#might have been what her parents wanted her to have. it's like flipping the script. changing perspectives

[s2pdoktopus]

I made an oc so I could give nora a name

The only character interaction I have for them so far:

Every Shinki of Tajimamori knows how to make sweets. As Amatsuyu is the newest addition to Tajimamori's clan, she took it upon herself to teach the girl how to make some dango.

Tajimamori, looking at the mishapened dango: My, I've never seen anyone be this bad at shaping balls.

Amatsuyu: (visibly sulking)

Tajimamori: (sees that Amatsuyu is sulking, takes one dango and pops it in her mouth) but it tastes good.

Amatsuyu: you're just saying that to make me feel better.

Tajimamori: (as she is giving back the dango) have you tried it yet? Taste it for yourself.

Amatsuyu: (eats the dango) it doesn't look good though.

Tajimamori: they all look the same once they come out of the other end.

Amatsuyu: you didn't have to point that out.

Tajimamori: I didn't. Did you enjoy the dango?

Amatsuyu: it's a dango, it's nothing special.

Tajimamori: it doesn't have to be special. Did you enjoy it?

Amatsuyu: ... I did. I didn't enjoy making it.

Tajimamori: Get used to it, all my Shinki has to at least know how to make a dango. Otherwise I can't call myself the god of sweets!

Amatsuyu: ...Do I get to eat them?

Tajimamori: you get to eat as much sweets as you like.

----

Tajimamori keeps Amatsuyu close to her all the time, partly because she is dangerous but also, Amatsuyu is one of the few shinki's she has that is battle appropriate.

----

I just want her to have a name. Considering how much Kofuku loves Daikoku I felt like it makes sense why Nora wasn't named by her. We understand why Nora is the way she is but we also can't ignore the very real threat that she possesses that she had used against them before.

So I made an oc to give her a name!

I did wonder what name Kofuku might give her lol.

大緋- Haruhi, it uses the clan name (大) and the name Yato gave her (緋)

The downside is, obviously, it's not pronounced with 'dai' I dunno if 'daihi' is an acceptable reading.

The other options I have is literally any other feminine name with (大) that is read 'dai'

[youngsadlesbian]

REFLECTION OF ANOTHER STAGE

pairing: taylor swift x daughter!reader

summary: while taylor swift is dominating the stage and winning over crowds, you’re discovering your own talent—but not in the music spotlight. theater and acting have caught your eye, and every school play or amateur short film is a chance to shine. the problem? taylor is so immersed in her tour and career that she never realized how much you’ve fallen in love with another art form.

a/n: i'm completely obsessed with taylor swift x daughter!reader stories and i decided to bring this one (and others) here. hope you like it!

word count: 1k

warnings: pure fluff

Taylor Swift’s return home was quiet—at least, as quiet as it could be when you’re Taylor Swift. The house felt untouched, save for the subtle changes that only a mother would notice. A new plant by the window. A different candle burning on the kitchen counter. And a script, thick and dog-eared, sitting on the couch as if someone had just been rehearsing.

Taylor paused mid-step, brow furrowing as she picked it up. Scribbles in the margins, highlighted lines, and character notes sprawled across the pages.

“What in the…” she mumbled, flipping to the cover.

“The Phantom of Middlebury – A Theatrical Experience by the Senior Drama Club” And there it was. Your name, bold and unmistakable, under the cast list.

Taylor’s eyes darted to the kitchen, where a colorful flyer was pinned to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a cat.

“OPENING NIGHT: FRIDAY! COME WATCH THE MAGIC UNFOLD!”

Taylor squinted at the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something less surprising.

How did she miss this?

\*/

That night, as you sat at the dinner table scrolling on your phone, Taylor casually brought it up.

“So… this play on Friday?” she asked, ladling pasta onto your plate. “I saw the flyer.”

Your fork hovered mid-air, and your eyes flickered to hers in alarm. “Oh. Yeah. It’s just a small thing. School play.”

Taylor’s head tilted, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Small thing? There’s glitter on the flyer, and it’s literally the only thing on the fridge. It’s practically screaming for attention.”

You laughed nervously. “I didn’t think you’d be that interested. It’s not like… y’know, music or anything.”

Taylor leaned forward on her elbows. “Let me get this straight. I can write ten-minute ballads about the most niche feelings, and you think I wouldn’t want to watch my own daughter perform on stage?”

You shrugged. “It’s not the same. Acting is just something I do for fun.”

“Fun is where it starts.” Taylor pointed at you with her fork. “Don’t underestimate fun.”

\*/

Taylor was not subtle.

She arrived at the school auditorium a full thirty minutes early, armed with oversized sunglasses, a hoodie, and, to your horror, a giant sign that read: “YOU’RE MY ARTIST OF THE YEAR!”

The auditorium was dimly lit, and she sat front row, smack in the middle, like a VIP section had been reserved just for her.

As you peeked from backstage, dread filled your stomach.

“Oh my God,” you whispered to your friend, “she brought a sign.”

Your friend stifled a laugh. “Is that Taylor Swift? With a handmade poster?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

And there she was—Taylor Swift, internationally recognized superstar—grinning ear to ear with glitter penmanship like it was her first concert ever.

The play began.

Each time you stepped on stage, Taylor leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, fully absorbed.

When you delivered your monologue, she whispered (loudly): “She’s so talented… I mean, look at her.”

A couple of parents chuckled nearby, and your teacher threw a glance in Taylor’s direction.

At the dramatic climax, Taylor let out a very audible, “YES! THAT’S MY DAUGHTER!” accompanied by a clap that echoed across the auditorium.

By curtain call, your cheeks burned. As you bowed, you could practically hear Taylor snapping photos with the enthusiasm of a proud soccer mom.

When you finally escaped backstage to peel off your costume, Taylor was waiting in the hall, holding a bouquet of roses and… cupcakes?

“Cupcakes, Mom? Really?” you teased, plucking one from the box.

Taylor grinned, shrugging. “I was going for a whole ‘proud mom but also dessert enthusiast’ vibe. Nailed it, right?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but warmth filled your chest.

\*/

A few days later, Taylor knocked on your bedroom door with an excited glimmer in her eye.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, sitting cross-legged on your bed, “I’m filming the video for ‘right where you left me’ next week. The director’s been looking for someone to play the lead actress in it.”

You nodded slowly, not sure where this was going.

“And… I thought maybe you could do it.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what? You want me to be in the music video?”

Taylor nodded earnestly. “You’re already in acting mode, and it’s not a flashy video. It’s… very folk, you know? Moody, emotional. I think you’d be perfect.”

You hesitated. “Isn’t that… nepotism or something?”

Taylor laughed. “Nepotism is hiring you because you exist. I’m hiring you because you’re good.”

You stared at her, unsure. But the excitement in her voice, the softness in her gaze—it was real.

“Alright,” you said finally. “I’ll do it.”

\*/

The set was a rustic café, straight out of the evermore universe. Dusty light streamed through the windows, illuminating vintage furniture and chipped cups.

You sat at the table, dressed in a muted vintage gown, the air heavy with silence. The director adjusted the camera as Taylor hovered nearby, watching intently.

“Okay,” the director called. “Action.”

You stared off into the distance, eyes glassy, hands trembling slightly. The scene demanded heartbreak—the weight of being left behind.

Taylor’s gaze never left you.

During a break, she leaned over. “You’re incredible. Seriously. I almost cried.”

You smirked. “Almost?”

“Fine. I cried a little. Whatever.”

She pulled out her phone, snapping more behind-the-scenes photos. “Hold the cup like that—yes! You’re the actress of the year.”

When the video finally premiered, social media lit up.

“WHO IS THIS GIRL IN TAYLOR’S VIDEO??” “Wait… is that her daughter? She’s SO good!”

Taylor wasted no time.

“Yup. That’s my girl. ❤️” she posted, sending fans into a frenzy.

The hashtag #TalentSwift trended for days.

You watched the flood of comments, half embarrassed, half exhilarated. For once, it wasn’t just about being Taylor Swift’s daughter. It was about you.

“You know,” Taylor said one night as you scrolled through your phone, “I always thought the stage was mine. But I think it might be yours too.”

And sitting there beside her, you realized she was right.

[setcolder]

The cruise arc is way crazier animated wtfff i CRIED during yor's revelation rearranging her motivation to keep her job.

I think yor and yuri sibling relationship is rarely being discussed because of the siscon gag. Its annoying honestly (the whole siscon ordeal being in the way), bc they have a very deep connection. Yuri prolly only remember yor as the only caregiver and family his whole life. On the other hand, yor remember the part where theyre still children with parents, hence why she said "I'm glad you (yuri) are with me". Yuri is an integral person in her life. The center of her motivation to fight. And yuri grew up to fight for HER too.

It's so heartbreaking that i feel sorry. Covering up their own bloodied hand from each other and still managed to put up cheerful face to one another. They both matured very young in their own way. Yor as the head of the family, the breadwinner, and yuri burdened with guilt as he feel powerless to be the one who protects her. As ironic as it is, since she doesn't need one. Although, both shouldn't have been in that position. Yor shouldve gone to school herself rather than taking dirty politicians life. Yuri grew to be more selfish than yor is—he only cared about her and everything comes back to her. His moral is yor. While yor managed to build moral compass that is based on humanity and compassion. But how did they have this divided perspective on living? What made yor grow up so well, despite spending almost all her life in the cold battlefield? Was there a parental figure that keep yor's moral inclined?

Yuri being possessive and obsessive worship toward yor most probably is a result of witnessing her coming home disheveled all his life. He went to school as an orphan too, theres chances him and yor are being bullied by their surrounding on childhood period. That's probably enough reason, beside his personality is a part of comedic gag. But still, i would want to know what happened throughout his life too. Yor was so positive, and shes his parental figure, but he formed his own grey moral to hold on as a mindset.

I'm curious too as too how and why they moved to the city. They lived in outskirts i believe? What made them move out? I think around her teenage year yor managed to reach thier financial for the better, and chose schools in the city for yuri's better education? As far as i remember, yuri was doing his education year pretty fast compared to his peers

And also, i know in the canon timeline yuri being an sss officer were probably going for less than a year. But hes already got someone close to a caring guardian, his lieutenant. He even knew about yuri whole motivation being his sister (well ig everyone who acquainted yuri will automatically be shoved with yuri's yapping on yor)

I feel like the canon manga should really address the situation between their sibling relation. When the secrets are out in light, would that motivation will stay the same? Same goes to loid as well, although he would be still pretty strong on that since his motivation is going to make the world for a better place. He aims so high its still wouldn't be a question if he decided to stay in this line of work. While yor and yuri though, some parts its still solid if they stayed respectively, but since their motivation is to have their own siblings in peace while in reality they fought their own battles—it will bring even more questioning about their motivation to live and fight.

At some point the siscon gag need to be dropped. It feels a shame if theyre not getting more explored. Yuri thinking loid stole yor from him is a given since hes practically made himself bitchless but he need to flip the script and accept the new addition as his family—that way he will feel less sense of loneliness. He thought with loid in the picture he might taken the role of protecting yor from the dirty world (but for this hes stubborn and think loid isn't capable enough) (i just thought this would made some sense on why he hates loid so much) (i rationalize things other than his irrational siscon thing bc i dislike that)

I was originally putting think pieces about yor and now i ended up talking more about yuri FUCKK I'll write more in separate post damn

[into-september]

"Maledictator", thoughts

Flipping through the channels at later at night than the target group should be up gave me the tail end of "Frozer" (Luka had a different voice, the ice power-ups are weird) and then "Maledictator".

Did this happen before or after Chloé revealed herself to be a dancing prodigy in LB cosplay that had a wig

Sure sure S5 might go on and on about how she's too lazy for school, but you don't get those dancing skills at one of the toughest ballet schools in the world without dicipline and dedication. If we're supposed to treat anything that happens on this show seriously after all, "Frighteninggale" suggests that Chloé's illiteracy stems from some learning disability left undiagnosed thanks to a system too afraid to be frank about her academic performance to her parents

No helping the complete lack of reality on display as the episode starts, though

Marinette's explanation for choosing Chloé for the fight is something like "doesn't get intimidated by power" (would've been so cool if this was ever followed up on), but it's pretty clear that it's really because she keeps blaming herself for getting Chloé upset. I can't remember if she did that before Adrien refused to join the party because he was upset, but the one most ruthless at tearing Chloé's superhero delusions apart at the start of the episode wasn't Marinette, no matter how much both Marinette and Chloé keeps saying that it was. It was Alya.

Not sure what to make of Chloé's repeated accusations that Marinette made the class "gang up on her" when Chloé demonstratively doesn't care what the class thinks of her

And yet she later grieves that "nobody likes her" and she "has no friends"

And she goes to the party, unaware that it is to celebrate Queen Bee, because Marinette asked her to

The most interesting part of the episode is how she at the end refuses the Butler's help to clean up, insisting to do it herself

"BUt she neVEr wAnted to Be betTER" #surejan

Speaking of things it would've been so cool if they followed up on: Adrien's statement that he "can't" celebrate Chloé's departure. This empathy-to-the-point-of-the-absurd (and it is empathy, not just loyalty) is such a contrast to Gabriel who uses the same skill set to terrorise Paris on the daily - and also to Marinette, whose judgemental ways are usually justified, but who also demonstrates a distinct lack in the empathy department on some very notable occasions (Kagami on purpose, Cat Noir are a side effect of weird writing). Adrien's insistence on sympathising with the other's pain, no matter how misplaced said pain is, would've been such an interesting angle for the show to pursue to cast light on the two others in our central conflict triangle

Chloé's VA aced this one and oh my god whoever wrote these scripts deserves a little medal. Gabriel Agreste is absolutely the kind of man to use the word "hustru"

The most important takeaway is that this episode probably only exists because someone wanted to animate Cat Noir taking the catboy existence to the ultimate level

The simultaneous clever and absolutely careless nature of the writing and directing of this show keeps giving me brainworms and today's is the fact that Queen Bee's weapon is the visually closest to Ladybug's in look and non-special function, and how this episode had one very conspicuous shot of Ladybug and Queen Bee moving in fully synchronised movements. Why would you do that if you're not either going to establish Chloé as a special ally, or as Ladybug's ultimate nemesis?

See also: with S5 explicitly taking on the political system of France, how dare not having a Maledictator repeat there. did we really need an episode about how even an AI can de-akumatise itself these days, or two about Lila getting Kagami akumatised over the same bloody problem that you were too chicken to make for real anyway

[locke-esque-monster]

Maybe it's just me, but I've finished season 1 of Jessica Jones and I'm really frustrated with the writing of Luke Cage. His only personality trait seems to be "has a dead wife". There's a whole other conversation to be had about the idea of fridging a woman for a male character's growth. But the worst part is that isn't for his growth, it's the entire foundation. Like after him being on the show all season here's what I feel I know about Luke:

He drives a motorcycle.

He works at/owns a bar (his wife didn't put in his name for some reason, and it maybe was their dream).

He has tons of casual sex. But he doesn't like complications or connections, including what seems to be any sort of family or friends.

He has superpowers, doesn't know how he got them, and doesn't intend to use them as a hero.

His wife dies tragically, he's mourning her, but until a lead popped up, he's not actively pursuing her killer.

That's it. 7 episodes and that's all the info I've gleaned about his character. He seems to be an okay guy, and I've seen dashes of a sense of humor. But there's nothing fleshing him out. Nothing I can say, "That's a Luke line" or "Yes that is/no that isn't how Luke would handle a situation". He exists in many ways as a plot device. And that makes me think poorly of Jessica. How can she picture a future with him when I have no grasp of his personality? The fact he's attractive and well-matched with powers and trauma can't be all of it. Let's compare him to Malcolm. Malcolm has been getting clean offscreen. He talks about his parents, how they brought him up, and his thoughts about going back into social work. He meets with the support group. He feels guilty about Ruben and helps his sister Robyn put up missing posters. He's got a whole plot and life outside of Jessica. Luke, he literally had to fill in what he did between him finding out what happened to Reva and him meeting up with Jessica in episode 12. Because he truly seems to have nothing going on outside of Jessica. Like, okay say his whole life was his wife. (Who I still have questions how she was able to get her hands on that flash drive? - How was she able to even find out about it and get it? Part of her job? Didn't she also work at the bar if it was their "dream"?) Anyway, when she dies, what the heck is he doing all day? A job and casual sex only takes up so much time. He's not avenging her or using his superpowers. So what else is he doing? He has to have something else going on. Friends. A hobby he picked up. Literally anything. In all fairness, it's not like Simpson for Trish is well-fleshed out either. But at least I have an idea how he might think or feel about a situation. I mean, credit to the show for flipping the script to write the women as heroes and to their characterization , while leaving the men as thinly written to mostly be used for furthering the plot and sex. Can't say I've seen that often. But if it's sacrificing the writing of some characters in the face of others, then that seems sloppy. Or that they're saving all his characterization for his own show, which seems a mistake. You should be teasing what is great about this character so people want more of a glimpse. Unless they were worried about contradicting or revealing something too early, in which case that's just bad communication between shows. If this weren't an 8 year old show, I'd be praying the writers learned improved upon his writing in future projects. I'm already optimistic from The Defenders trailer that Luke seems better written already. But frankly, at this point, there's nowhere to go but up.

[lcs-library]

After much procrastination, I can now say that acting angels are officially a couple!!!!

Lucille carefully cracked open the door to the theater, glancing over the dimly lit house until her eyes met the ones of another on the stage.

“Hi, Saku!” She greeted cheerfully, not even thinking to be quiet despite the late hour.

“Oh! Hey, Lu!” Sakuya returned, sitting up on his futon.

Lu sprinted down the aisle towards the stage, grinning giddily while her bedding bounced in her arms. She bounded to the top of the stage, setting her things down.

“Where are the others?” She asked, spreading out her futon.

“Pretty much everyone except for Citron cancelled,” Sakuya replied, disappointed.

“Seriously?! That’s so lame!”

“I know! It’s strange that they’d all turn down something like this.”

“Maybe. Wanna just wait for Citron for now?”

“Yeah, sure.”

With that, silence was cast upon them as they awkwardly sat for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to do in this situation. That was, until Sakuya’s phone vibrated, startling the two of them. He picked it up, only for his face to fall.

“It’s from Citron,” he said, defeated.

“Oh?”

“He says he won’t be able to make it, either. Apparently the mahjong club is having a tournament tonight.”

“Really?” Lu’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”

“Me either,” Sakuya added. “Maybe it was a surprise or something?”

“Maybe.”

Silence fell upon them once more. The two actors stared anywhere but the other’s eyes, trying and failing to ease the tension, even if they’d been around each other at least a thousand times.

Lu fixed her bedding. Sakuya flipped through his script. Neither of them wanted to admit something they both knew now was the right time for.

Finally, Lu sucked in a breath and spoke.

“Saku?”

He perked up.

“There’s something I should tell you,” she murmured shyly, lowering her voice.

Sakuya’s eyebrows shot up. This was his chance. Sure, it may not have been his original plan, but she was trying to say what he thought she was, he might as well shoot his shot, right?

“Me too, actually,” he stated, attempting to confidently straighten himself up.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna go first, or should I?”

“What about at the same time?”

“Sure, that works,” Lu agreed, wringing her hands in anticipation. “On the count of three?”

“Yeah. Are you ready?”

Lu nodded.

“Three, two, one…”

“I love you,” they said in unison.

Lu’s eyes widened. Sakuya could only blush.

“I love you,” they repeated, again perfectly in sync.

Sakuya stared at her in disbelief.

“You mean, like, as more…than friends?” He asked.

“Do you?”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“Me too,” Lu interrupted.

Another bout of silence, this one even more nerve-wracking than the previous two. Questions swarmed in their heads, ones of “What now?” and “Do they really mean that? To me?”

“You know, I did actually have a whole confession planned,” Sakuya admitted.

“Can I see?” Lu asked bluntly.

“I mean, it’s already over with, so it wouldn’t really do much.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it.”

Sakuya felt his face heat up, realizing that what he had planned for weeks might be a little odd when put into action.

Eve still, he summoned his courage, took a deep breath, and stood up, guiding her to a seat in the front row of the theater before he stepped back onto the stage.

“My portrait: Sakuya Sakuma.

“When I was a kid, both of my parents died, leaving me to be tossed between homes. During that time, my only goal was to make myself small, to be inconvenient. I didn’t want to bother them more than I already had. Even then, I was seen as a nuisance, and I had to try every day to make them keep me. They’d pretend their love was unconditional, but I knew the truth. The second I became a burden, it was on to the next house and the cycle began again.

“I never really had an escape from that constant fear, no matter how many friends I stayed with. That was what theater became for me. A way to let myself go, to be someone else for a bit and not worry about those pressures. That riverbank became my own little world, where only I could exist.

“That was until you came along. You sat in my world for a bit, listening to my stories, sometimes even the thoughts I couldn't say on my own. Maybe you thought I couldn’t see you, maybe you didn’t. Either way, you gave me a little bit of hope that somebody out there wanted to hear what I had to say, even if it wasn’t really me saying those words. I wish we talked back then. I wish you could have known what that meant to me.

“And then you joined Mankai. I got to hear your stories and I wanted to listen forever. I still do. And I hope you feel the same.

“But most of all, I found out one thing.”

It was here that he stepped off of the stage, stopping right in front of Lu’s eyes to take her hand in his.

“I love you.”

There was no applause, only a light gasp from Lu. How does one respond to something like that? She closed her eyes, searching for her words.

“Thank you. You already know my response.”

Sakuya chuckled lightly.

“I do.”

He gently lifted her hand to his face, kissing her knuckle. His lips were warm, warmer than she could have imagined, not to mention the way their hands interlocked, as if they were made for each other. For once, the silence was comfortable, welcome, even.

Sakuya led Lu up to the stage to join him, sitting with her.

“So, now what?” She prompted.

“I… I don’t know,” he replied.

“Me neither.”

A pause.

“Do you want to sleep on it?” He asked.

“Yeah, let’s just do that for now.”

Lu moved her futon to be side-by-side with her love’s, climbing under the blankets as Sakuya did the same. Rolling over, the two faced each other.

“Good night, Saku. I love you,” she whispered, testing out the words.

“Love you too,” he repeated, taking her hand under the covers. She smiled, closing her eyes to join him in slumber.

[forevfangirlwrites]

play stupid games, win stupid prizes chapter 2

She walks into school on Monday with her new mission in mind. As expected, Percy appears at her locker first thing in the morning.

“You never sent the math notes,” are the first words out of this mouth.

Wordlessly, she pulls out the copies she made and hands them to him. The shock on his face almost makes the hassle of making the copies worth it. It’s rare she catches Percy off his guard and now that she knows how great it feels, she’s determined to do it again.

“What happened to you?” He asks, scanning the papers as if to confirm she actually did give him the notes.

She just shrugs, trying to act casual. “Nothing, just keeping my word.”

It might be a light jab at the fact that he barely helped with the script and if he wants to take it that way, then that’s completely fine with her.

Percy’s eyes narrow at her words. “What’s your deal princess?”

Boys are entirely too easy to provoke. “It’s called being nice,” she replies, shutting her locker. “You should try it sometime.”

Percy makes a face (another win for her) and sighs. “Whatever.”

The bell rings, saving her from further conversation and she walks away with a small smile on her face.

She might actually be able to pull this off.

-.-

The fact that Percy actually shows up to the library later that day is also surprising. Sure, she told him to meet her and sure he’d nodded disinterestedly, but she hadn’t actually expected him to show up.

It must show on her face because he rolls his eyes when he sees her.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she replies as innocently as she can. Might as well take the opportunity to get on his nerves.

He slumps down on the opposite chair and crosses his arms. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

Now that’s a sentiment she can agree with. Pulling out her notebook, she flips it to where they had been working on the script. It’s evident she’d made zero progress over the weekend. (To be fair, discussing Piper’s plan took up most of her time).

Percy, of course, notices. “Looks like you didn’t get far without me.”

“It’s ‘cause I have a life, Jackson,” she snips back at him.

He leans back in his usual cocky manner and raises and eyebrow. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Jackson!” a voice across the library shouts, eliciting an angry “shhhh” from the librarian. She glances past him to see one of Percy’s friends, Jason, walk up to their table.

Jason is the reason she came into contact with Percy Jackson in the first place, being Thalia’s brother and Percy’s friend means it was only a matter of time they’d run into each other anyway.

It’s been a small encounter (Thalia didn’t really talk to her brother in school that often). Jason, along with Leo and Percy, had walked up to Thalia’s locker where she and Piper had been standing simply because he needed a textbook that Thalia had.

All Thalia had done was hand him the textbook and he thanked her. But in that amount of time Percy had already managed to shoot an annoying grin her way.

“Who’s the princess?” He’d said in the snarkiest tone ever, nodding in her direction. It had been so rude and caught her so off guard that she hadn’t been able to respond right away, which then led him to comment on how quiet she was.

And that’s when she decided she hated him and that’s when he decided to keep making life miserable for her.

“What’s up?” Percy says to Jason who’s made it to their table, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Party at my place tomorrow night, you in?”

“On a Tuesday?” she can’t help but say it. Thalia had mentioned that Jason might throw some party since their parents were out of town, but she didn’t realize it was tomorrow.

Both guys turn to her and she feels her cheeks heat up at the unwanted attention.

“It’s called having a life, princess,” Percy retorts, throwing her own words back at her.

“You’re welcome to come too,” Jason adds, nodding at her. “Feel free to bring friends.”

“Didn’t you hear her, Jason?” Percy cuts in mockingly. “She can’t, it’s a school night.”

KEEP READING ON AO3

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Part 2! A little shorter, but felt inspired to continue a little further!

___________________________________________

“This story is awful.”

Iris sipped her coffee, making a face at the overly sweet taste, flipping through the script in her hand. “This character makes no sense!”

Allison, Iris’s assistant, raised an eyebrow. “What a shock, you have a complaint about a script’s writing. So are you turning down this project as well? That would be the fifth in a row that we’ve turned down. People are starting to start rumors that you’re retiring.”

“I’m not saying no… not just yet. But this character…” Iris sighed. “I just don’t get it. She is a princess. The real princess… But she got replaced, and when she returns, somehow everyone favors the fake princess instead. Why didn’t she just stay firm to the truth? She was the one with the right to be there. Instead, she cowered away and attacked her replacement from the shadows.”

Allison took the script from her hands, looking at the scene that was underlined. “So, this girl grew up in the slums, and got brought back right? She feels out of place. And even worse, she has no confidence in her family. They have years of memories with someone else. That replacement… she can be gracious and calm. She’s been spoiled and loved by the royal family for years. And the favored are the confident. There is no one more timid than someone who is hoping to be loved.”

“Wants to be loved, huh… “ Iris murmured, thinking it over. “Why did they ask me to play this part?”

She was not speaking out of false confidence. She was a A list star. To be offered a side character part was not a typical event.

“Apparently the script writer insisted it had to be you.” Allison shrugged with a laugh. “He said you were born to play this part.”

“Is that so? Hmm… I’d like to meet him.”

“I’ll ask, but apparently he’s a hard person to meet.”

Iris took back the script, studying it once more. “Try. I want to meet the man who wrote this poor girl…and her terrible end.”

___________________________________________

“Wake up!”

A rude voice startled Iris awake, almost causing her to fall out of bed. Catching her balance, she sighed, trying to wake up. For a brief moment she wasn’t sure where she was. Iris rubbed her eyes, looking around, recognizing her surroundings as the rooms in the castle.

Back to my life as the replaced princess.  Her dreams of the other world were so detailed, so real, that Iris often found herself confused as to what was reality and what was the dream. It didn’t help that the time and events in her dreams often happened out of order, confusing her all the more when she woke up.

The dream me never did get to meet the script writer. She thought tiredly. I wish I had. It might have provided some answers.

Before she could focus on that too long, the voice spoke up once more.

“Are you getting up, Princess?” The tone was sarcastic, breaking Iris from her reverie. Looking over, Iris spotted the source: An angry looking maid, a blond woman in her young twenties, a scowl distorting her otherwise unremarkable features.

“I’m still considering it.” Iris muttered.

“Some of us don’t have time to waste, Your Highness. Breakfast started a half hour ago.” She smirked at the statement, as if Iris being late was amusing.

Ah. I’m being bullied. Smiling to herself, Iris sat up, making prolonged eye contact with the maid.

“Name?”

“Elise.” The woman gave an arrogant look. “I’m the lead maid of the living quarters.”

“Wow. I’m sure your parents are very proud.”

Elise gave her a strange look. “They are.”

“I see…” Iris smiled broadly and tapped her cheek. “Imagine how excited they will be to hear you’ve been imprisoned for disrespecting royalty! Maybe they can come visit you on your birthdays?”

A confused silence fell over the room. Finally, realization dawned on her face, and she protested loudly. “You WOULDN’T DARE! I’m the princess’ favorite maid!”

Iris stood up, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.  Step by step she moved closer. A polite smile remained in place, but her eyes were cold and unsettling.

In her dreams, she was an actress. And not just any actress, one with a very specific reputation:

A woman known for her business acumen and ruthlessness in negotiation. No one ever expected to come out on top when talking contracts, but her acting prowess kept them coming back for the abuse. It was a well-known fact in her dreams:

Anyone who crossed her would regret it.

The maid Elise began to cower as Iris moved within arm’s reach. She technically was taller than then the undernourished princess, but for some reason, she felt small in the face of the aura of power and control that radiated from the young woman in front of her. Her sense of danger heightened, until she panicked, breaking out in apologies.

“I- I’m sorry. I'm sorry!”

Iris’ smile widened. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for disrespecting you… Your Highness.”

“You aren’t sorry… not yet anyways.” She leaned forward, whispering a few words quietly in the maid’s ear. The woman turned pale, shaking with fear and shock, stammering non-stop apologies. Finally, Iris raised a hand, bringing her words to a halt.

“I’ll dress myself, Elise. Why don’t you let my father, brothers… and my lovely adopted sister… that I will be down to breakfast shortly.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Elise curtseyed, cold sweat dripping down her back. Quickly she turned and headed to the door, only stopping when Iris called out again.

“What will you say if my family asks why I am late?”

Their eyes met again, similar to when she had woken up, but with a completely different atmosphere.

Finally, the maid looked away first and broke the silence. “I will tell them it was due to my error, Your Highness.”

“Good girl.” Iris waved her hand dismissively. “Head along now.”

As if released by a slingshot, Elise ran out, nearly falling to the ground in her hurry to get away. Iris chuckled, putting aside the dress that was laid out for her and searching her wardrobe. The dress selected was clearly a ballgown, something overly fancy and completely unsuited for a breakfast, even a royal one. Wearing that would have made her seem awkward and out of place, a country bumpkin who coveted beautiful and shiny things.

After searching for a while, she found a simpler light blue gown with minimal trim and flared sleeves, clearly a more casual daytime dress. It was difficult to put on by herself, but fortunately, she had a lot of practice getting quickly in and out of intricate clothing…

In her dreams at least.

___________________________________________

Once she was fully dressed, she headed downstairs.

Again, she found herself surrounded by luxury. Intricate fixtures, beautiful paintings, even the door handles looked expensive. Iris sighed quietly, realizing that without her advantage she would have very much felt out of her depth.

I do miss modern amenities though. Even the most expensive toilet in a fantasy world like this can’t match a good reliable modern one.

Iris walked towards the dining room, remembering the path she took yesterday. As she passed by, she heard the servants in the corners whispering. Her hearing was excellent, she only picked up a few pieces, but she was able to understand what the sentiment was.”

“Who is…?”

“Came from… slums.”

‘Really? Doesn’t look…”

“Looks like the Queen.”

At the last sentence Iris turned for a moment, glancing at an enormous portrait of a young woman that was displayed in the sitting room adjacent to her destination. She looked a lot like Iris herself. She had similar red hair and gold rimmed irises in a delicate face. Iris stared silently for a few moments, a small pain in her heart for the woman who gave birth to her, but who she had never met.

I wonder how she would feel about this switch? Would she be excited to see me? Or more worried about how my arrival could hurt her raised daughter instead?

Not wanting to dwell on those depressing thoughts too long, she entered the dining room.

“You’re late.” Her father’s grim voice greeted her arrival. He radiated disapproval, with an intimidating atmosphere… to most people at least.

“Good morning!” Iris smiled at her father, unbothered. She sat down at the empty place setting, her posture upright and confident. “I apologize for my tardiness.” She locked eyes with her maid, Elise, who face paled. She stepped forward with a deep gesture.

“I’m so sorry, I woke up the princess late this morning!”

Anthony frowned. “Is this how you serve your new mistress?” The maid shook her head in response, looking even more distraught. The tense atmosphere thickened, before being shattered by a new speaker.

“Elise has always been my maid before this and served me perfectly! It must be some sort of misunderstanding.” Theodora frowned, before looking uneasily at Iris. “Maybe my sister is… just not used to being around servants?”

They were pretty words, and Iris had to appreciate the barbs hidden within them. Especially nice was the subtle implication that it was Iris who had behaved inappropriately.

Iris laughed quietly. “I fail to understand how me not being used to servants would cause the maid to not attempt to wake me up until 30 minutes after breakfast had started.” She paused, looking over the rich clothes of the other girl carefully. “A more likely answer is that she does not view me as a true princess… and why would that be?”

Theodora looked shocked, and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault! If we hadn’t been switched…”

“How dare you blame Theodora!” Dominic slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and cutlery. “She is an innocent…”

“She is an innocent victim, brother, I know.” Iris faced him calmly. “I’m very confused about why Theodora is taking this to heart. It’s not like she as a baby could have engineered the switch… although the person who switched us may have been her relative… who wanted their child to live a life of royalty while the real princess suffered or died…But obviously that is not her fault! So, please don’t blame yourself… Sister.”

A long silence fell over the room as the three men processed her words. Iris wanted to roll her eyes but kept her expression blank. Did they really never consider that it could be someone related to her who did the switch? Do they think they just grabbed a random baby somewhere? She turned her attention to the food. It was multiple tiny plates of intricate food, all things she had never eaten before… while awake. There was multiple odd appearing cutlery, and for a moment, she felt a slight panic deep within her.

 I don’t belong here.

She banished the thought immediately. She was the real princess. Where did she belong, if not here? Drawing on her dream knowledge, she started on the outside, and worked her way carefully through the food. She progressed quietly and smoothly, only glancing up once she felt less hungry… Only to see a hate filled glare on Theodora’s face.

Shocked, Iris glanced down, and when she looked back the look was gone, so quickly that she wondered if she imagined it. But it was real, she knew it deep down. Was it what I said? She glanced down at her hands and smiled. Or the fact that despite them preparing an overly complicated breakfast, I‘ve had no issues? One of the scenes she had acted out in had involved the real princess being humiliated during a meal with her poor table manners. Another improvement in her favor.

One at a time, Iris. Just one small change at a time.

___________________________________________

After breakfast Iris excused herself quickly, not wanting to stay in the tense environment of her smiling “sister” and her father and older brother who were so quick to defend her. Anthony followed her closely, and she found herself smiling up at him. He was the most different from the story she knew. He seemed to care, at least.

“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” He asked as they turned towards the gardens.

Filled with dreams of another world. “Well enough.” She paused. “If not longer than hoped for.”

Anthony winced. “I talk with the head servants. There should be no confusion in how you are to be treated.”

“Don’t waste breath on useless explanations. Words mean little against action. And unfortunately, there’s already confusion, brother. It’s coming from the King and Crown Prince.” She smiled calmly, as if the words didn’t mean anything to her. “Why should the servants see me as something their king doesn’t.”

“Iris… he…”

“Doesn’t look at me like a father who regained his daughter. More like a possible enemy who could threaten his family.” In a way, he’s correct. If he views Theodora as his family, my arrival does make her situation and status complicated.

“…”

Anthony didn’t seem to know how to respond. Ignoring his silent dismay, Iris let out a small cry of delight, swooping down to gently touch a few flowers along the path. The fragile purple petals felt like satin under her fingers. She cupped a few, smiling brightly.

“They are so lovely.” In her joy she accidentally released a small amount of power, leading to the small buds around to bloom beautifully in a few seconds. The rest of the flowers seemed to lean towards her, as if she was their personal sun. In moments a few bright colors became an overwhelming blush of purple, pinks and green.

“Iris?” Anthony spoke up uncertainly.

“Yes, these here are Irises! So lovely and brave of them to bloom so nicely despite the cold.” The castle gardens were much more temperate than the outer city, likely the result of the royal magicians, but it was still not warm enough yet for the flowers to bloom fully. She regretted the accidental release of power, which had attracted them to open up too soon. They would not last long. Silently she stretched out her hands and fed them more power, which would let them last until the weather warmed up some.

“No… Iris… do you have magic?”

She froze at her brother’s question. “… Would it mean much if I said ‘no’?”

“Not much, no.” Anthony laughed. “How long have you had magic? It’s amazing, really… most royalty need guidance to discover it, and usually don’t until adulthood!”

“…”   A long silence fell between them. The smile slowly faded from Anthony’s face, to be replaced by a look of uncertainty.

Iris stared at the flowers, her face cold. “I suppose many royalty haven’t faced starvation.” She stood up, brushing her hands off, the movements stiff. “The old woman who took me in died shortly after I turned ten. She had run a small shop, but after she was gone, some men came and grabbed it. I was too small to hold onto anything valuable… They tried to grab me too. I would have sold for some gold, after all.”

“Iris…”

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think of the horrible night, but unable to stop. Her heart started beating faster with remembered fear. “I stabbed one of their men in the thigh when he tried to grab me. Almost castrated the bastard. Scared them enough for me to get away. But I was too young. I was desperate, alone with no skills to survive. It was spring, and I discovered I had a knack for selling flowers.”

 I started having the dreams that night, and good thing too. “When it got cold, I couldn’t find enough flowers to sell… until I awakened my power.”

She was lost in her memories, when suddenly she was crushed by an overwhelming hug. Her fight or flight response activated and she tried to swing her arms, only to freeze at the sound of her brother’s tearful voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Iris. You never should have gotten lost, never should have suffered. I should have found you earlier.”

Iris reached out uncertainly, and patted his back. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. And either way, I’m here, right?”

Anthony’s voice was muffled, his taller frame hanging down as he buried his head on her shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I need to. Trust me.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting.” Thinking of the ending of her story, Iris added. “You’ve got some time, anyways, until I get married off somewhere.”

“Who is marrying you off!” Anthony raised his head, his eyes angry. “That’s too risky, what if he doesn’t treat you well?! You’ve already suffered so much…. No! Better to marry you close… preferably to someone scared of royalty so you can run home if he makes you angry.”

Hearing his description of his ideal for her husband, Iris couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Okay, brother. I’ll marry someone close by who you can bully, so I’ll never suffer again.”

“You’re making fun of me.” Anthony accused her.

“Yes.”

They both laughed at that, Anthony reached out and rubbed her head affectionately, messing up her hair. As Iris frowned and tried to fix it, he shook his head. “Well we’ve got plenty of time. It’s not like there’s a long list of candidates worthy of marrying a princess…”

“Your Highnesses!” A robed young man entered the garden. “What a coincidence!”

Iris recognized him quickly. “Mage Vicente” She smiled in greeting.

“You look much better rested.” He commented in return.

Anthony looked a bit uneasy, stepping in between the two of them. “What brings you here?”

“I sensed some unusual magic in the garden, so I came to investigate.”

“Well, nothing unusual is happening here, so you should probably keep looking.”

Mage Vicente looked at them both, and gave an amused smile. “Of course. Sorry to disturb you.” He made brief eye contact with Iris again, who felt a distinct familiarity in his gaze. But where would I know him from?

Anthony kept his protective posture, not relaxing until the mage had excused himself and walked away. “Don’t tell anyone of your powers just yet, Iris.”

“Why not?” She hadn’t really planned to. In the story she knew, her father had used her for her powers before abandoning her. She hadn’t meant to display them here, but she supposed she had felt comfortable and safe around Anthony. She was curious as to why he thought she shouldn’t, though.

“We don’t know who meant you harm eighteen years ago. What if they are still around, and mean to finish the job?” He shook his head. “I know father and Dominic don’t want to investigate the switch, as it could lead to public speculation about Theodora, but…” he paused. “I can’t let whoever hurt you try again. I'm looking into it, Iris. I'll find out who did this, and I will protect you in the future.”

“I…” Iris choked on her words, feeling tears fill her eyes. She had been mentally prepared to be alone on this battlefield. To fight an unknown enemy with no one, not even her family on her side. But things were different than she expected. She had an ally, a friend.

A brother.

Unable to articulate her thoughts, she settled for simply hugging him again. He seemed happy with that though, rubbing her head and messing up her hair once more.

“Let’s head back.”

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

[angrydame]

THE CLAPPING GAME

A pit in the South West, a hole you could see from heaven and the cunts gambol swiftly towards the railing. We're risking life. My arms weigh at the wrists, blue paint barrels are stuck with the smallest and skinniest fucker in the group. This group was brimmed with wrekkheads like me, not a given name between us. Goose's been claiming he's known me for time, and swears that baiting oursleves over the railing and risking a pulverised skull is a yearly tradition. If Goose ran at a wall his fat lips would be the first to connect with the bricks, spewing fucking blood and bilge. What a strong face and confident hands, mug above a square, albino face. For a kid with money, sparing the oxford shirts of cream and mint and dress shoes. He's the leader, but I'm worse.

The breed consisted of me, Goose, two whores, a gay kid, a roadman, and a pretty boy on borrowed time. Annually, dog-eat-dog, claw and cunting imperil. We persistently crave to out mad each other, and mad people don't care about life.

I relieve the dead weight from my wrists, the group piles in to lubricate their filthy, sweltering hands with the choppy and unmixed paint that has been rotting in the art cupboard. Discarding of blazers and ties; myself a facimile to their familiarity of the ball game. The first three cunts to let their claps echo around my skull folded after five claps. Pussies. I understood the game now.

Wet wrists make the insane laugh, the only other fucker laughing was a stranger with plasticine cheeks; gazing over the ledge ardently as I burnt a hole into the mole under his ear. I was laughing too, but this boy scared the absolute shit out of me. He favours half a person, the rest of him left the lights on but the bulb is dimming with caducity. Goose said he had a funny name, but Goose is not one to talk. He seemed to swallow the design that he should have died years before this game, he's been eaten too, I think. I must look that gaunt as we mutually hang from the bashead's molars; desperate not to meet the throat. Quite staring. Kiss your teeth. My lights are dim too, lights hum, fade and we're drowing sea dogs under tumultuous waves that personate every other winy twat coming to ruin our day. But we never meets my gaze and I think I might be wrong. So, I ignore it.

But I'll be damned, this boy was like looking in a misted, shit-stained cracked and faded mirror. Like the back of a scuffed spoon, inverted like someone's flipped your entire world upside down. I only see the right side of his face. I don't want to see the rest.

Instead, I discernibly elbow a kid next to me and drive my hipbones against the railing; the mental image of me doffing my sticky fingers out of one recalcitrant pie and into another. Why the fuck am I here so far off the ground, I feel safer on the ground.

Before I can question my circumstances, one of the whore slides a flipped red bucket between my dolly shoes and the railing, grinning like a prick over a bird beak nose, coffee stained teeth like an average central yat. Her parents didn't even notice wehn she didn't come home, the rest didn't have parents to care. I was used to digging another hole in my brain, but this was real, with these people. And they're making me hang off a building.

Rarities, like planes low in the sky that sear legibly red script of 'virgin' or the sun burning it's under most, Goose was someone that must've been imagined by a very lonely wamn. For time I thought that fucking woman was me, but I could barely dust a colleen when he first tackled me into the lunch question. Toff boy aye? Blonde mother of draping and interior design catalogues used to preach about her histrionic suicide venture; she hung herself with a pear necklace and when it snapped, she got an insurance pay-out, furthering her toffness for her and her wet sons. Goose's mum would say that shit lightly to all our chums who fruited and fantasised about the calm after death, which would frequently meek them back to up keeping afar their spry years. Better than the Bible. I hark back to Goose, up on that rood in the sky where he felt above his mother. Che's mother was Goose's mother now, though I'm not quite sure how they met.

[more-than-a-princess]

@scarlxtleaves asked: How physically affectionate is your muse with their partner? What personality trait/type does your muse find most attractive? Would your muse prefer a spontaneous date night, or a planned night out?

Romantic Relationship Headcanon q's - Accepting for Fluff Friday!

How physically affectionate is your muse with their partner?

In general, Sonia, particularly in her younger years, is an affectionate person. She adores giving her friends and family hugs as a teenager, at least in private. Double cheek kisses are also the standard greeting for members of the Royal Family when greeting fellow members of the family.

As an adult, her physical affection amongst her friends and family is a bit more restrained, which is expected of her (her parents were mostly not of the 'pick up your crying child and hug them' variety: that was nanny's job). But with a partner, Sonia has to make the Great Realization from 'doesn't get that this person likes them/she likes this person' to 'GETS IT. They've made it painfully direct and obvious. The feelings are mutual!' I think of it like a switch that's suddenly flipped.

Sonia is very good at reading people for most things: romantic interest in her is the main exception. Unless someone is Kazuichi levels of directness in showing their interest (and Sonia despises his reasoning for liking her in the first place), she will likely not pick up on it. This person is simply being nice, that person is being friendly, etc. This is partly due to her family's specific codes of conduct where courting/dating are concerned (drilled into every member of the aristocracy, but commoners would likely have no idea about the protocol) and the fact that, for the most part, her exposure to romance has been through media: books, television, film. Sonia can easily recognize flirting when it's scripted. When it's happening to her, it usually goes right over her head.

There's also the nagging voice at the back of her mind that constantly asks: who would actually want to date me/romance me/love me/marry me if they knew, really knew, what royal life and my family are like?

That being said: once she's made that Great Realization? She very much enjoys sneaking in a kiss here, a hug there, a cuddle whenever she doesn't have to be awake terribly early. Good days and bad days alike, she prefers to begin and end them in her lover's arms, or they in hers. Sonia just needs it to be behind closed doors if it's not appropriate for public view: a held hand, a hug, or a discreet/quick kiss here and there, especially after the Royal Family has officially announced a romantic relationship/suitor for the Princess is acceptable: making out in a public space is definitely not. Sonia likes to keep parts of her life private: so much of her life is available for public consumption and scrutiny. She values the parts she keeps to herself and shares with those she loves so much.

What personality trait/type does your muse find most attractive?

Probably kindness, with self-confidence not too far behind. Sonia finds people who are inherently kind to be very attractive. It might not be worn on their sleeve, it could very well be buried beneath plenty of prickly layers to keep others from noticing it, but that usually does little to deter her from finding it. Sonia detests snobbery, particularly snobbery that comes from wealthy individuals towards the rest of the world: in her view, money and family name do not guarantee someone to be a good person. In her experience, it often corrupts them.

But people who actively work to help their communities/businesses/city/country/etc? Who give back, who care about things other than themselves and their own self-interests? Terribly attractive.

An innate self-confidence (no braggarts, but she doesn't find crybaby teens and adults terribly attractive either), an inclination towards adventure and exploration, determination/motivation, a (preferably warped) sense of humor, and shared/common interests are also attractive.

Would your muse prefer a spontaneous date night, or a planned night out?

Yes. The important words here are: night out. Sonia enjoys both, having someone plan a date for/with her (especially if it's something that they enjoy, she enjoys, they both enjoy, or they're eager to try), or something entirely spontaneous (within reason. She does have rules to follow. Mostly. She bends a lot of them), she's mostly just happy to spend time with her partner. Particularly away from royal life, if possible: she needs to remember that she is a person worth putting first, not just a princess, which can be difficult sometimes.

That said, it's hard to ignore how much she likes things that get her adrenaline pumping: roller coasters, exploring decrepit haunted places, horror movie marathons, etc. Soothing activities are enjoyable too, but after adhering to a schedule and all sorts of regulations that control nearly every aspect of her life? A little bit of adrenaline is a welcome change.

[morganwrites12672]

Joe Keery x Reader

Requests are open! Check my pinned post for details!

Also, I made YN's characters name Stephanie. It can be anything you want it just felt better with a name.

this was a request thank you, @snackycake1975

You were terrified. Joe had been being extremely weird for the last few weeks. And the cast had been acting weird around you... Did you do something? You wracked your brain for an answer as you sipped on your morning coffee.

Joe hadn't been spending as much time in your trailer as usual. What if he wants a break? Or to break up, for real?

Was he just waiting until you finished filming? That eould make sense. Your characters were love interests, and breaking up might mess up the chemistry. That was why. The cast also knew. Definetly.

You set down your coffee and change into some fresh clothes. Just sweatpants and a T-Shirt, you would be changing into your costume shortly. You brush out your hair. No need for makeup or styling, makeup and hair crew.

You jump as a knock on your door startles you. You rush over and see Joe. Why is he here? Did he talk to the producers and they said he could 'dump your ass'?

"Morning, baby," he yawns. He walks in as you step back from the door. He takes a seat on your bed and motions for you to follow. You take a seat on his lap and he wraps his arms around, chin resting on your shoulder. *I'm sorry I do that cuddle thing in every fic. I'm so weak for it*

"Morning Joe. What's wrong?" You ask. You needed to know. If he was going to dump your ass, get it over with. You could handle it. Okay, you couldn't.

It was season 4, almost over. Stephanie and Steve were about to get a happy ending. As happy as it could be, Stephanie had lost her parents, steves we're still alive due to being out of state.

"Nothings wrong," he quickly says. Lie. "Look, I'm just nervous. It's the end of the season, I mean, we've been dating for almost as long as the show has been going on," okay. That seemed true.

"5 years," you reply. You had to get to filming, your crew would kill you if you were much later. You were going to miss not filming with the people for the year or so you would be waiting on the writers.

"Come on babe," Joe says grabbing your hand and you both walk out of your trailer. Gaten whistles when he sees you leave the trailer together. He was literally like your child. You and Joe had basically adopted him.

You flip him the bird as he sticks out his tongue and then Joe just laughs. "youre a dork," he mumbles and you give him a playful shove.

The crew quickly ushers you both apart. You being drug off and dramatically calling for your lover. You snicker as the makeup crew starts smiling at your antics.

You were in the middle of a heated scene. Stephanie has taken a hit from a few demobats and was loosing a lot of blood.

"Steph, please no," Joe said with gears in his eyes. This scene was going great. He knelt next to your body. He pulled something from his pocket.

"I was gonna marry you baby," he says. Your face probably looks shocked. This is not part of the script. You rack your brain. Probably trying to get a genuine reaction.

"I'm sorry Steve, I love you but ..," you couch up blood that had been in the back of your throat, another year escapes his eye, "I can't lose you, I do," is your last words before he picks you up and you pass out.

"CUT," you hear one of the brothers yell. Part of the cast somes running towards you as Joe sets you down. You smile when Gaten hugs you.

"What's going on? You know I hate surprises," you say as you receive hugs . You feel a tao on your shoulder and have to release Millie.

You see Joe. He is fucking. Proposing!?! He had a dianond ring. He is on one knee. A haloy tear slips from your eyes, "Yes," you varely whisper as a happy tears slips from both of your eyes.

He palaces the ring on your finger and picks you up spinning you. You are shocked as he sets you down. You place a kiss on his lips.

"Why did you make us wait?" Sadie asks. they knew. They most likely planned it.

"I-" joe can't come up with a reply so you just kiss him again. You kiss joe. You kiss your Fiance! Because you are.... engaged!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

le deux, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: One rebel from the waist down plus Jeon Jungkook in a sleeveless tee equals two in the back of a car, fucking like animals as Jungkook takes pictures of it all on your phone. Per your request, of course.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, semi-public (car) sex, photography/filming of sex, m-receiving oral, cowgirl); non-idol!BTS; reader has a dimple and Jungkook’s inner monologue is basically in love with it; PWP? you decide happy jungkook day! :D 2021.01.09

–

Jeon Jungkook thought he knew what he was getting into, but he sure as hell didn’t.

When he stepped through the gate, he thought, damn, it’s awesome that so many girls decided to wear such skimpy clothes to a rock concert. He figured he’d see some bouncing titty, flashes of ass, maybe the loss of some underwear because the lead singer was hot as hell. Dude was ripped and tattooed like nobody’s business. Dream body for Jungkook, to be honest.

If only his mom would let him get that many tattoos.

The right sleeve was already pushing it though. He’d have to ease her into it slowly.

Jungkook had gone alone, because his friends weren’t really into rock the way he was, but that was fine with him. He liked being able to enjoy himself without thinking too much about other’s opinions, even if they were his friends. Got to wear a sleeveless band shirt, tight black jeans, left his long black hair in a half-ponytail, and decorated his wrists with silver bracelets. He would have been more covered up if he was with his friends – didn’t want to make them jealous with all the stares he was getting with his tattooed right arm, after all.

And my body in general, he thought amusedly.

If he was younger, Jungkook would have been shyer about leaving himself so exposed like this, but he wasn’t, so instead he merely gave the stares a cocky smirk.

What was the point of working out if he couldn’t show it off a little?

He spied his seat and noticed there wasn’t anyone sitting right next to him yet. Odd. He had purchased relatively close seat and the concert was sold out. Hm. Well, maybe he should get some beer before it started.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

She was dressed like every other girl at the concert; smokey eyes, dark lips, black choker, shredded black crop top with an equally short fishnet shirt under it, pleated black miniskirt with silver buttons. A black strap over her chest. Knee-high black boots with buckles running all the way up her calf. Bare thighs and naked waist on display. Nice.

But that wasn’t why he paused.

He paused because she had a tattoo.

A single tattoo of black script around her waist. Her body was facing him, tilting her head at her phone, then looking down at the floor, at the seat row numbers. The tattoo was in English and Jungkook could read, a rebel.  She turned, facing her left, and looked up, counting the stairs. He realized the black strap connected to a clear waist bag that she was wearing on her back. She twisted a little so he got a good view of her back, the part where it trimmed down to the curve of her round, perky ass.

from the waist down.

Holy shit.

She had a rebel from the waist down tattooed around her midriff.

His eyebrows rose so far up into his forehead in shock that he didn’t even realize she was crawling over the people to her seat. She had black, pointed nails and silver chains draped over the back of her hands. A charming smirk, dimple flashing as she apologized for bumping into people. None of them seemed to mind, probably because her skirt was flipping up and revealing the strappy black velvet panties she was wearing. She seemed not to notice.

She plopped herself into her seat and grinned, checking her phone again. She had a black case with a nine-pointed star on it. Held her phone up and took a selfie with that killer smile, her tongue between her lips.

With a start, Jungkook realized she was sitting in his seat.

-

“Hey, you’re sitting in my seat.”

She sat up and looked around, counting down the row. “Aw shit, you’re right. Sorry.”

She got up and flopped into the seat next to him. Jungkook sat down, careful with his beer and water bottle. The chair was still warm from her body heat. That would have bothered him if he wasn’t staring at her open legs. She sat unapologetically, man-spreading in her seat, thighs laid out like a five-star buffet.

If she asked, Jungkook would gladly partake in said buffet.

Her hands were holding her phone and she tucked her tongue in between her teeth as she typed furiously, nails clacking against the glass, lowering the phone to her lap. A long text exchange was visible on the screen.

“Argument?” Jungkook pondered out loud.

She chuckled darkly. “More like, ‘I ain’t sitting on your dick for any amount of money, you piece of shit, leave me alone.’ You think men could get the fucking hint.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Block him?”

She scratched her chin, sending the message. “I would, but if I do, my parents are going to have a fit. They’re trying to set me up with him.”

The show was almost starting. He could hear the instruments warming up.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

She raised her head and grinned at him. Her right dimple winked at him with her smirk. Damn. Jungkook loved dimples.

“Me? The same thing as I always do. Find someone to fuck and send him pictures.”

-

So that’s why Jeon Jungkook was in the back of this random woman’s car, gasping as he was getting the best head of his life.

And struggling to take a picture of it.

“Holy shit,” he hissed, one of his hands hitting the glass of the car window as she took him deeper, tongue running underneath the length, hips swaying, her waist tattoo clearly in his vision. a rebel from the waist down. She had told him her name earlier, maybe when they were making out in the concert seats halfway through the show, maybe when they were practically dry humping each other by the end of the concert. Not the way Jungkook thought he was ending this particular event and he would probably buy another ticket so he could actually listen to the songs properly.

The head of his cock was jammed in the back of her throat, continually being squeezed by her tight, wet vice.

Jungkook wasn’t complaining though, if you get his drift.

Her eyes flickered up and she smirked around his cock, right dimple appearing as her tongue slid out from her plump lips and curled around the base.

Jungkook snapped a photo.

“Fuck, that’s sexy,” he mumbled, turning the screen around to show her. She chuckled low in her throat, vibrating the head of his cock. Rutted him a few more times, making him moan at the euphoric sensation.

She removed her mouth and he almost whimpered, but she was speaking and he was listening, staring at her dimple and glistening pink lips.

“You’re good at taking pictures, Jungkook,” she murmured. “Get one of me on your balls.”

She lowered her head, lifting his cock. Black nails, silver chains, and long fingers wrapping around his stiff length, lifting his wet cock and placing her tongue onto his balls. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. Fuck, he had never felt a better tongue, swiping back and forth, getting the full expanse of his balls as her other hand came up to smush them against her lips. He sucked in a breath and spread his thighs more, seeing saliva drip down, hitting the black towel she had spread out in her backseat.

Evidently, she had planned this shit.

Jungkook lifted her phone and pressed the circular button.

Her eyes flickered up at him again, smirk on display, tongue fully extended and smacking his balls back and forth, jiggling them with the wet pink tip. Hand firmly gripping his cock. The moans coming out of him could rival the best porn out there. His chest was shuddering, his sleeveless shirt forgotten and crumpled in her front passenger’s seat – he couldn’t really remember how it got there to be honest – and his pants were balled up around his knees, making this somewhat uncomfortable but also hot as hell.

Jungkook snuck a glance at her phone and realized he was taking a fucking video the entire time instead of a photo. Shit. He furrowed his brows and stopped it, switching back to photo mode, and took a picture the second she swallowed one of his balls in her mouth.

“Fuck!”

He nearly dropped the phone on her face as she sucked, eyes sparkling with mirth, doing some kind of crazy figure-eight maneuver with her tongue as he lowered his hand, gasping for breath as she pulled her head back and forth, jerking him slowly at the same time.

“I… might have taken a video,” Jungkook panted out, head tipping back and staring at the ceiling of her car as she switched sides, sucking harder and tonguing more intensely, back and forth, up and down, so wet he was losing his mind.

She hummed onto his fucking nuts and he almost exploded into her hand.

His hips rose involuntarily and the base of his cock smacked her in the nose. She had the audacity to laugh, releasing his balls, spit dripping down her chin. She cleaned it off with her forearm, also letting go of his cock.

“Let me see,” she chuckled, wiping her hand on the towel before grabbing her phone from him. Replayed the video. His own moans filled the car, far too fucking loud. Jungkook’s cheeks heated with embarrassment as she planted her warm, clothed pussy onto his naked thigh, bouncing on it as she gleefully watched herself making out with his balls.

“Nice. I like it,” she chuckled.

“You’re crazy,” Jungkook snickered. And she was, but this was also fun too.

The dimple came back. “Want me to sit on your cock?”

Fuck yeah, he did. “Least you can do for me, since I provided such excellent service.”

She lifted her hips from his thigh and handed him her phone back. Took the two sides of her strappy velvet panties and pulled down. His eyes widened seeing the long string of juices from the black velvet to her crotch, snapping against her thigh, the strong scent of arousal so apparent it suddenly dominated all others.

“Someone is gonna see you,” he breathed, seeing the reflection of her ass clearly in the window, in view of the vehicles around them. People were in their cars, waiting to leave. Maybe some of them were watching this crazy woman jumping on his dick. The thought made him smirk.

She reached over to the center of the car and pulled out a condom from the cup holder.

This woman was definitely insane and Jungkook was loving it.

She grinned back at him, ripping it open right in front of his face. Lowered her hands and rolled it down on his throbbing cock. He exhaled in satisfaction, watching her ass lower and slide her pussy to him, lifting her skirt so he could see. Clean shaven. Probably for the pictures. Damn. That was a pretty pussy, and she was soaking wet.

“You like me that much?” Jungkook teased.

She pressed the head against her glistening slit and placed her tongue in between her teeth, dimple reappearing.

“Fuck yeah. You’re hot as hell.”

He didn’t expect her to say that. His ears burned and his cock pulsed with need. He also didn’t expect her to shove his cock into her that roughly either, jerking her hips into his and pressing down. She chuckled at his breathless gasp, settling her thighs against his waist.

“Take a picture for me,” she purred. “Gonna show him how deep I can take your big cock, Jungkook.”

Did he have a big dick? He knew he was bigger than average for sure, but it wasn’t like he measured and compared sizes on the daily. Also, he tended to get bigger and harder the hornier he was and right now he was maximum aroused because her pussy was clenching around his dick, burying it all the way up to the tightest, deepest parts of her wet hole.

“You’re choking him,” Jungkook chuckled as she gave him a particularly tight squeeze. His cock throbbed in delight.

“Death by pussy can’t be that bad,” she teased. Her chain covered hand nudged his hand holding her phone. “Come on.”

He lifted the phone and she raised her skirt once again, letting him see. God, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Should I take off my shirt?” she asked.

Jungkook made his dick jerk inside her and she moaned deliciously.

“Nah, he doesn’t deserve titties.”

She leaned back, pulling her skirt high and Jungkook took the shot of their joined thighs, her viscous juices shiny and smeared all over his crotch. Man, it had been a great idea to work out until he got that v-line. Matched perfectly with hers.

He turned it around and she bit her lip, grinning wide, dimple indented in her right cheek. Jungkook was beginning to become a fucking sucker for that dimple. He wanted to cause all kinds of trouble just to see it over and over.

“A rebel from the waist down, eh?”

The dimple stayed as she laughed.

“It’s a little bit of a lie,” she said mischievously as she began to roll her hips into his. “Because I’m definitely a rebel from the waist up too.” Her tongue extended, long, so fucking long and wet, almost touching past the midpoint of her chin.

Goddamn, Jungkook was glad he attended this concert.

She put it back into her mouth and began to fuck him hard, putting her back into it and smacking their hips together loudly, rocking the car a little, but at this point Jungkook was ready to go to jail for indecent exposure, head thrown back in her backseat, groaning as he felt her squeeze him with every descent, so wet that he felt like he was going to slip out while also feeling every contour of her pussy clamping down on him. He placed her phone on the seat and grabbed her thighs, sinking his fingers into her softness, drunk on the feeling, moaning her name as she used him like her favorite dildo.

“Ah, Jungkook,” she panted, smirk still on her lips. “You have a great cock. Glad I picked you.”

His eyes lowered, watching her through his lashes, seeing her smug expression. “I’m honored.”

She snickered. “Pretty face, hot body. Down to fuck.” That dimple. “I got lucky.”

Me too, he thought.

She placed her hands on his, sliding them up to her waist.

“Can you fuck me from below? Bet you’re great at it.”

He grinned and slammed his hips into her dripping heat. She moaned wantonly, grabbing his shoulders as he pounded her from below, feeling her clench and squirm, her walls spasming and juices leaking down his balls.

“A-ah, fuck,” he gasped, closing his eyes as he felt it. She must have orgasmed, but was too breathless to say as her nails dug into his shoulders, pushing her hips down as he jerked them up, meeting his thrusts over and over.

“Fuck, you’re so strong,” she breathed, pussy clenching again, splattering more onto his thighs, whole body shivering in his hands as she threw her head back, moaning his name. It sounded positively sinful from her lips and he loved it. The towel under them was soaked with bodily fluids and most of it was hers.

“Ugh, you feel so good,” Jungkook panted. “So fucking good when you cum for me, fuck, I thought girls couldn’t orgasm that easily on dick.”

She chuckled deep in her throat, bringing her head back and looking down at him, hair falling all around her shoulders, plump lower lip in her teeth. Fuck, her face was so fucking pretty.

Pretty fucking naughty too.

“Can’t speak for other girls, but I do love getting railed by a hot guy with a big cock,” she purred, licking her lips. “And you’re so hot you could spark a match.”

Was it possible to get harder because of a damn compliment? Because that was happening to Jeon Jungkook right now, his jaw clenching as he grinned, fucking her harder, deeper, bouncing her on his dick unashamedly, definitely catching someone’s attention out there because of how deliciously she was moaning for him, telling him how good it felt as her pussy violently massaged his entire length.

“Yes, yes, ah, Jungkook, your cock is so fucking good…”

It was getting to his head, shooting down to his spine, coiling tighter and tighter, smashing his hips into her tight, wet hole, every muscle on fire and vibrating with pleasure, her name falling from his lips repeatedly, feeling so good doing something so bad, pleasure so intense he barely heard someone honk their car horn cheerfully at their fucking.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum, fuck!”

He shot into the condom with a fierce jerk, filling it completely as she gasped, pussy tightening and throbbing around him as his crotch was soaked again, exhaling hotly into his face as she came with a shudder of his name, big smile on her lips.

Absolutely the best car sex Jungkook had ever had in his entire life.

She collapsed against him, pressing her hot cheek against his.

“I think someone honked at us,” she laughed, a little raspy from moaning so much.

Jungkook wrapped his hands around her waist, kneading it. “Cheering for me and my dick, I bet.”

She reached down and felt for her phone.

“You really gonna send him those pics?” Jungkook asked, panting from exertion.

“Do you not want me to?” Her tone had a hint of concern. “You’re in them too, so I won’t if you’re not down.”

He chuckled. “Just send him the one of you holding my dick and licking my balls.”

She held the condom down as she got off him, laughing. “Damn, how cruel. Showing off your big dick like that. You’re trouble, Jungkook.”

Jungkook looked over to his left. She sat down next to him, pressing her body close to his. Thigh against thigh, shoulder against shoulder. Dimple clearly visible because of her mischievous smirk. He leaned over and kissed it. He just had to. Her eyebrow raised, smirk turning into a pleased smile.

He grinned.

“That makes the two of us, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes darted around the rapidly vacating parking lot. Then they came back to his face, her lips curving into a grin to match his.

“Damn, I’m so lucky to have met you, Jeon Jungkook.”

--

masterpost

[saberwitch]

As for my Human ladies, I want THEiR stories to revolve around Mercy and her curse and her haunted house. In a lot of ways this is gonna parallel what I'm doing with my Norn ladies but in an overly dramatic (one might say Gothic) manor...I mean manner. The found family with the sort of den-mother figure holding everything together

Ouija is probably going to edge out Mercy's other/current self-appointed bodyguard, but I am definitely hanging on to Investigator Hilly, my little Asura ghostbuster.

also flipping the script on the Faceless Widow, the more prominent of the haunts in Fulfate Manor. She is actually the brainchild of Mercy's new friend and sort-of protege Flora, designed for the purpose of keeping would-be treasure hunters and nosy Ministry goons out of the way. Flora, whose mother was overly practical and had no time or patience for Flora's "silly" Mesmer tricks, threw herself into the project with glee, as she had never really had a chance to flex her creativity before.

(this is quite vexing to Hilly, who has enough on her plate with the actual ghosts of the manor, without having to deal with new-invented-made-up ones)

since Mercy and Ouija are both nobles, they're going to be childhood friends, and so Ouija is going to have a certain level of protectiveness over Mercy, having seen all the shit she's been through. She would have begged her parents to bring Mercy in, instead of her having to go to the orphanage, but of course her parents did not want the Fulfate curse staining their reputation.

(Ouija just might be sitting on a pile of guilt over that one...and she is rapidly becoming the den mother of this group)

also thinking that perhaps the Planchette family fortune is in the import/export business and the reason she and Flora know each other is that Mona (Flora's mother, the caravan boss) works for them

(I have a couple other Humans not in my core group, a Thief and Ranger specifically. I might see if I can work them into Mercy's life somehow; I dislike having unattached ladies.)

there MIGHT be some crossover, most likely through Flora, as she's the one I made based on an NPC I saw in Hoelbrak. Probably nothing too major but I do like the idea of a big holiday fic with both groups having a feast/celebration together and meeting their "counterparts"...

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Ruathym, part Three

Rating: NSFW Length: 2272 Pairing: Male Drider x GN Reader

The finale for the romance for @kim-monsterlings!

xxx

Much to your surprise, Ruathym gives you space. There are fewer summons and the spies make themselves ever scarcer, until you could swear there were long stretches of time in which you were truly alone. Even more surprising, you found yourself becoming restless and ill-tempered in these moments, losing your patience with even Tinki. (Of course, you make it up to the little, well-meaning creature; spiders, you learn, are surprisingly good at puppy-dog eyes.)

“You’ve been snapping at the staff left and right,” Ruathym says with no small amount of amusement some days later, braiding your hair down your scalp. It’s gotten longer, you realise, and you contemplate cutting it before your captor speaks. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

Yes, you wish to say, but you’re sure that the King has done nothing wrong. Not truly. “No,” you say instead, though it sounds unconvincing to your own ears.

“Hm,” hums Ruathym, tugging gently at your hair in admonishment. “With the way you’ve been acting, one might get the impression that you dislike being far from my side.” You twitch and he laughs, triumphant. “Is that it, my little bug? Have you come to crave the pull of my silk?”

“I wish you wouldn’t mock me,” you grouse, sighing heavily. “It reminds me why I prefer my own company.”

Ruathym chuckles, fingertips skating along the skin of your back before he picks you up and cradles you against him in his four arms. “I thought humans needed time to mourn their losses,” he says, searching your face with something sharper in his eyes than his usual derision. “I’m no reader of minds, my sweet. You must tell me if you have want of me.”

You scoff. You can’t help it. When has being vulnerable ever served you well? You almost bite his fingers when he turns your face to look into your eyes, sighing once again in your defeat. “And if I do?” you challenge, lifting your proud chin. “What of it?”

“Then you shall become my consort,” says Ruathym, with a simple frankness that flabbergasts you.

“Your—what?” you gasp, distantly aware that your lips are flapping like a fish on the docks.

“Do try not to make me repeat myself,” Ruathym replies in exasperation, pinching your chin. “My consort. My lover. Whatever you humans call those of our stations in courtship.”

“But I’m human!” you splutter, struggling to sit up straighter in his arms.

“I’m aware,” drawls Ruathym, helping you get your bearings—at least physically. “Did you think I was sleeping with you because you disgusted me?”

“I…” You don’t have the words. You don’t know what you thought, but it definitely wasn’t this. “You think I’m attractive?”

“What did I just say about making me repeat myself?”

You huff, scowling up into his handsome, angular face. “You wouldn’t be. I want answers, not riddles.”

Ruathym snorts indelicately, one of his few habits that doesn’t come with some modicum of damnable grace. “Yes, I find you attractive. No one else has the audacity to speak to me the way that you do. I find it thrilling.”

“You mean you like it when I’m cruel.” You frown. “That’s not what I’m after. I don’t want to be cruel to my lover. If you want to court me, you do it right.”

Ruathym carefully sets you down on the bed, curling his legs up under himself and draping his humanoid torso across plump, velvety pillows. “Teach me what humans do ‘right’, then,” he commands, gesturing for you to speak.

You flounder for a moment; this was not how you expected your evening to go. “We… We court,” you say dumbly, gesticulating helplessly. “We exchange gifts of trinkets and flowers, we write one another letters, we—well, usually there’s pining involved, I suppose.”

“How dull,” sighs the King, watching you beneath his thick, silvery lashes. “Driders kill for their lovers.”

The weight of his words isn’t lost on you. You think of your brother and his knights—of the entirety of the kingdom laid to waste at your feet. You feel lightheaded, blood creeping up your neck and up into your face. You have to resist the urge to hide from the slow, smug smirk of satisfaction that melts onto the Drider King’s face. Damn the man. Had he been courting you in his own way this entire time? Damn him!

“What about the Queen?” you ask, hedging around the obvious revelation and latching onto one of your more prominent doubts.

Ruathym blinks hard, clearly startled. “What about her?”

“You’re married,” you say, “and she hates me. Won’t she want me dead once she realises her lover’s attention has strayed?”

The King laughs, hard and loud, throwing his head back with his mirth and revealing his fangs. “She’s never loved me a day in her life,” he manages to gurgle after several seconds of laughter, “and the feeling is mutual. We married for politics and to spawn strong children. That’s all. If she so much as schemes to harm a hair on your head, I will kill her or die trying.”

“Ruathym!”

“What? Does it shock you? I protect what is mine, little bug, and you are what I wish to possess in your entirety.”

You bristle at this, though you curse your stupid heart for fluttering in your chest like a tizzied moth. “I’m not a thing, Ruathym. You can’t possess me. Either you love me, or our arrangement remains the same.”

Ruathym shrugs an elegant shoulder, expression shifting into something bordering on thoughtful. “What is love to a human may not be love to a drider, little one. I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Is that not love? I would kill you before I allowed you to court another. Is that not love? I would lay down my life to protect you. Is that not love, this powerful, ugly thing?”

You don’t know what to say to this. You want to object, but your heart is pounding too loudly, your thoughts are too muddled. Never has someone felt so strongly about you, and while your feelings are conflicted, you can’t deny that there’s something intoxicating about the King and his firm command of you in and out of the bedchambers.

Courtship with Ruathym is… interesting. He sends you poisonous flowers at first for their beauty, unaware that their very touch could kill you. When you correct him, he expresses his disdain for human frailty, but then he sends for roses and takes the care to have their thorns removed so as to avoid any chance of injury. It’s excessive and obnoxious, but it’s endearing in its own way, even if you’ve never been particularly fond of roses. Still, each bouquet is a different colour paired with different complimentary flowers, and you begin to look forward to your weekly deliveries with something like anticipation.

Then there are the letters.

As expected, Ruathym’s lettering is swooping and elegant, more reminiscent of ornamental calligraphy than what one would use for writing to a lover. Still, each letter holds within it a terribly sweet awkwardness that lets you know that he’s never written a letter out of love in the whole of his life. He’s strangely formal at first, addressing you by all of your names in the greetings of his first few letters, but it isn’t long before he’s dropping them all in favour of addressing you as he does in person. It makes your heart flutter oddly in your chest to see ‘little bug’ written in such beautiful, glittering script, shimmering silver on charcoal grey parchment.

Soon, they become less letters and more little notes delivered on scraps here and there. Tiny doodles of advisors dying terrible deaths done in the throes of boredom, or tidbits of trivia from the kingdom at large. Did you know we had 5,363 cattle in the region of the L’Surba Caverns? Neither did I know nor care, one says, and you snort into your tea at the thought of the King sitting proudly while some poor sod with an abacus counted out their livestock from the sum of several reports. While you missed the weight of your crown, you did not exactly miss all of the bureaucracy attached to it.

He takes you on little outings, here and there. At first it’s a simple stroll through the gardens, sharing meals and speaking about your days. Then, as you both grow bolder, outings to meet—or, in his case, intimidate—the people. Finally, with glamours and enchantments, you take to the countryside for days at a time, disguised as a couple or adventurers on a quest. It’s during these outings that you get to know him best, away from the bustle of the castle, where his impetuous charm and rakish smiles lure you to him like a moth to flame, and you crash and burn in his heated embrace.

One evening many months later, you are summoned to a part of the palace that you rarely frequent, for it is usually crawling with servants and vassals of every kind. Now, however, the halls are quiet and still, and the servant who leads you to the chamber where Ruathym awaits disappears like a whisper in the dark. There, in the centre of the room, is a set of robes unlike any you’ve ever seen, woven in shimmering silk dyed the colour of rubies. You approach as if in a dream, running your fingers along embroidery in the shape of tiny silver spiderlings along the shoulders and hems—you nearly jump out of your skin when the King drapes himself across your back.

“What is this?” you whisper, looking over your shoulder at his soft, searching face.

“Your wedding attire,” he says, and he seems unperturbed when you draw away, stunned.

“My what? Your wife!”

“Is dead,” Ruathym simply replies, shaking his head at your unasked question. “We had a clutch of eggs. She went the natural way. The children feed on her yet.”

You grimace at this, though you can’t deny the relief you feel at her passing. “You’re a father now?”

“I am. You will also be their parent, when we wed.”

“‘When’? You’re assuming I’ll accept!”

“Would you deny me?” he asks sharply, eyes narrowing into gleaming slits.

Your stomach flips. “Well,” you say, flustered and at a loss. “This is all so sudden, Ruathym!”

“Is it really?” he asks, reeling you in against him again. “We’ve posed as newlyweds before. Why is it so different now?”

“Because it’s real now! We wouldn’t be pretending!”

“Who says that I was pretending before?” he demands, trapping you between his body and the robe on the mannequin. “It was practise.”

You feel your face burning, and you’re sure you might blend into the robe at your back if given just a little more provocation. “You despicable little—“

“Yes, yes, call me names,” he says, waving away your insults. “Later. Give me your answer now.”

“You know my answer,” you grumble, pushing ineffectively at his chest.

“I know it,” he confirms, smugness in every syllable. “I wish to hear it.”

You kiss him instead, drawing him into a passionate embrace and climbing up into his arms when he lifts you off your feet. You hadn’t seen the bed in the corner of the room, but that’s where he takes you a moment later, tossing your “irritating human clothing” over the edge of it and onto the floor. You expect him to bend you over the pillows. You expect him to claw at your skin, to bite at your shoulders, to whisper filth into your ears.

He kisses you instead.

He kisses you like neither of you have ever borne a crown—as if he could find the answers in the hazing of your eyes when he steals your breath with his tongue, hands in your hair and burning along your spine. He teases you open with his fingers until you’re reduced to begging for release, and then he presses into you with soft, shuddering breaths spilling from his lips, eyes on your face as you toss your head back into the sheets and writhe.

He sighs your name like a psalm when you come around him, and then he pushes into you again and again, his cool fingers threading between yours and holding you firmly against the bed as you shake apart beneath him. You feel something in your chest unbreak when he bites you without fang, staying present for every moment that his lips brush against yours and your name falls into the pool of heat between you.

This time, when he comes, he shatters like a shower of glass and sparks, cresting against you like a wave and pushing you over the edge all over again, throat trapped desperately—willingly—between his teeth. When your eyes focus again, you find him looking down at you with a tenderness you’d never thought him capable of, and it makes you want to hide. “What?” you whisper up at him, trying and failing to tug a bit of the sheets over your body.

“I love you, little bug,” Ruathym whispers back, tracing your lips with his thumb. “I have done and will do so until this heart in my chest stops beating.”

“That’s so dark,” you say, “for a declaration of love.”

“It is my declaration, and I am not a man of light. Would you deny me?”

“No,” you breathe, shyly reaching up to touch his face. “I love you, too.”

Ruathym smiles, and despite his words, it lights up the room. “I know.”

You snort. “Bastard.”

“I know that, too.”

[onlydylanobrien]

Amanda Brugel Dishes On Her New Thriller Flashback 

Now, Brugel is back with her new film "Flashback." Prior to the pandemic, the film was slated for a 2020 release, but the state of the world had other plans. After a long wait, fans can finally dive into the time-bending mystery thriller, which also stars Dylan O'Brien as Fredrick Fitzel. Brugel snagged the role of Fred's ever-understanding boss Evelyn, who watches Fred go down the dark path of a mystery drug called mercury — and possibly time travel.

Looper spoke to Brugel for an exclusive interview, during which she dished on working with O'Brien in "Flashback," revealed how they passed the time on-set, and offered her theory on some of the film's murkier aspects. She also teased the Season 4 finale of "The Handmaid's Tale" and revealed where she wants her character to go in Season 5.

Dylan O'Brien: Defying Hollywood stereotypes

"Flashback" is a wild ride and such a cool movie. What drew you to the role of Evelyn?

I mean, Chris MacBride's script was wild, like you said. I think that's the best way to describe it. And I at first was slightly confused, but also exhilarated, and it was really interesting and I'd never seen anything like it. So really, that was the reason I first wanted to just even talk about doing it. And then I was in L.A. for the Emmys, and Chris called me on the phone, and we just had the most beautiful conversation about the film about life and death. And we shared such similar thoughts on parenting and life and death and losing parents and sort of losing time that I was like, "I have to do this."

What was it like working with Dylan O'Brien?

Dylan is the best. I miss Dylan. I didn't know what to expect. I had seen a couple of the things that he had done, but I didn't know if I was going to get this like, too cool for school Hollywood, young, hot guy. He's so the opposite. He's so generous with his work, generous with everyone on set, and the crew. And he's so funny. I didn't expect him to be that funny, and he really took the material seriously and really wanted to put everything that he could into it. I was so impressed with him, and I didn't really have a lot of time with him. All my scenes are with him, but I didn't. They blocked me out in such a short amount of time that I just, I still miss him.

What the heck is going on with Fred?

This is probably Dylan's most psychological movie yet. And Evelyn is one of the few characters who really tether him to reality. So what was it like getting to watch Fred sort of spiral from a reluctant, moderately well-adjusted office employee to this drug spiral tinged with these fantastical layers?

Well, you know, like I said, a part of my draw to it was that the script was so complex and so complicated, but then having to actually go do that, to be able to achieve the time jumps was incredibly difficult and took a lot of scheduling. So we would ... Poor Dylan would have to change costumes or change whether or not he was broken down or if he was very put together. Because we shot in a very tight amount of time, we would flip back and forth between future to present to sort of some of his hallucinations all in a period of three hours. Dylan was a pro — I'll say that first and foremost. There were a couple of times we both accidentally changed into the wrong costume. We just had to run and change into something else.

And that was stressful. But the parts where he would sort of break down and really spiral were some of the best acting I've seen. There was one part where I almost called cut because I was like, "Is he okay?" Like not the character. Is Dylan okay? He really went for it. And Chris would let him sort of improv and let him roll takes and let him really get to the heart of where he needed to get. So it was exciting to watch. But if you care about your co-star, you are also concerned for their mental wellbeing.

Finding humor during intense scenes

Right, yeah. That was a rough progression. Can you remember anything specific that might've been ad-libbed or added in the moment?

I don't know how much of it I'm trying to think made it in. Just when he flips out in the office, and then he sort of flips out. He threw things. He moved furniture. He screamed at people. He ran about the room, and so every take was different. And so it was great. It was very helpful for my reaction and everyone else's reaction because I genuinely didn't know what Dylan, therefore the character, was going to do. So every reaction was authentic every time.There's a part where I jump, and I genuinely jumped because yeah, I didn't know what he was going to do.

Did you or Dylan do anything between takes to lighten the mood for these intense scenes?

Absolutely. We would go outside. We were shooting in, I think it was a hospital turned into a ... I'm not even sure what it was, but it was just a very cold, large sort of office building. And the two of us as artists, I don't spend a lot of time in offices, so we would go outside and gossip about — I can't tell you what we gossiped about, but we have a lot of friends in common or some friends in common. And so it was nice to sort of just be able to discuss stuff outside of the heavy material that was the movie and also bond and get to know one another and trust one another. So when he had to go to those places, he had a friendly face in the room.

Right. Can you think of anything that might be in the blooper reel or something like that?

Oh, my goodness sakes. No. For myself, when I got scared, I ran into a wall twice, but I don't think that made the blooper reel. I just tried to get out of his way and I ran directly into a wall. But I'm hoping that I didn't make the reel.

I would like to see that.

So would I, because I did it twice. Not once.

That's funny.

Twice and it was the same wall.

The next question contains significant spoilers for "Flashback."

The subtle subtext

So I was getting a bit of a "Game of Thrones" vibe at the end of the movie. Is Cindy supposed to be Mrs. Fitzel? Can you say? Do you have a theory?

I think so. Yes. I personally think so. I think that's why my mentioning the conversation with Chris just about like motherhood, and sort of that is a very strange cycle that has happened throughout his life that I personally think so. I'm not sure, but that's how I read it, and that's how I interpreted it. And when I watched it, that's what I was left with and happy with. Very good, though. I'm glad that you picked that up.

I had to go rewatch that scene three times, and I'm like, "Am I just hallucinating this? Or is this intentional?"

No, I think it was very intentional, but not so obvious that there are audience members that would be disappointed with that or not so obvious that it forces audiences to have one conclusion. I think the thing that I like the most about Chris is that he allows audiences to go away and sort of apply their own story or their own theory to his projects. And I think that's really generous as far as an artist is concerned.

[dreamylyfe-x]

11x09 Thoughts on Mickey (and Terry)

I truly expected to see more Ian hate this morning -- though that might just be a product of who I follow -- and find my dash full of the opposite. And it made me realize that something I was reacting to with Ian was rooted in the fact that I’ve been where he is in this episode: supporting someone you love through the death of a truly terrible parent. It absolutely creates a tension where you want to respect the grief, but you’re also concerned that the part where the person was horrifying is getting buried under the sense of loss. So they’re carrying the trauma of having lost a parent -- but they also have all the trauma that parent visited on them. And reading reactions, I am realizing how this episode really turned the “grieving a parent” story upside down. 

I was so shocked we got a scene of Mickey openly weeping over his father’s death. Not just that, but we open on it. It’s not an episode of stoic Mickey, where he eventually breaks down (which, let’s be real: TV loves that trope. We have seen that one a million times.) I loved that he didn’t really understand why he was crying, randomly blamed Ian for his father’s death, was both angry that his father had been murdered, but was also angry that HE hadn’t been the one to murder him... it was complete emotional chaos and that rang true. 

It seems redundant to say Noel killed it, but he really did. It’s one thing to cry during a heartfelt scene about the death of a parent -- it’s another to believably weep through a scene that is at least 50% comedy about how you don’t know why you’re crying over your dead dad. 

I kinda gave up guessing what Terrys’ secret was going to be -- and in that, gave up worrying that it might be that he was seeeeeecretly gay and that’s why he was such a raging, violent, son-assaulting homophobe. So a moment to say “Yay, that didn't happen!” Rachel was not on my list of guesses and I thought that actually really worked, too, because it was such an inversion of the trope I was worried they might lean into. They go see this woman, she talks about Young Terry and tells a story where you’re asked to sympathize with him... Like “Oh, Terry wasn’t so bad, he was just hurt--” and then she completely flips the script by letting you know that Terry was just as much as a psychopath then as he was later. He full-out murdered her father. 

He MURDERED her FATHER. 

So much for learning and growing from a revelation that Terry had a heart. 

Then we go to the funeral home and we get the dagger story. Sometimes -- especially in the last few seasons -- we will get a new piece of information like this and I’ll struggle to fit it into what we already knew. But the dagger story tracks. Particularly Mickey talking about how he grabbed it mid-air and Terry was so proud. I’ve always thought that Terry must have had a lot of pride in Mickey, just as an extension of himself. Mickey being smart and tough and terrifying would be something he’d value and something he’d see as reflecting well on him. And he wouldn’t GAF that Mickey cut up his hand. Note that to effectively grab a dagger out of the air? It essentially has to be coming at your head. 

I take @damngcoffee‘s point that it’s weird to have two singing moments so close together, though I also see how singing “I Will Survive” as Terry’s grave site has some emotional power. They do not do Gloria Gaynor quite the credit they did Lady Gaga. 

Two more things on my mind: 

Mickey, who Terry abused, terrorized, subjected to a conversion assault, forced into marriage and fatherhood, and who tried to murder him on both his wedding day and his honeymoon, is the only kid trying to get Terry “what he wanted” once he’s gone. He’s all alone in it. No siblings, uncles, cousins or associates. Just his husband, who is at his side through the whole thing. 

Secondly: Though Mickey never says it, I think a lot of the tears shed over a father like Terry rest in the fact that the book is closed. It’s never going to be different. He’s never going to come around. He’s never going to show Mickey the love that kids want from their parents. He is never, ever going to have that. The fact that he never WAS going to have it doesn’t make the definitive loss of it less stark. 

But I do hope his healing comes quickly for him. Because he’s also free in a way he’s never been before.