#pothole reflection

[jmpphoto]

Monsoon Rainbow Sunset by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Monsoon Rainbow Sunset Snow Canyon State Park Utah August 2023

[gideonisms]

One time I knew someone else on here was living in my city because they're from the same state and they started talking about the constant construction and the way you can't see the lane barriers. Worst roads out of anywhere I've ever lived. Once I drove through drying tar because I couldn't tell it wasn't the lane, it looked pretty much the same as my average trip to the grocery store

[planetsano]

synopsis ⌒ ⭑⭒ (name)! (name)! what’s it like being a water girl for blue lock 11? being the sweetest little mascot the whole team wants to put their cock in?

warnings ⌒ ⭑⭒ female reader, gang bang, orgy, group sex, double penetration (same hole, vaginal sex), anal sex, spit, oral sex (giving and receiving), squirting, mlm sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, love triangle, pining, very girly hyperfeminine reader, aged up characters, pro au, mdni.

pairing(s) ⌒ ⭑⭒ rin itoshi x reader x isagi yoichi (main), blue lock 11 x reader pairings, various x pairings.

word count ⌒ ⭑⭒ 11.2k.

Being Blue Lock 11’s water girl was honest work.

How (Name) got the job honestly wasn’t because of any credentials or any kind of degree to further her chances, but instead, she had a pretty face and the personality of a golden retriever puppy which made it very easy for her to become sort of a “personality hire.” Ego knew it was a position that had to be filled but he didn’t want to do it himself. The trivial and petty details needed to be taken care of and that’s exactly what she handles. Water Girl is the official title but these days you’ve almost become more like a personal assistant to the team in various ways.

(Name) has come a very long way since her very first day. It’s not that she was bad at her job per se— but she’s clumsy and a little.. airheaded. (Name) would often do things like trip over her own feet and send the things she was holding flying into the air. The sweet thing couldn’t help it too much. How could she? She was nervous and wasn’t the athletic type, never was, and never will be.

Now it’s been about a year since then and she’s a bonafide professional! Or so she likes to say.

Her morning started the same as any other, with the soft chimes of her pastel-colored alarm clock gently pulling her from dreamland. Stretching like a content kitten, she hopped out of bed, excited to start her extensive morning routine. The first stop was her vanity table, adorned with all sorts of makeup and skincare products. She giddily picked up her favorite rose-scented cleanser and began washing her face, humming a cheerful tune to herself.

After the refreshing cleanse, she moved on to the rest of her skincare routine, carefully applying toner, serum, and moisturizer, all infused with the latest beauty trends— she’s been on his K-beauty kick recently. With a smile, she looked at her glowing reflection in the mirror, already feeling ready for the day. Next came the fun part— makeup. She typically liked experimenting with different looks, and today’s theme was soft and flirty, with a touch of shimmer.

(Name) meticulously applied foundation, blush, eyeshadow, and a winged eyeliner. As the finishing touch, she added a glossy, bubblegum-pink lipstick to complete her signature look. She already had what she was wearing planned— her favorite pair of high-waisted, blush pink leggings that hugged her curves just right and a matching sports bra completed with a white, knitted cropped sweater. Simple, comfortable, and cute. There wasn’t much else to it.

(Name) was soon grabbing her car keys, the cutest keychain from her collection dangling from the D-ring. Her tote bag was slung over one shoulder, filled with her daily essentials like lip gloss, a compact mirror, a cute notebook, and her iPad. She held a large basket in her arms filled with goodies for the team. (Name) practically spent all night preparing everything! She worked hard on these cupcakes too.. they better enjoy them!

She headed out the door, hauling everything to her vehicle. As she approached her car, she couldn’t help but smile at the glossy black paint and the adorable heart-shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. It looked significantly better after the repair— but it wasn’t her fault! That pothole was in her way.

Despite all that, she loved her car! Even though she wasn’t much of a car girl to begin with— decorating made her feel like she was driving in her little wonderland. However, she still needed to call her dad when the mechanic was speaking in literal tongues every time she went in for an oil change.

After loading everything into her car, she made sure to bring a tumbler of her favorite homemade French vanilla iced coffee, a protein bar in case she got hungry, and a playlist of her favorite songs ready to accompany her on the ride. As she buckled up and turned on the engine, she couldn’t resist taking a moment to check herself in the rearview mirror. Lip gloss tended to make its way on other parts of her face— so cute but messy at times.

Upon getting there, she types in the code to gain access to the training facility. The electronic lock emits a soft beep, and the heavy metal door slowly hisses open. Stepping inside, the air is noticeably cooler and filled with a faint hum of machinery. Fluorescent lights line the corridor, casting a sterile glow on the metallic walls. She made her way down the halls to her “office.” It was just a locker somewhere tucked away near the staff’s office.

Ego used to be able to tolerate her in his office but he ended up getting her area because he just couldn’t handle the chatterbox she was and the playful antics that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. She was trouble and Ego was well aware. Her presence had a way of brightening up the most serious of situations and while some appreciated her for it, Ego found it a constant distraction. No matter how attractive she was.

Her locker was decorated with a collection of cute stickers, fairy lights, and a small potted plant. Fake, of course. She placed all her things in the space before heading to the team’s locker room. The automated light system turns on revealing rows of neatly arranged lockers, each placard with the team members’ names.

The hum of ventilation filled the air as she walked further in, her footsteps echoing off the polished tiles. The scent of fresh laundry and a hint of antiseptic cleaner lingered, creating a familiar and almost comforting atmosphere. She knew that within these walls, victories were celebrated and defeats were dissected. As she glanced around, memories of past games and silly stories flooded her mind, a small smile gracing her lips.

(Name) made her way through the rows of lockers, the soft, ambient light from the overhead fixtures casting gentle shadows. All boys got their small gift bag with items that were tailored to their personal preferences plus a cupcake she spent all night baking herself.

After that was all done, she grabbed the clipboard ornate with all sorts of cute stickers courtesy of her and notes scribbled on by the team with Blue Lock’s logo etched into the back. She went over the checklist for the day, as she stepped out of the locker room. It only took a few strides down the hallway to get to the equipment room, where a manicured finger grazed over assignment number one.

The first item on the list was to prepare the team’s water bottles. It usually consisted of making sure to fill their bottles with fresh, ice-cold water and lemon and then arrange them neatly in a cooler outside. Also filling up a “refill station” cooler that the team could use throughout practice.

It wouldn’t have been so much of a pain if it didn’t have been carried to the training field.

“Oh great.” She pouted softly. She had to do this all by herself? She can lift it but did she want to? No, her nails don’t have insurance. She looked at her Apple watch with furrowed brows, one of the early birds should be arriving soon...

“You need to stop leavin’ us this sugary shit all the time, princess,” Raichi says. He’s leaning up against the wide door frame, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the pink frosted cupcake up to his lips. Half of it is gone, clearly signaling he started devouring it on his way to the equipment room where she was.

“Jingo,” (Name) breathes out his name in a sugary and needy cadence— relief. Her voice is sweet like honey to Raichi’s ears but he’ll never say it to her face. There’s just something about the way she says his name that scratches a certain part spot in his brain and in return he finds himself feeling a particular way. He’s prickly because he’s 50/50 in his thoughts about her. On one hand, he’s almost certain that she knows exactly what she’s doing, and he can’t stand that her charms have this much of an effect on him. On the other hand, he’s not sure. There’s this doubt that she knows her effect and it pisses him off to no end that he can’t fully read her intent.

Usually, he can easily deem someone an “asshole” or not but when he looks at her, all Raichi is met with are these pretty eyes and he doesn’t see any hidden intent. It’s quite the opposite and in return, it evokes feelings of wanting to protect her. Raichi is quite the.. character though, everything must be difficult with him. It’s just in his chaos-inducing nature. His mental process is: she can’t not know how hot she is but there’s also this… air about her that makes people compelled to feel endeared by her. Simply making the notion of her using her visuals to essentially influence people to get what she wants goes against why the guys can’t help but dote on (Name).

He watches her stance as she dusts her hands together before aimlessly wiping her palms on the material of her pale pink Spanx. The look on her face screams damsel in distress— pretty pout on her glossy lips and her brows pinched in a furrow. (Name) didn’t catch what he said to her previously, clearly wrapped in her little conundrum of how she was going to get this to the field by herself before practice started.

“Can you help me, pretty please? It’s too heavy to lift on my own.” She says. He chooses to stay silent, merely looking at her with slightly raised brows as he finishes the last of the pink velvet dessert in his hand.

“Please? I made you cupcakes!” (Name) stomps her foot a bit, finding herself a little frustrated because her time was ticking and practice was starting in less than thirty minutes at this point. Ego liked to give her a hard time about her time management, even going as far as to mention a replacement if she “couldn’t get her act together.” It was an obvious scare tactic, he was just annoyed with her performance as it was not up to his standards. Everything under Ego’s ship had to be executed to his liking and he wouldn't settle for less.

“You made everyone cupcakes.” He deadpans as he balls the wrapper up and tosses it into a nearby can. His eyes trail back to hers after the fact.

“But that one was special because it had your name on it and I made it specially for you.” He can’t lie, she’s adorable. The way her demeanor is in the moment, slowly becoming more and more frustrated with his lack of cooperation. Not to mention the way she misuses the word— something she’s been saying for a while in the way she uses it so confidently.

“Specially?” He questions, pushing off the door frame so he can enter the room in its entirety. “It’s especially, you ditz.” He closes the gap between them, only leaving a couple of centimeters between their respective frames, and (Name) feels like she can feel his body heat radiating from him, she was always convinced that his blood ran hot just like his temperament. She doesn’t budge though, only continuing to stand her ground with the cutest little scrunched-nose smile. She was attempting to hold it back which made Raichi offer her the smallest bit of a smirk.

(Name) was a flirt and she was good at it.

“Move out of the way.” He mumbles surprisingly softly, his head tilted downward as he looks at her. He does so until he tears his eyes from hers to finally get his hands on the water cooler. Now that he has it, he sees that it may have been too heavy for her to carry by herself. Raichi lifts it with ease though, his biceps contracting as he does so. “Come on, I’m not hauling this shit outside for you by myself.”

As they walk side by side with each other down the empty hallway, Raichi’s eyes begin to drift to her more than he’d like. In the brief moments that it happens, his golden-yellow irises study his favorite parts of her face. The long lashes that seemed to flutter upon her upper cheeks with every blink she took, the cutest nose that she liked to put the tiniest bit of blush on, her pouty lips that were tinted with a light cherry shade— it made Raichi sick the way she so effortlessly made him feel. Despite her looks, there had been something irritating him; something that had been on his mind for a while he just couldn’t shake. Raichi was never the type to beat around the bush and become passive in his feelings. He would address this eventually when they’re met with the field.

The blond places the water cooler down in its designated spot at the end of the benches where the paper cups had been already placed.

“Hey,” Raichi calls for her, his expression unreadable as he looks at her.

“Hm?” (Name) looks at him with curiosity, her hands shading her eyes from the sun and her lips parted slightly.

“Is it true you’re fuckin’ Isagi?” He has no shame in the question but it really shouldn’t have been much of a shock from his lack of general etiquette to begin with.

“You! Are such a guy, Jingo!” She says incredulously, giving him a playful shove to his shoulder.

“What? It’s a question.” His brows are low, not finding an ounce of humor in his query.

“Isagi is sweet.” She responds.

“That ain’t what I asked you.” Raichi raises a brow.

“Why does it matter, huh?” (Name) lets out a little laugh, tilting her head a bit.

“It matters because I’m askin’ you.”

By this point, it was no real secret that quite a few of the guys harbored feelings for (Name) over time. She was just too good at what she did. Her bubbly personality and genuine kindness leave an endless trail of admirers in her wake.

The way she interacted with each member of the team made them feel special as if they were the only ones in the room. Her charisma was magnetic and drew people in effortlessly. Her “innocent” flirtations, the playful twinkle in her eyes, her infectious laughter— it had a way of making the guys’ hearts race.

“Oi, oi, oi. Less talking, more working.” Tabito whistles at the two as he approaches them, a few more boys trickling in behind him.

“Shut up, dickwad.” Raichi quips.

“No fighting, please.” (Name) sighs as she lifts a sheet on her clipboard.

“Hey.” Tabito’s voice rang out as he sauntered over to where (Name) stood not too far from Raichi.

She glanced up, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Hi, Tabito.”

He stretched his arms outward casually, his arms folded across his chest. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“Mmm, nothin’—” (Name) replied with an innocent shrug, her eyes sparkling upward at him as she grinned down at her.

Raichi rolls his eyes at the interaction, choosing to lace up his cleats. His nasty expression contradicted the light-hearted banter in the room. He watched as (Name) and Tabito exchanged playful words, his gaze flickering between them and the task at hand.

As the banter continued, Raichi’s mind wandered back to the countless moments he had witnessed between (Name) and the other guys on the team. He couldn’t deny the twinge of jealousy that gnawed at him, though he did a good job at keeping his emotions hidden behind his rough exterior. It seemed as though it were the Hunger Games when it came to (Name), and she was the prized gem whether she realized it or not. Raichi had a hunch that he wasn’t the only one who’d been smitten with this broad— for a while.

The boys continued to trail in one by one, sometimes in pairs like Reo and Nagi. But (Name) continued to do her daily checklist without issue as they all became settled— doing warm-ups until Ego showed up.

Practices were usually easier to handle than official games. It’s understandable; there’s high pressure and strain put on the players which essentially makes (Name)’s job, a real job. Tending to their personal needs was all that mattered as far as she was concerned. She had witnessed the team’s transition from practices to official games countless times, each time realizing just how much pressure and strain the players were under. Her role extended beyond just providing physical support; she was there to offer emotional support as well, ease pre-game nerves, and make sure that each player was mentally prepared to give their best on the field. Men are typically.. less in tune with their emotions than women are. It helps.

(Name) had taken on the role of the Blue Lock’s unofficial mascot because of this, particularly in Bachira’s eyes. However, there was a not-so-subtle undercurrent of aggression amongst some of the guys and Bachira. he had a way of hugging and showering her with affection that seemed innocent and endearing, but those who knew him well were aware that he knew exactly what he was doing. He expertly played the role of an adorable puppy causing a bit of mischief— something everyone adored, yet his intentions were akin to a mischievous younger sibling sticking their tongue out at their older sibling behind their mom’s back, knowing full well the game he was playing.

“(Nickname)!” Bachira says in a sing-song tone as he approaches from behind, covering her eyes with his hands. He gives her a cute smile as he looks at her from over her shoulder. “Guess who?”

“Bachi?” Her little name for him makes his heart skip a beat, an excitable giggle leaving his lips as he uncovers her eyes. She turned to face him and couldn’t help but smile as Bachira enveloped her in a warm embrace, their cheeks pressed together in a hug. His personality was contagious, and his affectionate demeanor always managed to tickle her spirits.

“Pretty, pretty girl~♡” Bachira’s playful tone made her smile softly, the endearing nickname earning a sweet laugh from her. She takes his face into her hands, smiling as she squishes his cheeks together.

“Weren’t you supposed to tone your hair a couple of days ago?” (Name) teased, an amused glint in her eyes as she ran a hand through his bangs— the color still a brassy yellow shade.

Bachira’s expression turned sheepish, and he scratched the back of his head with a bashful grin. “Ah, yeah, about that… I kind of forgot about it~ I need your help. I’m not good at this stuff like you. Come over and help me.” Before she could answer, she’d been cut off by a familiar voice.

“Come over without me too, Meguru? Cheating on me right in front of my face?” (Name) and Bachira both turned to find Isagi, walking over with a small smile on his face.

“Yoichi! Hi,” (Name) said, her voice sounding almost dreamlike as she greeted him. Her heart raced in her chest as she looked at him, but she couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement wash over her— good and tingly feelings all over.

No doubt about it, Isagi held a special place in her heart. Raichi's intuition was spot on, their bond was undeniable. They enjoyed their time together; both.. inside and outside the bedroom. However, it wasn't an official relationship per se. They danced on the fine line between friendship and something more, both enjoying the freedom that came with it.

Honestly, it was a connection built on physical attraction initially, and over time a genuine care for one another formed, making it all the more sticky especially for (Name) for.. various reasons. Isagi was the kind of person who could effortlessly bring a smile to her face and warmth to her heart, she felt like she was a little girl in school again. Something exciting to keep her anticipating what’s to happen next. It also helped that Isagi was cute as a button.

It happened at an after-party of a press conference nearly half a year ago— the drinks had been going and the two had gotten very close as the night progressed. All it took was a single look at him through her lashes and one too many flirty touches left on his arms and chest. He asked if she wanted to leave early and she agreed without a second thought. Of course, they played it off nicely, leaving not at once but one by one about ten minutes apart. Isagi fucked all her sorrows away, leaving both of them tangled into the sheets breathless. It’s been like this ever since but, Yoichi does have plans.

“Don’t hog (Name) all to yourself!” Bachira punched his shoulder, his tone had a teasing lilt to it.

“I don’t hog her, you little..-” Isagi reached over to put him in a light headlock, the both of them giggling and playing like they were still kids at recess. She smiled as she looked on at the two, feeling grateful that they found each other when they did.

(Name) looked over her shoulder and happened to lock eyes with the ever-so-brooding captain of the team: Rin Itoshi. Her smile falters a bit, brows pinched in a displeased furrow as a heavy feeling settles in her chest, leaving her feeling a bit helpless. She didn’t like the feeling— she didn’t like it at all. She was a relatively happy girl who didn’t like being taken out of character, she prided herself in that.

“So, (Name), are we helping Bachira with his hair today?” Isagi asked, his curiosity piqued. His voice held a hint of playfulness, but underneath, there was a trace of vulnerability. He’d been testing the waters—wanting to see whether or not he could crash this little “private party.”

As he spoke, Isagi’s eyes flickered between (Name) and Bachira, trying to gauge their reactions. His grin, although friendly, was subtly tinged with an edge. It wasn’t just curiosity driving him; it was jealousy that simmered just beneath the surface. In the moments that followed, Isagi’s body language revealed more than just his words. He subtly moved closer to (Name), not wanting to be left out of the conversation or, more importantly, her attention.

“Huh..?” She turns her head back to Isagi and Bachira, shaking her head as if she’d been trying to snap out of something. But Isagi had already noticed that she seemed off like she was bothered by something or rather someone.

“Oh, sure— if Bachi doesn’t mind.” There’s a smile on her lips that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. By this point, Bachi managed to wriggle free of Isagi and made his way over to talk to Nagi and Reo who weren’t too far from where they stood.

“Hey,” Yoichi calls for her gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course! I’m okay.” She answers as she nods her head. Her smile seems more genuine this time, not like before a few seconds ago. Maybe she’s managed to suppress whatever she had been feeling— a fleeting wave of emotion only elicited by a trigger.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks, his voice lowering an octave or two. He just barely takes a step closer, pretty blue eyes filled with worry.

“No, Isagi,” she answered delicately, her fingers nervously twirling a strand of her hair. “Why would I be upset with you?”

Isagi's concern deepened as he noticed her anxious gesture. He reached out, gently touching her arm. “Just making sure..”

(Name) glanced down at his hand on her arm, a fleeting moment of comfort in his touch. She sighed and looked away, her gaze fixating on a nearby bench.

“Is it about him?” Isagi asked.

“What?” Her brows furrowed and she followed his gaze to the distant figure of Rin. He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Is it about him?”

“I'm not talking about this right now, Isagi,” (Name) replied, her eyes returning to Isagi's, a mixture of emotions swirling within them. They were narrowed, threatening him silently. It had been an almost incredulous expression as if she couldn’t believe that he was choosing to carelessly bring this up right now of all times. Isagi was a smart boy, he knew to leave it. (Name) kept a leash on him in a way, despite the sweetness of her demeanor and face— she was capable of having a mean streak.

As the team was immersed in their practice drills, the words hung in the air like an unspoken echo.

“Isagi!” Reo calls him over, both her and Isagi looking over to where the trio stood.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Isagi says, his lips pressed together in a tight line as he gives her a final glance before jogging away.

(_ _ ) . . z Z

The training facility buzzed with energy as the team went through their practice drills, Blue Lock’s technology seamlessly integrated into every aspect of their training. The walls of the facility were adorned with holographic screens that displayed real-time data and strategy simulations. The air was filled with a familiar sense of intensity only they understood as the team, focused on honing their skills for the upcoming game.

As the practice session neared its end, (Name) caught sight of Ego observing from a distance. He stood by a large holographic display, analyzing the players’ performance metrics. They managed to exchange eye contact which is when Ego signaled to (Name) to come where he stood. She nodded in acknowledgment and made her way past the field. She’ll never get over just how tall he is in comparison to her as she practically cranes her neck to look up at him.

“See me in my office in five minutes.” He requested, adjusting his glasses further onto his face with his middle finger. Ah, he was so intimidating sometimes— especially when his glasses had a glare. Ego was nice enough to her though, even if he was a little scary.

“Okay!” She nods quickly as he dismisses himself, barely giving her enough time to acknowledge his request.

Reo had been watching the exchange from a distance and couldn't resist the opportunity to tease her— he walked over a piece of minty gum being chewed by his pearly whites. With a grin, he asked, “In trouble?”

(Name) giggled at his words. “I hope not,” she replied.

He leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, if you need someone to come to your rescue, you know where to find me,” he said, popping his gum. “You know how intense Ego can be.”

She matched Reo’s gaze, tilting her head, and offered a gentle pat on his cheek. It was how seemingly ignorant she was about little things like eye contact; a historically intimate, sometimes even taboo action. Reo recognized that he was flirting quite openly, fully aware of it. However, her natural charm had him feeling somewhat.. disoriented one could say. He’s almost certain that she wasn’t picking up on his advances but rather, she was just being herself. Reo felt like he was out of his league, realizing he needed to step up his game to get his point across.

“I'll remember that,” she replied, a hint of playfulness in her tone. As Reo pondered how to navigate her, (Name) continued the conversation with a hint of innocence that seemed to come naturally to her.

“So, Mr. Shining Armor,” she began, a playful twinkle in her eye, “If I ever need, like, an alibi or something, you’d totally have my back, right?”

Reo grinned. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’d hire you a lawyer if you really needed it, but you’re a good girl, no? You wouldn’t even need an alibi to begin with.”

A playful pout formed on (Name)’s lips as she huffed out her cheeks and stomped her foot in playful protest. “Says who! I can hang with the best of them!”

“Oh yeah? Well, you’ve got about two minutes to get to Ego’s office.” He says matter of factly.

“What! You’re lying!” Her demeanor shifted to one of mild panic as she glanced at the time on her wristband. With a swift and almost comical spin, she hurriedly dashed off, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. “I’ll talk to you soon!”

She made her way to Ego’s office, knocking briskly before letting herself in. His office was a blend of sleek design and advanced functionality. The walls had the same interactive screen she had seen earlier. The AI was amazing, she had never seen anything like it until she landed this job. It was capable of anything it seemed, projecting game footage, tactical analysis, and real-time player stats that all just scratched the surface of it. Ego pulled up her “profile” one day, it had information that she didn’t even give consent to give out. Weird? Yes, but she’s seen worse since she started here.

As she entered, the screens adjusted to her presence, dimming slightly as if they were on standby mode. Ego stood at his desk, which was more like a command center with all of the digital interfaces and gesture controls. He motioned for her to take a seat, and she obliged, settling into a chair near to his own. Ego’s gaze met hers, his usually stern expression softened slightly by the bluish hues of the various screens.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important, (Name).” She listened attentively as Ego spoke to her.

“A very important game is near, so I need you on your A-game, (Name),” Ego said, making her furrow her brows just a bit in curiosity. “Yes, you’re the appointed water girl; however, you’ll also have other duties such as acting as an.. on-call personal assistant of sorts. I need you to keep them happy and stress-free no matter how ridiculous their requests are.”

“Requests?” She blinks at him and tilts her head.

“Yes.” He didn’t seem as though he was willing to explain. Ah, of course. Ego never liked to be questioned anyway.

She let out a sigh but her usual warm smile appeared once again as she reassured him, “You can count on me, Ego! ” A cute smile grew on her lips, and she saluted him playfully. Ego’s eyes rolled at the gesture, though a hint of amusement danced in his gaze.

“Alright, enough theatrics,” he said, his stern exterior softening just a touch as he adjusted his frames. “I trust you, (Name).”

(_ _ ) . . z Z

The final whistle blew on the starry-lit soccer field, the tension of the intense match at an all-time high as Blue Lock emerged victorious. The crowd roared with excitement and the stadium lights illuminated the scene like a grand stage. The team had just delivered a performance for the ages. The players had gathered in the center of the field, their eyes still shining with the intensity of the match— the pure satisfaction and euphoria coursing through their veins. It felt as though the energy surrounding them had been visible, deep blue. Signifying power, confidence, and authority. All things that they had been representing in that very moment as they went home with the win, the opposing team had long since exited the field leaving Blue Lock to celebrate amongst themselves.

They all exchanged sloppy hugs and high-fives, congratulating each other on a game well played— jumping on each other and dog piling on top of one another.

Isagi couldn't tear his gaze away from (Name) who had been working just as tirelessly throughout the game— an essential presence on the sidelines throughout the night. Her eyes sparkled with pride and admiration as she watched them all celebrate their triumph. Her hands had been interlocked with Anri’s own as they cutely jumped with each other. Both were so excited as Ego stood not too far next to them looking as pleased as he possibly could look for him, his hands had been placed in his pockets with an odd posture. It’s not long before he’s exiting himself amongst all the chaos.

Amid the post-game frenzy, Isagi felt an overpowering surge of emotion. Ignoring the paparazzi cameras and the cheering crowd, he made his way to (Name) on the sidelines. He had no clue what he was doing, his feet seemingly moving on their own as he grew closer and closer to where she stood.

With the world as their witness, he gently took her by the hand and pulled her close, their hearts beating in sync but her reasoning with the excitement of the victory and Isagi’s because he was about to put everything on the line.

“Isa..?” (Name)’s voice has always been sweet but he thought it sounded more sugary when she said his name.

With the stadium lights casting a halo around them, Isagi looked deeply into (Name)’s eyes and was swept away by the heat of the moment: he kissed her. Time seemed to stand still as they locked lips.

As Isagi closed the gap between them, his breath hitched, and he could feel the warmth of (Name)’s breath on his lips. Their faces drew nearer, eyes closing in unison, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. His hand, trembling ever so slightly, cupped her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing her skin as he tilted her head gently.

(Name)’s lips were soft and inviting, meeting his with a tender, tentative touch. It was a gentle exploration, like two puzzle pieces finding their perfect fit. Isagi’s heart raced as he felt the electric spark of their connection. He could taste the sweet excitement of the victory on her lips, mixed with the saltiness of the sweat on his lips from the intense game.

Their mouths moved in perfect harmony, a dance of love and longing. Isagi’s other hand found its place on the small of (Name)’s back, pulling her even closer, their bodies pressed together, fitting like two halves of a whole.

The kiss deepened, and their tongues met— a gentle and passionate duel as if they were pouring every ounce of their emotions into this single, stolen moment.

As their lips moved in sync with one another, a hush seemed to fall over the stadium, even amidst the continued celebrations. The two were lost in the intensity of their kiss, the world fading away until it was just the two of them, wrapped up in the heat of the moment.

The paparazzi were momentarily stunned by this unexpected display of affection but they quickly recovered, cameras capturing the raw, unfiltered emotion that flowed between one of the star players and the sweet little water girl. The team began to realize what was happening soon after, confused looks on some, angry expressions on others, and a few who just seemed to be happy for Isagi. The stadium had long since erupted in a new wave of cheers and applause.

Isagi eventually pulled away from her lips, breathless and flushed but wearing a smile that spoke volumes.

“Yoichi..?” She blinks up at him, finding it hard to process what had just happened and more importantly, what it all means. “What was that?”

“I want everyone to know that I want you.” He confessed.

The aftermath of Isagi and (Name)’s intimate moment hung in the air, a delicate whisper during the fading cheers in the stadium. However, the serene atmosphere shattered abruptly as (Name)’s desperate cries pierced through the celebratory echoes. The transition from the warmth of the kiss to the chilling urgency in (Name)’s voice unfolded like a sudden storm.

“Rin—! Rin you’re hurting me! Rin Itoshi! Let me go!” The harsh urgency in (Name)'s voice resonated through the narrow hallway, her plea filled with both physical pain and emotional distress. She struggled to keep her footing, her feet almost stumbling as she tried to keep up with Rin's determined strides. The locker room loomed ahead, its cold, metallic door reflecting the dim light from a flickering overhead bulb.

Rin’s face was a tumultuous sea of emotions. Anger and frustration bubbling at the surface that almost always remained cool and collected, made him deaf to the celebration’s distant echoes. His fingers clamped around (Name)’s upper arm like an unyielding vice, pulling her along a path she desperately wished to escape from. The last thing she wanted was to fight but it was clear that not only had the festivities been forgotten in Rin's mind, but any chance of him enjoying them had been cruelly dashed. Not like he was the celebration type anyway.

The tension crackled like static electricity in the space between them. Despite the lingering thrill of the victory, the atmosphere inside the locker room weighed heavily upon them, contrasting sharply with the post-game excitement. Amidst the disarray of his teammates’ gear, Rin’s voice dripped with frustration as he confronted (Name).

“You, should really fucking know better, (Name).” Rin’s penetrating gaze remained fixed upon her, the tension palpable between them. (Name) looked upset and disheveled as looked up at him, never once backing away from his gaze. She shot back with a voice trembling with exasperation and frustration, “What do you want me to do, Rin? You don't want to be my boyfriend, but you get angry with me when I get attention from someone who actually wants to be with me! In public!”

Rin's jaw clenched and his brows furrowed in response to her words— clearly, she’s been talking about Isagi. Rin wasn’t stupid, not that they had been trying to hide it well to begin with. “Isagi of all people.”

(Name) couldn't contain her anger any longer, her voice raising as she spoke. She made sure to point a mean finger at him, poking his chest as she did so. “Don't talk about him like that. As if you treat me better than him. You’re crazy!”

Just as the tension reached its height, the locker room door swung open, revealing bewildered-looking teammates as they all trickled into the room. They heard a commotion coming from inside and decided to investigate. Although they had all been listening piled on top of each other seconds before Isagi finally pushed through.

“Did we walk in on somethin'?” Raichi asked. (Name) and Rin exchanged conflicted glances, gazes torn between the intensity of the game and the unresolved issues in their relationship. Rin looked particularly unbothered by the exchange though, it should be a talent with how he can keep his demeanor a thorough constant even in the most stressful situations. Most of the time.

“Yes!” (Name) exclaimed, but Rin quickly retorted. “No,”

“What’s going on?” Isagi asked, closing the gap between him and her. He had a worried look on his face as he looked down at her.

“Nothing, we just had a discussion is all.” She answered.

“No. Let them know what’s mine is mine.” Rin stated, causing her heart to skip a beat. She hated that— her heart often betrayed her brain so often, especially when it came to Rin. She was mad at him!

“Excuse me?” Isagi tilted his head, brows furrowed as he took a step closer in Rin’s direction.

“Please, not right now. We just won a big game..” (Name) said, her voice carrying a heavy solemnity as though she were deeply concerned. She absolutely couldn’t stand when they fought. When any of them fought, really. Rin’s jaw clenched again, but he refrained from saying more for the moment, his gaze locked onto Isagi. It’s at that moment when Rin takes his hand and grabs a hold of her face, turning her head towards him and planting a sloppy kiss right on her mouth— an act that shows his possession of her.

The locker room fell silent as they watched this display of affection, leaving everyone, including Isagi, momentarily stunned.

(Name) blinked in astonishment, her cheeks hot, and her heart raced. She didn’t expect such a public display of affection from Rin, especially during their argument. His actions spoke volumes, and despite the tension that had filled the room, there was a sense of raw passion in that kiss.

Rin finally pulled away from the kiss, his intense gaze still locked onto (Name), as if daring anyone to challenge his claim. It was a bold move, one that left no doubt about his feelings, even if it had created an even more complicated situation.

(Name), her voice shaky but filled with a mix of emotions, whispered to Rin, “You didn’t have to do that..”

In a bold move of Isagi’s own, he closed the distance between himself and (Name), taking her face gently in his hands, and he leaned in to kiss her. The locker room seemed to hold its breath as Isagi’s lips met (Name)’s in a tender kiss.

Isagi felt his body respond immediately to her kiss, his cock hardening against his leg. He could feel her soft lips pressing against him, and he could hear her whine softly into the kiss. Maybe it’d been the heat of the moment, but being watched— having all eyes on him as he essentially marked his territory had him reeling. It felt similar to being on the field.. having someone feel threatened by his very sense of self only for him to claim the goal as his. This felt no different.

“I—” (Name) stood in the center of the room at a loss for words, her heart torn between the two men who both held a special place in her life. She could feel the intensity of the emotions radiating from Rin and Isagi, their heated argument having morphed into something far more complex. The situation had already taken an unexpected turn, and the tensions between Rin and Isagi were undeniable. Rin reached out for (Name) but Isagi acted on the same instinct— both of the men simultaneously closed the distance between themselves and (Name), their lips meeting hers in a kiss that’d been rather rough and unpoetic.

The room descended into a breathless hush as the trio partook in an impassioned, electrifying kiss. It was a tempest of emotions and longings, where Rin and Isagi’s competitive spirits transcended the realm of sport, now manifested in the fervor of their lips upon (Name)’s. Each kiss was an assertion of ownership, a silent declaration of their claim on her heart.

Unspoken desires smoldered beneath the surface, like coiled embers ready to ignite. Both Isagi and Rin may have carried a secret yearning for one another, one that was concealed beneath the shadow of their shared affection and feelings for (Name) and their ongoing rivalry. Perhaps it was a whirlwind of emotions, a silent tug-of-war between jealousy and attraction. Neither dared utter the truth if there were any, and yet deep down there existed an unspoken curiosity about what it would be like to bridge the divide that separated them.

Past the competition, their emotions churned frequently with high ups and low lows. With frustration intertwined, it blurred the fine lines that separated friendship and rivalry. Hours spent together on and off the soccer field had woven a tapestry of connection, a bond that transcended the boundaries of just being teammates but friends. The bond, though sometimes frayed by the throes of their shared affection for (Name), added another intricate layer of complexity to their relationship. It was as if they constantly teetered on the precipice of something more. But truthfully? Neither of them wanted to even entertain the thought. Or so they tell themselves.

The remaining teammates were initially taken aback, exchanging enigmatic glances among themselves. Some wore the cloak of astonishment, while others concealed their intrigue behind veils of confusion. A few remained adrift in the sea of uncertainty, unsure of how to navigate the tempestuous waters of this unexpected turn.

The locker room that was once heavy with tension and discord, had metamorphosed into a simmering crucible of passion and desire. The air itself seemed to shimmer with the intensity of their emotions, like molten steel in a crucible, forging something new from the raw elements of longing and affection.

The taste of desire and longing hung heavy in the air, and what had begun as a spontaneous act was now evolving into something far more passionate and consuming. As the trio’s kiss deepened, the locker room seemed to pulse with an almost palpable energy. The boundaries between all of them blurred, and for that suspended moment in time, it seemed as though everyone knew where this was heading.

Rin’s hands moved to cup her breasts upward, pushing them together before harshly pulling down the babydoll pink top to expose her bra.

“R—! Rin!” It was similar to a chirp, the way (Name) said his name. She looked breathless with her lips glossy with a mix of both Rin and Isagi’s DNA— oh, shedding flustered. Like a sweet little rabbit who got her cottontail pulled by a big bad wolf.

“Shut up.” Is the only thing he muttered into her neck as his large hands continued to grope her.

“Is this really okay, Captain?” Isagi asked, blue irises narrowed deliberately trying to evoke an emotion out of Rin by using his title.

Rin pulled away from her, his chest heaving as he met Isagi’s intense gaze. “It’s not like they haven’t been thirsting after her like mutts.” Rin retorted his voice low and possessive, a defiant challenge in his words.

Rin’s next response was a sly, almost wicked statement. “Give them a show,” he whispered, his words laced with provocation as he locked onto Isagi's gaze, fully aware of the effect his words would have on their audience.

The next moments for (Name) seemed to blur into a haze. Time lost its meaning as she found herself caught between Rin and Isagi— Isagi’s hand found its way to her throat from where he stood behind her. Slender fingers wrapped around her delicate and sensitive neck while Rin’s hands roamed.

“Look at what you did..” Isagi presses his erection into her, his thick shaft snug against the pillowy softness of her ass.

“Yoichi..” She gasped softly, brows furrowed as she was directed to look upward.

“Yoichi..” Isagi mocks her softly, his own voice going up an octave. “Shh. You’re real quiet..” Isagi whispers directly into her ear, his breath hot and shaky as he speaks to her in a lower tone— his words sending a shiver down her spine. His tone, honeyed in arousal and heat, carried a note of urgency that left her heart pounding. “This is how you act with him?” His question held a weight of not only a weight desire but possessiveness; and jealousy.

“She knows her place and her limits,” Rin answered for her as his fingertips skillfully unclasped the heart clip that held her bra together. (Name)’s tits had a delicious drop under their weight, her buds hardened rather quickly not only because of Rin’s stimulation but the temperature in the locker room had been chilly.

Bachira virtually had no qualms about palming himself through his shorts, his cock stiff with a perverted little expression on his face as he watched the scene unfold. Truth be told, this isn’t the first time he’s done something depraved like this. See, Bachira had a bit of a fixation on voyeurism and exhibitionism. It was almost as if he was in the room by himself, enjoying his sight before of him like he were at home watching the perverse bookmarks on his burner account on Twitter. This to him was even more of a treat— not only does he get to watch but he gets the luxury of having others watch him.

“See what your effect is on all of these perverts?” Rin asks, his voice low against her ear. “And yet you still walk around clueless, these little skirts and small tops.”

Isagi makes the next move with hands sliding down behind her waist where fingertips unzip the back of her skirt. His thumbs hook into the material of both her mini and the panties she wore, pulling both garments down in haste.

“Fuck me.” Raichi groaned, he put up a desperate attempt to hold onto whatever sanity he did have but he hasn’t gotten laid in weeks and this is probably as close to (Name)’s pussy as he was going to get. So help him god if any of this gets out to the press he’s going to fucking lose it. He starts palming himself through his shorts too, only gaining the courage to actually pull himself out when he catches a glimpse of Bachira who had been holding his cock at its base, rubbing his frenulum with the pad of his fingertip. Its head was leaky— comically so as it dripped slowly onto the floor below him where he stood. Raichi spits into his hand before he wraps it around him, giving it a firm squeeze before stroking himself slowly. His balls are heavy, it's embarrassing to say that he has to be careful. He doesn’t want to be the first guy to cum, especially in this kind of situation.

The room had been filled with breathy moans and explicit sounds and statements as they all became meshed together in, let’s not mince words: an orgy.

Reo and Nagi seemed to have fallen into their solace between each other, lips locked in a fervent kiss as their clothed clothes rubbed against each other, it wasn’t very long before they’d been frotting bare against each other. Yukimiya follows in both Raichi and Bachira’s footsteps by pulling out his cock and jerking himself off, imagining that (Name) was the one who was touching him, kissing him, making him cum anywhere he wanted to.

Isagi’s mouth is hot on (Name)’s cunt as she sits on the bench, her legs propped up on either side of her to keep her legs open and spread. His pointer finger and middle spread her lips apart as his tongue delves into the heart of her sweet pussy, causing rivulets of her sticky essence to drip down his chin. Isagi was always a messy eater— he was one of those types who liked to eat pussy for his pleasure. He could be between her legs for hours if she let him but she gets a little restless because she ends up wanting to get fucked after her second orgasm on his tongue. Isagi and Rin were different in that regard. It’s not because Rin didn’t want to or like foreplay: he just preferred to fuck because he could do it for hours when time permits.

Rin looks down at her while she holds his hard cock in her hand. Her tongue feels warm, slippery, and wet as she circles it around his cockhead. He watches her build up her momentum as she starts to suck on it instead— she always did this and that alone would make him cum if she tried but she makes it a point to prove she can swallow him whole without gagging. (Name) says it feels more rewarding when he can cum down her throat too— it’s probably what she was working towards right now, slowly taking him inch by inch. She knows her limits though it seems because she’s using her hands with what she can’t get down to.

Rin thinks he likes this position: he’s standing over Isagi in both a literary and metaphorical sense. He’s on his knees serving his girlfriend while she focuses all her attention on him— doing her best to make him feel good. Rin’s compliance to all of this carries a certain weight of unresolved tensions, it feels more like a means of control than the genuine connection between Isagi or any other teammate in this locker room. In Rin’s head, he’s doing them a favor. He tosses a mere glance at the rest, eyes focused on the depraved displays of lust in front of him.

“..Shit. That feels good.” Tabito’s eyes are closed shut as Chigiri’s mouth wraps around the head of his cock and Hiori licks up and down his shaft. The redhead’s looking up at Tabito through lash lines that seem a little too feminine— he’s holding a piece of his hair tucked behind his ear as he slowly envelops Tabito’s growing cock. Hiori’s hands are both wrapped around his shaft and Chigiri’s as they work along Tabito’s cock, often meeting at the top of his cock to share a wet tongue kiss.

Tabito didn’t think he could get any harder but here he is now, trying not to blow his load prematurely all in their pretty mouths. There’s a part of Tabito that feels a small amount of shame— or perhaps something akin to embarrassment as he gets his cock sucked. Maybe it’s the overall absurdity of the situation: the entire team getting essentially cucked by the water girl everyone wants to be balls deep in and the two dickheads who have had a one-up on them all the entire time. Another reason is probably because he’s one of those men who prides himself in being an Alpha male of sorts— bragging about how many women he can pull but once again, here he is getting his cock sucked on by two pretty boys.

Isagi’s lips encircle her clit, applying gentle suction as he slips his pointer and middle into her slit. Warm walls encompass his digits as he rocks them a certain way he knows she likes. (Name) is already finding it difficult to focus on sucking Rin off with Isagi between her legs like this. Her free hand finds its way into Isagi’s hair, giving him a gentle grip as she tries to ground herself. As he continues to suck on her sensitive bud, his actions become more fervent— sloppier and more urgent. Isagi could feel her insides twitching along his fingers, that’s why. She’s close and he wants to be the first one to make her cum in front of everyone. (Name) can’t help but tear her lips away from Rin’s cock, her hand continuing to jerk him off as she looks down at Isagi.

“I’m—!” She nearly chokes on her cry as she feels the initial push over the edge— then the dips come and she’s shaking. “—cumming, I’m cumming..!” (Name) repeats over and over again as she basks in the complete and total absence of control she has over her body in that very moment. It’s pretty— it's so pretty. She almost looks helpless but the sounds she’s making are making them spin. Isagi’s mouth is still attached to her core, following her body as she moves around. She rides out her high like this and Isagi only pulls away when he’s satisfied.

“Hah.. dammit..” Baro has been keeping to himself this whole time. The interesting thing about him is that he’s really a gentleman. He’s never been in a situation like this before but he’s also never been this turned on in his life. Baro also just learned that he likes to watch, his cock has been twitching in his thigh for almost thirty minutes. He’s making a mess in his boxer briefs because he can feel himself getting wet. The way his cock is jumping is enough friction to cause stimulation, when (Name) cums, he has to grab himself at his base to keep him from cumming. Baro looks down at himself, pulling up the inseam of his shorts and underwear to let the tip of his cock peek out. It jumps again, the cool air hitting its shiny and glistening tip as it drools. Precum leaking onto the floor.

The trio shifts their positions so that Rin is lying on the bench while (Name) straddles him, sheathing his cock at its hilt— Rin’s hands on her ass as she adjusts to him. It’s been a while since she’s had him because of a little disagreement they had. Well, in actuality it was everything but little. They hadn’t been “seeing” each other for the past couple of weeks as they usually do because of Rin’s.. approach to how he handles certain things. Specifically when it comes down to having conversations involving emotions and how to deal with them in healthy and effective ways. The “what are we” conversation didn’t go as she’d planned for it to be. He gave her a vague response that resolved nothing which in turn made her spiral, but it’s not like she‘s some sort of loose canon. She had her moments, yes.. but when it came to Rin he brought something nasty out in her that only he could.

“Don’t look at me,” (Name) says softly, her voice carrying a tone of resentment that holds no real weight as she grabs his face to make him look in another direction. Isagi is behind her as he prods his cock between her supple ass cheeks, ever so gently pressing the tip onto her puckered hole. A breathy chuckle escaped his lips when he saw how she jolted upwards, reaching behind her to shoo him away from that part of her.

“Hng— Isagi, not there. It’s been too long..” (Name) looks at him from over her shoulder. Isagi thinks she looks cute like that: brows pinched in a furrow with a pout on her lips she doesn’t even know she’s sporting. That’s alright. Her pussy seemed more appealing anyway, even if Rin’s cock had already been working its way into her. It was going to be nearly impossible to try to squeeze himself into her, Rin was already big admittedly— the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. But Isagi the issue here was that he didn’t like sharing. He leans over, lips connecting to her neck in a sweet kiss.

“Then can you take both in here..?” Isagi’s fingers gently brush against the same pussy that was currently stuffed with Rin’s cock. Isagi almost wanted to scoff— it was big and she was tight enough to make her grip around his shaft. He hated how much his cock was drooling, it was almost a little embarrassing.

“No, Yoichi.. I don’t think I can fit both.” She says. “I’m not prepped at all, pervert..” Her eyes are closed in a hum, as she reaches to hold the back of his neck into place while Rin plays with her clit. His eyes are low and lidded as they hone in on the precious little flower between her legs. He’s starting to move now, slowly, but he’s gotten a bit impatient. The fluttering around his dick isn’t helping either— he’s almost entirely tuned out everyone else.

“Then you’re going to try, right? For me?” Isagi pressed another kiss into her skin and his eyes flickered upward and over to Bachira who had seemingly inched his way over to the three, a bright-eyed look in his eye as he looked at (Name) like she was a pretty prize, adorned with the wrapping paper and bow. Rin gives him a skeptical look from the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything. Rin tolerated Bachira more than other players for whatever reason. Unfortunately, he thinks that Bachira may have grown on him over time. Rin would never admit that but he’s sure if it had been anyone else, he’d be beside himself but Bachira isn’t touching her so it’s acceptable.

“Meguru,” Isagi hums. He reaches around to grab a hold of her face to make her look at Bachira, placing another kiss on her cheek. “She’s so pretty, right? Prettier than the last time, you think?” Isagi looks over at him again with a knowing grin.

Last time.. that was supposed to be a secret between the three of them. Now she’s feeling embarrassed and a little bit like a slut. But it was a one-time thing! That night they were supposed to be toning Bachi’s hair, they had a little bit of wine— too much wine. One thing led to another and she ended up getting spit roasted with Isagi in her pussy and Bachira taking her mouth. If she wasn’t so out of her mind she’d say something— or maybe she wouldn’t, it was the truth after all. But they are going to get in trouble afterward, they made a promise and totally broke it.

“Mhm~! ♡” Bachira nods. “She’s a tough girl, she can take it.”

“We didn’t get to try last time but you think (Name) can fit two inside, right? She's doubting herself like a ..silly girl? Is that what you call her when she’s being clumsy?” Isagi flashes another smile, yet Bachira succumbs to his impulses, bridging the distance to share a kiss with (Name) before tenderly transitioning to Isagi, his lips moving in a gentle but firm kiss.

Rin doesn’t say much. It's odd but he’s soon pulling himself out of her so that they could shift into another position— one that could accommodate her more comfortably than the one she was in currently. (Name) assumes a reverse cowgirl position, while Rin supports one of her legs from behind the knee to establish a stable anchor. Isagi mirrors the action, both positioning their cocks at her pussy— one that seems too tight to fit both. Bachira’s been hovering, leaning over to spit right onto her pussy.

“You can do it! ♡” Bachira chirps, a chuckle adjacent to a giggle leaves his lips when she reaches out for him— he lets her with no question. She held onto the nape of his neck, fingers intertwined in the soft brassy hairs. The shuffle of footsteps echoed as the onlookers encircled the four, creating an impromptu audience. It’s almost like a.. circle jerk but with a view. All of their dicks are in hand, stroking themselves to the sight. The attention is getting (Name) off, she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t. Her cunt was visibly pulsating around nothing, her need to be absolutely filled to the brim was growing and the task of taking two cocks into the same hole seemed less daunting and more like a necessity.

“Holy shit..” An involuntary hiccup escapes her, accompanied by a restrained moan. It's the sensation of something notably large making its initial attempt to enter. They both push into her inch by inch and the grasp on Bachira’s hair is far less friendly. He doesn’t mind though, it feels good for him. “Oh my god—!”

It's a stretch that initiates with a subtle and controlled tension.. gradually intensifying until it teeters on the edge of discomfort. As she reaches the peak— both of their lengths halfway, a satisfying ache ensues, accompanied by a paradoxical sensation of relief as the apex passes. It’s a blend of pain and pleasure, as the muscles protest against the stretch while simultaneously yielding to the therapeutic pull of her walls, leaving her with a lingering sense of being full beyond imagination and gratification.

“Christ..” Rin says under his breath, letting out an almost shaky breath. It’s tight— it’s probably the tightest thing he’s had since he fucked her ass the first time. It’s an enveloping pressure that molds around him, both hard and soft. It seems as though his cock and Isagi’s are battling for room within her but there just simply wasn’t any.

“Look at you..” Isagi on the other hand can’t get over the view— none of them can. He’s only ever seen things like this in hardcore porn, never in real life. She’d stretched beyond belief, both cocks inside of her completely to the hilt. He doesn’t know what to do with himself other than stare and wait for her to permit them to move. Bachira’s making good use of himself by playing with her clit, lips locked onto her own as she reached to play with his cock.

She breaks away from his lips momentarily to look at Isagi with a darkened gaze before uttering the words, “Fuck me.” Rin misses not a single beat as he reaches upward, grabbing a handful of her hair at the base to yank her head back. Both men start fucking into her at a worrisome pace, one would think they’d be a tad more generous but it was clear there had been no more patience left. They wanted to cum in a hot and willing cunt. Their cocks both push and pull at alternating times, hitting different targets deep inside of her. She’s not catching a break between the two of them and it’s making her vision hazy.

Chasing after a high becomes the focal point of everyone’s agenda. Every touch seemed to be heightened amongst everyone, sending waves of euphoria through each of their bodies— there a sense of urgency surged through the air as something inched closer and closer. Her vision had been completely obscured by the overwhelming euphoria building in her core, the harsh lighting of the locker room becoming almost soft and blurred. Her tits jump at every impact of a pump, hardened buds getting licked and sucked on by Bachira. Some images she can make out when she comes to like: Baro, Yukimiya, and Raichi stroking themselves, Reo bent over on all fours while Nagi fucks him from behind, Chigiri and Hiori in a 69 position while Tabito alternates between Hiori’s ass and Chigiri’s mouth.

Unfortunately, she can’t hold it together anymore. It's the peak of pleasure, sensations converging into an intense climax—a symphony of ecstasy where every touch, breath, and heartbeat harmonize in sublime rhythm. Her mouth hangs open into a sweet little ‘O’ and she starts to shake uncontrollably, her cunt becomes a geyser as she squirts on Isagi’s lower half in short bursts. It’s a chain reaction: guttural moans breaking out as the onlookers begin to cum, multiple cumshots had and soiling the floor where they stood.

“Ah— fuck.. fuck.. fuckfuck—” Isagi’s hips start to falter terribly as he sputters out curses. Both he and Rin cum at the same time, filling her abused and beaten hole with their seed. Isagi doesn’t know it, but he’s overstimulating both (Name) and Rin because he’s the type to fuck through his orgasms until he absolutely can’t move anymore. Their cum sloshes inside of her and it’s enough to start oozing out of her, down her ass, and dripping onto Rin’s balls.

“Stop fucking moving.” Rin barks at Isagi before he eventually tires himself out, he slips out of her first then Rin carefully follows suit. The rest oozes out of her slowly and onto the bench, shallow breaths making her chest rise and fall.

As the echoes of pleasure subside, a serene aftermath settles in, wrapping the room in a cocoon of shared intimacy. In the dim glow of the aftermath, bodies rest, breaths sync, and the hazy ambiance settles.

She deserves a promotion.

© all content belongs to planetsano 2023. do not modify or repost.

[slutforpringles]

Ricciardo is speaking to me from Baku (where he sensationally won from P17 in 2017), a week before what will be remembered as one of the most arcane and unceremonious dismissals in the history of the sport. And while it couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke, the repercussions of the decision - specifically, the way it was executed - affects the team,the sponsors, the fans, and F1 in its entirety. Somehow, Ricciardo gritted his teeth and smiled throughout the train wreck, departing with dignity, and in doing so left a legacy that will go unrivalled by drivers more accomplished in the sport - both past and present. You only have to go through the tribute posts from current and former F1 drivers, teams, commentators, celebrities, specialist media, and fans to see what sort of an impact he had, and what size pothole his lack of presence will leave on the grid. Ricciardo's eight grand prix wins ranks him equal 37th on the list of the most successful F1 drivers of all time, and redemption at Monaco in 2018 - after Red Bull fumbled his certain win in 2016 - will likely rank as his (and his fans') most satisfying victory. To put his career in perspective, only 15 per cent of all drivers who've competed in F1 have won a race. Of those, only five per cent have won eight or more races. It's fair to say, the Honey Badger is one of the best to ever do it, and he deserved a send off that reflected his success. For brands like Tudor, who organised my interview, they've lost a valuable asset. They may have even lost the very reason they committed to sponsoring the team in the first place - an affable, approachable, and highly respected marketing machine. An ambassador that everyone, including myself, is dying to meet. It's the reason every brand in Australia wants a piece of Ricciardo; he's impossible to dislike. After an enthusiastic discussion about Tudor's involvement with Visa Cash App RB, we move onto the Black Bay Ceramic "Blue" on his wrist. "They even did this custom flame strap for me," he beams as he lifts it up to the camera. It's greyish white and embossed with flames, like his headphones - and if it's a piece unique from Tudor, which one would assume it is, then it's going to be highly collectible. I ask questions about his McLaren exit and return to F1, the competitor in him, how he deals with pressure and maintaining mental clarity as a driver, but in hindsight, none of it matters anymore. Not until we arrive at life after Formula One.

The most obvious and undeniable proof we've had yet of just how last-minute and haphazard the decision was to replace Daniel after the Singapore GP. The team's big sponsors had no idea, Daniel had no idea, clearly even VCarb's team principals had no idea .... an absolute shitshow that resulted in Daniel being subjected to some of the most cruel and unfair treatment by the media and resulted in an exit completely unbefitting of his contributions and achievements over his career in Formula One.

Daniel Ricciardo: The Last Laugh | BH Magazine Volume Two (November 2024) | James Want (**if used please credit**)

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞

Pairing Frank Castle x Reader [friends → lovers] 

Summary A fresh start with no more loose ends—that’s what you promised yourselves. But when a quick outing stretches longer than expected, dread creeps in and reveals how deeply you care for Frank when he’s finally back by your side [3.7k] 

A/N First time writing for Frank. Deeply appreciate Jon Bernthal’s embodiment of the character ♡

The rain hasn’t stopped by the time the van eases into the parking lot, where the water on the ground reflects the cherry-red motel sign shining against the night. It makes no difference to you—lips parted, head tilted against the passenger side window—until Frank gears into park and taps your thigh with two thick fingers. 

Your eyes flutter open to tiny droplets pattering on the outside of the cool glass. That’s when you notice how still the world has grown. No more potholes, smooth turns, or periodic swells of acceleration to pass other cars who thought they had all the time in the world. 

After cutting the engine, he runs a heavy hand down his face and tips his head back, disheveling the back of his dark hair against the headrest. It’s gotten longer. So has the coarser hair of his beard. He never asked for your opinion, nor had you mustered the courage to give it, but the look suited him, as if it was innately right. As he briefly closes his eyes, he misses the way you turn to study his profile, noting how the bridge of his nose catches the glow of the lights outside.

A satisfied hum escapes you as you stretch out your legs, drawing his attention back your way. He blinks observantly, eyebrows set in that eternal furrow that makes him hard to read. But you know he’s alright—content. There’s no other reason not to be. A couple hundred miles ago, he’d tied off one final loose end, and the world went silent for the first time in a while. It was over. No more living ghosts breathing down your necks. You and Pete Castiglione were free to start a new life, be whoever you wanted to be. That’s what you told yourselves. 

Clearing his throat, Frank shifts in his seat and reaches into the cup holder, tossing the room key into your lap. “Room 103. There’s two queens,” he tells you. “I’ll grab the bags.” The finality in his tone suggests he won’t entertain any alterations to the plan.   

You reach down to grab your crossbody. “Can I get this one, or is it too much?” You’re trying to be funny. He waves you off, mumbling under his breath, but there’s an undeniable flutter in his gut when you smile at him before hopping out of the van. 

He purses his lips when you break into an amusing little jog, eager to escape the rain and key into the room. A muted yellow fills the space as you flip on the lights. No sooner does he watch you peek through the curtains like a groundhog popping up from its burrow. It’s hard to make him out, but you swear you can see him chuckling from behind the windshield. 

It’s impressive how he manages to carry both your belongings in one trip. He hums in appreciation as you hold the door open for him. Rather than dumping everything in the main walkway, he trudges the extra few steps to where more space opens up, and a small bench rests beneath the full length mirror hanging on the wall. 

The air is thick, as it always seems to be at motels, but the citrus undertones suggest recent cleaning. You stake your claim on the bed closest to the bathroom, ready to settle in. The wrapper of a meal bar crinkles as you dig it out from your purse. 

Frank’s own mattress squeaks as he plops down onto the foot of the bed and lays back, tucking his hands behind his head. The movement makes the hem of his hoodie rise up just enough to reveal the light trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but you’d be back on the road in the morning headed for central Virginia. 

A modest house in the Blue Ridge Mountains awaited, courtesy of one of his buddies who lived further north in Quantico. Of all the other options, it seemed like a promising place to find your footing away from the endless bustle of New York City. 

“Frank?” He looks over at you. “Thanks.” For everything, you want to add. 

“No worries,” he says. A few moments pass of the rain slowing down outside. It’s a lulling sound that masks the quiet gurgle of your stomach. 

Eyes closed, Frank hears you begin to peel open the bar you’re holding. It’s one of the protein-packed ones that are supposed to taste like chocolate, but always end up too chalky. It’d been a while since the late lunch the two of you had. 

“I’ll go get you something hot.” He sits up. “Passed a few places coming in.” 

You can see how drained he is from driving. It’s in his voice, the slump of his shoulders. “This’ll tie me over for the night,” you insist.

He looks at you with partial belief. Frank was the type who could get caught up in the task at hand and go without eating, if it wasn’t for your reminders. Earlier, he’d brushed over his hunger, only to sit down across from you in that cramped diner booth and inhale his hamburger and fries as you watched with amusement sparkling in your eyes. That look often spurred him into a spiel about how he could get by on a handful of nuts every few hours if he really wanted. 

But there was no such talk this time around. The food was good and hearty, and he enjoyed sitting down and sharing a meal without having to look over his shoulder. There was also something special about the way the sunlight streaming through the windows caught your eyes. 

“Really, Frank. It’s been a long day,” you say as he stands and makes his way to the door. There was no stopping him when he made up his mind. “I can come with you.” That earns you a disapproving look, and you sigh your defeat. “Drive safe, okay?” 

“Yep.” 

The rain subsides shortly after he slips out the door. To avoid the risk of falling asleep, you decide to take a shower, considering yourself lucky that the warm water doesn’t run out after the first five minutes.

By the time you dry off, moisturize, and change into old pajamas, Frank hasn’t returned. When you peek out the window at the sound of an engine, it ends up being construction workers. Despite how much you try to will it away, a familiar sense of dread settles in your gut. It only roots deeper upon realizing that he’d left his BlackBerry behind on the bed. 

Time continues passing by. 

•••

Red and blue police lights appear blazing in the distance in a showy glow. Frank watches from the inside of a family-owned pizzeria, where beautiful candid pictures adorn the walls. The air is rich with the scent of parmesan and garlic, but his face is fixed in a scowl. There’s bruising beginning to develop on the apple of one cheek, and a thin bleeding slash on the other. A few chairs are overturned while tables are askew. 

Under different circumstances, maybe in a different life, he would’ve been able to appreciate the homey charm of the place without trouble finding a way to fall at his feet. The universe had deemed him as the only alter fit to handle it. 

The woman behind the counter, stout with a long ponytail, nearly collapses in relief as the wailing sirens draw nearer. Frank’s jaw ticks in irritation at the whole ordeal. Other customers who were once inside have either left or are now standing watch from the parking lot. 

Frank turns to look down at the two young men sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. The masks have been ripped down from their faces, and it’s clear they’ve been roughed up. Despite feeling Frank’s gaze, they refuse to meet it. 

Off to side stands another employee who’s around the same age as the men on the ground. He’s holding a wad of napkins to his bloody nose and can’t keep his eyes from flitting to Frank with reverence and gratitude.  

“Hey,” Frank barks to the seated men. “When they bust up in here, you don’t run, you hear me? Cause I’m gonna be out there and you won’t even make it to the next lot over,” he says. “If you wanna come in here and be tough guys while your buddy’s trying to make a living and do better for himself, then you own it.” 

Their nostrils flare in frustration, but they don’t dare open their mouths. He can see the misplaced anger of his own youth coursing through them. 

“Whatever’s going on between you…you talk it out, yeah?” He looks between all of them. “One bad decision, and your folks will be crying and snotting in a courtroom while some guy with a gavel calls the shots.” 

As the police cars turn into the parking lot, Frank walks over to a table and picks up the carry out bag of food he’d ordered. 

“How do I get outta here?” 

Both the long-haired woman and the young employee point to the back hallway where the bathrooms are, watching him disappear as if he were never there at all. 

Frank makes it to his van as the police enter the pizzeria. In the rearview mirror, he can see the two men standing from the ground with their heads hanging low. Sighing, he pats down his pockets for his phone with the intent to call you. Nothing. All he can do is curse under his breath and start up the engine. 

The No Vacancy sign is switched on when he makes it back. He sees you staring out the window, but you slink back into the room as if the sight of his return was all you needed. A mix of guilt and frustration stir in his chest when you don’t let him in. He has to dig out the key and do it himself with his free hand, the carry out bag crinkling with his efforts. When he slips in and shuts the door behind himself, you’re standing a few yards away. There’s a palpable intensity as you study the afflictions on his face. 

Your body wants to fuss over him and push him away all at once—for leaving his phone, for scaring you, for coming back looking like he’d sought out yet another fight. Most of all, you feel foolish for believing that there was ever a chance at normalcy. There was no rewriting the curse that all the trouble in the world fell at Frank Castle’s feet so he could set things right. 

Unlike eight months ago, when you thought he was bad news, you can’t imagine losing him. You wouldn’t survive it. That magnitude of that fear cloaks itself in anger and puts a target on him when it’s the last thing he deserves. 

“What the hell, Frank? You can’t be serious right now.” 

Your piercing gaze is muddled with a myriad of emotions, and he can see them all. He stops the knee-jerk reaction that almost makes him raise his voice and go on about how he didn’t ask for anything that transpired within the past hour. How happenstance wasn’t within his control. How the whole idea of the two people like you finding a sense of normality was probably closer to a fairytale. 

He doesn’t get into it because he loves you. Even though neither of you have ever said it aloud. It was an unspoken truth, written between the lines of the fact that you worked each other’s nerves, but knew how to sooth them even more. Chasing after a fairytale would be worth it with you. 

“Let’s just eat, yeah? Can we do that?” 

He brushes past you to put the food on the small table. You track his movements, watching as he takes out a few small boxes. There’s wings, garlic knots, mozzarella sticks—a variety so you can take your pick and get your fill. It was never really too late for pizza, but he knew you would complain about the layers of cheese grease so close to bedtime. You’re not even sure you have an appetite anymore, but he motions for you to come sit and you can’t say no. Your eyes follow him as he goes to wash his hands, wishing you had it in you to scream. 

There’s only two chairs and your knees knock beneath the table when he sits down. As you nibble on a garlic knot, you stare at the dried blood on his cheek and the forming bruise. 

“Please tell me what happened.” Your tone is lighter than before.

Frank squints briefly then wrinkles his nose, gears turning in his head. Similar to when he walks into a new room, his gaze tracks around different points of your face, as if he’s trying to piece together what he wants to say as he assesses where you are. His thoughts are always written in his expressions even if they aren’t entirely clear. 

“It was nothing,” he says. 

“Nothing, Frank?” 

Nine times out of ten, him coming back to base camp bearing signs of a fight meant that he’d either taken care of everything or it was time to bounce—no in between. There’s no urgency that suggests the latter, so he must be telling the truth. The events of the night have pissed him off more than anything, like a side quest he couldn’t avoid. As much as he dreaded playing it over in his head for the sake of relaying it back to you, he can see that you need it. 

“Alright, look.” Frank waits for your attentive nod to continue. 

“It was a couple of kids. Came in all loud, making a scene,” he starts. “Long story short, they gang up on their buddy who works there.” Your eyes drift to his lips as he talks, watching the way he wets them every so often. “Everybody starts freaking out, some suit who looks like Mayor LaGaurdia calls the cops.” 

He shakes his head like it was all a big mess. “And I’m not about to sit there and watch this kid get the snot beat outta him, so I get up and do somethin’ about it.” The righteous indignation in his tone stirs an admiration within you. He notices the shift in the way you’re looking at him. 

“What?” 

You shake your head and bite your lower lip. “So you broke them apart?”

He nods. “One of ‘em got a lick in, pulled out a pocket knife,” he says. “Then I shook both their asses up and made ‘em sit ‘til the cops came.” 

“You pulled your punches.” 

“I pulled my punches,” he confirms.

This wasn’t the story you were expecting, but you’re grateful for it nonetheless. Frank breaking up fights and setting kids straight was something you could live with—better than dealing with crime rings, crooked feds, and personal vendettas. 

A wave of rowdy laughter soon erupts from somewhere in the distance. When you look down, you realize the two of you have made your way through more of the food than you were expecting. Frank wipes his hands off with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching as you do the same. 

The silence is intimate. Frank’s knees are still pressed against yours. He looks like he wants to say one thing but changes his mind to another at the last minute. “I’m gonna go grab a shower, yeah?”  

“Yeah,” you mimic the quick, New York way he always clips the word onto the end of his sentences.  

He’s never minded your teasing. Every time he thinks he’s gotten away with masking his amusement, you always catch a tell that gives him away. This time, it’s the twitch of his nose as he stands up to throw his stuff away. You file it away in your memory. 

“Hey, Frank?” He looks over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was scared.” 

“I know.” 

Later, the lights around the mirror provide a Hollywood-esque glow as you stand at the sink brushing your teeth, one hand braced on the counter. The rest of the bathroom is sectioned off behind a door, so you feel the lingering steam from Frank's shower as he steps out in his sleep clothes, drying off his hair. The air smells like the complimentary soap, light and fresh. You absentmindedly shift to make room for him as he drapes the towel around his neck and leans close to the mirror to assess his face. 

Now that the blood is gone, the cut looks less imposing. Unphased that you’re bumping shoulders, he reaches for his own toothbrush. 

You’ve never paid any mind to how heavy-handed he is while he brushes, but it stands out now that you’re right beside him sharing the same sink. Perhaps it only appears that way, but you force yourself to bite back a teasing comment as you move on to floss. Frank just stares at you in the mirror with a soft, tired look in his eyes that makes your insides feel all fluttery. You’re sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it—or maybe he knows perfectly well. 

After he’s ditched the towel and the two of you are making your way to your respective beds, you bring a halt to his movements by wrapping your arms around him. It’s an awkward angle at first because you come at him partially from the side, partially from behind. But he adjusts himself so that your chests are pressed together as he wraps an arm around you—just the one initially, taken aback by your embrace. 

“Okay. Oh, boy,” he chuckles in that low way of his that playfully denotes trouble. 

You’re not sure why you made the move. As he adds his other arm, it occurs to you that there are too many motivations for there to be just one. Affection seldom looks like this between the two of you—maybe once every blue moon during notable partings or close calls. The seamless way you melt into him says otherwise. It’s as if relishing his warmth and the steady constant of his frame was all you were made for. The possibility doesn’t even offend you. You keep holding him and he keeps holding you. 

“You okay?” he asks after a while, smoothing his wide palm up your back. 

You nod before slowly pulling away. “Sorry, I’m just…” You touch a gentle finger to the center of his chest as he looks at you with that familiar furrow between his brows. “Glad you’re back.” Glad he’s still alive.

“Where else would I be, huh?” He taps your chin with his knuckle. “I walk out any door without you, best believe I’m making it back some way somehow.” 

You nod because you don’t trust your voice anymore.  

He gives your chin another affectionate tap. “Alright then. Bedtime.”

•••

A small sliver of light slips in through the slit in the curtains, casting itself onto the lower portion of Frank’s bed right over his feet. Even after staring at it for what feels like forever, you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes and surrender to the grasp of sleep. Yet the steady rise and fall of Frank’s chest continues on like some sort of miracle. You wish you were close enough to feel it for yourself, and when that pull doesn’t go away, you push the covers off and tiptoe over to his bed amid the dark.  

When the other side of his mattress dips, he thinks it’s one of those half-waking dreams until your leg brushes against his in your attempt to join him beneath the sheets. He immediately shifts to accommodate you, tugging more covers over to your side even though there’s already plenty. As he moves, you can smell the familiar scent of his skin and feel the weight of his proximity. 

“Thought you were—thought I was dreaming,” he rasps. 

With the way your heart has begun hammering in your ears, you’re surprised you can hear him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, you’re okay, sweetheart.” His voice is thick, but not from tiredness this time. 

Both of you remain still after you’ve settled, scared that moving would shatter this sweet reality that had been woven together by fate. The warmth of his body calls out to you, but you don’t indulge even though you want to. That hesitation doesn’t last long. The moment he reaches out, you press yourself back against his chest. He lets his hand come to rest over your stomach as he tucks his nose into your head, breathing you in. When you relax further into him, his fingertips venture just beneath the hem of your shirt to grace the soft skin above your waistline. The gesture is achingly chaste. The two of you fall asleep just like that. 

Morning seems to come soon, sunlight spilling into the room around the closed curtains. The light is tender in the way it bathes the charming color palette of the room. Frank’s eyes flutter open to find that neither of you had shifted much during the night. You're further away, but his arm remains draped over your middle. He doesn’t know that you're awake—that you’ve been awake. 

The first thing your gaze fell on was the alarm clock nearing nine o’ clock. You’d slept in way longer than usual, especially for what was meant to be another day on the road. You can’t bring yourself to mind. 

It isn’t until Frank withdraws his arm that you finally allow yourself to shift. The sheets rustle in a tell-tale sign that he’s stretching, and you roll over in time to see him on his back with his arms extended, knuckles brushing against the headboard. You scoot closer, resting a hand on his chest after he lowers his arms and tucks the one furthest from you behind his head, bicep flexing. 

Neither of you say anything, but there’s a quiet sense of acknowledgement—of seeing and being seen. With a lone finger, you draw lazy shapes over his pecs through the fabric of his shirt as he slowly blinks down at your hand. And as Frank turns to press a kiss to your forehead, he reckons he could get used to mornings like these.  

-

♡ Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[hedgehog-moss]

Writers who use imitative harmony + the movement of their language to evoke meaning are so great to re-read once you’ve learnt this language, if you’ve read them in translation before, it feels like the best reward. I’m reading Annie Proulx in the original for the first time, and so much of her writing style was just not salvageable by French translators (< my condolences), because she intertwines sound with meaning so often, at least in Close Range, and French just doesn’t sound the same! so by translating the meaning you’ll sacrifice a lot of the style... It reminds me of a haunted house book in French that also made me think “haha RIP translators” because it made great use of sound—a lot of “u / eu / ou” to create a sort of sinister howling effect in some sentences, and one sentence about a closed door used “i” and “rr” sounds to give an ominous “creaking open” sensation without actually opening the door in the text...

This kind of thing always makes me reflect despairingly on how many authors I’ll never get to appreciate fully as I can’t read them in the original, but I’m glad to re-discover Annie Proulx at any rate! I mean compare the sound of a phrase like “a hundred dirt road shortcuts” to the French “des centaines de raccourcis, des routes de terre”... First of all the English phrase sounds clippety-cloppy, it sounds like hooves on a dirt road in a way that’s very hard to preserve in a language without syllable stress, but also the French language demands that you turn it into ‘a hundred of shortcurts of roads of dirt’, so it’s best to dilute it into two phrases, and you just lose the clippedness. It sounds less tight, more leisurely.

Same for the phrase “the tawny plain still grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts” vs. “la plaine fauve encore marquée des ornières laissées par les chariots des pèlerins.” That’s a 54% expansion ratio and once again you turn the tight clippedness of ‘grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts’ into ‘grooved with the ruts left by the wagons of the pilgrims.’ You just can’t avoid it, French words have to hold hands in a long procession rather than being stacked like pancakes on top of one another. And sometimes it makes for lovely stylistic effects too (*), but it doesn’t fit the style of a text like this one, which uses rhythm and sound in a very un-French way—rhythmicality in French tends to rely on long flowy phrasings rather than the potholed ruggedness this story demands. (I saw a NY Times article describe it as Annie Proulx “mining the ore of language out of a gritty Wyoming rockscape”)

The rhythm of this whole bit is so neat, you can snap your fingers along with it: “hard orange dawn, the world smoking, snaking dust devils on bare dirt, heat boiling out of the sun until the paint on the truck hood curled, ragged webs of dry rain that never hit the ground, through small-town traffic and stock on the road, band of horses in morning fog...”

The French version is not finger-snapping material but you can tell the translator did her very best to preserve the author’s intention by creating interesting rhythms in French as well. For “hard orange dawn” she could have kept close to the original with, say, “la dureté orange de l’aube” but instead she chose to turn ‘hard’ into a four-syllable adjective (éblouissante / blinding) to end up with a noticeable rhythm—“les aubes orange, éblouissantes,” one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four (and she made ‘dawn’ plural for the same reason.) She wasn’t able to preserve the g/r alliteration of “GRooved with pilGRim waGon Ruts” (although her translated phrase also has a lot of R’s) but she did preserve the ‘sss’ alliteration of “Smoking Snaking duSt” (“pouSSière Serpentant Sur le Sol”). Even with languages as close as French and English, for every stylistic effect you can save you have to sacrifice a few, or replace them with opposite effects which align better with your language’s notions of literary style (like with the orange dawn bit, doubling the length of a tight phrase so it can sound rhythmical).

You can tell all throughout the book that a lot of thought and care went into respecting Annie Proulx’s writing choices and you still end up with sentences that sound and move so differently. You get to see the limit of translation when authors fully lean on their language’s syntax and melody to help convey meaning, like poets do!

(*) Re: English stacking words and French linking them—this reminds me of an essay I read by an English translator of Proust who despaired of this difference in the opposite direction—saying some long, descriptive phrases in Proust with articles & prepositions linking words, and commas linking phrases with regularity, read like telling the beads of a rosary. And the sensation (or a lot of it) had to be sacrificed because English just does not use as many linking words as French, information is conveyed in a more economical way, so a lot of these sentences with a hypnotic rhythm like “the A, of the B, of the C, whereby the D, of the E, on an F” were often not achievable with English syntax or created redundancy (e.g. having to use ‘that’ or ‘which’ 5 times when French used different tool words). But he said he did try to form sentences that had this continuity, and meditative quality.

I don’t have a conclusion to this post other than to say something precious will be lost if human translation is replaced by AI translation, because literary translation involves creativity and ambiguity and aesthetic considerations and a dimension of instinctual feeling for your own language and the original style, and I don’t think any amount of data and processing power and artificial neural networks will yield the flavour of literary quality that emerges from human sensibility and care, from someone reading a sentence and thinking “this feels like hooves clippety-clopping down a dirt road” or “this feels like rolling the beads of a rosary” and starting from there...

[fear-is-truth]

THE PERFECT GIRL — patrick bateman x reader

THE CAB HUMS FAINTLY as it cuts through manhattan traffic, the city’s skyline glowing outside the windows. your fiancé sits beside you, immaculately dressed in valentino, his walkman resting on his lap as he adjusts the foam pads of his headphones.

whitney houston’s voice leaks out, bursts of synth breaking through whenever the cab hits a pothole. the air smells of leather and the paul sebastian fine cologne patrick doused himself in before leaving his apartment. you’re pressed into the corner of the backseat, trying to stay out of his way while he stares out the window, the city outside reflected in his glassy eyes like an art exhibit only he can understand.

you’ve spent most of the ride staring out the window, accustomed to his rituals. patrick doesn’t talk much in cabs—usually distracted by his music or staring at his reflection in the window. not exactly a conversationalist unless the subject revolves around himself.

your game of counting homeless people slumped in doorways and subway grates has run its course, leaving you disheartened.

it’s too many. there’s always too many.

bored out of your mind, you sneak a glance at him, taking in his sharp features, the way his full lips part slightly like he’s thinking hard about something. maybe another fancy restaurant he’s dragging you to. maybe a new suit. maybe the font of someone’s business card.

“you okay, patrick?” you ask casually, not really expecting an answer.

but he surprises you.

“we should get married,” he states flatly.

you blink, caught between confusion and disbelief. “what?”

patrick adjusts his headphones like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the space between you.

“married, y/n.” he repeats with an air of impatience in his tone.

“it makes sense. people expect it.”

“wait—pat, are you serious?”

“you’re… not terrible,” he mumbles, as if that’s supposed to be some grand compliment. “it would—what’s the word—streamline things.”

you laugh, the sound a little shaky because what else are you supposed to do? “streamline things?” you echo, folding your arms. “that’s your pitch?”

patrick shrugs. “you don’t want a wedding? flowers, rings, cake?” he gestures vaguely, his hand slicing through the air. pantomiming cutting a wedding cake (or someone’s jugular). you’re still trying to process this, trying to figure out if he’s serious or just messing with you.

“well, do you want that, patrick?”

he pauses, the question hanging in the air. for a second, his mouth twitches, like he’s about to say something honest, but instead, he leans back in his seat, pulling his headphones back over his ears.

“…just consider it,” he mutters, closing his eyes as the music drowns you out again.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[ticktokrobotsnot]

Hurricane Relief

This is part 2.

You can read part 1 here.

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of a disaster and how we learn to cope, move on, and grow.

Word Count: 4k

Notes: 1) This is based off of s1e8, but we are going to pretend that Syd did the tablet thing correctly and Carmen doesn't lose his shit in ep7.

2) I am a completionist at heart so I felt an obligation to finish this because I know that if I was reading something and I didn't get a confession at the end I would riot and I aim to please.

__

“Where did you get the money for bail?”

“Used our two week parachute.” 

Y/n, barely conscious felt something pushed up against her chest. She peeked her eyes open and saw that she was sitting in the backseat of Carmen’s car already buckled in. She shifted over to her left so she could rest her elbow on the armrest against the door and balance her head. Carmen glanced through the rear view mirror to confirm that she was still asleep, he locked the car door so she wouldn’t fall out. 

Richie looked back before uttering a small, “Thank you, cousin.” It was strangely vulnerable to thank someone and even more vulnerable to do it with an audience, even if they were asleep. 

“All good.” 

After a few more beats of silence, y/n assumed that their bro moment had reached its conclusion and that she could finally pretend that she had just woken up. Then she heard a sniffle, at first she thought that her mind was playing tricks on her but she heard it again, and then a few more times. Maybe now was not the best time to announce her presence. 

“You okay?” Although she couldn’t see Carmen’s face she was hearing concern and a bit of apprehension. She could tell he wasn’t comfortable with consoling Richie. 

A small but broken, “Yeah…I’m okay” escaped Richie’s mouth. 

Unable to resist, she stole a quick glance at the rearview mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of Carmen's eyes. They appeared slightly glassy, yet the softness in the corners revealed a simmering sense of relief. Though he was clearly upset, she reassured herself that he would ultimately be alright. Once they returned to the restaurant, she planned to check in on him, but without pressuring him. Recognizing his need for rest, space, and comfort, she understood that he often neglected these needs for the sake of others but she was determined to ensure he received the care he truly deserved.

Carmen took one last look back before pulling out of the parking spot and driving them back to the restaurant. Y/n was wide awake now but she knew that both Carmen and Richie needed some time and space to process what had happened. None of that would work if she was visibly awake, she had a feeling that they would pretend to be all tough by pushing their problems aside because they didn’t want a girl to see them being “sensitive”. So she planned to keep her head down and wait till they were near the restaurant to “wake up.”

The ride back was slow and smooth, Carmen didn’t drive over a single pothole, he stopped softly, and didn’t honk once, which was rare in Chicago. He wanted to drive her home and put her to bed but he had a feeling that she would be pissed if he dropped her off home while they went back to the restaurant. 

They were 45 minutes away from the restaurant but he was wondering if he should wake her up when they got there, or if he should let her sleep in his car. If he left her in the car she would be able to sleep in but it wasn’t safe, what if someone broke a window? At the same time, if he brought her to the restaurant, there was nowhere for her to rest. He was driving on auto-pilot while he was trying to figure out the best way to approach the dilemma, because if there was one thing that Carmen was good at it was overthinking. 

On top of worrying about y/n, Carmen had to steal a few quick glances at Richie to make sure that he was ok, it was hard to tell because he was looking out the window but the reflection showed Richie’s eyebrows were furrowed, he was thinking about something, or someone. Thinking was better than being depressed. 

A small selfish part of Carmen wondered if anyone would ever dissect every small aspect of him to make sure that he was also ok, like he did for others. 

The car ride was peaceful and quiet until a neighboring vehicle suddenly honked near y/n’s window, causing her to jolt and accidentally slam her forehead against the glass.

“Jesus, fuck.” Y/n hissed while putting her cold hand on her forehead to calm the bruise that would inevitably form. Her cover was blown.

Carmen’s head whipped back, “Are you ok?” 

“I'm good, it's just a small bump.” She tried to rub the forehead to quell the pain but it was too tender. “Pay attention to the road, I don’t want to see another police officer for the rest of my life.” Carmen involuntarily flicked his eyes to y/n’s forehead through the rear view mirror. 

Y/n couldn’t tell what Richie’s status was and he hadn’t made a single peep the entire car ride, even when she was “asleep”, so she couldn’t gauge whether or not she should talk to him. 

“We’re glad to have you back, Richie '' She left it open and didn’t expect any response in return. He didn’t respond but he moved his eyes from the passenger window to the windshield and sat up straight. Y/n felt a bit of uneasiness, this was the longest Richie was quiet and she kind of wanted him to make fun of Carmen or at least laugh, something to show that he wasn’t hurting. 

The rest of the car ride was quiet, they eventually pulled up to the restaurant and they walked in. Y/n and Carmen had left the restaurant as it was and even though they knew it was a mess, it was a different beast in daylight. Both y/n and Carmen walked to their lockers to grab their emergency toothbrush and other hygiene products in an effort to look less dead. 

Once they freshen up they went their separate ways. Y/n walked behind the counter and pushed some styrofoam cups aside to start the coffee machine. She waited for the coffee to finish brewing before pouring a cup for the three of them. Richie took one of the cups off the counter and disappeared. 

She walked over to Carmen who was throwing away half eaten food from the tables. 

“Here.” she handed a cup over to him and once again their fingers brushed each other but this time she forced herself to ignore the electricity. Whatever she was feeling would be an additional burden to Carmen, one more thing for him to worry about. Carmen didn’t need this right now, he needed some calm and space. 

She heard a soft thanks, and even though she was supposed to give him space she couldn’t suppress the urge to check on him one more time. His eyes were no longer glassy but the dark circles told her everything she needed to know. He glanced up at her face, finally getting his first good look at her since they left the station. He walked over to the kitchen door and signaled y/n to join him right before he disappeared. She heard some shuffling and she walked over to the kitchen after taking one more look at Richie who looked like he was doing better. 

Y/n went to the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised that it was not as bad as the front, it wasn’t great but still miles better. The kitchen was empty but Carmen’s office door was wide open, she peered inside to see him holding a ziplock filled with a bit of ice and water. 

He shut the door and pulled out a chair indicating that she was supposed to sit. She sat and looked up at Carmen before feeling the ice on her forehead. She groaned in discomfort, “You didn’t have to.” Carmen moved the bag around so the cold didn’t hurt. Y/n felt like she wasn’t doing enough, she was supposed to take care of him and here he was taking care of her. That wouldn’t do.

“How are you feeling?” Y/n asked while avoiding his eyes. She couldn’t look at them without getting distracted and she needed to focus on Carmen. 

“I'm good.” Soft but left no room for elaboration. Y/n knew she couldn’t crack a few jokes to make him feel better, that was wholly inappropriate. She also couldn’t probe for answers either because that would just stress him out, any form of pressure would probably make him feel like a caged animal being cornered. Saying nothing felt like they were ignoring the very obvious elephant in the room. It was like all roads lead to nothing unless Carmen opened up a bit more, which didn’t seem like was going to happen so y/n settled for a distraction.

“Is it bad?” Y/n said while touching the bag of ice barley missing his fingers. She ignored Carmen’s body heat that was radiating onto her side and she also pretended not to notice the way that his lips parted in concentration.

“I'm going to need you to be honest with me, don’t worry I can take it. If I look like shit you’ve gotta tell me so I can get some impromptu bangs or something.”

“You don’t look like shit.” Carmen mumbled.

“I bet I don’t look good,” Y/n swiveled around towards Carmen’s desk for some scissors, “bangs it is.”she exclaimed. Y/n was only joking but she needed a bit of a breather before she broke her own rule about giving Carmen some space. 

Carmen grabbed the chair’s armrest and swung it swiftly so she was facing him again. Her heart leaped out. “You look like how you always do.” He was too much of a wimp to call her breathtaking, the word felt foreign in his head; he could only imagine how disturbing it would be to hear it from his lips. He gently grabbed her chin before putting the ice on her forehead again. Y/n couldn’t escape this time. 

The silence was killing her and she thought she should at least talk about her own experience to let him know that they could talk to each other about stuff like this. 

“I was really scared...” Carmen looked into her eyes and they softened a bit. 

“I was scared that Richie was going to be in jail for basically forever…and …and,” Y/n hesitated, was what she was about to say to Carmen considered cornering him?

“I was scared for you.” Carmen’s hand stalled midair, still holding the bag of ice. He didn’t move for a few moments, “I was worried that this would..” She couldn’t think of what to say next. She could feel the gears in her head working overtime to churn out something that would summarize what she was feeling. “..break you and you wouldn’t let me help you.” She felt her eyes start to burn and a lump form in her throat that was choking her. She wouldn’t cry, he couldn’t deal with his own problems while consoling her. 

“I would have been okay.”

Y/n waited till the lump in her throat stopped burning. “You always are Carmen, but sometimes it’s nice to be better than okay…” She couldn’t do anything about her voice cracking but she might as well finish before she became a mess, “You deserve it.” 

Y/n said her piece and they both simmered in the quiet. A sigh reverberated through the walls and Carmen looked into y/n’s eyes. His lips parted and closed a few times as he tried to formulate a response but nothing he could think off would sound as well-put together as y/n’s thoughts. He felt like he was seven again, a stuttering pathetic idiot who couldn’t say something as simple as a thanks. 

Y/n knew that they were done for now, she had exhausted him so she was finally ready to give him that space that he desperately needed. She slowly got up and slipped the bag of ice out of his hand and walked towards the door. Carmen didn’t look at her as she left but as soon as the door closed, he sank to the floor and sat there for a very long time. 

He finally leaves the office to help with the clean up and is greeted by the crew. Y/n was at the very end scrubbing her countertop which was covered in glitter. As he walks past the crew to survey the damage to the front, he gets a pair of gemstone covered stringy underwear swung towards his face. 

“This is not respect.” Ebra continues to wave the underwear at Carmen’s face.

“No, chef. That is not respect.”

Carmen walked to the front and felt another weight lifted off his shoulder to see that the majority of the mess had been cleaned up. It felt like he was finally able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. His chest felt a bit lighter and he knew it was thanks to the people around him. 

He walked to the kitchen and started slicing some onions, he would be in charge of family dinner. As he was making the sauce, he couldn’t help but notice that he had yet to hear or see y/n, not that she wasn’t in the restaurant but it was like she was doing her very best not to be noticed. She was quietly peeling garlic and even though Carmen hadn’t responded to her, he could tell that they would be alright. He just knew in his bones that they would come back together, he was going to make sure of it. 

As he opened the tomato can and dumped it in, he noticed a bit of green. Mold? Killing the heat, he swiped the sauce away and picked it up to remove the plastic to reveal a wad of money.

Y/n heard Carmen yell for Richie but she didn’t think much of it before she started hearing, “Shit…Fuck..”

A few minutes later the whole crew were opening cans of tomato sauce to dig out the money that was hidden within. Once all the money was out, Richie cleaned it up and sorted it, the crew cleaned up the sauce and Carmen finished up the pasta. 

They sat down for dinner, but y/n had no appetite. However, she couldn't afford to leave her plate unfinished without drawing attention. She discreetly observed Carmen, piece by piece, just to make sure that he was okay, actually more than okay. His hands were relaxed, she took a bite. His shoulders were at ease, another bite. His jaw was unclenched, yet another bite. And finally, the most crucial part, she stole a fleeting glance into his eyes. As she raised her head slightly to check, to her surprise, their eyes met. Against her instincts, y/n held his gaze. It left her breathless. For the first time, y/n saw a serenity in Carmen's eyes that she had never witnessed before. 

With this newfound contentment, it became evident that Carmen had discovered a new version of stability. If maintaining their current relationship, or lack thereof, could grant him such ease and relaxation, y/n was willing to patiently wait for him to embrace a future together, even if it meant waiting for years or even decades. She didn’t want him to relish in the calm but expect it, expect that life was also fun and full of love. Her wish was for him to experience a life of unwavering stability, so that even if unexpected challenges arose as he always anticipated, he would know he was not alone and that he would always prevail. 

Y/n was proud of him, which is a strange thing to say considering the fact that he was a tax paying adult, but she couldn’t help but give him a small smile that said I see you and I’m so fucking in love with you. 

Carmen wasn’t a poet by any means but he finally understood why people write poems about other people. A picture of y/n would have captured her beauty but a poem would have explained it. It was just a smile and he didn’t know why but it was burned into his memory. Y/n looked away to ask Sydney something but if Carmen closed his eyes she was still smiling at him. Y/n had given him many smiles but he knew at this very moment that he couldn’t last another day without her being his. It wasn’t just a smile, it was the weight behind it, the pressure that it put on his chest when she looked away from him, the gleaming aura that wouldn’t let him look away…

It was everything, it was his everything, you were his everything.

Dinner concluded, everything was cleaned up, and Carmen was no longer in his fantasy land where y/n was being lit by the sunlight or party lights and making him yearn, he had never yearned before. Carmen assumed that seeing her in the shitty kitchen lighting and in her messy apron would bring him back to reality but he was sorely mistaken. The pinnacle of his admiration wasn't confined to the previous night or that particular meal; it persisted, unyielding. It didn’t die down when she spilled a bit of oil on the counter, or when she flipped of Richie for god knows what, or when she sampled Sydney's experimental dish and tactfully suggested it needed something more, or when she stepped over to the side to redo her hair, or when she shook her foot because her legs were aching. He could never get tired of her. He could watch her stirring for days on end, each rotation captivating him anew. He could witness her redoing her hair for centuries, and boredom would remain a foreign concept. He could watch her smiling till the sun exploded billions of years in the future, and still, an insatiable craving for more would persist within him.

Time flew by and before she knew it the clock struck 10:30pm and y/n looked up from her stovetop and realized that she was the only person left in the kitchen. It was a bit strange to be alone in the kitchen without Carmen, it felt like a regular room. It lacked the mystic that Carmen brought into any room. She wandered into Carmen’s office but it was empty. The front was empty as well and y/n was getting a bit worried. She grabbed her cardigan from her locker, turned on her phone flashlight and just went to the back of the restaurant and sure enough she found Carmen lighting a cigarette. The phone light was the only source of light other than a very dim street light at the very end of the block, and the small fire lit on the end of the cigarette. She saw that he was surrounded by quite a few cigarettes, five plus the one he was smoking now. 

Carmen looked like a deer caught in headlights. Y/n leaned on the wall so she could see what was compelling him to stay here for what must have been an hour but it was just a brick wall. Carmen shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. 

She waved her hand, “I’ve got a sweater and it's not that cold today.” She was getting deja vu. 

“The bricks are rough.” 

Y/n leaned forward to avoid scraping her favorite cardigan but he took this as an opportunity to stand in front of her and slip the jacket through her arms. He straightened the jacket near the neck line. His hand glided down the open panels. Although he didn't physically touch her, she could sense his warmth emanating through the narrow gap. 

Y/n said she could wait but what she wouldn’t give for him to grab the collar and kiss her. His lips were wet from licking them and she didn’t notice that he was staring at her lips too. 

Carmen snubbed his cigarette on the wall near y/n’s waist, and then dropped the cigarette but leaving his hand still there. “Y/n.”

A soft hum escaped her barely parted lips as she finally lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. It was as if she had entered a trance while staring at his lips, and even when he attempted to snap her out of it, she effortlessly slipped back into another spellbound state, captivated by the depths of his eyes.

“I have to kiss you.” 

He searched her eyes for a sign of hesitation but y/n wrapped her arms behind his neck and leaned forward. Carmen closed the gap and at that moment he knew that he was never going to be able to get enough of her. He slipped a hand behind her head and another on her hip. He pushed her deeper against the wall and he was having a hard time thinking, his head was spinning and it was making it difficult to imprint this sensation into his memory. It felt like trying to remember an ocean’s wave or a ripple in the sand. 

His lungs were burning and even though he knew that he couldn’t stay conscious for longer, he couldn’t pull himself away. 

After a few moments, y/n withdrew slightly, locking eyes with him, her beautiful gaze penetrating his soul. Unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, he instinctively leaned in, their foreheads touching. The kiss left him breathless, yet he yearned to prolong the contact, craving more of her touch.

Their breath mixed with each other before y/n tightened her grip around him and leaned forward to kiss him one more time, this time with a deliberate slowness that amplified the intimacy between them. He made a conscious effort to imprint the sensations in his memory, but they tantalizingly lingered before elusively slipping away, beckoning him to kiss her once more for a more vivid recollection. It felt new even after the first, second, third, and fourth kiss, as if each one unveiled a new layer of their connection. Carmen could die here and people would be able to honestly say that he died a happy man. He smirked against her lips, unable to help himself.

 They pulled away for one last time before Carmen slid his hands down her body and eventually they had lost contact. 

Y/n grabbed his hand and led him back to the restaurant and in the bright lights, y/n looked down at their interlocked hands trying to finally remember the sensation that she had missed a few days prior but was pulled out of it when she noticed that his hands were covered in cuts and scrapes. 

“What the hell happened to your hand?” Carmen's head felt like it was swimming.

He mumbled out a soft, “I think it was the bricks,” and then added, “I told you they were rough.”

“You should have moved them as soon as they started to hurt.” Y/n grabbed for the first aid kit so she could tend to his wounds. 

Carmen didn’t care that his hand was scraped up because he didn’t want any part of y/n digging into the rough brick, and a scuffed hand was a small price to pay.

“Better me than you.”

“You’re literally so annoying, I can't even look at you right now. Take me home, Berzatto.” Y/n humorously rolled her eyes and finished wrapping him up. 

And with that, Carmen finally found himself standing on solid ground, a place of stability and certainty. In the embrace of y/n's love, he discovered a resolute foundation upon which he could build a future with her. He no longer felt adrift, but rather firmly anchored in a love that provided solace.

[swordy-da-goat]

(last ask for a while bc I feel like I'm nagging you sorryy)

I thought road wiz was like an scp, and now we have hazard monster.

Anyway I wonder how either of them would react to being treated like scps? Hazard would be a keter for sure.

Also if you made a road wiz plush I'd 100% buy it I love him sm

got carried away my bad

The Road Wiz

Item# : SCP-████

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Contained within a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell in ██████, Sector-██ at Site-██. SCP-████ will often teleport out of their containment cell for an unprecedented amount of time before teleporting back. They are allowed to freely walk around the foundation as their skills and “magic” are very useful in securing anomalies, reducing injuries and casualties, and dealing with containment breaches.

Description: A humanoid entity (hard to distinguish if SCP-████ is a human or some other entity due to their hat and scarf obscuring facial view. Request to remove hat was met with opposition) wearing a hat resembling an orange traffic cone with one big and small white, reflective stripes, an orange safety vest with a long cloak attached from the backend, a yellow and black safety coverall, and long black leather and rubber gloves and boots.

SCP-████ is also in possession of a long black staff with a ring on the tip of unknown material. This staff is able to produced anomalous properties which can be better described as “magic.” Their “magic” seems to be a parody of signs, spells being correlated by the top of their staff in a hologram visual. One example being the staff projecting a deer sign when generating a glowing holographic version with mass of any of the Cervidae family.

Addendum 1: Discovery

SCP-████ was first captured near American state highway ██. The foundation was alerted when nearby police claimed that quote, “a portal just f█cking opened in the middle of the lobby where then a weirdly dressed guy wearing a cone on their head kicked a guy through saying to arrest him for drunk driving.” All personnel in the police station were given Class A amnestics. Foundation personnel were then deployed to the last place SCP-████ was spotted. Foundation were able to find SCP-████ feeding some stray dogs under American state highway ██. SCP-████ willingly agreed to come with the foundation for questioning.

Addendum 2: Interview

The following interview was conducted by Dr. Richards

Dr. Richards: Good afternoon SCP-████, I hope you’re feeling comfortable right now.

SCP-████: No, no, I’m fine thank you. Though I would prefer if you addressed me by “Road Wizard” or just “Wiz.” SCP-████ sounds a bit degrading.

Dr. Richards: …Noted. Anyways the foundation would like to ask you questions regarding your… job.

SCP-████: My job! Well you see Dr., as my name suggests, I am a wizard. My job is simply to keep everyone safe and responsible. The world is a very dangerous place, you SCP foundation folks would know that better than anyone about that fact!

Dr. Richards: You know of the SCP foundation?

SCP-████: Of course I do! Very big fan of your work! Trying to keep everyone safe from all these dangerous anomalies. Kudos to you guys, kudos!

Dr. Richards: Uh, thank you? Anyways, can you detail how you usually preform your job, or keep people “safe?”

SCP-████: Uh… I guess lecturing people on the rules and importance of road rules, filling up potholes, sticking reflective poles near edges, stuff like that. Pretty mundane huh?

Dr. Richards: What about your staff? What do you use that for?

SCP-████: Oh my staff! Well, I use it to channel my magic for the more dangerous part of my job. Magic can be real dandy in a rock slide.

Dr. Richards: I see.

Room is silent as Dr. Richard pauses to write notes.

Dr. Richards: *coughs* Um, SCP- sorry, Road Wizard. If you don’t mind me asking, I know you dub yourself as the “Road Wizard,” but is that the only safety concern you have? Or are there others like you that specialize in other hazards?

SCP-████: Funny you should ask that Dr., my real name’s actually the Safety Wizard. I just go with road because America has a crap ton of cars you know? And no, there's no one else like me so far that I know of.

Dr. Richards: So do you specialize in anything else then?

SCP-████: Sure I do! Let me just-

SCP-████ then manifests their staff from their hand which starts to emit a blue glow. A train sign then projects at the tip.

SCP-████’s outfit then suddenly shifts into a mock version of a steam engine engineer of their outfit, complete with a cap, denim overalls, vest-cloak and a yellow and black striped bandana.

SCP-████: Trains! Guess you could say I’ve become the “Rail Wizard!”

Silence.

SCP-████: Haha, sorry. There are other specialities too, but it’d probably take a while to show you all of them.

Dr. Richards: So are you able to switch forms like that?

SCP-████: That’s right miss! It’s very important to be dressed proper for any job!

SCP-████’s staff projects a car sign and outfit returns to previous description.

SCP-████: So any other questions for me Dr.? I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to be going soon.

Dr. Richards: SCP- I mean Road Wizard, you are aware that we can’t just let you go out.

SCP-████: I understand your concerns Dr., seeing what kind of place you guys run. But believe me, I’m not a dangerous guy! And it’s not like you folks can keep me in here anyways.

Dr. Richards: What do you mean by that?

SCP-████: Oh nothing. Anyways, it was nice chatting with you Dr. Richards, but I really must be on my way. See you later!

Dr. Richards: Hey, wait!

*SCP-████’s staff projects a Two Way Traffic sign and a glowing, yellow portal appeared to the right of SCP-████. SCP-████ then enters through the portal which disappears.

[END LOG]

——————————————————————————————————

The Hazard Monster

Item# : SCP-█████

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-█████ should be contained within a 5 m x 5 m x 5 m chamber of reinforced concrete. Door and windows should be tightly sealed to prevent SCP-█████ from escaping through any cracks.

Description: SCP-█████ is an amorphous, black blob which can change its mass, texture, shape, and composition through anomalous means. SCP-█████’s face appears to be an NFPA 704 Diamond symbol. Each section of diamond can open up to reveal a set of teeth or eyes (amount varies). SCP-█████ normally uses its anomalous abilities to inflict injuries on people. The relationship between SCP-████, or as they dubbed themself, the Road Wizard, is very negative.

Addendum 1: Discovery

Foundation was first alerted of SCP-█████ when reports of multiple incidents were reported by the people in the town of █████████. Residents were reported being injured by a black shapeshifting blob. Foundation, with the help of the Road Wizard, were able to track down SCP-██████ and capture it. All town residents were given Class A amnestics.

[missannwinchester]

Good girl (Joel/Reader, nsfw)

Joel Miller/Reader

Rating: E

Summary: Joel’s friend invited him to his peaceful resort by the lake. His stay there turns out not as peaceful as Joel had hoped when it turns out he set his eyes on the only woman in the resort that should be off limits.

Warnings: super cheesy, all over the place, dad’s best friend, age difference, slightly rough sex, outdoor sex, nsfw, dirty talk

Joel drove through the forest, the asphalt road leading him straight to the resort. He took a sip of cold, gas station coffee, slowing down as the road became full of potholes. He could smell the fresh scent of pine trees as the wind flew into the car through open windows. Despite wearing sunglasses, Joel squinted each time the sun appeared between the trees. He was driving to his friend’s resort to spend one week in a place with small wooden cabins, a huge lake, boats for rent and no reception and he couldn’t be happier. He desperately needed vacation, and talking to another human being, who happened to be his old buddy, seemed like a dream.

He parked his car, drank the rest of the coffee and got out of the car, taking his black duffel bag from the backseat. He looked around and smiled at the trees swaying in the gentle wind and turned, facing the nearby lake, trying to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the sun dancing in its reflection. He stood like that for a while, inhaling the scent of the forest, before he decided to go check in. He headed for a cabin with a huge ‘reception desk’ banner and took his glasses off as soon as he went inside, standing face to face with the prettiest woman he saw in a while. Not that a hermit like him saw women often, but still.

“Hello,” she greeted him quite cheerfully, but she was clearly surprised to see him.

Joel smiled at her, almost automatically forgetting about his usually gruff demeanor towards new people.

“Hi,” he said, rather sheepishly.

If he had to speak from experience, clerks in places like that were usually awkward middle-aged men, scrawny college frat boys or older women who always flirted with him.

“Did you have a reservation?” She asked, suspecting he hadn’t.

“Uh, no,” he responded. “I was hoping you’d have free cabins by chance, I’d like to stay for a week,” he blurted out and looked into her bright, beautiful eyes. He didn’t mention that he had just talked to the owner of this place or that he was promised ‘the best cabin there was in the whole resort’.

“Lucky for you, there are two cabins available for one week, one right in front of us, by the parking lot and my personal favorite, hidden a little further behind the trees, right by the lake, but it’s got a con and it costs twice as much as the parking lot one,” she explained, not breaking eye contact, staring into his dark eyes with fascination.

This man was extremely handsome, well-built, very broad, and his eyes? His eyes were truly something else.

“I’ll take that personal favorite of yours,” he smiled and took out his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, forced to stop staring at her for a while.

She took a piece of paper and bit her lips when she reached for a pencil.

“Is anyone joining you?”

“No,” he said, leaning against the counter as she wrote something down.

“Breakfast included? Costs just extra 4 dollars per day.”

“I think so,” he retorted and she wrote something down again.

“So, when do you want to check out? Wednesday next week?”

“That’s right,” he nodded and she took a calculator and told him the price.

“I need to take a look at your ID,” she said and he complied, giving her the document.

“Okay, welcome to the resort, Joel. That’s the key, and here’s a map you can use to find your cabin or,” she said, sliding the map and key across the counter, “or I could just walk you there,” she suggested trying to sound breezy.

See, she had always been a good girl. Sunday school, do as she was told, good girl. She went to a good school, met a good man, got a good job, rented a good apartment, lived a good life. A good school she didn’t choose, with a good man she didn’t love and a good job that made her want to die in a good apartment that didn’t feel like home.

“It’s a little far, that’s all and… all the trees look kinda the same, but… well, you have a map,” she babbled, trying not to sound stupid.

“I’ve never been good with maps,” he smiled at her before he took the map and purposefully looked at it upside down, making her chuckle.

“I better walk you then,” she told him.

They walked for about five minutes through the forest, avoiding the small, crowded beach by the lake. The path was very narrow so Joel walked a few steps behind her. She could almost feel his eyes on her tight jeans shorts and she took a mental note to check out his bottom as well.

“How far is the cabin exactly?” Joel asked curiously.

“A little further,” she said. “You know, if you could read that map you’d know it shows an estimated time that you need to get from your cabin to all the important places? Like the breakfast lounge, boat rental or the reception desk,” she told him and slowed down a little, as the path became wider and now he could walk beside her.

“Interesting,” he admitted and eyed the map, quickly reading details about breakfast and how long it takes to go to the restaurant. “So, are you needed at the reception desk or can you show me around?”

“I can, no one's scheduled to arrive today. You were lucky I was even there when you showed up,” she told him and smiled at him playfully.

“Lucky indeed,” he smiled. “When you’re not there, what do you do all day?” He wondered.

“Well… that’s your cabin,” she announced and gestured to the pretty little house. “And as for what I do, I guess I mostly sit on a pier,” she laughed and Joel looked at the map.

“16 minutes that way,” he said, pointing his finger at the forest.

“Wow, you got better at it so fast,” she joked, but then she bit her lip hesitantly. “Actually, this one is not on the map,” she confessed quietly, as if she was telling a secret.

“Oh,” Joel sounded intrigued and waited for her to elaborate.

“We could go there if…” she sighed.

“If?” He prompted.

“If you promise me you’ll never go there without me. It’s mine and mine only,” she said quite sternly, looking at him with confidence.

“I promise, scout’s honor,” he responded without hesitation.

“Alright. Go, leave your bag, I’ll wait,” she promised and Joel went to the cabin and tossed his duffel bag inside carelessly and almost ran back to her.

His heart had been fluttering ever since he saw her, he figured it would stop after a while, but it was probably gonna be a longer while.

Fifteen minutes later they were standing on a pier. It was surrounded by water and reeds.

“Isn’t it awesome? We can see the lake, but the lake can’t see us,” she said with a grin. “I love this place,” she told him.

“I can see why,” he muttered, taking a deep breath, looking at the beautiful landscape surrounding him.

“Tourists never come by here, they stick to the other side of the lake, so it’s very peaceful,” she told him.

“And the view’s nice,” he said, looking straight at her and she smiled, suddenly a little shy.

“Yeah, especially when you actually look at the view,” she blurted out, pointing at the lake.

“Well I don’t know, I like looking over here,” he confessed, his body turned towards her. “You’d make any view better,” he whispered, but gave her space in case he read the signals wrong.

She turned, facing him with a smile dancing on her lips. She took a tiny step forward, getting closer to him, but not closing the gap between them, leaving him some room to decide what to do next. He also stepped forward, now standing in her personal space, their bodies almost touching.

“Does this line always work?” She wondered out loud, looking up at his face.

“Well, it seems to be working this time,” he responded and reached out to grab her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, his other hand touched her hair, which was as soft as he expected, tucking them behind her ear as she leaned into his touch making his boxers even tighter now than a second ago. “What about your line?”

“What do you mean?” She asked unsurely.

“About the secret pier?” He clarified. “About how no one can see us.”

Her free hand traveled up his chest to rest on his shoulder and she knew it would be a horrible time to mention that she had never done anything like this before, not on this pier, nor anywhere else. The only sex she had was with her lousy ex fiance and for that she should have got an award for the best actress in a live action short film because she always had to fake it. So here she was, having her very first summer fling with an older guy and she had never been so aroused in her whole life.

“Seems to be working this time,” she smiled.

Joel leaned down and kissed her, slowly but surely and she responded, parting her lips, letting his tongue slide in. He tasted like something sweet and vaguely familiar and she gasped softly as his tongue explored her mouth. His hands were on her back, pulling her close and hers were wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with hair at the back of his head. His lips left hers and she was disappointed for a second before she felt them on her neck.

“Are you gonna tell me your name?” He asked, focusing his actions on her jawline.

He frowned when she tensed, grabbing his T-shirt, lightly pushing him away, but not letting him go. She told him her name.

Her grip on his T-shirt was quite strong considering her size and Joel could see how aroused she was. She pulled him towards her and kissed him deeply, dominating the kiss. He pushed his leg between hers, his hand on her ass, pulling her closer to him. She grinded against him and he hummed when he pressed his erection at her hip. She gasped into his mouth and pulled at the waistband of his jeans. She had never felt like this before, like she could come right there, dry humping him.

Joel unbuckled his belt and took off his jeans as she did the same. Her shorts fell on the pier and she felt a little self conscious. She tugged at the waistband of his boxers, pulling him into a kiss, his hand immediately found their way to her ass, squeezing it and slapping it very, very lightly, just enough to make it bounce. She sucked on his neck for a while before she pushed his boxers down and felt his fingers sliding under the soft material of her panties, pushing them down her smooth legs. He brushed his finger against her wet folds, sliding it in slowly, his thumb on her clit. He finger fucked her slowly, adding another digit while kissing her shoulder. She moaned at the sensation and slid her hands under his T-shirt, exploring his back. She was on the edge, waiting for him to just lightly, lightly push her.

“Hop up?” He suggested, reading from her uncertain expression that she might have some doubts.

“Um… up… you mean…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you ride me, sweetheart,” he promised and she nodded, wrapping her hands around his neck, waiting for him to pick her up.

When he did, she squeezed him with her legs, kissing him and sucking on his lip. She noticed that he was insanely strong, it seemed like she didn’t weigh anything to him. One of his arms snuck under her leg and pushed her a little higher and the other positioned his cock right at her entrance. He supported her butt lightly, as she slowly lowered herself on his thick shaft. Her walls stretched around him and she let out a quiet moan when she heard him groan. She felt his eyes on her face and she looked at him, rolling her hips, making him gasp into her face. Encouraged by him, she started riding his cock, squeezing him tightly with her thighs. He dug his fingers into her hips, almost painfully as he grunted when she lowered herself again, but his touch quickly softened again. He was helping her up and down, but he had to stop himself from straight up ramming her down on him.

“You can hold me like before,” she whispered. “I like how strong you are,” she told him and she felt his fingers digging into her flesh greedily and she heard a low growl as he closed his eyes to prevent them from rolling back. 

“You like it rough?” He guessed and she realized she does actually like it rough. “Fuck, you’re so damn sexy, he growled.”

His confession gave her a boost of confidence that she needed, their pace was now relentless, the soft moans she made were driving him crazy, he felt like he could explode any second. He knew she was close, because her whimpers were becoming louder with each roll of his hips. She was gripping his T-shirt tightly, holding onto him with shaky arms and she wondered how he could do it, standing so straight up. He broke the sloppy kiss and licked the side of her neck, then nibbled on it softly. She moaned, a little ashamed of herself as she had never actually moaned during sex before. Without thinking, Joel brushed his teeth against her skin, scratching it.

“Fuck, sorry,” he apologized quickly when her legs jerked around him, knowing it must have hurt and he leaned to to kiss that spot better, but she whimpered loudly and dug her fingernails into the back of his neck, making him think that he misread her reaction.

“Did you like it?” He asked, already sure what the answer would be when he felt her teeth brush against his skin shyly, not enough to even leave a mark.

He guessed it might have been her first time and he hummed, trying to encourage her to use her teeth.

“Yeah,” she moaned quietly in response and Joel felt her timidity.

He noticed that her confidence decreased the moment she took her pants off, but he didn’t mind, knowing that if this went well he would have more time to rock her world again during his stay.

“It’s okay sweetie, I like it too,” he assured her and did it again, letting his teeth leave a mark on her shoulder. “Do you like it when I talk?”

“I do,” she admitted, not slowing down.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned and found her lips and his tongue slid in to start a sloppy kiss.

She started panting and Joel leaned down again to bite and suck on her neck and the second his teeth pinched her neck she came with him buried deep inside her. Her walls pulsed around him and he came too, rolling his hips into her one last time. He held her through her orgasm as he focused on not letting his knees give out as he panted loudly. She stopped squeezing him and let go of his T-shirt as she hummed contently, kissing him on the neck, on the hickey she had left on his soft skin. He helped her off his cock and he carefully put her back on the pier. He kissed her softly, his tongue gently brushed her lip. She smiled and pulled her shirt down to make it a little longer. She looked around in the search for her underwear. Joel got the hint and found his boxers while she was busy putting on her shorts. He winked at her with a smile while putting on jeans and she smiled back, comforted by his face expression.

“It was… very nice to meet you, Joel,” she said.

“My pleasure,” he muttered under his breath.

He came to face her again and his eyes traveled down her neck where she had a red mark left by his teeth.

“Well, it seems like a good start of a mindblowing week,” he whispered hopefully and she looked at him finally, nodding her head. “We could do this again tomorrow.”

“You know where to find me,” she reminded him with a smile.

“Will you walk me to my cabin?” He asked.

“Totally,” she said and started walking awkwardly towards the forest.

It all happened so fast, she wasn’t even sure if it was real. 

“Actually, I was… I was hoping to meet the guy who owns the place, would you tell him I checked in when he comes back?” Joel asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded, just then thinking of her father. “Can you maybe not mention to him the…”

“The warm welcome?” He chuckled. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’m actually kind of supposed to sit at the reception desk all the time,” she confessed. “If anyone asks, you got to your cabin all by yourself.”

“Sure thing,” he promised, not thinking much about it.

He leaned down and grabbed her butt. He gave it a firm squeeze and pushed her forward a little, and taking advantage of her initial shock, he kissed her passionately.

“I’ll find you tomorrow,” he promised and let her go, walking slowly towards the cabin.

“You better,” she muttered and bit her lip as she tilted her head, looking at his ass as he walked through the long grass.

A couple of hours later, she was sitting behind the reception desk, reading one of the old books she had found in one of the drawers. She turned the page, bored out of her mind and she glanced at her phone to see what time it was. She sighed loudly and threw the book at the counter. She got up from her seat and walked up to the window. She sighed one more time and pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Her dad was supposed to be at the resort in the evening and even though he hadn’t precised when, she was getting impatient. The reception was horrible so there was no use in even trying to call him. She locked up and headed towards the lake. The sun was setting, painting beautiful colors in the sky. She took her shoes off and walked into the lake, trying to ignore the screaming children who were running next to her. The water was quite cold, so she stopped after just a few steps, wiggling her toes in the sand. She could no longer see the sun as it hid behind the trees, but she enjoyed the colors dancing in the water. Despite the commotion, she heard a car engine and she turned her head to see her father’s truck on the rickety road. She walked out of the water slowly and picked up her shoes, walking lazily towards the parking lot. She saw her dad's silhouette from afar, she guessed he was holding something in his hand, probably his phone. He waved at someone and she heard his laugh. She smiled, glad that after all those years her dad was still excited to run the resort. The staff loved him and it was nice to watch as he joked around with them. Trying not to step on anything sharp barefoot, she walked slowly and carefully, avoiding the pine cones, but she was already right next to the parking lot. Involuntarily, her gaze followed her dad and that’s when she saw something strange. Her dad was hugging… Joel. Her dad was hugging Joel. She stopped and blinked a few times. Sure, she saw that guy one time, but she was certain that was him.

“You finally showed up man,” she heard her dad’s cheerful voice. “That calls for a celebration!”

“Definitely!” He responded and the men finally let go of each other. “I brought booze!” He said, handing his friend a paper bag.

“Let’s get you drunk like that time in Wichita!” Her dad cheered.

“I don’t remember ever being in Wichita,” Joel protested with a frown.

He turned around, motioning Joel to come with him and that’s when he saw his daughter and he greeted her with a smile.

“Hey,” he started, walking up to her, “that’s my old friend Joel, I met him way before I met you,” he laughed and she hoped she managed to hide how horrified she was.

She quickly glanced at Joel and for a second, his eyes met hers and he gulped, then, as if nothing happened he put a perfect poker face on.

“Joel, you must have met my daughter,” he said proudly. “Did she show you around?”

“She gave me a map,” Joel said quickly, faking a smile.

“That’s my girl!” His friend laughed. “Let’s go grab a bite, tomorrow I’m gonna take you fishing, Joel! See, we have this secret pier, it’s not on the map…”

The end

Thank you for reading :)

~Ann

[jmpphoto]

Monsoon Sunset by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Monsoon Sunset Snow Canyon State Park Utah August 2023

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

All the Difference

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous and Anonymous (I combined to similar requests)

Synopsis: The brothers help you through one of your frequent migraines.

Warnings: migraines, pain, honestly it’s mostly fluff. I’m no expert on migraines but I had a few in high school so I’m going off that experience, there could be some mistakes.

You went to the library of the bunker with a familiar sense of foreboding. It had started with your vision, as it always did. An annoying little spot at the corner of your eyes that was oddly blurry. It continued like that for nearly half an hour, and after that was when the pain started.

“Hey, how’d you sleep?” Sam greeted as you entered the library. His jovial tone dropped when he saw the look on your face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s happening again,” you mumbled, coming to stand in front of your brother.

“Does it hurt yet?” He asked gently, reaching out and grabbing your hands.

“Only a little,” you sighed. But it would get worse, it always did.

“Do you want to try and sleep?” Sam asked, his thumbs brushing over the back of your hands.

You shook your head.

“You wanna eat something?”

Another shake.

“Hey guys,” Dean greeted much too loudly, and Sam frowned when he saw you flinch.

“Easy man,” he chided. “She’s got a migraine.”

“Sorry,” Dean all but whispered. “How bad is it?”

“I think it’s gonna be a bad one,” you said gloomily. Bad migraines could last for days; you were in for a rough week.

“Alright, c’mon,” Dean said, grabbing his jacket.

“What?” You frowned up at him.

“No use just sitting around waiting for it to get worse. Let’s go for a drive.”

…

Dean reclined your seat before stepping back to let you get in. You did without argument, and Dean ran around the front to his own seat. The roar of the engine should’ve made you flinch, but despite how loud it was there was something comforting about the familiar sound.

Dean turned on the radio, but to your surprise it wasn’t his head-banging Metallica; instead he had one of your favorite songs, turned down low enough that it didn’t bother you.

Neither of you spoke as Dean pulled away from the bunker and started down the open road. You didn’t have to. He was humming softly to your songs, and you were relaxing in the passenger seat, lulled by Baby’s gentle purr and the soft music. Your migraine was steadily getting worse, and every bump on the road had you cringing, but all-in-all it was better than sitting in the artificial light of the bunker, moping and waiting for it to get worse.

Eventually, though, the bumps became unbearable, and so did the sunlight creeping over the hood of the Impala and reflecting past your eyes and straight into your head, like it was shining onto your migraine itself.

“Dean?” You mumbled finally, and he hummed in acknowledgement. “Can we go back now?”

“You ok?” He asked even as he swung the Impala into a U-turn.

“Hurts.” You brought your hands up to cover your eyes, but it didn’t help.

“Ok it’s ok, we’re not far, just hang in there.”

Dean lowered the volume on the radio even more, and you could tell he was taking extra care to miss the potholes lining the road. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Hey, Sammy? Yeah we’re headed back now. Blackout.”

“Blackout” meant that Sam would turn off all the lights in the bunker, except for some candles or dim lights to see by. You always told your brothers that they didn’t have to do it; you could always just hibernate in your room. But they wanted the whole bunker migraine-friendly whenever you were in pain, so they did it anyway.

“You doin’ ok over there?” Dean asked after he hung up. You nodded, unwilling to speak as your head pounded.

“Ok, well I want you to drink some water when we get back to the bunker. I know that won’t make it go away, but it can’t hurt either.”

You knew arguing would be futile, and you didn’t have the energy to do it anyway.

When you got back to the bunker, you waved you hand blindly for the car door, hesitant to open your eyes. You didn’t have to; your door opened up without your aid, and Dean was there, lifting you into his arms.

“It’s my head that’s broken, not my legs,” you protested even as you relaxed against your brother’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Dean replied, and the rumble of his voice in his chest felt oddly good against your aching forehead. “I’m gonna take you to the couch, ok?”

Your head hurt too much for words or even a nod, so you just let silence be your assent.

Dean carried you into the bunker and straight to the couch, and you had to admit that it was nice without the glaring lights on.

Dean had you on the couch with your favorite fluffy blanket over you in record time, and a few minutes later he had you surrounded by water bottles as though they were guards protecting you.

“I’ve gotta head to the library and catch up on some lore,” he said finally. “So it’s Sam’s turn to play nursemaid for a while.”

“You don’t have to—“ you started, but Dean was already gone, and within minutes Sam arrived to take his place, a steaming bowl in his hands.

“I know you don’t want food,” he said before you could speak. “But you should probably get something in you, so I brought you some broth. Think you can handle that?”

You nodded wearily, hesitant to sit up. You were getting hungry, but the last thing you wanted was to give your stomach something to reject later.

“Alright.”

You groaned as Sam put a hand behind your back and lifted you to sit up.

“Yeah yeah,” he said, not sounding quite as pitying anymore. “You gotta sit up to eat.”

This brought a tiny smile to the corner of your lips, but it dropped fast as your head pounded in retribution for your movements. At your wince, Sam frowned.

“Sorry, honey,” he said softly.

“Not your fault,” you mumbled, making grabby hands for the bowl in his hands.

Once you had about half the bowl finished, you offered it back to Sam and he took it, satisfied enough.

He set it on the side table before coming to sit next to you on the couch.

“I was gonna lay there,” you protested.

“I know,” Sam said, lifting his giant hand up to pull your head down. Cradling the back of your head, he lowered you slowly to lay down, your head resting in his lap. Your eyes fluttered closed as your big brother ran his fingers feather-light through your hair.

After a few minutes, his hands left your hair, and you peaked one eye open to see him straining for a book on the bookshelf. He reached it and pulled it back, and you closed your eyes again as Sam cracked it open, before continuing to brush his fingers through your hair.

He started to read aloud, his voice loud enough so you didn’t have to strain but quiet enough that it felt soothing.

You appreciated this more than just about anything; screens were a definite no during migraines, and there were very few things that you could do to keep yourself from going insane with boredom when your head hurt too much to sleep.

That was how the whole afternoon was spent; at some point you and maybe even Sam dozed off before continuing, but for the most part he spent his whole afternoon reading to you.

After a dinner of some more reheated broth, Dean emerged from the library and came to sit with you and Sam.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. “How we doing?”

“We have a migraine,” you mumbled sarcastically.

“Oh really?” Dean quipped as he lifted your legs, sitting on the couch and then lowering your legs back down and into his lap.

“Not funny,” you huffed even as you made yourself comfortable.

The three of you lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the night. Neither of the brothers went to their beds, and they didn’t offer to bring you to yours either; they knew that you wanted to be with them when you were hurting. You were certain that you could live through a million more migraines as long as you had your big brothers.

Sam taking time out of his busy life to relax with you and distract you from the pain for a bit was the best thing he could do for you. The same was true with Dean taking you out in Baby.

Though nothing they did could take away your pain, they did everything they could to make sure you could still have good times between the pain, and that made all the difference in the world.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale

[chaoticklesblog]

Molting

Hazbin Hotel tickle fic incoming!

Ler!Lucifer x Lee!Adam

Adam's wings molt due to him respawning in hell as he loses his angelic attributes. Lucifer assists in this process and Adam learns just what a ticklish process that molting really is.

●●●●●

When Adam slowly began to rouse from what felt like a very long slumber, he realized that something was very, very different.

He had vague memories of his angelic death. He knew that the Hazbin miscreants must have been behind it all, somehow or another. He registered that he wasn't in pain almost immediately, which was odd considering that he still felt... off...

As he sat up, he realized he's in some filthy alleyway surrounded by derelict buildings and vehicles. There was garbage aplenty with oozing splotches of oil and blood pooling in potholes in what used to be a very old street. He peeked at the glimmery oil seeing almost an outline of himself, one that he could hardly recognize. Rather than his golden wings, he realized they were now scruffy and gray mixed with oily black feathers. He was molting.

Oh.

That made sense. Beings that were killed in previously "holy" forms would morph into more demonic like beings with... Less desirable attributes... Only if those beings were killed within the realm of hell. Adam cringed at the thought. How could he have been so careless? And had Lute and the rest of the angels abandoned him since he was no longer a holy figure?

He was still in disbelief at his smeared reflection in the oil. It was like him but it wasn't. He wasn't used to seeing himself this way. The sight of himself made him choke back a sob. The sound of an oddly familiar voice pulled him from his shaken state.

"Hey there, are you okay?" a soft voice asks.

Adam turned and was taken aback by the figure. Lucifer, the king of hell himself was looking down at him but once Adam had turned to face him, he appeared just as shocked as Adam felt.

"You?!" They spat in unison, disgust permeating the once gentle atmosphere.

"What the fuck happened to me?" Adam looked pitifully into the king of hell's eyes, his voice breaking.

And Lucifer stopped for a moment remembering when he had fallen, and how he felt the same way. He was still angry with Adam, but couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the guy.

Lucifer looked at Adam and sighed.

"It's not as bad as you think, I promise. It's usually the shock that's the worst part," Lucifer murmered.

"You mean I'm... damned here?" Adam whispered, anger seeping into his words.

Lucifer only nodded slightly taking in the sight of Adam's sorry state. Adam's usual golden wings were now a much darker hue.

Adam had noticed as well as he looked at them in the oil pool and started weeping.

Damn Lucifer and his empathy.

"Hey, it's not so bad! Black looks sharp on you, kid," Lucifer moved to place a comforting hand on Adam's shoulder that he nearly expected the other man to jerk away from the unwelcome affection. Adam remained still.

"I wasn't supposed to die. I don't want to be stuck in this God forsaken cesspool!" Adam shouted between sobs.

"I know the feeling," Lucifer replied sarcastically, "But I make it work. Besides, be careful how you speak about my kingdom, this is my turf," Lucifer grinned darkly, still feeling a soft spot for Adam as much as he loathed to admit it to himself.

"My poor wings! They look awful!" Adam replied again, sobs lessened now, but he still was crouched in the alley, hugging his legs to his chest.

"Ah yes, you are molting!" Lucifer stated, looking at the loose feathers surrounding Adam's once glorious wings. They were shabby, greasy and in much need of being groomed.

"Molting happens after you fall, as your wing color naturally changes. The black really does look sharp, er will look sharp, once we get you cleaned up, that is!" Lucifer continued, reaching over to adjust the feathers on Adam's left wing.

What happened next shocked the both of them, as Lucifer's fingers grazed over the soft down feathers, Adam jerked away quickly.

"S-sorry," Adam mumbled shyly.

Adam was quite familiar with the sensation. It tickled like hell. His wings had always been ridiculously sensitive, something Lute discovered and constantly took advantage of whenever Adam was in a pissy mood or being so much as mildly irritating. He couldn't bear it if the king of hell discovered his weakness too.

"Did I hurt you?" Lucifer asked, genuinely concerned for a moment, but figured his touch was delicate enough not to pull the feathers or hurt the skin beneath.

Suddenly his face broke into a wide shit-eating grin.

"You know I also molted right? And while it was definitely necessary, it really fucking tickled. I should've warned you ahead of time," Lucifer had to bite back an evil chuckle.

"Fuck, no, Lucifer, please," Adam tensed as he felt Lucifers hands resume the preening of his feathers.

The way his fingers moved between the bones, tracing the skin beneath with his claws gently, searching out every sensitive spot his wings offered, Adam couldn't help but screech and giggle an absolutely adorable high pitch giggle. A giggle that wouldn't stop. The feeling of Lucifer's hands in his wings (and that they were now definitely doing much more than just preening) was unbearable. The way his hands manipulated the molted feathers to brush the skin of his wings was downright evil.

"YOUHOHOHOU FUHUHUHUCKING BAHAHAHASTARD!" Adam squealed as Lucifer found a sweet spot beneath the curve of his wing. He allowed his other hand to scritch at Adam's shoulder blade for a moment as he relished his squeals.

Adam tried to flap his wings with no avail just to try to escape the maddening sensations.

"Ah ah ah," Lucifer tutted playfully. "Remember, you're on my turf! And kings don't take too kindly to namecalling!"

Lucifer really picked up the pace, the preening nearly forgotten as he focused on tickling Adam senseless. And all poor Adam could do was lie there and take it.

Lucifer used his power to create sensations within Adam that made him shriek and fall back into hysterical laughter.

If Adam could speak, he would say that it felt as if there were a feather on the inside of his ribs, tormenting each bone, laced between each bone, sawing gently, creating the absolute (best?) worst kind of tickling sensations Adam had ever felt. Especially since Lucifer was still paying close attention to his ultra ticklish wings.

"YoHOUHOUHOU MOTHERFUHUHUHUHUHUCKER!"

Adam was grateful, at the very least, that the alley was long deserted and hoped his loud bolsterious laughter wouldn't attract any unwelcome onlookers.

The tickling didn't let up, as Lucifer had quite the vengeful and merciless streak.

After a few minutes, Adam couldn't form coherent words much less thoughts as he was tickled into oblivion by the king of hell himself.

"Say uncle and maybe I'll show you mercy!" Lucifer taunted.

He couldn't let the guy off easy, what kind of message would that send to his loyal subjects?

"UHUHUHUHUNCLHEHEHE!" Adam wheezed, struggling from in Lucifers grasp, the tickling was unbearable.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," Lucifer chuckled, ceasing the ticklish assault.

Adam was left a giggly puddle, trying to rub away the residual tickling sensations from his ribs and wings, blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact with the king.

"Besides... I still have to help you molt!" Lucifer grinned as he continued preening Adam's feathers, the tickling much lighter and less intense. Adam still giggled a bit as the king helped him manage his new wings.

Maybe things weren't as bleak as they seemed. And not that Adam would ever admit this to anyone, but maybe he could get used to his new wings.

Lucifer was right. The black wings really did suit him.

[waitmyturtles]

Last Twilight, episode 12: final reflections

Wow. It took me all of this past weekend to process this finale, notwithstanding the usual life craziness that has dogged me lately.

Let me preface this whole thing by saying that I'm confused by what I watched. I'd say that, overall -- I actually quite liked this series, and I especially, absolutely ADORED JimmySea, Namtan, and Mark, and their acting. JimmySea kicked major ass, and I really hope they get another big and complicated show to chew on.

I also want to say that between episodes 11 and 12, I felt that I saw uncharacteristic editing clunkiness from Aof Noppharnach and his team that left a lot of necessary emotional and ethical processing on the cutting room floor. I think that's what's ultimately making me feel uneasy about the process of watching this, but -- funnily enough, I'm not nearly as "angry" about the ending as I was with other bad shows that fell apart in their last quarter recently. It was obvious that MhokDay were going to get together.

But I needed to walk a few more steps with them on their journey to that end.

Before I got my eyes on the finale, a few reactions on social media, from Tumblr to Twitter gave me the case of the jibbles. Namely: that the story of Last Twilight would have worked better if Day had stayed blind through the end.

I wasn't really understanding how that construction could work without walking through some sort of ethical minefield.

Now that I've seen the finale -- especially that infamous 4/4 segment -- I understand better what those arguments were saying.

Yet, I'm still dogged by a kind of ethical confusion here. And maybe that was one of the points of this finale, another one of Aof Noppharnach's perhaps now-famous-or-infamous emotionally inconclusive endings.

To me, there are two ethical potholes that this show stumbled on:

1) The ethics WITHIN the fictional piece itself for a character to not depict the process of considering the various fates he might face vis à vis a potentially reversible impairment, and

2) The ethics of a REAL audience ultimately wanting a different outcome for a fictional character to NOT have an impairment reversed.

TL;DR — I don’t think Last Twilight spent enough time having Day consider the permanence or impermanence of the various fates he faced, including permanent blindness. I don’t think the characters, and as such, the audience, spent enough time understanding that a corneal transplant was always going to be Day’s endgame.

Last Twilight was marketed as a show focused on disability, on a man going blind in a society that prioritizes the able-bodied, and how he would adjust to his disability, and of course (this being GMMTV), his falling in love. As fans, we were prepared to receive a whole show about a character with a disability, not as a side pairing, à la Heart and Li Ming in Moonlight Chicken.

It so happened that Day's visual impairment was corneal deterioration -- a condition that could lead to permanent blindness, and thus qualify him for a corneal transplant.

What I'm struggling with is the crux of the ethical dilemma that this show was ALWAYS going to have to deal with: that a corneal impairment of the kind that Day experienced, in the prime of his life, could very well be reversed with surgery, a surgery that has tremendous success rates.

As such -- as we got that clarification in drips throughout the series -- this show was actually not ONLY going to be about the newfound adjustment of a recently-impaired man to an ableist society. It was ALWAYS going to have this door of ANOTHER major change, the reversal of the impairment, just slightly cracked open. I'm not sure that I, as a viewer, was fully prepared for this, even as Night and Mae Mhon spoke about "eye donations" as givens in the middle of the series. I believe the show needed to be much louder, earlier, about the "hope" that Day could "go back" to "living a normal life," instead of framing the high majority of the show around his adjustments to his impairment.

As we went through Day's adjustment to life outside of his room, I believe we needed to hear, FROM DAY HIMSELF, that a corneal transplant was a conclusion that HE believed in, that HE wanted. A failure of this series was that we unfortunately only heard that from his family members, leaving us to only ASSUME that the conclusion of the reversal of his impairment was ALSO Day's intention.

For a story that was very much about an individual's developing agency and self-advocacy: I believe I needed to hear from Day himself that he was good and ready for the final surgery. I only assume that was the case, as I saw his own body and mind in the hospital. But I believe, for dramatic success, that I could have used a basic, "I'm ready," from him, to make segment 4/4 more complete and contextual, against the story of adjustment and resilience we had so far seen before then.

And what a story of adjustment and resilience we had gotten, as Day had established a full career for himself, without Mhok next to him, during one of the time jumps of episode 12.

For my sake, as I process what I watched this weekend, I want to come to grips with what I thought were the major themes of this show, and see if I can come to some sort of sensible conclusion about what happened here.

This show was focused on:

1) the romance between Day and Mhok, 2) Mhok's caretaking and companionship being the lever to help Day out of his room and back into the world from which he had retreated after the onset of his visual impairment, 3) Day slowly learning how to function again in a society that prioritizes the able-bodied vis à vis his visual impairment, 4) Day learning how to self-advocate for himself in the face of those who condescend to him and/or keep him trapped in compassion bias postures,

and more that I'm sure I'm missing, but those are the themes that resonated the most with me.

I think the general feeling on Tumblr is that, save for the romance, that themes 3 and 4 were contradicted out of existence in the face of the sudden flip to the surgery of segment 4/4.

I think not hearing from Day himself that he was ready and willing for the surgery was a lost moment. I don't believe Day was ever acting as if he would choose anything else OTHER than surgery throughout the series. BUT, AT THE SAME TIME: what we had watched prior to 4/4 was his story of adjustment.

My biggest ethical concern here, vis à vis the audience reactions that I've read, is that NO ONE -- in fiction or in real life -- owes me a story of heroism. If there is an individual who has been impaired since birth, or is dealing with a degenerative condition later in their life, and has the opportunity to address or reverse the condition, who am I to say that that individual SHOULD NOT address their condition?

For me, this is huge. I believe this is a huge ethical dilemma that Last Twilight ultimately does not face. I wish this series had been much more centered, earlier on, about the utter REALITY that Day could have his condition reversed by surgery, in words he'd say himself, rather than assumptions made for him, on behalf of his family, who.... I presume were established to be some sort of legal conservators for him, as Mhon continued to be the one to receive eye donation text messages.

(I concede that I don't know if this is a more common set-up for disabled individuals in Thailand, as I would assume in the States, that Day himself would have been the one to receive that message directly.)

For this show to have seemed emotionally and artistically complete: I needed to hear from Day himself that surgery was an endgame that he was banking his hopes on. I also needed to understand, much more statistically clearly vis à vis the show, of the absolute risks that Day faced towards having permanent blindness for the rest of his life. Because the show ALSO needed to focus on the establishment of the romance between Mhok and Day, we missed out on the show taking time to explain to us, the viewers, of the absolute risks that Day faced in any of these scenarios -- and thus, we would have had MUCH more context into the nuances of the resilience that Day needed to establish for himself as he re-adjusted to society, with his numerous fates lying before him.

I'm going to borrow the words of @hallowpen in their final review here, to say that this show at the end needed much more "breathing room." I think @hallowpen is so right in saying it like this, because these two factors that I just laid out, geez -- the first 7/8ths of the series being about Day's social adjustment against the utter suddenness of the successful surgery and his sudden jump back to what's been translated as his "normal life" -- just clash so tonally. (I do wonder if we're getting as nuanced a translation on "normal" as we could be.)

I think this is about the most confused final review of a show that I've written. There is an ethical heaviness to all of this that's weighing on me, that I think I still need time to comb through.

I also feel that I simply do not know enough, by way of my lack of cultural competency into how Thai society approaches issues of public and private health, if Day’s unseen choice to get the surgery would have been a given among majority Thai audiences, AND that majority Thai audiences would not have asked for the kind of internal debates that I think the show could have used.

I feel thrilled that Day can see Poomjai/Mee, after making that wish in episode 11.

But I think, if this show was about a journey for someone to learn how to successfully advocate for his own agency -- that, at the very end, I needed to see that agency exercised, by him, to get to the part of the reversal of the impairment that I assumed he wanted.

Again: Day doesn't owe me his story of heroism. If fiction doesn't want to give me that, from a character with a recent impairment, I don't have the right to ask for it.

But the missing bits of artistry to get me, the viewer, to only an assumption, has led me to surprising ethical places, that will leave me wondering about what happened in this series for a long time.

[glitterquadricorn]

letter to me - Niall Horan

+summary: On the day of her wedding, reflects on her life via a letter to herself. +pairing: Niall Horan x f1!driver +warnings: mentions having a breakdown, mentions sexism, mentions misogyny, curse words, mentions bullying, mentions the FIA, poorly edited, etc. I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.

She glanced around the room, observing the guests before standing up and tapping on the microphone to get everyone's attention. Niall, who was sitting next to her, raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"Hello everyone! I hope everybody is having a lovely evening so far. Dinner will be served momentarily, but until then, I decided to do a little speech of my own," she paused. "One night sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by wedding stuff, I found myself getting overwhelmed to the point where I had a breakdown. But while I was having my breakdown, I had my country playlist from Spotify playing in the background. The song Letter to Me by Brad Paisley came on and I thought, 'writing a letter to my past self sounds like a pretty good idea.' I'm happy to read that letter for all of you right now."

Their wedding planner handed her a white envelope containing the letter. Opening it, she cleared her throat and began to read.

"If I could write a letter to me, and send it back to myself at sixteen first, I'd prove it's me by saying go over to your closet, and on the top shelf all the way in the back is an orange shoe box. In this shoe box is a dedicated shrine of your first crush, your one true love, Jenson Button," she grinned as said man's laughter loudly echoed throughout the room, which in turn made everyone else laugh. "And I really hate to break it to you, but he's happily married to a beautiful woman who is out of his league."

"And then I'd say I know it's tough to see all the other guys on the grid get opportunities to further their careers while you stand still, stuck in the same place not really going anywhere. At one point you even ask yourself if racing is really worth it because of the limited opportunities and all the sexism and misogyny. But future me is here to tell you don't give up and don't quit because there's a man who would've loved to have been here today and who sadly isn't with us anymore. He clearly saw potential in you that others didn't and without that man, you wouldn't have met Toto Wolff and if it wasn't for Toto, you wouldn't have been a part of the Mercedes drivers' program. Sadly, you don't get a seat at Mercedes, but you will get a seat at Porsche, who are making a serious name for themselves and pose a real threat to the championship standings."

Y/n sniffled, thinking about Niki and all the good things he's done for her. Feeling Niall's hand on her arm, she continued.

"The stop sign that's two blocks down from your childhood home? Don't run it. There's a huge pothole in the middle of the intersection and since you were speeding, you hit just right to not only flatten the tire but bend the rim of said tire. You manage to drive it back home safely, park it in the garage, sneak into the house and up to your room with no one noticing you were gone because you weren't supposed to be out at eleven o'clock at night. Unfortunately for y/b/n, he ended up taking the fall cause to our parents' knowledge, he was the last one to drive the car."

At the table next to hers, her brother yelled, "I told you it wasn't me!"

"I apologize for that, and I will pay you the money it took to get it fixed now that you know it was me," she laughed.

"You'll be bullied for your love of cars and all things racing. You'll be told by teachers, peers, and some of your own family members those sorts of things are only for boys and as a girl, you should aim for something more realistic like a nurse, or a teacher. Which there is nothing wrong with that, but as Grandma Agnes once said, "Aim for the fucking moon and If that makes people mad, then so be it."

"Speaking of people who feel you shouldn't be racing, there's this association called the FIA. While they do not openly admit to it, the FIA will hate you and it's only because any chance you get, rather it be on social media or in person, you'll call them out for their bullshit. But you'll prefer to do it in person because nothing will make you happier than seeing a bunch of crusty, crunchy, salty, bitter old men get red in the race with anger."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bracing herself for the end of the letter to herself. "The journey to formula one will be one of the hardest things you'll ever do in your life, but you'll be rewarded with new friendships and experiences that'll last a lifetime. So, I'll end by saying you may never ever win a formula one championship, and that's okay. You will however inspire the next generation of girls to pursue their dreams in motor sports and that will always be more gratifying than winning a title."

"Oh! And PS, make sure you remind your husband, who is a pasty white Irish man who burns brighter than Ferrari, to put on sunscreen with a spf of 75 or higher because you don't repeat of Mykonos 2021."

Niall, being the only one who knew what happened in Mykonos 2021, laughed while getting up from his chair, bringing her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. After she read the letter, dinner was served and not too long after that, the bride and groom had their first dance. And as they twirled around on the wooden dance floor, they looked into each other's eyes, seeing their entire future ahead of them and they couldn't wait for what was in store.

---

I've had this in my drafts for a hot minute.

Happy Birthday to me! :) 🎉🎂🥳🎁

tagging:

@patzammit @mrspeacem1nusone @alexxavicry @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @bibissparkles @cherry-piee @khaylin27 @evie-119 @green-thots @2pagenumb @myescapefromthislife @ironmaiden1313 @lottalove4evelyn @mynameisangeloflife @newlifeforus @jxnellat @loloekie @c-losur3 @czennieszn @d3kstar @reiofsuns2001 @sweate-r-weathe-r @itsjustkhaos @hiireadstuff @wcnorris

[jerzwriter]

OK, it took a little over two months, but I actually finished a fic request list, and as someone with far too many items in my inbox, I'm proud of this! lol What better way to end than with "One Bed Fic Prompts" than with Merida, Olivia, and Casey on a road trip? II hope you enjoy it!

Book: Open Heart Pairings: Ethan x Merida (MC); Bryce x Oliva (F!OC); Tobias x Casey (F!MC) Rating: Teen Trope: There's Just One Bed! Words: 1,175 Summary: Merida, Olivia, and Casey's weekend adventure is off to a rainy start, but they always manage to find their own sunshine.

A/N: Based on the prompts below from @storyofmychoices. Also, participating in @choicesaugustchallenge Prompt 14 - Road Trip. Merida belongs to the amazing @lilyoffandoms and Olivia belongs to the wonderful @storyofmychoices. It was fun to write for our girls again!

MOC World Masterlist || Open Heart Masterlist Full Masterlist

Merida always knew how to play it cool. As the rain hammered on the roof of their car, she convinced Olivia and Casey that she had it totally under control. They never suspected that she had been white-knuckling it the whole time and was the most relieved of all when she saw the small motel they were staying in overnight in the distance.

The Snugglin' Inn looked nothing like it did online. The -g was missing from the neon sign flickering ominously in the night. Its garish pink light reflected in the dozens of little lakes that had formed in the potholes in the parking lot. But after hours on the road in treacherous conditions, the women were willing to stay anywhere... except for maybe Olivia.

“Are you sure this is the place?” she asked nervously.

“Yep, this is it!” Merida smiled. “Rustic charm! Just like the website said!”

"Ah,” Casey said, stretching her arms over her head. “If by charm they mean probably haunted, then yeah, no false advertising claim here! But as long as our room is dry... I’ll fight off the resident ax murderer for one night."

“You don’t really think there’s an ax murderer,” Olivia swallowed. “Do you?”

“Of course there is,” Merida winked. “All motels in Pennsylvania have one. Didn’t you know?”

Casey nodded in agreement. "Yep, state code!"

They rushed to the trunk to grab their bags, then dashed to the tiny lobby dripping wet. The clerk barely glanced at them as she handed over a room key while half-heartedly warning about the air conditioner being on the blink. Normally, faulty air conditioning would be enough to make Casey sleep in the car, but between the rain and talk of murderers, she was eager to get to their room.

“What’s the likelihood that this place has room service?” Olivia asked as they made their way down the outside corridor, her stomach growling.

“About as likely as it is to have comfortable beds,” Merida chuckled.

“Hey,” Casey laughed. “These places are known for being rented by the hour... the beds are what they’re all about.”

“You would know that,” Olivia grinned as Merida pushed the door open.

"Well, this is cozy," Merida said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she tossed her bag onto the bed. The sole queen-sized bed in the tiny room.

Olivia looked around, nervously biting her lip. "Uhm, where are the other beds?"

"There aren’t any," Casey sighed. “It’s OK. One of us can sleep in the bathtub.”

“No one is sleeping in the bathroom; that’s ridiculous!” Merida insisted. “Have you not seen Psycho? No one goes in the bathroom! If we have to pee – do it in the corner of the room.”

“We probably wouldn’t be the first ones to do that,” Casey observed.

“Guys! Are you sure we should stay here?” Oliva worried.

“We’ll be fine,” Casey assured. “It’s just a night.”

Ever practical, Merida was already looking for solutions to the sleeping arrangements. “If we push the bed against the wall, that should prevent at least one of us from falling onto the floor. It might be a little crowded, but it will do.”

"Crowding is inevitable,” Casey smiled. "But we’re all friends, and it’s not like this is the first time we’ve had to share a bed. Remember the time we stayed at that place in The Berkshires?"

Merida couldn’t help but giggle at the memory. "You mean the time you woke up spooning Olivia, and she nearly had a stroke?"

"Hey, I was asleep! I can’t control what I do in my sleep," Casey defended, although her playful grin betrayed her. "Besides, Olivia was fine with it. Being spooned by Casey is kind of a badge of honor!”

"She’s not wrong," Olivia blushed.

After changing quickly, they all settled into bed with Casey in the middle, Merida against the wall, and Olivia on her other side.

“If I fall on the floor during the night, do you think I’ll catch anything contagious?” Oliva asked.

“Liv,” Merida said pointedly. “We're all doctors. Even if you do, we should be able to cure you.”

Just as they were beginning to get comfortable, Merida’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it and rolled her eyes.

"It's Ethan. Look what he sent me.”

“Again? What does he mean again?” Olivia asked. “He never bailed us out before!”

Merida and Casey exchanged sheepish grins, and Oliva was too frightened to ask.

“Tell Ethan to bite me!” Casey laughed. “Tobias would bail us out in a heartbeat. In fact, he’s probably home looking forward to it right now.”

“Speaking of Tobias,” Olivia smiled, handing Casey her phone from the nightstand beside her.

“Oh, my husband thinks he has jokes,” Casey chuckled, showing her friends her phone.

“He's calling me an octopus! He's seriously like an octopus! I mean it! Those arms go everywhere."

Merida let out a groan. “For the love of God, Casey... if you start talking about your sex life, I will make you sleep in the bathtub with the ax murderer... and I might sharpen his ax."

"Well, tell Tobias not to get too jealous," Olivia giggled. "We’re just here to sleep, not to, you know..."

“Speak for yourself,” Merida laughed, playfully pawing her friend. "You never know what kind of mischief we'll get into!"

Olivia’s phone vibrated next. “It’s Bryce!” She beamed, handing her phone to Casey. “My boyfriend has a warning for you.”

“You know our three idiots are sitting in Donahues Googling memes, believing themselves to be much funnier than they actually are!" Merida insisted.

But Casey didn't hear her; she was too busy shaking her head in righteous indignation. “You spoon a person one time!” She lamented. “One time! I don’t know how I got this reputation!”

“Really?” Merida chortled. “We could give you examples, but I'd like to do other things this weekend, and that would take all our time!"

“Yeah,” Oliva laughed as Casey feigned horror.

“Et tu, Brute!”

With that, Merida hopped over her friends, pushing Casey against the wall and leaving Olivia sandwiched in the middle.

“Hey, what are you doing!” Olivia hollered.

“Tell Bryce you’re safe from Casey on this trip,” Merida laughed, holding her from behind. “But not from me.”

“Hey!” Olivia blushed.

“Sorry! I can't let Casey be the only one with the depraved reputation!" She teased.

Olivia and Merida turned to Casey as she giggled in delight.

“What are you laughing at?" Olivia asked.

“Since Merida is spooning you, I told Tobias I'm forking you. Of course, he wants photos!"

“He wants photos?” Merida chided. "Give me your phone. I’ll give him a photo!"

The friends descended into giggles as they recalled stories, blissfully unaware of their less-than-perfect surroundings. By the time they finally fell asleep, daw was already starting to break, and before they knew it, Merida's alarm went off.

Casey groaned as she snuggled closer to Olivia. "Can we delay getting up for a few more minutes, please?"

"I'm with Casey," Olivia mumbled, resting her head on Merida's shoulder.

Merida shook her head with a grin. "Fine," she said, setting the alarm for fifteen minutes later and then getting back under the cover with her friends. "This is actually kind of nice."

Olivia nodded. "Yeah, I think so too."

"Best road trip ever," Casey yawned. "Now, back to sleep!"

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.