cheeks, and you were sure that it wasn't because of the warm steam. Not completely, at least.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

That so familiar grin of his appeared on his face, not long after looking up and down at you.

"Oh, really?"

He got once again close, fingers brushing against the singer's hair.

"Then why are you blushing that much?"

Tilting his head, he stopped any possibility for ! to give a snarky reply to his smug words by planting a soft and faint kiss on the Finnish lips.

Clapping and woos from the sauna's door interrupted the rather nice moment, the other two of the group clearly happy that their plan managed to succeed.

Axel scoffed at the sight of Kevin smirk and Jakob's enthusiastic smile, but it wasn't a pissed off one.

Managing to recompose yourself, a heartfelt laughter bloomed from ! lips.

"The little matchmakers decided to show up!"

Kevin gave a theatrical bow, while Jakob made a little military salute, lips pursed, even though the seriousness was already fading, smile reappearing once again.

"No problem. Now, shall we make the video?"

You moved aside to give the taller one space, but that futile attempt was stopped by Jakob sitting himself in order for you and Axel to be close to each other.

"No, no lovebirds! You stay close now."

"But-"

"No but! I already opened Instagram."

You just shrugged your shoulders, but you both couldn't help but be happy of having those two with you.

Maybe saunas weren't the only hot thing in Finland.

You had one right next to you.

[andy-writes-books]

No Box To Fit Into

Chapters 13-20, it gets a little heated in chapter 20, but not too much

Chapter 13 – “The Space Between Words” 

It was raining the next evening when Danny showed up at Andrew’s door, his hoodie damp and clinging to his arms. He hadn’t planned on going out. But the house had felt too quiet, and his thoughts too loud. The kind of loud that built up pressure behind his eyes and made it hard to breathe. 

Andrew opened the door in socks and an oversized band tee, a faint look of surprise on his face that softened into something warmer the second he saw who it was. 

“Hey,” Danny said, voice low. “Sorry for just… showing up.” 

Andrew stepped aside and waved him in. “You don’t have to be sorry. You can always come here.” 

Danny peeled off his hoodie, shaking the water from his sleeves. The scent of rain and the familiar comfort of Andrew’s room wrapped around him like a second layer of clothes.  Posters on the wall, laundry half-folded on the chair, lo-fi music playing softly from his laptop—it all made Danny feel like he could exhale for the first time today. 

They sat on Andrew’s bed like they always did, side by side, not touching but close. The silence between them was easy. They’d learned how to speak through it over the years. 

Danny broke it first. 

“I tried something today,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Just in my head. I used they/them pronouns. For me.” 

Andrew turned to him, eyebrows raised slightly. Not surprised—more like quietly interested. 

“And?” he asked. 

Danny shrugged. “It didn’t feel wrong. It felt… softer. Like the pressure to perform something I didn’t quite believe in kind of fell away for a second. I don’t know what it means yet, but it didn’t feel fake. That surprised me.” 

Andrew nodded slowly. “That’s big, Danny. I’m really glad you told me.” 

Danny looked at him, a knot tightening in his chest. “Do you think it’s weird?” 

Andrew blinked. “No. I think it’s honest. I think it’s… brave, actually.” 

Danny let out a breath. “I’m scared. Like, what if I change and people don’t recognize me anymore? What if I don’t recognize myself?” 

Andrew was quiet for a moment, then said, “I don’t think you’re becoming someone else. I think you’re peeling back layers that were never really you to begin with.” 

That hit something deep. Danny bit the inside of his cheek, then turned to Andrew. “Can I ask you something kind of heavy?” 

“Of course.” 

“When you came out as gay… were you afraid it would change how people saw you? Like it would change everything?” 

Andrew nodded. “Yeah. I was terrified. Especially with my parents. I kept thinking: what if they love me less? What if my friends stop acting the same around me? What if it’s not just a thing about me, but a thing that defines me, and that scares them?” 

Danny looked down. “That’s exactly how I feel.” 

“I know,” Andrew said quietly. “But you remember what I told you, when I came out?” 

Danny smiled faintly. “You said you felt more like yourself than you ever had before.” 

“Exactly. Because it wasn’t about changing who I was—it was about letting myself be who I’d always been. I think you’re there right now. You’re starting to let yourself be.” 

Danny felt something sting behind his eyes and quickly blinked it away. 

“I don’t even know what to call it yet,” they said. “I don’t know if I’m nonbinary, or genderfluid, or something else entirely. I don’t even know if I want to use a different name. I just… I know I don’t want to keep pretending that ‘guy’ fits me perfectly. It doesn’t.” 

Andrew was quiet for a long beat. Then he reached over, placing a hand gently on Danny’s knee. 

“You don’t need to have a label yet. I don’t care if you’re a guy, or nonbinary, or something else entirely. You’re still you. Still Danny. And I—” He stopped himself, cheeks flushing. “I care about you. Not some version of you I expect you to be.” 

Danny blinked at him, heart thudding. “Even if I change?” 

“You’re not changing in a way that makes you less you,” Andrew said. “You’re becoming more you. And I’ll still be here. I promise.” 

Danny let out a shaky breath. “We’ve kissed.” 

Andrew smiled, a little shy. “Yeah.” 

“And we still don’t really know what that means.” 

Andrew nodded. “We don’t. But I know I liked it.” 

Danny laughed quietly. “Me too. Even when I was confused. I still wanted it to mean something.” 

Andrew hesitated, then added, “It does mean something. I don’t need us to have a perfect label either. Queer, maybe? Just… figuring it out as we go?” 

Danny leaned their head on Andrew’s shoulder, their voice muffled by the cotton of his shirt. “Figuring it out together sounds really good right now.” 

Outside, the rain tapped gently against the windows, like it was giving them space to sit still and breathe. For the first time in weeks, Danny felt like they weren’t running from themselves. They were walking toward something. Slowly. With someone beside them. 

No label. No rush. Just room to grow. 

Chapter 14 – “What Are We?” 

It was late by the time Danny got home. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the streets glistened under the soft yellow haze of streetlights. As they walked, their hands tucked deep in their pockets, Danny replayed every second of their conversation with Andrew. Every word. Every pause. Every look. 

Figuring it out together. 

That phrase looped in their head like a lyric to a song they didn’t know all the words to yet. 

The next day was a blur. Classes came and went, teachers talked at them, but none of it really landed. Danny was too busy watching the way Andrew’s eyes would flick over to them across the lunch table. Noticing how their knees brushed when they sat too close during study hall. How it wasn’t just comfort anymore—it was something magnetic. Familiar, but charged. 

They had kissed. More than once. And it hadn’t felt like an accident either time. 

After school, Andrew offered to walk Danny home. 

“I thought maybe we could talk more,” he said casually, but there was a question behind his eyes. Danny nodded without hesitation. 

They walked in silence for a block before Danny said, “So… last night.” 

Andrew smiled. “Yeah.” 

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Danny admitted, glancing down at the sidewalk. “About us. About… what this is.” 

Andrew’s smile faded slightly, but not in a bad way. He looked thoughtful. “Same. And it’s weird because I feel so sure about how I feel when I’m with you. But as soon as I try to explain it, I don’t know what words to use.” 

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Me too. It’s like… we’ve always been close. But now it’s something more. And I like that it’s more, but I don’t know what to call it. Because I’m not really a guy. At least, not just a guy. And you said you’re gay. So…” 

Andrew stopped walking. Danny stopped too. 

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Andrew said, carefully. “About what it means that I like you, and you’re questioning your gender. And the truth is… it doesn’t change how I feel. But it does make me think about how I’ve labeled myself. Like, I’ve said I’m gay because I’ve only ever been into guys. But maybe that label isn’t the whole picture.” 

Danny looked at him, something uncertain in their chest starting to ease. 

Andrew continued, “I think I’m queer. I didn’t use that word before because it felt too vague. But now? I kind of like that it is vague. It gives room for everything I’m still figuring out.” 

Danny exhaled. “Yeah. That makes sense. I like that too. Queer feels… like it fits both of us. Even if we’re still changing.” 

They kept walking, a little slower now. 

“I want to be close to you,” Andrew said. “Like… not just in a ‘best friend’ way. I think we already are something more. Even if we haven’t said it.” 

Danny smiled shyly. “You think we’re dating?” 

Andrew chuckled. “I don’t know. Are we?” 

Danny tilted their head. “I think… maybe we don’t have to call it dating. But I know I like holding your hand. And kissing you. And talking about stuff I’ve never told anyone else.” 

“Same,” Andrew said. “So maybe we’re… in a thing?” 

Danny laughed. “A thing? That’s our official relationship status?” 

Andrew grinned. “Until we find a better word, yeah.” 

There was a pause, then Danny reached out, fingers brushing Andrew’s. This time, Andrew took their hand and held it. 

“I don’t know exactly who I am yet,” Danny said quietly. “But I know I feel safe with you. And seen.” 

Andrew squeezed their hand. “Then that’s enough. For now.” 

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, fingers intertwined, hearts a little steadier. The labels would come later, maybe. Or maybe not. But whatever this was—this gentle, wordless thing between them—it was real. 

And real was a pretty good start. 

Chapter 15 – “The First Time We Called It a Date” 

It was Andrew’s idea. 

They were sitting under the bleachers after gym—sweaty, tired, and trying to avoid the post-class chaos—when he turned to Danny with a grin and said, “Okay, hear me out: Friday night. Movie, snacks, actual intentional eye contact. A date.” 

Danny blinked. “A date date?” 

Andrew shrugged, playful but a little shy. “I mean, unless you’d rather keep calling it a ‘thing.’” 

Danny laughed, a soft warmth blooming in their chest. “No, I like the word. Let’s call it a date.” 

The rest of the week moved in a slow, buzzing blur. Danny felt a nervous kind of excitement settle behind their ribs. They had kissed Andrew. They had held hands. But this? This was different. A date felt like something new. Something that needed courage. 

Friday arrived too fast. 

Danny stood in front of their closet for almost half an hour, trying on outfits that didn’t feel right, then circling back to the one that did: soft black pants, a slightly oversized denim jacket over a cropped hoodie they’d thrifted with D. And makeup—not much, just a bit of mascara and a little shimmer on their cheeks. Not to impress anyone. Just because they wanted to. 

When they looked in the mirror, they saw someone closer to themselves than they'd ever dared to be before. 

When Andrew rang the doorbell, Danny’s heart jumped. 

“You look…” Andrew stopped mid-sentence, eyes scanning them with quiet admiration. “You look really good.” 

Danny smiled, brushing their hand down their jacket. “Thanks. You do too.” 

Andrew had dressed up, in his own low-key way. A clean flannel, dark jeans, hair a little more styled than usual. It was the kind of effort that didn’t scream look at me—it whispered, I care. 

They took the bus into town and caught a 7:00 p.m. showing of some indie film neither of them had heard of but both agreed looked “weird enough to be interesting.” They bought too much popcorn and not enough napkins. Andrew kept bumping his knee against Danny’s, not quite an accident. 

The movie was odd and kind of beautiful. Something about two strangers in a liminal dreamworld, searching for the version of themselves they left behind. It felt a little too real in parts. Danny found themselves watching Andrew’s profile as much as they watched the screen. 

Halfway through, Andrew’s hand slid into theirs. Just… stayed there. Warm and steady. 

After the movie, they wandered into the night air, laughter still hanging in the spaces between their words. 

“Okay, that movie made zero sense,” Andrew said, tossing popcorn crumbs from his shirt. 

“Yeah,” Danny grinned. “But it was kind of amazing.” 

They stopped near a quiet corner, the streetlight casting a soft halo over them. 

Danny hesitated, then asked, “So, this was… really a date?” 

Andrew looked at them, serious now. “Yeah. It was.” 

“I liked it,” Danny said. “I was nervous. But… it felt really good.” 

“Me too.” Andrew’s voice softened. “It felt like something real.” 

Danny looked up, their voice a little more cautious. “Does it feel different to you? Now that I’m not just… a guy?” 

Andrew didn’t answer right away. He took a breath. “It feels different in some ways. But not in a bad way. It just feels more honest. Like I’m seeing more of you, and I really like what I see.” 

Danny’s throat tightened. “Even if I end up changing more?” 

Andrew reached for their hand again. “Even then. Especially then.” 

The world felt quiet around them, the kind of quiet that held space, not emptiness. Danny leaned forward, just a little. Andrew met them there, lips brushing softly. 

The kiss wasn’t heated or rushed. It was careful. Considered. A promise, not a question. 

When they pulled apart, Danny rested their forehead against Andrew’s. 

“So,” Danny murmured, “what do we call it now?” 

Andrew smiled. “Still figuring it out. But I think we can say it’s more than a thing now.” 

Danny smiled back, heart full. 

“Yeah,” they whispered. “Definitely more than a thing.” 

Chapter 16 – “Fireworks” 

The sun was just starting to dip below the rooftops when Danny and Andrew arrived at D’s place. The smell of grilled veggies and sunscreen hung in the warm air, and laughter spilled from the backyard. D’s parents were the kind who kept their parties chill but meaningful—barefoot on the lawn, rainbow cups for drinks, pride flags woven into the decor right next to the red, white, and blue. 

Danny paused at the gate, heart fluttering. They were wearing a pair of cutoff shorts, a loose tank, and a pink bandana around their neck that D had helped them pick out. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was the first time they’d dressed this way outside of a thrift store or Andrew’s room. 

“You okay?” Andrew asked, hand brushing Danny’s. 

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Just… nervous. About being seen. About being us.” 

Andrew smiled gently. “We don’t have to perform anything. We’re just here. That’s enough.” 

Inside the yard, D waved them over with two sparklers already lit and waving in the air like tiny fire-daggers. “You made it! And you look amazing,” they said to Danny, offering a dramatic twirl of approval. “Seriously. You’re glowing.” 

Danny grinned, tension easing. 

Eli appeared a moment later, wrapped in a mesh tank and denim cutoffs, holding a drink in each hand. “I brought hydration and queer cheer,” they said, passing one to Danny. “Glad you came.” 

“Thanks,” Danny said. “It’s good to see you again.” 

Eli nodded. “D told me you’ve been figuring some stuff out. For what it’s worth, you’re doing it with style.” 

They all settled into the grass near the fire pit, where a few other people were already gathered—mostly older teens from D’s community center, a few allies from school. Music played low from a speaker, someone passed around temporary tattoos, and someone else tried to roast marshmallows over a citronella candle before giving up entirely. 

Danny leaned into Andrew, who looped an arm around their back like it was the most natural thing in the world. No one stared. No one asked questions. The world didn’t stop turning. 

They felt… okay. 

D nudged them with a knowing look. “You two are adorable, by the way.” 

Danny rolled their eyes, but they couldn’t help smiling. “We’re figuring it out.” 

“That’s what the whole summer’s for,” Eli said. “Love and identity and too much sunblock.” 

Later, when the fireworks started—big, messy bursts over the park down the street—they all lay back on a blanket together, eyes on the sky. Red and gold and green lit up their faces, reflections dancing in wide, open eyes. 

Danny felt Andrew’s hand slide into theirs again. 

“Do you feel like yourself right now?” Andrew whispered, just loud enough to hear over the distant booms. 

Danny turned their head, watching Andrew’s profile in the flickering light. 

“Yeah,” they said. “More than I ever have.” 

Andrew smiled, then leaned in and kissed them softly. 

And for the first time, Danny didn’t feel like they were trying to become someone else. They were becoming themselves. With people who saw them. With people who stayed. 

As the fireworks painted the sky with chaos and color, Danny whispered, “I think this might be the first summer that feels like mine.” 

D squeezed their shoulder. “It is. It so is.” 

Chapter 17 – “Names and Other In-Between Things” 

The morning after the party was slow and golden. Danny woke up with the smell of charcoal still lingering in their hair and the echo of fireworks behind their eyes. 

They were stretched out on a blanket in D’s room, a second-hand fan buzzing lazily in the corner. D was curled beside them, scrolling through their phone and humming to a song Danny didn’t know. The kind of quiet that only exists between people who have been through things together settled over the space. 

Danny rolled onto their side. “Hey,” they said softly. 

D looked up. “Hey.” 

Danny hesitated for a moment. “Can I ask you something kind of weird?” 

D sat up a little, curious. “Of course.” 

Danny played with the edge of the blanket. “How did you choose your name? Like… when you first started questioning everything. Did it just come to you?” 

D smiled gently. “Sort of. I kept trying out names in my head—ones I thought sounded cool, or neutral, or like who I wanted to be. But nothing stuck until I came back to just… D. I realized I didn’t need a whole new name. Just one that felt like mine.” 

Danny nodded slowly, their throat feeling tighter than expected. 

“I’ve been using they/them,” they said, voice quiet. “And it feels really right. Like… not like I’m pretending or trying. Just like I’m finally showing up.” 

D’s smile widened. “I’ve noticed. It fits you.” 

“But now I’m wondering if the name ‘Danny’ still fits too.” They bit their lip. “It’s weird. I’ve always been Danny. It doesn’t feel wrong. But I don’t know if it still feels… like all of me.” 

D leaned back on their elbows. “Names carry history. Sometimes they come with weight, sometimes with warmth. What do you feel when you hear yours?” 

Danny thought for a long time. “It feels like childhood. Like soccer practice and birthday parties and people calling it across the hallway without thinking. And it’s not a bad feeling. But it also feels like it’s holding me in a shape I don’t fit anymore.” 

“Have you tried saying different names out loud?” D asked. “Or shortening it, stretching it, shifting it?” 

Danny nodded. “I’ve been trying some in my head. Just to see how they sound. I like how ‘Dani’ looks. But it still kind of feels like Danny in disguise, you know?” 

D laughed softly. “That’s not always a bad thing. You don’t have to throw out your history to make room for who you’re becoming. You can evolve it.” 

“I guess I just want to make sure the name I go by makes room for all the parts of me,” Danny said, voice cracking slightly. “The queer part, the not-quite-boy part. The part that’s still figuring it out. I want something that doesn’t make me feel like I have to shrink.” 

D reached over and squeezed their hand. “Then keep playing with it. You don’t have to pick right now. You don’t have to choose at all, if Danny still feels okay. But if something else starts to feel more you—follow it.” 

Danny nodded, heart heavy but hopeful. “Maybe I’ll start with telling people I’m using they/them. See how that sits. Maybe the name thing will come later.” 

D grinned. “Look at you. Growing.” 

Danny rolled their eyes, but smiled back. “It’s weird. It’s scary. But it also feels… kind of exciting.” 

“Becoming yourself always is,” D said. “Just promise me one thing?” 

“What?” 

“Whatever name you go with, make sure it’s one you say with your whole chest. You deserve that.” 

Danny laughed, and for the first time that morning, it wasn’t quiet or careful. It was full. 

Chapter 18 – “Say My Name (Maybe)” 

It was one of those slow, golden afternoons where everything felt like it was suspended in honey. The kind of day where the air was thick with quiet, and nothing needed to happen fast. 

Danny was curled on Andrew’s bed, legs tucked underneath them, flipping through a notebook full of scribbles, lyrics, and the kind of thoughts you only write when no one else is looking. Andrew sat cross-legged on the floor, organizing his ever-growing record collection and humming along to a soft indie track playing in the background. 

“You ever think about changing your name?” Danny asked suddenly, their voice light but edged with something sharper. 

Andrew looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You mean, like, legally? Or just, like… trying a different vibe?” 

Danny smiled slightly. “More like trying a vibe.” 

Andrew leaned back on his hands. “Okay, yeah. I’ve thought about it. Like, when I was twelve, I wanted to be called A.J. because I thought it sounded cool and mysterious.” 

Danny laughed. “A.J.? Really?” 

“Hey, I was full of angst and had zero chill.” 

They both laughed, and then the silence settled again—this time a little heavier, a little more intentional. 

“I’ve been thinking about it for myself,” Danny said softly, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “About names. About what feels right.” 

Andrew straightened up a bit, his voice gentle. “Is ‘Danny’ not feeling good anymore?” 

“I don’t hate it,” Danny said, shrugging. “But it feels like a version of me that doesn’t quite fit anymore. Like… it’s close, but not exactly me. And I’ve been wondering if there’s something better out there. Something that does fit.” 

Andrew nodded, letting the words settle before saying anything. “Have you tried out any others? Just in your head?” 

“Yeah. Some,” Danny said. “I keep coming back to a few, but I haven’t said them out loud yet. Feels scary. Like… what if it sounds weird? Or what if I say it and it doesn’t feel like mine?” 

Andrew smiled softly. “Then you try another. That’s how it works, right? You try things on until something fits like your favorite hoodie.” 

Danny smiled at the comparison, then reached for their notebook. “Can I say a few out loud? Just… try them on?” 

“Of course.” 

Danny took a breath, then read softly, almost under their breath, “Riley. Quinn. Jules. Dani—with an ‘i’. Even thought about just going by Dee for a while, kind of like D.” 

Andrew nodded after each one, taking them in like little pieces of a puzzle. “They’re all cool. But which one felt best when you said it?” 

Danny chewed on the inside of their cheek. “Dani felt… familiar. Like it could be a bridge from where I’ve been to where I’m going. But Riley felt… new. Free.” 

Andrew grinned. “Riley’s got good energy. But honestly? You could tell me your name was Starlight Moonbeam and I’d still think you’re the coolest person in the room.” 

Danny snorted. “Please never call me that.” 

“No promises,” Andrew teased. Then, softer: “Do you want me to try calling you one of them? Just to see how it feels?” 

Danny hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe… Riley? Just once?” 

Andrew tilted his head, smile gentle. “Okay.” He paused, then said it with a kind of reverence, like a secret he’d been trusted with. “Riley.” 

Danny’s heart jumped. It felt different. It felt like something had shifted, like a door had cracked open just enough to let light in. 

“Do you want me to say it again?” Andrew asked. 

Danny nodded. 

“Hey, Riley,” Andrew said, a little more casual this time, a soft grin tugging at the edge of his lips. “Do you want to pick the next record?” 

Danny—Riley—grinned back, cheeks warm. 

“Yeah,” they said. “Yeah, I do.” 

And for the first time, the name didn’t just sound right. It felt right. 

Not perfect. Not final. But right for right now. 

And that was enough. 

Chapter 19 – “What Comes After Midnight” 

It was well past midnight by the time the movie ended. 

Andrew’s bedroom was dim and safe, lit only by the soft blue glow of his lava lamp and the occasional headlights sliding past the window. The remains of popcorn and gummy bears were scattered between them, but neither one of them was really thinking about the movie anymore. 

Riley lay on their side, one arm folded beneath their head, watching Andrew across the tangle of pillows. 

“Can I ask you something?” Riley’s voice was hushed, as if the darkness needed to be respected. 

Andrew blinked sleepily and nodded. “Always.” 

Riley hesitated, then asked, “What did it feel like for you, when you realized you were gay? Like… was it scary? Or freeing?” 

Andrew rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Both. At first, it felt like this… huge, loud truth I was trying to whisper. Like if I said it out loud, it would ruin everything. But then I said it to myself, and it was like—oh. That’s why everything else didn’t make sense.” 

Riley was quiet for a long time. “I think that’s kind of how I’m feeling now. About everything.” 

“About gender?” 

“Yeah. And… about you. About us.” 

Andrew turned toward them slowly, eyes soft. 

“I think about you all the time,” Riley admitted, cheeks burning even in the dark. “And not just in a ‘you’re cute’ kind of way. I think about how it feels when you say my name. How I feel safe here. Like I’m not performing anything. Like I don’t have to earn being loved.” 

Andrew’s breath caught. “You don’t. Not here. Not ever.” 

Riley looked down. “It’s just… this is all so new. The name. The pronouns. Everything. And sometimes I wonder if you still feel the same about me. If it feels different now.” 

Andrew scooted closer, gently brushing their fingers together. “It feels more real now. Because I’m not loving who I thought you were. I’m loving who you are. Who you’re becoming.” 

Riley’s breath hitched. 

“Riley,” Andrew said again, tasting the name like something sacred. “I don’t care what name you go by. Or how you dress. Or which box the world wants to put you in. You’re still you. You’re still the person I kissed under the bleachers. You’re still the person I want to tell everything to.” 

Riley looked at him, eyes wide and wet. “Are we… something?” 

Andrew smiled, soft and sure. “I think we’re something. I think we’ve been something for a while. Even if we didn’t have a word for it.” 

Riley leaned in, resting their forehead against Andrew’s. “I don’t know what we are yet. But I want to find out.” 

Andrew’s hand found Riley’s. “Then let’s keep figuring it out. Together.” 

They stayed like that for a long time—foreheads touching, breaths slowing, the silence filled with trust. With a kind of love that didn’t need a label yet. 

Outside, the sky was turning a softer shade of dark. Morning wasn’t far away. But in that room, wrapped in blankets and unspoken feelings, it still felt like the safest part of the night. 

Chapter 20 – “Too Close, Too Fast” 

The room was dark, except for the slow swirl of Andrew’s lava lamp casting soft pinks and oranges across the ceiling. Riley lay on their back, staring up at the color shift like it might reveal something about the future—about themself, about Andrew, about this thing growing between them that neither had dared to name. 

Andrew was beside them, close. Not touching. Not yet. 

Riley turned their head slightly, eyes catching the edge of Andrew’s jaw, the soft line of his cheek in the glow. 

“Are you tired?” they asked, their voice quiet and unsure. 

Andrew turned his head too, so they were facing each other in the half-light. “Not really.” 

The silence stretched again, but not uncomfortably. There was a hum to it—thick with things unsaid. Questions. Hopes. Want. 

Riley spoke again, even softer. “Can I kiss you?” 

Andrew smiled, already inching closer. “You don’t have to ask.” 

The first kiss was familiar now. Gentle. Warm. They met halfway, mouths brushing with a sweetness that made Riley’s chest ache. It should have ended there. A soft kiss, a retreat. But it didn’t. 

Andrew kissed them again. This time deeper. Hungrier. 

Riley’s hand found Andrew’s shirt and tugged—just a little—without thinking. Andrew shifted, their legs tangling. The next kiss was open-mouthed, breathing shared, heat blooming fast between them like a spark had caught something dry. 

Then hands. 

Andrew’s fingers were in Riley’s hair. Riley’s palm slid over Andrew’s side, unsure where to go but desperate to keep touching. The kiss turned fast, feverish. It was too much and not enough. They moved like they were trying to memorize each other’s bodies with mouths and hands and the tremble of every breath. 

And then—suddenly—they pulled apart. 

Riley gasped, eyes wide. “Oh.” 

Andrew’s cheeks were flushed, lips red. “Sh-Crap. Sorry—I didn’t mean to—” 

“No, no,” Riley said quickly, heart racing. “It’s not you. I… I liked it. I really liked it. It’s just—” 

“It got fast.” 

“Yeah.” 

They lay there, panting softly, not touching now. Riley could still feel the heat of Andrew’s mouth on theirs, still felt the weight of everything unspoken. 

“I didn’t know I could feel that much that quickly,” Riley admitted, voice small. 

Andrew let out a nervous laugh. “Same. It kind of hit me like—bam—you’re here and I want you and oh my god I’m kissing you like I’ve lost my mind.” 

Riley laughed too, shaky and wide-eyed. “Yeah. That.” 

They lay in silence for a moment, letting their heart rates come back down, staring at the ceiling again. The pinks and oranges of the lamp danced across the walls like a quiet apology. 

Andrew finally reached over and took Riley’s hand. 

“We can slow down,” he said. “We can stop anytime. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“I know,” Riley said. And they meant it. 

“I just… really, really like you,” Andrew added. 

Riley looked at him, cheeks still hot, lips still tingling. “I really, really like you too.” 

They didn’t kiss again that night. They just stayed close, fingers laced, breathing in sync. It was enough to know that they could go there—that they wanted to—but didn’t have to yet. 

That kind of trust? That was more intimate than anything. 

__________________

Authors Note:

TYSM for everyone who read the 1-12 chapters! i hope you wnjoy these ones, tagging to help spread, i hopw u can help a small writer

@panromanticturtle @peachplays1 @ashleiiii-the-trans-sapphie @chernobylcatfish09 @cieraheart @derangedcrowstuff @dantes-paradiso @frooglet @faeriesandfables @f3ath3rflam3 @hansel-the-idiot @idontexist734 @kennyslovelanguage @keepingdarksecrets @littleboneboyxd @my-chem-aromance @mrflatfox @noahaspronouns @organic-coconut-milk @raynetherainbowwithaflamethrower @starman-01 @ssstaryy @that-little-lychee @vixiontheteenager @worlds-okayest-bisexual @your-local-bi-guy @krispykreme1997

[staticwaffles]

My thoughts on the second season. Not looking to start a conversation here. I just want to get my thoughts and feelings down.

Overall:

The show looked amazing. Somehow better than the first season.

The production and design teams deserve all the awards.

I loved the cinematography.

I definitely felt Britell's absence but I thought Roberts did a decent job with the soundtrack.

The cast give some of their best performances ever this season.

The highs of the season were very high (Ghorman arc, Mon's speech), but the lows were very low for me (writing choices for some of the characters and the time jumps).

The three episodes a week thing was brutal and I really wish we had one episode a week instead. I wanted to sit with an episode for a week to dig into it and discuss it with my friends. It also sucked having this season end so fast after waiting over two years for it.

The first season will always hold a special place in my heart, and I wish deep down we were given five seasons in that style, or at least three seasons. I felt the second season, particularly from a character standpoint, really suffered from the time jumps.

If the first season is a 10/10 for me, then the second season is an 8/10, and it is very much carried by the Ghorman arc. For me, personally, the show succeeded in the story it wanted to tell, but didn't quite hit the mark as a Rogue One prequel.

Below are thoughts I wrote down after watching each arc, and then again after the finale. Warning: I yap a lot and don't make much sense.

Arc 1:

I have a weird relationship with this arc. It was very enjoyable, but the first two episodes felt like a bit of a departure from the usual tone of the series? And in retrospect, this arc felt really weird in the grand scheme of the season (and even the show). Not sure how to word how I'm feeling here.

I loved the opening sequence. Cassian's speech to Niya. Learning on the job when flying the TIE. It looked incredible and was a great way to open the season.

The acting of the two "leaders" of the Dipshit Brigade was not on the level of this show. Apologies, but their performances do kind of take me out of it.

Ben is great as Krennic (as expected). I like how they are setting up Ghorman here.

Bix being an older sister to Wilmon is very special to me and I love that dynamic.

"I'VE BEEN UPSIDE FOR TWO DAYS!" I am so sorry Cassian, but I laughed so hard at this part. I loved it.

Oh my gosh the dinner scene. Syril laying on the bed. Incredible stuff.

Bix has been through a lot, so I'm not sure how I feel about that scene happening to her character. However, I give kudos to the show for calling it what it is.

I liked seeing the wedding but I felt that too much time was spent here? Also RIP Tay.

Pretty sure they just wrote off B2 here. At least he's alive?

Brasso :(

Footnote since I've watched the finale. Did they really not once mention B2 or Brasso at all after this arc??? I was a little shocked Cassian didn't toast to him with Vel. These were both beloved characters and then they were just...gone. I know B2 made a brief appearance at the end, but come on.

Arc 2:

This arc was much more Andor-like than the first. But all three episodes being released was brutal on my first watch. There was SO much information to process.

I can't stress this enough. Ghorman looks AMAZING. Practical sets my beloved.

This arc solidified my love for Kleya. She is up there on my list of favourite characters. And Elizabeth is knocking it out of the park with her acting. This was further cemented for me in the finale.

I'm really enjoying what they are doing with Syril. As well as Dedra.

Cassian going undercover as Varian Skye and code switching was everything to me. I need more of this.

Mon and Krennic going at each other in a verbal fist fight oh hell yeah.

Bix and Cassian. Where to begin. They're cute, and Diego and Adria have great chemistry, but I am not liking the direction they are taking with Bix and how they are writing her. The revenge scene was cool I guess? But it happened very suddenly. I needed more build up to it.

Not going to lie, I was expecting Cassian to be more committed to the cause at this point given what happened on Ferrix, his reaction to Nemik's manifesto, Narkina, and the whole "kill me or take me in" thing. I also felt he was rather largely absent from this arc?

Cinta's death. Oh boy. Just why? It was way too soon after they just reconciled. Vel and Cinta have hardly had much screen time at this point. I think it was at this moment I realized how much the time jumps were hurting this season as a lot of character development takes place off screen.

Arc 3:

Easily the best arc of the entire season. Episode 8 and 9 deserve the high praise and ratings.

They really like making Cassian shirtless in episode 7, huh? I'm not complaining.

More Bix and Wil sibling dynamic ahhh my heart.

Yavin looks great! I just wish we got to see more of them setting up the base and recruiting people. Again, the time jumps are taking these things away from us.

I actually quite liked the part with the Force Healer. Cassian being the "messenger" and "there's some place he needs to be" bit. They also played a stripped/slowed down version of the music that plays when he dies 1) during that part, 2) when Bix tells him later what the Force Healer said and they hug, 3) when Bix tells Vel "he'll be there when you need him", and 4) when Cassian is telling Bix he's done and that "there are still places to go to", and yeah that broke my heart :(

Episode 8. What can I say. An absolute masterpiece. I don't think I'll ever stop hearing the Ghor singing their national anthem and Dreena's broadcast.

Syril and Cassian's fight was incredibly well done and well worth the two season long build up. Also Cassian going "who are you?" had me screaming.

I also thought Syril was very well written over both seasons. I understood his motivations and his reactions. I thought his ending was well done. Huge props to Kyle for absolutely killing it as Syril.

And then Mon Mothma. Oh my gosh. What an amazing character. She has been one of my favourites since the first season. And I really like how this show has given so much more depth to her character. Genevieve O'Reilly deserves all the awards for her performance.

Speaking of Mon, her speech was incredible, and I loved the use of Eulogy here. There's a small part of me that wished she got her own epic monologue soundtrack, though.

Mon and Cassian on my screen together. I really needed this. I also like how Cassian extracting Mon showcases why he is the guy for the job.

I quite like where they're taking Cassian here. Like I said, he's the guy for the job, but he doesn't want to be the guy. I didn't quite fully understand this until his discussion with Kleya and then later with Luthen where he says, "I make my own decisions" and Luthen responds with, "Is that what you've been doing?" Cassian is someone who wants to make his own choices, but hardly gets to. Ever since Maarva took him from Kenari, it's mostly been others making these major life choices for him. I see the impact of this when he lets Wil go find Dreena. Even though it kills Cassian on the inside, he won't take that choice away from Wil. Then in Rogue One, Cassian finally makes his own choices. Idk this take on Cassian makes him more complex and human to me, and I really like it. It also strengthens the parallels between him and Jyn.

My two complaints with the above point is that 1) this should have happened sooner in the season, and 2) his relationship with Bix is just not done well enough for me to feel that it's the major thing holding him back from being fully committed.

Speaking of Bix, she is pushed to the side this arc. She's an amazing mechanic, so why couldn't there have been scenes of her teaching new recruits? Or doing a weapons assessment? Or just doing something that contributes to the base? Her speech at the end, whilst sad and well acted, didn't really stick the landing with me. I like her character and just feel she deserved better :( also Adria does a great job playing Bix and I wanted to see more.

Same with Vel. I needed to see more of her here. Maybe a discussion with Bix about Cinta, Brasso, and all the others they've lost (edit: this took place in the last arc, but with Cassian instead of Bix. I'm glad it happened but I'm still salty at no Brasso mention).

At least K2 is here. I don't mind the way they've introduced him into the series, I'm just sad we only get one arc with him and Cassian together. He really needed to be introduced sooner for me.

Despite my grievances, this arc was phenomenal.

Arc 4:

Episode 10 was amazing. Luthen, and especially Kleya, were some of the biggest highlights of this show for me. It was a risk putting an episode like this in the final arc, but I think it ultimately paid off.

The rest of this arc was enjoyable, but it felt like a "oh shit we need to tie into Rogue One" arc. It was a bit jarring getting into this after Ghorman and Mon's speech in the previous week.

Having Melshi, K2, and Cass together on my screen is something I'm so grateful for (be still my secret little Melshian heart). I loved all their scenes together. Also, more Melshi is always a good thing!

Speaking of K2, I do wish we had more of him. I understand the decision to not bring him in earlier, but I still feel disappointed.

Cassian throwing himself over Kleya to protect her? Obsessed.

Goodbye Bryar pistol :( it doesn't look like he had it with him after extracting Kleya.

Loved Vel and Cass toasting to some of those who have fallen (still upset at no Brasso mention, though). And I loved seeing more Vel on my screen, especially with Mon and Kleya.

Holy shit that ending for Dedra. That interrogation scene with Krennic was terrifying as well.

Nemik's manifesto again!!!!!! And WOW that ending for Partagaz.

I was a little shocked at there being no Jyn mention? Or at least something alluding to her existence? I'm glad they mentioned Galen at least.

Not sure how I feel yet on Cassian's characterization in the show. I enjoyed a lot of what they brought to the character, but I felt like he didn't get as much development as he did in the first season? I guess I'm a little disappointed, but overall satisfied. Ultimately, I was hoping for better in the final season.

Loved the little montage at the end though of Cassian walking through Yavin to depart for Kafrene. I sobbed. He also watered his plants beforehand. And yes I cried at that.

Not particularly happy with the baby scene. I feel like Bix, in general, deserved more screen time (independent of Cassian) and better writing if this is where they were taking her. However, I'm just not a big fan of this trope in general...

I'm happy Wilmon is alive and with Dreena.

B2 my beloved!!!!

I am definitely due for a Rogue One rewatch soon.

[miiilowo]

You should make the list of ways you were correct anyways, just for fun ~

eh. sure. why not

Any time a post of mine about afton got a decent amount of notes (aside from fanart) there'd usually be comments on it complaining about how "those" fans [note: i am one of "those" fans] have no idea what his personality actually is, and that they water him down, woobify and mischaracterize him, all while listing things off that are just genuinely part of william's character. while yes, there are fans that DO do that, the stuff they talk about is almost never an actual example of this happening. this is likely due to people not viewing him as a person and just a bland cold serial killer with no personality whatsoever

obviously movie william is not 1:1 with game or book william, but they're gonna be similar in personality. so heres some stuff ive seen people complain was "mischaracterization" thats present in the movie:

hes emotional/sentimental and actually cares about things - william calls the owner of freddys sentimental when talking to mike about the pizzeria (and we all know the owner is william), he visibly regrets/is shocked by the fact he stabs vanessa, he gets really worked up when things dont go his way, very quick to anger, etcetera. one could argue that william is lying about being sentimental and just wants to give an excuse for why the place is still around, but there'd be no reason to do that, considering mike has no idea anyone even died there, let alone the fact HE killed the kids. we know williams sole motive for keeping the place around definitely isnt just sentimental reasons, but i doubt that what he said doesnt have at least an ounce of truth to it. he holds onto trophies from his kills as well if him keeping garretts toy plane is anything to go off of

he actually likes bunnies and has an affinity for them - he has a rabbits foot on his keyring and has a letter/paper holder that's rabbit shaped. the letter holder isnt actually in any shots, but it was present on set on his desk

his personality isnt one note and dull/cold, and hes superstitious & a little offputting/jittery - the rabbits foot on his keyring ties into this idea, because if he actually believes it to be a good luck charm, then it shows some "quirkiness" for lack of a better term that people adamantly refuse to admit is in his personality. this also shows how hes superstitious, which is an idea thats present in the books, and people also like to pretend he isnt. he pokes fun at mike in a somewhat lighthearted way multiple times, he has a has a FRAMED PARTICIPATION AWARD on his wall for christs sake. the kids hair colors match the animatronics they were stuffed into (minus bonnie). he matched them. he made them match he paired them up for fun. not only that, but he gets visibly nervous and antsy when he realizes who mike is, and clearly really wants him to take the job. gets kind of weird. gets a kinda strange. he likes when things match afterall (symmetry, my friend!)

he's theatrical and over the top in personality on purpose (this is also essentially an argument for the last point) - in the books he goes on and on about performance and how he viewed both dave miller & springtrap as characters he plays, and i seriously wouldn't doubt that it'd be the same here, considering how cartoonishly evil he is while wearing the springbonnie suit. the voice changer, the little flourishes he adds to his speech, the fact he wipes off the knife when there wasnt any blood on it in the first place. for what. for what reason other than for pizzazz and intimidation points. the "oh, this is going to be so much fun!" line, and especially his playful demeanor disappearing the second he takes off the mask

he cares about his kids/likes kids - his expression when he stabs vanessa and she falls to the ground says enough i think. obviously hes not a GOOD parent, but being a good parent and caring about your kids are two wildly different things. you can be abusive and still care. most abusers dont process that they are abusers but thats a conversation for another time. william prioritizes himself over anyone else, but he still looks shocked after he stabs his daughter, and i refuse to blame that on bad acting because its MATTHEW LILLARD. the training tape for mike also states that he enjoyed entertaining kids, and yes, while that could be a lie, do you seriously think the creator of what essentially is chuck e cheese would actually despise children. the fact he gives garretts toy plane to vanessa could be a point toward him in this department as well, though its also just as likely he collects them as trophies. i like to think its a mix of both

i included these points specifically because i also have a plethora of evidence for them from both the books and the games, and theyre the ones i most commonly see people stating are unrealistic for afton.

its not a lot of stuff, but its not like he has a lot of screentime. lets be real

i do ADORE how egotistical and shortsighted they made him in the movie, though everyone can generally agree on that being a staple trait of his

[bruciebatsyy]

new hc: bruce + the batkids + distracting chatter

so this is inspired by the latest chap of @frownyalfred's lovely fic 'hold me loosely' (chapter 4, jason POV) — but i feel like i've also seen other people use this scenario? like, i feel like it's an oddly common recurring bit of bruce characterization in fanfics. anyways, what i'm actually referring to is bruce, when someone around him gets injured on the job, defaulting to listing random facts at them as a way of keeping their mind occupied/off their injury. [fairly often, but not always, it's specifically facts about said injury (ex. "on average XX takes X number of days to heal in a healthy person" "Y% of people will experience XX in their lifetime" etc. etc.)]

...so i was thinking about the thought process bruce would go through in order to arrive on that being his go-to strategy for this kind of scenario, and if you think about it, it actually makes perfect sense? bc i can totally imagine him being like "hmmm so a Normal Person incapacitated in the manner of scenario 259(c)(iii) would likely appreciate/require a distraction from their condition" —> "the most appropriate/comforting distraction that does not hinder my ability to actively continue assisting them is to fill the silence —> "slight problem: i am bad at making conversation" {the genuine kind, not the brucie frivolous-lifestyle-bullshit kind} —> "i can speak about a subject that the injured listener has an interest in" —> "i can speak about a subject that will already be on my mind and will be directly relevant to the listener, as well as assure them that i have the requisite knowledge and am therefore capable of taking care of their injury properly"

...of course, the part that bruce forgets to anticipate is what Injured Party makes of him suddenly turning into an audiobook encyclopedia, and how they might actually respond to that beyond just shutting up and listening to him monologue lmao. thankfully, he gets plenty of practice individualizing his Distraction ManeuverTM accordingly on all of his batkids!

dick: EFFECTIVE. the one this strategy was invented for in the first place — does not deal well with tense silence, also just really loves listening to the sound of his loved one's voices, finds it super relaxing/comforting. used to fall asleep easiest in his family's tent at the circus when he could listen to his mom and dad chat about anything late into the night. he had the perspective to recognize that batman monologuing at you all about the mechanics of the injury you've just received yourself is more than a bit morbid, but hey, he was a bit of a dark-humored morbid kid himself, he doesn't mind 🤷🏽‍♀️

jason: EFFECTIVE. isn't averse to silence in the way dick is, maybe even prefers it mostly — but, when he started out as robin bruce monologued at him when he got injured the first couple times out of habit, and jason definitely noticed and picked up on the pattern. then bruce stopping would have made it weird, so after that he comes to find it comforting in the sense that it's like an endearing habit of bruce's/a familiar routine. so like, he ignores it mostly, but if bruce ever didn't start monologuing at him while he's trying to hold it together he'd definitely notice and be all "hey what the fuck happened" lmao

tim: NOT EFFECTIVE. does not like just listening to bruce growling out mildly-alarming injury statistics, thank you very much. if he can talk, he'll do the talking himself; if he can't, he'll take silence. (also a hand to hold— which bruce eventually learns to provide.)

steph: NOT EFFECTIVE. bruce learns the hard way that steph will interpret him going on about her injury as condescension (which tbf, by definition it kind of is?). his second try is to talk about her performance in the field re: whatever she was doing right before she got injured, which is unsurprisingly received equally poorly. if she can talk, she's definitely talking, and bruce reluctantly learns to tolerate the fact that said chatter is 99% of the time completely unrelated to their current situation. the first time post-war games that he ends up stuck with a steph injured badly enough that she can't fill the silence on her own, in a fit of panicked inspiration he starts telling her about the historical value/sourcing of purple dye, which she teases him endlessly about once she's able to later, but he's just glad that it seems to be implicitly approved of.

cass: SITUATIONALLY EFFECTIVE. cass comes in after tim (and i guess kind of during steph's initial integration into the fam?) so bruce has already been made aware of the possibility that she won't appreciate it. but it turns out that whether cass prefers or dislikes silence varies by the day, honestly, so bruce tends to go for it, and then about 60% of the time he'll get a soft "batman, stop talking, please." (or the equivalent in sign) after a couple minutes lol. (also, even though cass is generally not particularly impolite about it, bruce somehow always feels very effectively chastised by the specific way she tells him to stop: it's like her version of the 'alfred voice'.)

damian: EFFECTIVE. with the unfortunate caveat that if he's capable, he'll certainly be snarking back at bruce the whole time about how he "knows, Father, i memorized the relevant information on these topics when i was five" — but he likes it. he'd never say anything about it, of course, but bruce realizes after some time that being left in silence when bruce is there kind of makes him feel like he's waiting for punishment for being sloppy enough to get injured in the first place.

duke: EFFECTIVE. he doesn't particularly mind silence, but he loves having random general knowledge in factoid form, so he definitely appreciates the monologues. he tends to mostly be content with listening, but he'll also pipe up with corrections occasionally bc he'll tend to have read more recent data.

[nglgfics]

Win - win

(18+)

Masterlist

The late afternoon light cuts gold through the curtains, soft and lazy, the room lit just enough to catch the glint of dust in the air. The hotel suite smells like warm skin, takeaway fries, and the ghost of last night’s cologne. The remnants of lunch sit forgotten at the end of the bed, one half-finished burger and two mostly-empty champagne glasses sweating beside the TV remote.

You’re straddling Liam’s hips, comfortably parked across his lap, your phone in your hand as you scroll, pretending not to notice the growing tension in the room—his hand resting warm on your thigh, the subtle way he keeps shifting beneath you, trying to play it cool.

You’re wearing nothing but his old Stone Roses tee. It’s oversized, slouching off one shoulder, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Soft from age, stretched in places, smelling like him. No bra, no knickers—just you and a few inches of cotton between his hungry gaze and what he really wants.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he says eventually, voice low and thick with the kind of tension that comes from being teased to the edge.

You don’t look up. “What now?”

He shifts again beneath you—just enough that you can feel the press of him under his boxers. “You’re sittin’ there like a fuckin’ goddess, scrolling through your phone, acting like I’m not about to lose my mind.”

You glance down at him, smug. “I’m just relaxing. You’re the one making this weird.”

He huffs, but there’s a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, enough. I’m calling it—best of three.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of what?”

“Rock-paper-scissors,” he says, like it’s obvious. “If I win, you sit on my face. Properly. No teasing, no drawn-out performance. Just—on. My. Face.”

You blink, deadpan. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he says, deadly serious. “I’ve been patient. I’ve earned it.”

You tilt your head, considering. “And if I win?”

“I’ll run you a bath, rub your feet, and let you pretend you know more about music than me. Full VIP treatment.”

You laugh, low and easy, finally setting your phone on the bedside table. “Alright. You’re on.”

He immediately sits up, eyes narrowed like a man preparing for battle, arms bent at the elbows, fists raised.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“Are you?”

“Born ready.”

First round:

You throw scissors. He throws rock.

His grin spreads. “One.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lucky guess.”

Second round:

You go paper. He goes scissors again.

He smirks, biting his bottom lip. “Two-nil.”

You glare, suspicious. “You’re cheating somehow.”

“I’m just tapped into the source,” he says. “Fate’s on my side.”

Third round:

You try to outthink him, thinking he thinks you’re going rock, so you go scissors… and he throws rock again.

Three to zero.

You drop your hand with a sigh. “You are a witch.”

He’s already leaning back, smug as hell, arms folding behind his head as he watches you with that dangerous glint in his eye. “Told you. I’m incredible at this game.”

“You manifested that.”

“Damn right I did. Now come on, love,” he says, patting his chest, “be a good loser and get up here.”

You let your eyes drift over him—his messy hair, bare chest, the hard line of his jaw. He’s still half in boxer briefs, but the outline pressing against the fabric makes it clear he’s more than ready.

You roll your hips once against him, just to watch him twitch, and say, “Maybe I’ll make you work for it.”

He groans, head tipping back against the pillow. “You’re killin’ me.”

“You did ask for this.”

“I asked for you to sit on my face. What you’re doing right now? Cruelty.”

You smirk as you begin to shift forward, your bare thighs dragging up his stomach. He goes quiet. Still. Just watching.

By the time your knees are planted on either side of his head and your thighs cage his face, he’s breathing heavy, eyes glazed over like he’s looking at something holy.

“Comfortable?” you ask, hand braced on the headboard, the other sliding into his hair.

He looks up at you like he’s already wrecked. “Come on, babe. I won fair and square.”

“Mm. Lucky for you,” you murmur, lowering yourself just enough that he can feel the heat of you hovering above his lips, “I’m a good sport.”

His fingers tighten on your thighs.

You lower yourself onto him with slow, deliberate control, one hand buried in his hair, the other braced against the headboard. Liam’s eyes are wide, locked on yours, his hands firm on your thighs, and he doesn’t blink as you bring your heat closer to his lips.

The second you settle against him, he moans—deep, guttural, like he’s waited far too long for this. There’s no hesitation. His mouth finds you immediately, tongue dragging through your folds in one long, reverent stroke, like he needs to taste all of you first, just to prove a point.

He presses his mouth fully against you—open, greedy, home—and it’s like the rest of him shuts off. His world narrows to your body, your weight above him, your scent, your taste. His hands grip your thighs tight, not controlling, just anchoring you in place like if you float off now, he might not survive it.

He hums low into you, pleased, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

You let out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward as your fingers tighten in his hair. “Fuck, Liam…”

He doesn’t answer. He devours.

Every movement of his tongue is deliberate—broad and slow one moment, then sharp, focused, devastating. He licks you like he’s fluent in your body, like he’s not just doing this for you—he’s doing it for him. Like this is what gets him off.

You start to move, instinctive, grinding down against his mouth. He lets you. Encourages you—his hands sliding up to cup your ass, pressing you harder against his face. His tongue circles your clit, tight and precise, and your breath catches. He flattens it again, flicks, sucks—each shift in rhythm expertly timed to push you higher.

“Jesus—” you gasp, head tipping back. “You’re gonna make me—”

He growls into you, and that sound nearly undoes you. He wants it. Wants you to come like this—messy, loud, undone.

Then his fingers join the party.

He doesn’t tease. Just slides two inside you in one smooth motion—slick, slow, deep. They curl perfectly, stroking your walls as he continues working your clit with his mouth, tongue dragging in time with each pulse of his hand.

You arch above him, thighs trembling, a moan tearing from your throat. He tightens his grip, his rhythm never faltering. Tongue, lips, fingers—relentless. And the look in his eyes when you glance down? That’s what pushes you over. His pupils are blown wide, mouth wet, face flushed with effort. But it’s that look—focused, hungry, utterly locked on you like this is exactly where he wants to be, forever.

“Liam—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You don’t even finish the sentence.

It rips through you, sudden and full-body—heat breaking like a wave, thighs clenching, hips jerking against his mouth. You cry out, grabbing the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. He holds you firm, rides the wave with you, doesn’t pull back until you’re squirming, too sensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

Even then, he doesn’t let go of your hips. Just eases you off his mouth, slow and careful, like he’s handling something fragile. He blinks up at you, flushed and shining, lips slick, jaw tense with the restraint it took not to flip you over and take everything.

You collapse beside him, heart racing, limbs shaking.

He lies there, panting, a self-satisfied grin playing across his lips.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes. “You’ve got no idea how good you taste.”

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling, pulse pounding in your ears. “You should come with a warning.”

He laughs, turns toward you, and kisses your shoulder—soft now. “Nah. Warnings are for people with regrets.”

You glance sideways at him, smirking. “And you don’t have any?”

He stretches an arm across your waist, pulling you in close, his breath warm against your neck. “Only that I let you off too easy.”

You roll your eyes. “Too easy? I can’t see straight.”

He grins against your skin. “Next time you’re not walking either.”

And the worst part?

You already want that next time.

[ariaste]

What are your tips for wrapping a book up? I can do short stories just fine, but if I try writing long pieces, I end up fizzling out around the final climax and abandoning the project. I think it's just a lot of pressure and build up and after writing everything else, getting the big, important scene and aftermath out seems incredibly difficult.

I think you've already answered your own question -- "It's just a lot of pressure." Yep, that would be my first possible diagnosis! :) So the answer then would obviously be that you need to find ways to relieve the pressure you're putting on yourself. You know yourself better than I do, beloved Anon, so you will know the best way to do this. After all, you knew yourself well enough to make a guess about what was happening internally, so I have full confidence that you can figure out a patch for it as well. It just might take some experimenting, and that is okay! That is a process of learning things about yourself.

Here are some experiments you could play with. Note that some of them directly address your problem and some of them address the situation adjacent to your problem, because we all know that brains love to tell us that something is wrong six inches to the left of what the actual problem is LOL. Remember that all experiments, even failed ones, are good experiments, because they give you DATA. So don't be disheartened if something doesn't work. It means you've ruled something out, and that's USEFUL.

Experiments:

you could try writing out of order rather than from beginning to end -- get to a place where you're excited and hype about what the climax is, jump ahead and write that, and then go back and fill in everything up to that point.

You could try switching to a different writing format (like, if you usually type out your stories, try writing the climax by hand -- I do this when I am having trouble connecting to a story emotionally, because I feel like it... sort of brings me physically closer to the story? So I can cozy up with it and feel more intimate with it.)

You could try writing in a different location, at a different time of day, etc

Make sure your environment is comfortable. Physical distractions like an itchy tag on your shirt, cold toes, or the upstairs neighbors vacuuming all contribute to suboptimal brain performance. Oh, and make sure you're getting good sleep.

Eat something heavy in protein and carbs about half an hour before you make an attempt at the climax so your brain has lots of energy. This is why writers are notorious for drinking tea/coffee -- caffeine is a drug! It is a stimulant! It makes your brain GO that little bit faster! But you need to eat properly in order to THINK properly, otherwise you're running on fumes and risking burnout.

HOWEVER, all that said... I have a second possible diagnosis. Your use of the phrase "fizzling out" inclines me to a small suspicion. Have you released too much tension in the story before the final climax? I often experience a "fizzling out" sensation when I make that mistake, and dialing up the tension fixes my momentum for the story.

Really, sometimes the emotions that you are feeling about a story aren't.... EMOTIONS per se, they're signals from your gut instincts that there is something going wrong that you need to go back and tweak. But our brains are stupid, and so our subconscious going "Oop, tension's off" reaches the conscious mind and is interpreted as "This is boring :(" or "I'm a terrible writer" or "[sudden disinterest in the book]" or any other kind of fizzling-out. That's not real!! Or, it is real, but it's something else besides what the top of your brain is thinking that it is! It's like when your car starts making a weird noise--it's got nothing to do with YOU, it's just a signal that something has worn out or come loose in the engine. Go back like 25-40 pages or so and reread what you've got with laser sharp eyes for where the tension starts to flag. If you find that, I would wager real money that fixing it will solve your problem with facing the climax.

Oh, and also: The opposite of anxiety is curiosity. Be curious about the problem, and be kind to yourself in the process of finding it. You haven't done anything wrong, you are not a bad writer. It is a GOOD THING to be noticing this pattern! Because now you can go digging and figure out what it MEANS. Where is that annoying beeping coming from? Which smoke detector has a low battery? Is it tension? Is it character? Is it because you've subconsciously spotted a plot hole like, "Wait a second, why wouldn't the villain just attack the city with their winged elephants?" And similar problems.

Hope that helps :D

[russell-crowe]

If you want an excuse, go off about Rhod and Greg plz 🙏 I'm a Taskmaster girlie and I've seen some of Greg's comedy specials but outside of that I don't know much about him/his friendship with Rhod and I'm curious from all the little snippets you post about them 🥹

hiiiii!!!! i'm sorry i left this sitting in my inbox since thursday evening, but this honestly felt like a “buying flights” kind of big-screen commitment, and i wanted to make sure i had (1) my laptop and (2) the energy to really cook something up in response.

i think taskmaster is such a fun first introduction to rhod and greg, but it becomes even funnier once you know more about how their friendship works and where it comes from. the format of the show makes rhod come off as a bit of a meanie towards greg, but in reality, they both bicker just as much, and half the time it’s greg who goes into full Big Meanie mode first. by now, that kind of verbal jousting is basically second nature for them. :’)

mind you, i know most of this from rhod’s side of things, so i’m definitely missing some of greg’s perspective. (sorry not sorry, i have actual days worth of material to go through just with rhodtent (rhod content))

so. they actually met on a comedy course that rhod’s girlfriend at the time signed him up for. greg has talked about meeting rhod in those early days and thinking he seemed “aloof, maybe a bit rude,” which, honestly, tracks. rhod in Very Shy mode can definitely come off as a bit distant. but from that course, a friendship started to form. they ended up doing edinburgh fringe together (they shared a flat for it, which they reference to in taskmaster), performed comedy together in the uk, and did gigs abroad in places like asia (where this story is from) and australia (this story). greg says they "literally started out together" and that "rhod and I have always enjoyed what seems like a humorous, jousting relationship" ;_;

here's a pic of them and two other comedians (who i shall not drag into this post) in 2003:

one of my favourite things about watching them interact is how obvious it is that they care about each other, even if they’re not great at talking about feelings because they are Men after all (please read that with irony). like in rhod’s shyness documentary, where greg goes “i thought we were going to talk about my shyness” and rhod just stares at him like “your shyness?????” and they both look baffled.

and what really gets me is how greg clearly finds rhod’s brain delightful. he’s always laughing at his weird little tangents and poking at him to keep going. as someone with a slightly scrambled brain myself, i find that really comforting. it feels like greg provides this safe and funny space where rhod can just exist as he is without needing to explain himself. or it gives greg material to heckle him about.

they also just get to be really silly together. greg still has that grown-up-but-still-a-silly-man energy that you hear about in stories from his teacher days, and rhod is basically a full-time inner child with a comedy career. i love how they bounce off each other, just grinning like school boys. greg will come up with something oddly specific like “i couldn’t focus because your voice is annoying,” and rhod immediately tries to counter that like a 7-year-old like “well i had to look at your FACE!!” and it’s so dumb but so charming because it’s them?? you feel me??

there’s also this really sweet bit on the stand up to cancer comedy roast where rhod meets up with his two best friends, greg and barry (barry’s the one in my earlier gifset of them climbing kilimanjaro). they’re still joking around, and greg really does not hold back with the darker humour, but under the surface you can feel how relieved and grateful they all are to be there together. it’s very ;__;

and like. ok. if your brain is unhinged like mine and puts on shipping goggles:

the way they’re physically comfortable with each other is fascinating. rhod has kind of a weird relationship with touch. he’s a hugger with friends but also used to cut his own hair because he hated being touched, and he always kind of hovers just out of frame in photos with others. but with greg (and some other guys) he's very touchy and Close and silly and poking at them Quite Literally, so i love the idea of him just quietly growing closer to greg until it’s normal and unspoken and just what they do. but they never address it because of the aforementioned Inability To Talk About Feelings. :)

the old couple bickering dynamic hits different when you imagine them as an actual couple. the banter feels like second nature at this point and honestly if that isn’t love what is (i say, starving for a relationship like this)

i know it’s them being silly but when greg casually goes “strip to the waist, see what happens” or “you’ve kissed me before, i’m sure” or "you can't say rhod and greg davies, people might think we're married" or shaves rhod on camera while laughing like it’s the most normal thing in the world... the shipping part of my brain simply lights up like a christmas tree.

i think they really compliment each other’s insecurities. in my writing (which is still rotting peacefully in my google docs) i keep coming back to this idea of rhod having someone who makes him feel safe and accepted and protected. i love emotionally vulnerable rhod so much and while that is also very much There in his current real life marriage (which i truly, truly adore - they are literally perfect for each other); it's fun to explore a... different type of softness and emotions in a male relationship? but purely in fictional rpf land.

also. grumpy adopted stray and its tired handler. that’s the dynamic. that’s them.

anyway. this spiralled. but i love them so much and i’m so glad you gave me an excuse to yell about them for a while. thank you for coming to my brief ted talk! if you want to get more into them, i recommend listening to the time they were stand-ins on bbc radio 2 together (it's them at their silliest), watching their episode of world's most dangerous roads and watching ask rhod gilbert (it's... an experience). i can hook you up /w those!

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week 2024 - Day 2: Sports & Competition

Description: Laxus had known there would be changes in the guild, and in his team, when he got back from exile. What he hadn’t expected was Freed getting involved in the guild's weird competitions. What he really didn’t expect was Freed competing shirtless, and looking jaw-droppingly sexy while doing it

Note: Day two, again hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This really is just Laxus going wild for Freed. Sue me. He’s hot, and I like to project onto Laxus.

Link: Ao3

To See Him Ruffled

In the year – or was it technically eight years now? – that Laxus had been out of the guild, obviously a lot was going to have changed. That would have been true even if they hadn't been trapped on the island and the wold went on ticking around them. Changes were something he had known to expect.

What he hadn't expected was how two different changed would mingle into him having to deal with Freed shirtless, sweaty, and sexy as all hell.

First, there was guild culture. Fairy Tail liked to talk about how close and friendly they were, but it had always been a big place and not everyone knew each other. But as members had started to walk away and leave for other guilds, those who remained had evidentially rallied together and gotten close. There were more events, more get togethers, and more focus on community. After everyone trapped on Tenrou had returned, that community had expanded, and the events had increased tenfold.

Second: Freed. Before, Freed had been the very personification of stoicism. He had a darkness behind his eyes, an underlying ferocity. That wasn't gone, as such. There was just more to him now. Like the darkness and the demon were a barrier, and he'd let it down, but was ready to bring it back when he needed it.

Both of those things were fine. Good. Great. The guild was reestablishing its roots, and Freed was growing into his skin in a way he hadn't been able to before. So yeah; all good.

The thing was, though, that they'd merged together to make something… troubling.

Apparently was of the new traditions was the 'Adaption Knockout'. Any member of the guild who wanted to participate would be faced with a day of random challenges wherein their ability to tackle situations were tested. It ranged from solving riddles, to setting up tents in a rainstorm, to performing spectacles of human exercion.

The Freed that Laxus had known when they were younger would have turned his nose up at it. But now, he had said it would be a good way to test his skills and hone his mind.

So, Laxus was now watching from the sidelines as Freed stretched. His coat and his shirt were on the ground, getting muddy and crumpled, while Freed's strong, firm, wonderful back flexed with the effort of his stretching. His shoulder blades were so pronounced, with skin stretching tight over them. He had a few scars, even a few whip marks that Laxus knew he had no business asking about but desperately wanted to know about anyway. It was a back for a strong, working man who had dealt with the crap life threw at him, and bit back with vigour.

Freed never used to take his shirt off. Never. He rarely removed his coat.

He'd been hiding a body like this for so long? Selfish asshole.

What the hell was Laxus thinking?

When Freed turned around during a waist rotation, Laxus wasn't thinking anything at all. How had he never seen Freed's abs before? They were rippling and tight and goddamn mesmerising. Freed wasn't the kind to aim for a body-builder physique like Laxus; he had that swimmer's build. The type you might miss when he was clothed but would get your mouth watering the second that he wasn't.

Damn his nipples were perfect. Laxus could imagine pinching and sucking and biting them, to see what the once reserved Freed would do. Bite back? Pin him down? Spank him?

"Come on man!" Gajeel snapped, sitting on the bleachers beside him. Laxus looked around and was met with a glare. "You wanna screw him, we get it. You really gotta smell like it though?"

Laxus blanched. He hadn't been around other Dragon Slayers for a while. He'd forgotten they had the same heightened senses. Dammit.

Through either luck or coincide, Laxus was saved from having to respond to that when the whistle blew, and the obstacle course race began. Freed shot forward, with the other contestants of course, and began to climb the rope to get to the raised platform. His arms ripples and his thighs clenched, and Laxus had to take the bleachers in a dead-white grip to control himself. He ignored Gajeel's damn snort.

Laxus only had eyes on Freed, and as he zip-lined down back onto the ground, he felt his throat dry up. The man's stomach was clenched, and every single part of him looked intense and tight and lickable.

"And, our first competitors are getting towards the axe wielding portion of the game," Bickslow, who had somehow swindled his way into being commentator for the day, said into the microphone. "Our daring guildmates will be tasked in cutting a felled tree into firewood, and then has to throw the axe into a target fifteen feet away. Tough, and very sexy too."

Seriously, who had let Bickslow get hold of a microphone?

He wasn't wrong though. Seeing Freed yank out the axe from the tree stump that it was bashed into without breaking pace was as sexy as anything Laxus had seen. Then to see him going to town on the tree, cutting it up fast and sharp and so damn skilfully set Laxus' body on fire. If he smelt of his attraction before, it must be a damn stench now.

"And that's Freed taking the lead after hitting the target," Bickslow crowned. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say, 'Daddy may I?'"

Laxus turned to glare at Bickslow, only to see him grinning back with his tongue out. Apparently Gajeel wasn't the only one who knew Laxus might not be thinking entirely purely. Slightly cowed, Laxus looked back to the race, to see Freed laughing and shaking his head slightly as he ran towards the next part of the course.

It was nice that Freed was laughing more. He deserved to laugh. Life had given him a crappy hand, and it was right that things were turning around in his favour.

"God your pathetic," Gajeel growled. "You're acting like he hung the goddamn moon."

"Like you wouldn't be doin' the same if it was your girl doing it," Laxus snapped.

Gajeel looked caught out, then annoyed, then vengeful. He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. "Least I don't have competition."

Laxus frowned, not knowing what that meant. Gajeel looked past him with purpose to the rest of the crowd, all of whom were watching the race. Watching Freed, he realised belatedly, and there were quite a few flushed faces, sharp whispers and scandalous giggling. Why the hell had the guild allowed random members of the public to watch? Yeah, the guild needed money, but they didn't need to sell Freed out to a crowd filled with perverts.

What the hell had they done to look at Freed's flexing… fuck, he was flexing. There was a rubble moving section and Freed was hefting a large part of a demolished wall, and his entire body looked powerful and tested and too sexy for words. His back. His shoulders. His neck!

Why did they get to see Freed like this? Laxus was the one who knew him!

But he couldn't say any of that to Gajeel. So, he huffed and grunted, "Guess my guy's hotter than your girl."

"The hell did you just-"

Had he just called Freed his guy? He had, hadn't he. He didn't have a claim on Freed. He didn't. But he had more of a claim on him than anyone else, and if anyone deserved to be worshipping the man's body – did he want to worship him? – then it was Laxus.

Okay, he really needed to leave. It had to be the sun making him lose his mind.

It was certainly the sun giving Freed that beautiful, sweat slicked sheen.

"And with his storming lead, Freed is approaching the plunge pool. I think we're all looking forward to seeing how he handles this," Bickslow said.

Freed actually halted as he climbed the ladder, turned to look at Bickslow and yelled, "Next year, consider a cold shower before you start."

Maybe Laxus would benefit from a cold shower.

"Only saying what we're all thinking, Baby."

The fact that even Bickslow calling Freed baby, something he did to basically everyone he had ever met, had Laxus feeling jealousy roiling inside of him was a problem. Yes, Freed was basically sex on legs at this point. Yes, Dragon Slayers apparently had a predisposition for jealousy. Yes, Laxus wasn't so horned up and pathetic that he'd actually do anything about it. But still, it was a problem he was even thinking it.

He needed to leave. He would calm down, get his head on straight, and deal with this explosion of lust he was feeling when he was back to his self.

Just as he stood up to leave, a splash rebounded around the space, and Laxus turned to see Freed had jumped from a raised platform into a deep pool of crisp clean water. Crisp clean water he was climbing out of, shirtless and soaked and practically a siren that sang directly for Laxus' soul.

Water rolled down his chest, over his abs, and down the waistband of his pants which clung to him sinfully. He ran a hand through hid sodden hair and brushed it out of his face, his human and demon eye equally sinful as he rolled his shoulders and caught his breath, chest rising and falling and taunting Laxus.

Holy shit.

Silently, absently, and resolutely ignoring Gajeel's manic laughing at his expense, he sat down again. He could get his head on straight later. Maybe he was making a mistake, but this was too good to miss.

"And just so you know," Gajeel whispered lowly. "Looks like he's getting into the final round. You know what the final round is?"

"Don't care."

"Mud wrestling."

Laxus' grip on the bleacher got so tight he splintered it. Gajeel just laughed.

Once the final round was over, and Laxus had lost all sense of any sanity he'd ever previously had, Freed approached him. He was drenched head to toe in mud, still shirtless, and was grinning as if entirely content with the situation.

What the hell had happened to Freed, exactly?

Laxus was glad of it, whatever it was. Seeing Freed let loose and without the anxieties and holdbacks that had made him his previously reserved self was wonderful, but this was so far form the Freed he had known it was like night and day. To Laxus, who had only known this version of Freed for a few weeks, it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly Freed was the man he was always meant to be.

He was so sexy like it, too. Not just because he had a good body – a really good body – or that he was caked in mud in a way that weirdly worked for Laxus. No. Freed had an easy confidence, and a cockiness that had always been there, but seemed more lighthearted now. Previously, they'd spent time laughing at their guildmates in a way not entirely kind. Now, it felt like Freed would make those jokes about himself only.

Laxus wanted to kiss him. Right here, right now. To hell with the consequences.

"I didn't expect you to come," Freed said in greeting. Had he not known Laxus was there? And to think Laxus had been entirely hypnotised by him.

"You're my teammate. I should support you," Laxus grumbled, glancing around to see if Gajeel was close enough to make a comment. He wasn't.

"You should apply next year. It's quite fun. Definitely gets the blood pumping," Freed grinned, rolling out his arm and flicking his now heavy hair out from his eyes.

Laxus had to look at him. His arm was troubling him, and he wasn't hiding it, which was frankly a miracle. Many a time before the harvest festival, Freed had decided to hide his injuries as if they were something to be ashamed of. There had been knife wounds he'd refused to admit to. To Laxus' shame, he hadn't all together cared. He'd thought that it was Freed's business, and he could handle himself.

Then there was the mud. The Freed he had known was spotless and without blemish, going so far as to cast illusion spells if something was wrong with his outfit. Now he simply stood there, like some kind of a swamp monster, and didn't seem to have a care in the world. He was ruffled and messed and gleeful in it.

He'd changed so much, and it looked so good on him. Laxus wondered if he could ever change so much. Maybe he needed a push.

"Yeah. I will," he said.

"You will?" Freed asked, a little shocked, but then grinned. "You'll really enjoy it."

"Sure I will," Laxus nodded slightly. He'd probably agree to anything Freed said in the moment.

"I should warn you, though," Freed continued. "I intend to win next year, so you'll have heavy competition."

"Obviously," Laxus grunted. As if Freed had ever not been one step away from putting Laxus on his ass. Just because Laxus might not have admitted to it before, it didn't mean he'd never known it. "Second place ain't bad, though. You did well."

"I suppose. I think third would have been preferable, honestly."

Laxus frowned. "Why?"

"There's something of a tradition between the final two competitors. A wager wherein whoever comes second has to perform a demand of the winner. A dare, essentially, of which I am now burdened to adhere to."

Well, that was one thing that hadn't changed. Freed got weirdly eloquent and verbose when annoyed. Laxus had to grin. "What's Loke makin' you do?"

Freed glanced at the man who had bested him, who was surrounded by Lucy, his fellow celestial spirits, and a few of the other competitors. He didn't look half as good shirtless and covered in mud as Freed did. "I'm his personal butler for a full week. Any demand he has, I have to without complaint."

Laxus snorted. "Sounds awful."

"I expect it will be," Freed chuckled, and the fact he was taking it in such good faith had Laxus grinning. He wanted to push Freed into the grass, pin him down, and drive him to distraction. "I don't think my ego will handle it."

"Nah, something that big can handle anything."

"My ego, Laxus. Not yours."

"Asshole," Laxus grinned. "Hope he makes you squirm. Gives you some stupid uniform or something."

"Funny you should mention that," Freed chuckled. "He actually sent me to change into my 'uniform' now. I just happened to see you before I snuck off."

"Is it bad?" Laxus teased.

"It's… exactly what a man like him would want in a butler."

"He gonna yell at you if you keep talking to me?"

"It's a bet, Laxus, not an employment contract," Freed laughed, and ran a hand through his muddy hair after it fell over his head. He reached down to the hair tie and pulled it out, swapping his hair into a messy ponytail. Laxus might not have ever seen so much of Freed's neck as he had in that moment. "Even if I was on a time limit, I wouldn't have reached it. He told me to change in the bathroom, but there's no real point. I might as well do it here."

"In front of-"

Laxus cut himself off when he saw Freed bending down and unbuckling his belt. He could do nothing but gape as Freed pulled down his pants and stepped out of them, standing just in his muddy boots, and his very tight – sinfully tight – boxer briefs. Laxus, in the brief second that he let himself look, could see everything. He quickly looked up

"What're you doing?"

"For the next week, I am to wear nothing but my boxers. Well, that and," he reached back into his pants pocket, letting them drop to the floor once he was done. He reached behind his neck, and Laxus swallowed at the sight. "A bow tie."

So. Freed was standing barely over a foot away in boxers tight enough to show off veins, and in a bow tie. Right. That was manageable. Laxus could deal with that. He didn't want to pin him against the nearest wall at all.

"A full week, huh?" He asked, voice hoarse.

"Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to me looking like this for a while."

"Right."

"And flirting, too," Freed said with a blasé tone that might have Laxus falling to his knees.

"Flirting?"

"Loke's demand. I am to flirt constantly and shamelessly. I should probably start doing that, actually. I can imagine that he'd come up with a demeaning task to put me in my place, or some such nonsense," Freed laughed. He then stood tall, changed his posture, and looked up at Laxus from under his lashes. Laxus' spine snapped straight when Freed all but purred. "Is there anything I can do to please you, sir?"

Okay.

Right.

That was his limit.

That was the step too far.

Laxus let lightning cover him, transformed into it entirely, and shot off into the sky, ignoring the resounding sound of Gajeel's cackling, and missing Freed's self-satisfied smirk.