#so many great games came out this year but this still sits on top as my personal goty

[lizardsarecute]

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 1 New Beginning

Please find instagram aesthetic here.

Post here explains how I've wrote it, I think it's quite simple.

This is the first part of my new series and I hope you enjoy xx (3k words)

“Do you ever think about how crazy it is that you’re an icon in Barcelona and yet your dad played for Real Madrid?”

“I try not to think about that. I think that bothers him more than me.”

“Does he have any Barcelona shirts?”

“Of course he does.”

…..

“David, how does it feel watching your daughter play for Barcelona?”

“It’s the best feeling in the world. I’m guessing you were expecting some kind of rivalry but I’ll always support my daughter.”

…..

Barcelona, February 2023.

One down, nine to go.

It was like clockwork in your brain. Training would finish, everyone else would rush to get back into the training room and get back to their everyday life. Yet here you were, on your own, just how you like it. You and the ball. Free kick after free kick after free kick. Ten in total, all from different areas, all with different aims but each one just as equally important in your brain.

Barcelona was a dream. You were here with the best players in the world but you hated letting anyone down. Every little mistake was over-analysed, picked at all because of who you were. At the weekend it was a wonder save which stopped one nestling in the top corner but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t gone in and therefore didn’t meet your expectations.

The expectations you put on yourself, multiplied by that moment four years ago.

You loved your father but many people probably didn’t understand that there wasn’t a gene for taking good free kicks.

Unbeknownst to you, all of this was about to change. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“If it’s another journalist, tell them I’m not interested.”

You couldn’t be bothered with whatever reply the press officer would tell you. It was the same every day. Someone wanted to speak to you, you said no. They came back the next day.

You’d think they’d get bored after four years of consistent turn aways but that was never the case. You did the press conferences, the interviews after games but a sit-down full-length interview was not something you felt like you could ever handle.

So you carried on, resetting the ball in the correct spot. Back to just you and the ball.

For February it was a sunny afternoon in Barcelona, the sun was still shining for the mid-afternoon with minimal wind. Perfect conditions to practice and as your teammates had pointed out you hadn’t needed any more persuasion to get that training vest on, your tattoos on full show. Along with football they were your biggest passion, your phone was full of tattoo inspiration and little doodles you did when you were bored, they were a big part of you and maybe the image you wanted to create for yourself.

You took inspiration from everything, football, the environment, your father. Growing up many would say you were already a carbon copy of him but the tattoos were the icing on the cake. Your mother may not have been as happy about them but they promised to accept all your passions and that included turning up every few months with a new collection of tattoos to show off.

…..

“Maria, is she copying you?”

“You’ll have to ask her. No of course not, I would say we take great inspiration from each other. We’ve got a few matching ones, I’ve done a few on her and she’s done the same to me. That’s kind of what started our friendship.”

“You both have ‘looks can be deceiving’ on your necks, is that true for her?”

“Depends on what you think of her. Maybe some find her scary but you have to find out if that’s true yourself.”

…..

You could hear someone approaching you, watching as you took the next kick nestling it into the bottom corner underneath the imaginary wall.

“Y/N, have you got five minutes?” The unmistakable voice of Sarina. Many people would love Serena Weigman to turn up at their training session, not you. Not now.

Shit. You almost didn’t want to turn around. Maybe if you stayed facing the other way she would leave. Leave you be in the bubble you’d created for yourself, nothing good could come out of this conversation.

But of course the Dutch woman wasn’t going to leave that easily, edging closer to you. “I only want to talk.”

“I gave you my answer a year ago.”

“Lots can change in a year. Five minutes. If you still want me to leave after, I’ll leave.”

Maybe it was worth hearing what she had to say. Nothing could change your mind anyway, you’d hear whatever she had to say and then she could leave.

You knew what she was here for and it didn’t surprise you what came out of her mouth next. “I want you back, I name my squad next week and I want you ready to play for us at the World Cup.”

“And I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The fans are not that accepting, the players don’t deserve to be drawn into that drama because of me.”

“There’s always drama in football.” Maybe she had a point but off the back of the Euro’s success the lionesses have had nothing but positivity from the media and public. “We’ve lost Beth, we’ve lost Fran and I think the players would welcome your experience in that position. It’s your decision but I know deep down you want to prove people wrong and I want to give you that opportunity.”

“Some would say I don’t deserve that.”

“It will be different this time.”

“How?”

“It’s been four years, everything’s changed. We protect you guys, you have support systems in place, we have support systems. It’s not individuals anymore, it’s a team.”

“I made that decision to protect myself.” Almost four years ago you’d sent that letter, asking not to be selected for international duty again. They had no choice but to accept it and when Serena came into the role she approached you but you told her a tournament on home soil was not something you could mentally cope with. Not yet. “Why would now be different?”

“I’ve watched every game you’ve played in the last 18 months. I know you may not see a difference in yourself but I do, the interview after you lost to Lyon showed your spirit, your drive. I need players like you, it won’t be easy but I don’t want something that happened four years ago to stop you showing the world how talented you are.”

You were conflicted. Of course you’d love nothing more than to prove all those who bashed you before wrong, to make a difference on the world stage after winning every trophy you could with Barcelona. On the other hand it was just opening a can of worms you’d hidden all those years ago. Although you were only in Spain it felt like a different world, you turned your comments off on social media and they never came back on. Interviews were a no-go and your former friends were now distant acquaintances.

“Can I think about?”

“Of course you can. Like I said, the squad goes out on Tuesday so I need an answer by Monday. Any questions, I’m coming to the match on Sunday, maybe I can speak to you after?”

“Thank you.” With a soft squeeze to your shoulder she was off, except now you couldn’t focus knowing you were about to make a decision which would change everything.

…..

“You seem distracted.”

In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to accept the dinner invite from Maria and Ingrid but you knew your best friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. The three of you along with Frido were sat at their dinner table, tucking into the tapas you’d ordered from your favourite restaurant and it wasn’t lost on any of them how your mind was elsewhere. Casually picking through your food was a total opposite to the way you usually devoured this.

“Y/N?”

You’d been debating on the way whether to speak to someone about it.

Maybe your dad? He’d gone through something similar but he was in Miami and would only just be getting up.

Your mum? She was the most rational option but she would never understand that pride of pulling on your national shirt.

Your therapist seemed the best option but the earliest session she had for non-emergencies was tomorrow.

“Y/N!” In your own little world you’d even forgot to answer their questions. “Are you alright?”

It could help speaking to them, couldn’t it? “I had a visitor after training. Sarina Weigman.”

“Shit man, I thought you said no.” Maria Leon was your best friend from the moment you stepped foot in that training room, you bonded over everything from tattoos to food. You’d been her wingman in getting with Ingrid and had a mutual understanding of each other’s situations with your respective national teams even if the circumstances were very different.

“She wants me back but I don’t know, this feels different from last year.” If Bonnie, your 5-year-old beagle, adopted 3 years ago to signify a new chapter in your life, wasn’t by your feet they would definitely be anxiously tapping the floor right now.

“They probably feel your absence more because they’ve lost other players.” Frido added some context. “Not that you wouldn’t have always walked into that team but now you definitely would. You’d be their main player.”

“I can see you’re considering it.” Ingrid pointed out. “When she came last year I could see you were like, definitely no, now you haven’t turned it down immediately.”

“There’s no right or way wrong to feel,” Maria tried to comfort me. “Only you can decide if you want to go back there.”

“I miss it.”

“Of course you do.” Ingrid agreed. “You wouldn’t watch all their games if you didn’t.”

“It’s just the fact that I’m comfortable here, I have been for so long and now I’m going to throw myself back into four years ago.” Four years ago when you’d been forced to move away from your club at the time in Chelsea and accept the fact that one mistake had changed everything. “Plus the media attention, no-one wants that in the lead up to the world cup.”

“They were your friends, I’m sure they’d understand.” Frido tried to make you see that side of things. “Shit happens in football but what happened to you when completely over the top of that.”

“I isolated them.” Of course you had friends in the squad at the time, in fact best friends. But as soon as you made the move to America you slowly distanced yourself from them as they did to you. You hated letting them down and completely understood that being associated to you meant unnecessary exposure where perhaps they would not want it.

“So you’ll make friends again.”

You’d changed as well, grown into a completely different person in that time. Your appearance and attitude on the pitch were a distinct opposite to the crippling shyness you had yet to shake off. “Maybe.”

“You will,” Maria assured you. “Plus I think Bonnie told me she wanted a sleepover with me.”

“Oh did she?”

“I’m not swaying you either way but if that’s what you want, I’ll support you all the way.”

“We all will.” Frido added wrapping her arms around you to bring you into her side. “We love you.”

“Thank you, I love you all too.”

“Speak to your dad, maybe even your mum. I’m sure they’d want to help.”

One of the funniest moments in your life had to be watching your teammates introduce themselves to your parents when they came out to watch your first match in the Blaugrana. Watching their nerves dissipate when they realised how down to earth, especially your mother was, when it came to their children. Of course their name brought so much extra attention to you but you couldn’t have asked for a better upbringing.

Maybe it was their words that made you do it but subconsciously you knew the best thing to do was to ring them. So as you got into bed that night, once you got back, Bonnie at your feet watching, you rang the number you’d had memorised for years.

“Hi baby.” His voice almost brought tears to your eyes. Although you tried to be as independent as possible, wanting to be your own person, you sometimes wished you could just go back to spending every night in his arms.

“Hi dad.”

“What’s wrong?” You hated how easily he could read you, how those two words were enough for him to know something was wrong.

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know dad.” Out with it. “Sarina Weigman came to visit me today, she wants me to go and join them in the next international break.”

“And what do you want?”

“I think I want to.”

“You think?”

“I just know that if I do I’m just going to be brought back to that moment.”

“Then you’ll go back to a moment where the referees made a terrible decision. Football fans are fickle you know that as much as I do but you’ve watched it back enough to know that nine times out of ten nothing happens. The commentator did you no favours, Phil didn’t stand by you as he should have and the media hung you out to dry.”

“I know.”

“But as awful as it was it made you the person you are today and your stronger now then you’ve ever been before. If you want to go back then you’ll make it work. I know you will.”

“Thanks dad, now how is…”

,,,,,

“How many times have you watched that tackle back?”

“Over a thousand times.”

“Do you think you should have been sent off?”

“Of course not.”

……

You loved Barcelona, from the moment you stepped through those doors 3 years ago you’d been welcomed in and never looked back. In 2019 you moved to America but your year out there was plagued with depression and homesickness resulting in a lack of game time, when Barcelona came calling it was a difficult decision with your family ties but they had a project, they had a good set up and you knew the onus wouldn’t just be on you. The first six months were still tough, working out Spanish football to both play with your teammates and counter the opposition but by the end of the season you felt at home for the first time in 2 years.

Your role this year had been heightened by the loss of one of your midfield partners in Alexia, but you were adaptable and that’s probably how you found yourself 4-0 up, having just scored a second goal in the second half.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” Mapi whispered giving you a half hug as you walked back into your own half.

“Shut up.”

“I bet she’s panicking that you might turn it down now.”

“She’s got other players Maria.”

“But none of them are you.”

The match stayed at 4-0, some of the youngsters coming on to see the game out.

You’d never been in a team like this, of course you had little arguments and there were small groups within the team, but everyone worked so hard for each other. And with that came the protectiveness, when you joined you were only 21, now 24 and the older ones took you under their wings. You’d been daunted a lot at the fact of playing fellow English players in the Champions League but they’d been your shield for those moments.

It blew your mind when the younger age groups joined you and they speak about that moment. Most of them staying up late to watch it making you feel old. But that meant they came to you for advice a lot of the time. Maybe this time though it was time to get advice from them.

“Hey little one.” Maria Perez was the first one you spotted in the changing room. “You played really well today.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling about being called up?” It was only yesterday that the Spanish squad had been leaked and she was once again in it.

“Excited, another opportunity to prove myself.”

“I like that you see it that way.”

“Everyone should, it’s no different to playing here, as long as you be yourself you can never be disappointed.”

…….

@jillsmithjournalist: Serena Weigman is present at the Barcelona match. No current England players are playing however star player Y/N Beckham scored twice. Beckham has not played for England since she withdrew from selection in August 2019 amid public backlash and a rumoured feud with England manager Phil Neville. Could a return be on the cards?

@newlionesses_x: Surely she can’t just pick and choose when to come back.

@wslfan: Fine without her last year

@england123: Liability for England

@barcelonafan: All you hating on Beckham are crazy, one of the best players in the world and you don’t want her back because of something that happened 4 years ago, grow up. Could tell she struggled when she joined us but this past year she’s been exceptional, people change, mistakes happen (even though she should never have been sent off in the first place)

…..

You’ve known your decision for a long time but you still delayed giving it as long as possible before you could wait no longer. You could see she was the only one left in the hospitality area as you entered, the table she had chose overlooking the pitch you’d just performed on.

This was what you wanted and now it felt only right to give yourself that opportunity again.

“I’ll do it.”

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#57: The Father (1.06)

gif cred: @fishalthor

There are so many qualities I love about the character of Rick Grimes. A king among men. 👑 And one of my absolute favorite things about him is that he's such a good loving father. And in this following moving scene, we get to see Rick open up to Michonne about just how he feels not getting to be a father to his kids all these years 🥺...

But first, there's that suspenseful elevator moment. 😬

Rick hurries into an elevator with the last light of the world’s leader stuffed inside a crate. 😅 And as he waits for the doors to close, a tall soldier comes walking in to stand beside him.

And then it’s very tense as the two silently wait side by side while the elevator trudges its way down several floors. Rick then looks down and notices that blood is leaking from the crate which just ramps up the suspense even more.

Meanwhile, Michonne has made it outside - and I just have to note that her face card doesn’t even decline when covered in a helmet and mask. 💯

Michonne is obviously very conflicted after what she’s just seen in the auditorium and she knows they have to do something about it and fast. So after getting outside, she makes her way back inside like...

And the Baddest Chick in the Game also grabs some bombs while she’s at it. 💣

Meanwhile, in the elevator, the blood is still leaking from the container and just when the doors open, the soldier notices. 😬 So Rick is forced to go toe to toe with him.

And the one good thing the CRM did was give Rick some improved hand-to-hand combat skills. 👌🏽 I know some people be getting on that man for often finding himself on the losing end of a fisticuffs but hey he always came out on top of those TWD fights too. 😌

gif cred: @nerd4music

But now, Rick stayed in control for most of this fight with the CRM soldier and that had me so proud of him. He’s come a long way in this area so I'm just sitting here watching like...

Rick quite savagely beats the guy's face in until he’s dead and this is definitely that feral Rick we saw often in TWD.

When the doors open, Rick looks like he’s ready to just keep taking down CRM folk, but he quickly realizes the soldier in front of him is actually his wife when Michonne says his name.

And y’all, Richonne really are certifiably crazy because the way Michonne doesn’t even react to Rick covered in blood or the bloodied body on the ground. It’s just another day at the office for them. 😅

Michonne says they can’t go home yet and asks if he knows what the CRM is planning. Rick says he got the echelon but he’s more curious how Michonne found him right now. Me personally, I’ll just chalk it up to thinking soulmates like them can always find each other because they come with innate GPS trackers lol.

Michonne informs Rick that the CRM has a whole tent of bombs outside and that they’re going to be evacuating the kids and then taking out a whole city of people. Rick replies saying, “This is happening now. We can still get home, but not yet.”

I love that Rick’s now at a point where going home stays a part of the plan no matter what.  And Michonne says, “We have to stop them because we can stop them.” And of course, they both know and believe they’re capable of handling this just the two of them.

Then there’s a great little moment of levity when Michonne notices the crate and casually asks Rick if it's his.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne asks, "Is this yours?" and Rick's just like “Yeah.” Since he doesn’t elaborate further about the Beale-in-a-box, Michonne asks, “What’s in it?”

gif cred: @nerd4music

And the wordless ‘it’s complicated’ look Rick gives her is comedy.🤭 Something about this exchange between them was truly giving married and I’m here for it. 😁

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

And then y’all, after being entirely too late to the party, Pearl finally starts to become suspicious that something is up with her big brother Grimes. She sees that Beale isn’t in fact in the woods like Rick says so she goes off to investigate. 

Next, there's a very heartfelt scene as Rick and Michonne are alone in a room to set up their plan to stop the CRM. 🥲

Rick asks Michonne how she came up with this explosive idea and Michonne, always one to honor Nat’s memory, says, “Took some inspiration from the genius known as Nat.”

After what the CRM did to him and his friends, I know Nat is looking down from above so proud of Michonne for using his techniques to take these soldiers down. Nat still got his payback like he wanted. 😌

Also, seeing Richonne both in the red-striped CRM uniforms, I like how this episode has them in matching outfits for most of the duration. Having matched in similar clothes and colors a lot within this franchise, it just feels right for Rick and Michonne to be matching in the finale too. 

As Rick packs, he tells Michonne, “You know, Beale said I could lead the CRM one day.” There's something interesting to me about how, from all the things shared in the echelon briefing, Rick brings this specific point up.

It leads to a great and underrated moment, as Michonne just has a playfully sarcastic response saying, “Guess you were right. You could do this all by yourself” before giving Rick a very communicative look that says 'the CRM is not keeping my man any longer.' And then Rick has a sweet subtle smile back at her. 🥹

The reason I feel this quick smile moment is great is because many at the CRM have tried to tell Rick what he’s supposed to do and who he’s supposed to be these last seven or so years. Telling him that he has this power and he has to use it in the ways they deem fit. But Rick never wanted any of that. As he said in season 9, he really didn’t ask anyone to follow him. He's always, from Day One of TWD, viewed himself as just a man who wants to be with his family.

And so here when Rick brings up that Beale also felt he should use his natural-born leadership to take on a position of power that he doesn’t really want to take on, there is something so refreshing to him about Michonne just knowing he doesn’t want that and so he doesn’t have to do it. And especially doesn't have to do it alone. She's always let him know they're in this together.

So I always interpret his smile reaction as Rick feeling really appreciative that for the first time in a long time someone isn’t forcing that leadership role on him.

And after enduring so much alone, I love that he knows that now that he has Michonne back, he really won’t have to take on things by himself anymore. He and Michonne get to return to reordering things together like Rick most wanted. 👌🏽

And after his wife so welcomingly frees him from those CRM leadership expectations, Rick then gives some insight into what he actually wants when he says, “We could just go.”

What Rick wants most of all is to finally make it home and just live life with his family and I feel like because that reality is now more tangible than it’s ever been, there’s likely a part of him that doesn’t want to risk this CRM plan getting in the way of them making it home.

(Side note: I've touched on it before but just had to reiterate here that, contrary to some out there's belief, a lethal fighting machine is not all Rick is and it's not how this character wants to operate if he doesn't have to. I think Rick has been shown to be someone that would be fully content living a domestic everyday life that never again requires returning to intense fight mode. Savage Rick is certainly a part of him, but all the savage stuff he's done and does is to protect the family he wants to live a peaceful normal life with. Being a husband and father is Rick's core want and driving motivator. Which is why making TOWL about Rick getting to his wife and kids rather than just a guns-a-blazing fight against bad guys was the right choice.

And when Rick got taken from his family, he didn't spend those years pursuing some new motivation to obtain power or world domination like some want him to seek. He chose to die. Without his wife and kids, he'd rather be dead. That was made quite clear. And even when Rick agreed to Okafor's mission it had so much to do with wanting to save the world for his family, even if they never knew he did that. So it makes sense that TOWL would then have to be a more contained story and focus on Rick returning to his love and to himself after losing himself so deeply because he lost his family. And I love that in finding his family, his everything, Michonne, Rick really does return to himself - both the part of him that's a resilient fighter and the part of him that's willing to be admirably vulnerable.)

Michonne looks up at him and Rick says, “This is…” and I’m sure he was going to in some way express how risky this is, but Michonne finishes the sentence saying this is “...what we have to do. What sort of world are we making for them if we walk away from something like this?” And that always just hits my heart to hear her say 'for them' because she’s talking about their babies. 😭

And then my heart gets hit even more when Rick also talks about their babies as he opens up saying, “You know…I’m mad at the time I missed. Not seeing our kids growing up.” First of all - 🥺🥺🥺.

gif cred: @nat111love

I think part of coming back alive again means also having a whole lot of suppressed feelings rise back up to the surface. So it’s meaningful for Rick to now acknowledge that part of what he feels is mad that he missed so much time with his kids.

And especially knowing it was Rick who presented the idea of him and Michonne building for the future with a baby all those years ago, and now he's had to learn that he got what he wanted but missed out on so much of that baby's early years. That has to hurt. 😞

When Rick was taken, Judith was so young too so he missed a lot of early milestones in both his kids' lives. I know he would have given anything to be there loving them and raising them during such formative years of their lives. 🥲

Being a father has always been so important to him and so you know it weighs heavily on him that he was kept from being the dad his kids needed and from getting to be by Michonne’s side, raising their son and daughter together, and enjoying all the great moments of their kids growing up. 🥺

And again, hearing Richonne say “our kids” is music to my ears every time. I think too, after hearing the echelon briefing, the last remains of the CRM’s facade just came tumbling down to Rick because in some ways Beale sounded a little paranoid and crazy rather than saying anything concrete. So that has to just make it extra hard for Rick to feel like the CRM kept him from his babies all these years because of their warped paranoid belief system. 

Rick then says, “I know we can’t, but I just…I think about that time and I just want to go back.” Annnnd cue my tears. This got me, y’all. 😭

gif cred: @nat111love

The emotion he feels when he says this. 🥺 This is a father whose heart breaks over the invaluable time he’s lost with kids and that breaks my heart. 💔

It’s super moving to see Rick have this moment of vulnerability with Michonne. One of the things that has always made the character of Rick Grimes so great and compelling is that he’s willing to be emotionally vulnerable. Being in tune with what he feels contributes so much to his strength as a man and as a character.

And I like how there’s layers to him saying he just wants to go back. It’s like he longs to just go back home right now but he also longs to just go back in time and be there with his family during all the years he missed.

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

He should’ve had the chance to be with his babies. 😔 Rick deserved that. But while they unfortunately can’t go back in time, Michonne is here to help Rick shift his perspective with what she says next. 👌🏽

As Rick looks at her with tears in his eyes, Michonne instantly feels for him. I think about how in the TWD 'Scars' episode there was a scene where Michonne watches Judith and some kids play a game and she tells Aaron how she wishes Rick could see this.

gif cred: @michonnegrimes

Michonne knows how much she too wishes Rick could have been there all those years seeing their kids grow up. And it clearly moves her to now hear Rick express that same desire to have been there. 🥺

gif cred: @nat111love

Also, I was thinking about how another reason it was so fitting for Rick to have said that Michonne puts pieces back together during the proposal is because when their family experienced brokenness with the loss of Carl and Rick being taken, it was Michonne who had to hold the rest of their family together.

And it makes me so happy that now Michonne won't have to do that alone anymore because Rick is willing, ready, and eager to return to being part of their family.

I love the way Michonne looks at Rick and then drops what she's doing to go over to him and kiss him. Those were some loud and clear ‘I love you’ kisses, y’all. 💯😊 See, Michonne stays saying I love you without even having to say it.

gif cred: @nat111love

This was just the type of love and connection Rick needed at this moment. And it’s sweet how Michonne is so comforting as she keeps Rick's face in her hands and assures him, “We are back.” 🥹

It can be understandably tempting to be saddened by the past, but I think it’s really nice how Michonne reframes this to let Rick know they’re back now. And the present and future still hold a lot of opportunities for them to make it back to their family and spend lots of time with them the way they’re meant to.

gif cred: @nat111love

Rick of course resonates with Michonne saying this and then, true to them, he repeats her words from earlier back - knowing that saving people and stopping the CRM from bombing a whole city is what they do. And Michonne affirms that by saying “Yes it is.”

gif cred: @msanonships

I always love the way Rick looks at Michonne at this moment because as draining as it clearly is for him to fight all these battles, he always can get a fresh sense of strength when in her arms. And she's so tender with him as she rubs his face. 🥲

And then y’all know being a richonner means being spoiled, so this really sweet scene ends with the two passionately kissing and wrapping each other in their arms once again. Look at our lovely and crazy little lovebirds all making out in their Richonne bubble before they blow stuff up. 😊

gif cred: @msanonships

Like if I’m supposed to get over the fact that a show exists where Richonne kisses 100+ times, it’s not gonna happen. I’ll never be over it.😇

Every time they kiss it just makes me think about how these are two people who didn't know if this type of love would ever find them after what they had lost. And then not only did love find them, but the greatest and strongest love of all found them when they found each other. And it's everything Rick and Michonne deserve.

This final makeout is really sweet too because it's just so clear that Rick and Michonne both get so much comfort from each other. No matter what else is going on, they can always lock in with each other and find their center.

With this kiss, it's also clear that they're very grateful to finally be back in each other's presence after being deprived of each other for years. The sad days of being apart are over, and they cherish knowing they'll get to be by each other's side from here on out.

gif cred: @lousolversons

I’ll always love this scene for giving Rick and Michonne a genuinely touching heart-to-heart as parents and protectors and as two people who know they can always express their rawest feelings to one another.

Hearing Rick reflect as a father about how he feels having missed all this time with his kids was something I was hoping for when TOWL was announced. And I really appreciate how that was addressed in this touching scene. 👌🏽🥹❤️‍🩹

[slytherizz]

Playing God - Auror!Sebastian x Dark!MC

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Non-Con | explicit sexual content | Dark!MC | Polyjuice Sex

All tags can be found on Ao3

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Decorated Auror, Sebastian Sallow had not anticipated how his life would diverge so sharply from the woman he once loved, the most wanted and notorious witch in Britain. Or how their paths would continue to cross - their fates still bound together.

A/N This fic has been living in my WIPs for about 6 months...I wanted to reverse the dynamic of my longer fic with Sebastian being the Auror this time and in doing such explore some darker themes. Short multi-chapter that will probably end up being three chapters at most.

She was pretty enough he supposed in a homely sort of way. 

Petite, with neat shoulder-length hair that brushed against narrow shoulders and, a soft bow to her overly thin top lip. But her dress was old-fashioned, a severe high-neck buttoned almost to her chin, ruffled layers of her underskirts impractical and lumpy. Layers upon layers, of an unflattering shade of yellow washed out her otherwise pleasant features. 

Compared to the other witches that would frequent such a seedy establishment with their low necklines and light skirts, she would be considered dowdy. 

If it wasn't for her eyes. Keen and alert as if beneath the sheep-like exterior lurked something dangerous. He most likely would have overlooked her too.

To even the keenest observer it wouldn't look like Sebastian had any particular tastes when it came to women or men. Much to his displeasure, the qualities that drew him in were rarely mere aesthetic. 

Barked laughter like an ill-tempered hound. The smell of mallowsweet. Aromatic and earthy. Teeth pressed lightly into a bottom lip like they held all the cards in a game no one else knew they were playing. Until they spread the winning hand. Smile so wide it unnerved, bore too many teeth.

Tonight, it was keen and dangerous eyes that reminded him of her. 

They shared no other similarities and from what Sebastian could discern from her well-manicured nails, and unblemished skin, bar a pale line around her finger where he supposed an engagement ring would usually sit - this was no fighter. 

This was a proper young lady - who had wandered onto the wrong side of town looking for a sensible amount of trouble as her wedding day, most likely to some equally wellbred suitor, loomed over her like a dark cloud.

As if Sebastian were screaming his thoughts at her across the crowded tavern, those sharp eyes flicked their attention to him. Raked over the thinning patches of his civilian cloak, the shadow across his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes he'd given up glamouring. After years they were as much a staple of his face as the freckles on his nose. 

The marks of a man who hadn't enough time to shave let alone visit a tailor, a man who would scarcely have enough time to ask her too many intrusive questions. 

She smiled. Jarring was the only way Sebastian could describe how her face seemed to split horizontally across its centre. Neither half quite belonged to the other. The demure and polite curl of her lips was offset by the razor-edged scrutiny of her darkened gaze. Predatory. Hungry. In a way that made his mouth go dry and cool sweat beads on the back of his neck.

Ice clinked against the side of his glass as Sebastian knocked back the remaining dregs of whiskey. Disguising the way his lip twitched at the corners under the weight of her eyes. Amber liquid burned his throat was nothing compared to the heat prickling across his skin.

Sebastian held up two fingers to indicate to the Barmaid over the raucous patrons of the pub. She placed a second glass on the bar filling them both with a more than generous pour. 

"Cheers," Sebastian said, placing the coins into her hand, a little extra for her trouble as he always did. The barmaid smiled brightly, flushed and preening, over a few extra sickles as if he'd declared some great love for her. Though he supposed generosity was not a trait of many that frequented the Ogre's Arms. She leaned a little further over the bar than was strictly necessary, her fingers linger too long against his palm as he hands over his sickles. 

Sebastian did not miss the way that the strangers' eyes tracked the interaction. As swift and deliberately as he had been trained to be with every motion, he slipped his hand from the barmaid's grasp deftly hooking his fingers into the rim of the grotesquely full tumblers as he spun on his heels.

Whatever the poor girl had been about to say faltered in her throat. Crackling out of life like a dying gramophone. He really should have felt some sympathy for the poor girl. 

She'd made her fondness for him quite obvious over the years. Despite how Sebastian would sidle out the door with what must seem like any witch but her. Too worried about any kind of arrangement that would ask for more than he was willing, or able, to give. Nor did he wish to find a new hole to drown himself in. 

And regretfully - her gentle honeyed voice and hopeful doe eyes that delivered longing glances had never stirred anything inside of Sebastian. As much as on some nights he wished they would. 

Sebastian weaved through the sparse gathering around the bar of the more rambunctious patrons. Turning a blind eye, to the corner booth and the two witches poorly disguising their face under their dramatic hoods, exchanging money, a rather suspicious-looking sack at their feet which gave a periodic shudder and what looked like spines protruding from the burlap. It may be his job to investigate suspicious behaviour such as this but- he'd rather not have to explain to his sergeant exactly what he was doing in this pub in the first place.

Approaching her solitary table nestled in the corner, she inclined her chin up towards him. Smug. Sloped oak beams cast a thick shadow, and candlelight flickering against her cheekbones made her features waxy like an oil painting against a grimy canvas. 

"May I?"

She tilted her head, as though she expected nothing else but was amused by his gesture nonetheless."Only because you brought a bribe." 

Sebastian hooked the heel of his boot around the chair leg pulling out further. Placed the two glasses on the table as he sat, careful not to spill any against the oak surface. Not that it would be such a shame if it did. Cheap whiskey from a smudged glass was hardly a waste. 

Sebastian tipped his glass to her in toast, she did not feign even the slightest interest in her glass or his hollow act of chivalry. 

"I haven't seen you here before," Sebastian said. 

Flexing her fingers, she admired those well-polished nails. "No. I don't suppose you would have."

West Country. Quaint. As out of place amongst the sea of London accents as her dress was from this decade. Confirming a very important fact for Sebastian she was certainly not from around here. For the best. 

"This doesn't seem like the place for such a nice young lady such as yourself."

Chin resting on the back of her delicate hand. A feline grin spread across her face, as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Nor the place for well respected Ministry men." 

Tension seized Sebastian's shoulders. Unnerved by her perception, his eyes darted across the sea of faces. He'd left the scarlet cloak with the gold badge adorning his lapels in his flat long before he'd made apparated to the bottom of Knockturn Alley. Places like these didn't take too kindly to rozzers scrambling their clientele. Nor would he want it to become common knowledge at the Ministry that he frequented grimy drinking holes on his off hours. He was certain she'd been alone but that prickle of unease had his hand reaching towards his wand.  

She caught his arm swiftly, delicate fingers folded up the cuff of his cloak. Ministry insignia branded into the tan leather strap that secured his wand to his forearm. 

Chuckling breathily to himself, Sebastian felt the tension ebb as, just as swiftly, she turned down the sleeve. "Half the people here carry their wand tucked up their sleeve. You have a keen eye, to have spotted that mark from halfway across the room, lass. Do you make it a habit of checking if every man who approaches you is an Auror?"

Sharp eyes glinted with mischief. "Only the ones that interest me."

"Must be my lucky day." He leaned in closer, bitter whiskey breath disturbed a loose curl around her ear as he whispered. "Unless there's a reason you have to be on such high alert for authority I should know about?"

"Do I look like the kind of woman who would have much trouble with the law?"

He cast his eyes down, at her unblemished hands. Free of callouses and scar tissue, the tight restrictiveness of her bodice ill-suited for battle, her polite disarming smile - even those eyes, so reminiscent but not quite right. Despising the remorseful pang in his chest. Nothing like her. 

"Well if that's the case this," he gestured around the damp crooked hole masquerading as a tavern. "Certainly isn't the place for you." 

"Nor you. Unless the requirements for holding such an esteemed post has gone severely downhill and they let swindlers and murderers into their ranks." He almost winced at the sting of the insult she unwittingly delivered. 

"Perhaps lurking around in dingey bars with terrible whiskey isn't suited to either of us. Perhaps, upstanding members of society that we are, should go somewhere we can feel more…relaxed."

"And where exactly is there such a place for me?" Most women would have covered that glaring tan line on her finger, under gloved hands or glamour, but she seemed to flaunt it as she ghosted it across his knuckles;  an invitation.

Sebastian's grin widened. "I have a few ideas."

"I don't have much time. So you better make every minute count."

***

Sebastian unlocked his front door with a snap of his fingers. Gestured her inside, his hand pressed into the small of her back. She inclined her head towards him, a smirk playing on her lips at the hollow politeness of his gesture. Knowing full well his intention of inviting her back to his flat was far from gentlemanly. 

Exaggerated skirts shifted as she stepped inside. Soft lamp lights scattered around his living room sparked to life in welcome illuminating the small living area. Her formal attire looked out of place; more suited for high tea than the sparsely filled space Sebastian inhabited. 

Files strewn across the long velvet settee, scattered teacups and candles burned down to the wick littered every available surface. He knew the larder would be just as barren save for some tea bags and a half-empty bottle of gin the department had cobbled together to purchase for his promotion. He didn't even like gin. The presence of female company always seemed to highlight just how every inch of his flat screamed bachelor.  

Sebastian shrugged off his cloak, hooking it on the back of the door. Never once taking his eyes off her. Odd little creature that she was. Against the faint moonlight that trickled in from the arched window on the far wall, her face cloaked in darkness, she cast a dramatic silhouette. 

Not quite her. No. But her dress despite its bulk could not disguise the dip of her waist, an alluring swell to her chest. With her face masked from view, he felt his drink-fogged mind teeter dangerously on an edge he would not let it wander past. 

She'd bent down, and pinched the corner of a piece of parchment he'd discarded the previous night between her thumb and forefinger. Sebastian slipped his wand from the holster. With a flick, the paper pried itself free to rejoin the rest which were shuffling themselves back into their file before shooting across the room into the waiting drawer of his bureau. The gold lock clicked shut, locking them securely away with an audible snap. 

Her head whipped around, her chin jutted out in irritation, and her eyes narrowed slightly into a glare. Sebastian shrugged, as he unbuckled the holster on his arm, placing it on the narrow kitchen island. "Classified information. I'm sure you understand."  

Sebastian couldn't have nosy witches trawling through his case files. He'd seen plenty of Aurors sacked for lesser sins. And reporters from the Prophet certainly weren't above seduction tactics to get their stories. That knowledge did nothing however to stop the tingle that spread down his spine that the defiant look in her eye ignited in him. 

"I suppose." She shrugged, a forced display of indifference. Before proceeding to further inspect his residence. Striding about like she owned the place and Sebastian was merely some troublesome tenant. 

The cramped flat he'd started renting in London straight out of Hogwarts could hardly be considered a home. Sebastian never planned to make it one. Or stay for as long as he did. Merely a stepping stone, at the start of his career. Close to the Ministry, so he could collapse after a long day. 

Eat. Sleep. Breath. Work. 

That desperate desire to prove himself more than what he'd been. Never satisfied with his lot in life. By the grace of Merlin, he'd been given a second chance to make himself a man - his parents, his sister, that he could be proud of. 

He had planned to settle down eventually. Fix the decaying bones of his parents' old house on the hill with her by his side. Both were now a faded, hopeless dream. Sebastian's life had rarely gone to plan.

Tracing a finger across the well-worn spines on his overstuffed bookshelf she pondered each title with interest. "Quite the collection you have. Some rather questionable titles you have here for a man of your profession."

"Special Ministry approval. They're charmed to be bound to my place of residence - before you get any ideas. Can never be too prepared in my line of work. Knowledge of magic of a more…delicate nature can be the difference between life and death."

Strictly speaking, this was not a lie. Any Auror worth his salt would have at least half the books in Sebastian's collection on curse-breaking, dark magic and deadly creatures. Admittedly, his robust library wasn't necessary for his career nor was all of it purely academic interest. 

Eyewitness accounts of skinwalkers he'd picked up on a short trip to America, liaising with the MACUSA on their rising troll problem. Journals, written in the maddening scrawl of a witch who'd fancied herself a revolutionary scholar. Wanted to test the corruption dark magic had on the soul. Daft bugger used herself to test her theories. Now all that was left of her was crammed into a bachelor's bookcase.

Smallest in number and size, a thin collection of children's stories and a letter correspondence from crackpot conspiracists. He'd been too late to salvage anything that remained of Miriam Fig's research and this pitiful array was all that he'd discovered over the years with any reference to Ancient Magic. A small house fire could destroy what Sebastian could only assume was the largest collated materials on the subject.

It had been foolish to try to love her, but perhaps more still to hunt the vengeful wraith. 

"Well read. Good career. Seems you are a rather eligible bachelor-"

Sebastian smiled moving closer towards her. "I'm not bad to look at either."

"Despite your proclivity for skulking around dingey bars. It's unusual to find a man such as yourself…unattached."

"What can I say - I'm married to my work. Not much time for anything else; not many witches would put up with the lifestyle long-term. Never been interested in marriage." 

Liar. 

She looked up at him through dark lashes, from how those sharp eyes stripped him back until he was raw and exposed - she scented his dishonesty. "Sounds like a lonely life." 

"Depends on who you ask."

Sebastian leaned heavily on the shelf above her head, elbow brushing against well-loved spines. His calloused palm slipped around her waist, running up her side. Felt the curved bones of her corset under his thumb. Leaning in closer still, enough that his breath disturbed the loose curls around her temples. Her lips parted, tongue dancing along her bottom lip as she tilted her chin up towards him like a cat basking in a warm breeze. 

She didn't waiver. Not a single flicker of hesitation in those sharp, piercing eyes. For a moment, Sebastian pitied the man who intended to marry her. But not enough to stop him from capturing her lips. 

Tasting the tang of cheap whiskey in their mingled breath. Not a slither of remorse as her delicate hands found the nape of Sebastian's neck. Used chestnut curls to pull him closer to kiss him more deeply. Their breath was little more than stolen gasps for air and an opportunity for her tongue to seize and slip past parted lips. 

Sebastian crowded her further against the bookshelf. Held tighter to the bunched fabric of her skirts, hands fumbling desperately to feel the shape it disguised. Frustrated by the garment, his lips left her mouth. Travelled down to her jaw, her breathing hitched, head tipped back to thunk against the shelf as Sebastian nipped and sucked at the column of her throat. A little too sharply. But she only pressed into him further. Blood and bruises bloomed wild across her skin as his teeth grazed along her heightened pulse. 

He knew what it was like to try to ensnare creatures such as this. How they bit when cornered. Fool that he was, he desired to tame them, change their nature; almost as much as he craved to be bitten.

Maybe that was why he held her so firmly in his grasp. Petticoats balled in his fists, as he pressed himself awkwardly against her. Her dainty form didn't quite fit the stocky mould of his own. 

Not that anyone witch or woman had since. 

Not that she seemed to care. She pulled Sebastian in like he alone was hers to drink from. Like he belonged to her and she would bend and break him to fit her. Some part of him prayed she succeeded. He'd snap every bone in his body, boil down his sinew in the hope that when at last he healed - he would fit another. 

Sebastian pressed his mouth into the crook of her shoulder and burrowed his face, inhaling deeply, as he mouthed at her skin. Soft and supple as an over-ripe peach. Desperately, pathetically trying and failing to make himself fit. But the bridge of his nose bumped harshly against her clavicle and his back ached from stooping. 

He'd never melted into anyone since her. No matter how many times he tried with countless trysts with all the ways they reminded him of her in their laughs, smiles, and eyes - they were not her.

Pained groan against her shoulder. Cloth ripped as he tore past her outdated petticoats and the silk of her undergarments. Desperate hands kneaded at her bare flesh. Thigh. Hip. The curve of her arse. Every inch of her skin grew hot, flushed under his touch. If Sebastian had been in his right mind not addled, by drink and frustration he would have handed it to her; for such a wellbred lady, she did not startle easily or cringe from his working hands. With a strung-out whine, she simply displaced the torn fabric so Sebastian's knee pressed between her thighs could provide her with more friction.

Sebastian sank to his knees, hooking her thigh around his broad shoulder. Balanced precariously, her back pressed against the stacks and her leg suspended quivering. Heel dug between his shoulder blades as she sought stability. Her limbs were lean…soft. Delicate like a lamb. No coiled muscle battle worn and firm disguised under her skirts.  

That did not stop Sebastian from groaning against the sparse hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. Her muscles clenched tighter. Not with apprehension. No. With blinding unhindered desire. Whining breathlessly, as she urged him to fulfil his role, drop any pretence to do what they came here for. This was no budding romance. And there was no time to pretend otherwise. 

Sebastian's tongue darted out teasing the tip through her folds. Eagerly seeking out her bundle of nerves to curl his tongue under her hood. Satisfied, a mewl passed her lips to at last have Sebastian where she desired him most. Hips bucked and writhed with every broad stroke and teasing lick against her soaking entrance. Brown tresses tangled harshly in her grip, those neatly filed nails scratching encouragingly against his scalp. 

Her taste was unfamiliar on Sebastian's tongue, but he only lapped at her more fervently. Desperate. As if he savoured enough of her desire for him - he could burn away the memories of sweeter nectars.

Bunching her skirt closer to her stomach, Sebastian's view of her was unobstructed. The collar pulled open where she'd made swift work of the buttons of her high neckline; they hung like loosely strung pearls cascading down her chest which heaved with every breath. Breasts dimpled against the restrictive tightly laced corset.

Sebastian's eyes flicked up to meet hers. Not the right shape or hue but that intensity to them. Storm raging across a riptide, Sebastian, vulnerable in their depth. He could drown in them and would do so gladly.

Blood rushed south, and Sebastian groaned low, pained. He sucked on her clit, coaxing more slick to coat his lips and chin. Hoping beyond hope that her eyes locked on his would flutter closed in pleasure. Her mouth was ajar, each drawn-out moan growing louder as she approached her peak. Clever calculating gaze fixed on Sebastian. He knew he was exactly where she wanted him. Prey to her predator. His cock strained and achingly hard because of it.

Her back arched against the stacks, toes curling against the centre of his back, legs shook with the strain to hold herself upright. Sebastian was relentless. He devoured the quivering nub, tongue teasing as he sucked. Her passionate cry was unrestrained, legs threatening to buckle bringing her down like a house of cards as she collapsed over the edge. Aftershock of pleasure rolled over her, he kept a firm grip on her hip as she rested more heavily against him. His desire for her is confusing and just as precarious. 

Sebastian unhooked her leg from his shoulder, palms running along the backs of her calves. She was still propped up feebly holding herself against the bookcase. Pads of her fingers clutching pathetically at the shelves with the ball of her heel holding purchase on the floor. 

Orgasm ebbing, softening her predatory edge. A smirk played at Sebastian's lips as he looked up at her once polished appearance now dishevelled. Rattling, with a lust-drunk gaze that defiant chin hanging slightly ajar as she greedily gulped down air. 

She narrowed her eyes at his smug expression and gathered her composure before slipping her ruined dress from her shoulders letting it puddle at her feet. Nail digging under his chin as she beckoned Sebastian upwards, pulling him in. 

It made Sebastian's heart beat wildly against his chest. A caged canary faced with a falcon. 

Teeth grazed his bottom lip, tongue seeking his own. Sebastian's clothes fell away easily from his broad frame. His shirt was discarded, followed by breeches which tangled around his ankles as they fumbled towards the settee. Muffled grunts into her mouth every time her palm grazed his cock, hard and throbbing, through his undergarments. Sebastian moved to lie her swiftly across the settee. One hand pressed into the small of her back the other tangled in amongst the pins now falling loose from her hair.

 

Inexplicably, she moved faster than Sebastian thought she was capable of. Leg hooked around his ankle like a snake pulling him off balance. Backs of his knees connected with the settee as his legs buckled and Sebastian collapsed bodily onto cushions. Rarely with his extensive training did anyone get the jump on him. 

Her lips curled as she observed the way his enlarged head twitched against his belly more eagerly. "Now, I think it's my turn." Laces from her corset pulled loose, she let the camisole shift to the floor with it. "-And you looked far too pretty beneath me."

As she straddled his lap, Sebastian spluttered on his groan and the intoxicating sensation of her wet centre against his shaft. Her palms were flat, braced against his chest, nails scratching at the coarse hairs that grew there. Every inch of her soft, naked flesh pressed against him. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, sliding along her flushed skin with hands that seemed too large. 

She really was quite pretty. Sebastian just wished the parts that didn't remind him of her made his heart race as much as the ones that did. 

She caught his lips, fingers cupped against his jaw, her mouth moving against his. Teeth and tongue. Hot breath came out in short dulcet pants as she greedily tasted the remnants of her arousal on his lips.

Her hand snaked down between them, taking Sebastian's throbbing length in her hand. He hissed, as her thumb smoothed over the leaking slit, aligning him with her entrance. Eyelashes fluttered a satisfied sigh, as she sank down, taking him inside of her. Dainty as she may appear, she appeared to relish the stretch to accommodate his size, almost as much as he did. So tight she gripped his cock, it almost sent him hurtling over the edge. 

Barely giving herself time to adjust before she canted her hips. Weight shifting so she could slide up his shaft until only the head of his cock remained before sinking back down onto Sebastian's girth more demandingly. Needy grunts reverberated in Sebastian's chest as he matched her frantic desperate pace. Forehead braced on her chest as he bucked his hips into her tight core. Pebbled nipple caught between his lips, her head thrown back in a wanton moan as Sebastian ever so gently grazed the peak with his teeth. 

Sebastian closed his eyes. Whiskey fog coupled with the godly feel of her clenched around him, he relaxed into her eager pace. Inhibitions lowered, his mind straying to the well-worn path he rarely let himself tread. 

Face striking contorted in ecstasy; a savage beauty like lightning striking the ocean. Mallowsweet scent; that soothed like a botanist's herbal balm. How perfectly her body wrapped around his own as if by design. Sebastian's teeth pressed hard against his tongue as her name danced upon it. With his eyes closed, hands held back - that shameful part of him could pretend it was her. 

"Sebastian," the witch moaned. He didn't remember giving her his name. Nor asking hers. The voice he heard was not that polite West Country lilt but one conjured from Hades - his divine pleasure and punishment. 

Can't let it be her. 

Sebastian forced his eyes open, to look at the woman from the bar. Her neat hair, narrow shoulders and thin top lip. Only to find the lines separating fantasy from reality blurred and contorted. His stomach lurched. 

Maybe he'd had more to drink than he thought. 

Whiskey had crowded and garbled his senses as well as his inhibitions. Sebastian's vision was merely blurred. She looked like her. Not just in her eyes but the sloping curve of her neck, the arch of her nose, her hair longer and tangling against the neat pins that had once held it back. 

It's all the whiskey. 

If he could bring himself to look away from her face for even one moment he would see the room spinning. But he couldn't look away. 

Those keen eyes bore into him, locked with his own and he swore they changed colour. The fire that had been smouldering within sparked, roaring, melting her irises into that familiar hue. 

He didn't just have to squeeze his eyes shut to see her and pretend it was her impossibly tight walls clenching around him with every thrust. 

There she was. 

"You," Sebastian spluttered, disbelief tight in his chest. "No. No- It can't be you. This can't be happening." Who cares if he sounded mad? His mind was spiralled and scrambled, desperate to bring back the visage of the woman from the bar and right himself. This face; her face didn't waver. She rolled her hips once more, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she cast her gaze down. Over her breasts and the faded scar that curled under the left from the crucio, he'd administered. Firm muscles of her legs earned from years of battle. Calloused hands of someone who knew little of comfort. All were once again her own. 

Sebastian's world was spiralling, tipping on its axis. Tension in every muscle in his body. Still as beautiful as she was in his nightmares, even the ones where she tore out his heart. She clicked her tongue, amused then smiled. So wide, it bore too many teeth.

Fucking exquisite. Sebastian despised the way his heart faltered in his chest. 

"Pity. I guess the kneazle's out of the bag," she purred, teeth raking sharp across his earlobe. So sharp it shocked his spiral back into sickening clarity like ice in his veins. 

Like a shot, Sebastian wrapped his hand hard around her throat forcing her face away from him. Thumb pressed harshly into the corner of her jaw with his iron grip on her windpipe. Any sane woman would tremble to have his large hand like a vice around her throat in anger. Cower, under the venom in his eyes.

But she was far from sane; perhaps never had been. She gasped involuntarily choking around where his fingers so deeply pressed into her flesh, but the smile on her lips never faltered despite how he could feel the hammer of her blood against his fingertips.

"You should know I don't share," she wheezed. It wasn't the polite West Country drawl she'd adopted at the bar - but that feminine purr he knew far too well. Velvety, like a caress that sent shivers down his spine; and if it were possible simultaneously made his blood run cold and his cock impossibly stiffer where it was sheathed deep within her. She whimpered approvingly, hot breath ghosting his freckled cheeks.

"Fuck- how did you-" Choking on his groan as she expertly rolled her hips, grinding on his cock. Evil, manipulative witch. She knew exactly how to turn practically every rational thought in Sebastian's brain to smoke. 

"Polyjuice. She was pretty don't you think? You seemed to like fucking her while it lasted. Maybe not as much as that curvy redhead from a few months ago...I had bruises on my thighs for weeks."

Somewhere deep in his psyche, Sebastian knew he should push her off. Bind her. Gag her. Put as much distance between himself and her and the mixed-up way she made him feel. Preferably in a cell in the deepest part of Azkaban the Ministry had long ago allocated for her when they signed the warrant for her arrest. At that moment, over the cacophony screaming through his head the only coherent thought was how to keep her desperately bouncing on his cock. 

"I thought it was my turn to have some unsanctioned fun." 

No - rose, bubbled and died in his throat. Caught somewhere amongst the shameful rasping groan as she began to rhythmically rock her hips. Never quite releasing her entirely, but Sebastian's grip on her throat loosened as his muscles slackened in shameful pleasure. 

Using every bit of her newfound leash, she leaned forward to kiss him. Sin, like ambrosia on his tongue. Lips slotted against him, they moved in perfect harmony to a melody he wished had never been composed on his bones. 

She wrapped around him as if the wild thing that she had always been had sprouted from the earth, and curled her tendrils around him. Or rather, like a constant wave beating against him she'd worn his surface. It was a marvel he hadn't crumbled into her sooner. 

"You're mine you know," she cooed, her breath hot against his ear.

"I am not," Sebastian spat. But try as he might to deny it, curse her until his final breath - his words rang hollow. And he loathes himself all the more for it. She was not his any longer, but something else. Twisted by cruelty and power that simply wore the face of the woman he once loved. 

Shame stirred in his gut; desire coursed through his blood. 

"Denying it doesn't make it any less true. You know me blind. When my face is not my own. Fate has bound us, Sebastian. Just as I would know you in any life."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, cheek pressed against her sternum. Fingers digging into her shoulder blades, as he pounded his cock up into her harder, faster. If he was stronger, he would not be prey to her illicit designs for him - but he was not. She keened, greedy to take all he could give her. Consume him entirely if she could. Sebastian closed his eyes and cursed himself for being weak.

Vision narrowing, Sebastian groaned, low and pitiful into the curve of her neck. Ashamed of what he knew was coming. "I hate you," he cursed. Repeated it like a mantra, his lips against her sweat-salted skin as if he could transcribe the words onto her flesh.

Deep plunges into her warmth growing erratic as Sebastian's coil tightens. Her body clenched, tightening around him, with every thrust teased against her sweet spot coaxing more slick onto his cock. His punishing words merely rolled off her curves like water off a duck's back. 

"S-Sebastian," her hoarse cry pierced through his resolve. Sebastian bit into her neck trying and failing to hold back from the precipice of the inevitable. Unwilling to surrender any more of himself to her. It only served to send her hurtling over the cliff. His cock buried deep inside of her, her head thrown back, cunt quivering as her climax broke. Orgasm, wracked through her in waves. Engulfing Sebastian's every sense. 

Fire and Brimstone. Gentle breezes and mallowsweet. 

Beauty. Terror. 

Rhythm faltering, Sebastian's hips spluttered as that mounting coil finally snapped. Her name on his lips, her scent on his skin. Everything that remained of Sebastian Sallow was consumed entirely by her. He came hard - with a broken pathetic whine that forced itself from his body as he spilt inside of her.

It was no little death - it was all-consuming. A part of him would never come back from. Another piece of his soul surrendered along with what was left of his dignity. 

Sebastian fought for breath. Unforgiving waters filled his chest, ice seized his joints, heart thundered as dark edges clouded his vision, threatening to drown out the light and sound. Choking on his saliva he wheezed, shoulders heaved forward violently. Fresh tears pricked in his eyes. 

She shushed his soothingly, thumb tracing idle patterns on his skin with a sickening gentleness that curdled his stomach. He whined pathetically against her chest but she only gripped him harder. Fingers carded through his hair as she hummed a sweet tune peppering kisses to the crown of his chestnut hair. 

Perhaps, in another life, he had the strength to overcome the guilt and sickness now seizing his bones. In another, perhaps there was no deception to be ashamed of. 

He wasn't sure how long they sat entwined, soft cock still inside her, his spend leaking onto his thighs matting in the hair. When at last Sebastian's violent sobbing eased he felt the enchantment stretch across his body, taunt ropes strapped his arms to his sides, and bound his ankles. A chaste kiss against his temple as she slid from his lap.

Sebastian watched her and tried to pretend for a second, that he was not bound, she was not mad and hips swaying hypnotically as she pranced naked around their flat as she did every Sunday evening. Not his. Theirs. Another life, unstained by dark magic where she was still his. 

Fussing with her dress, eyebrows pinched together, frowning as she examined the shredded yellow gown. She sighed, holding the unlaced corset over her breasts, gathering up the remnants to haul them to the kitchen island. She found his wand, with its emerald and onyx handle, the one that had belonged to his paternal great-grandfather. Back and forth she toyed with it in her hands. 

"Put that down." A feeble attempt at a threat from a man bound, naked, cheeks streaked with stale tears. Tight from salt they felt stretched like a drum. 

"You ruined my dress," she pouted. "The least you can do is help me fix it."

Traitorously, Sebastian's wand didn't so much as shudder in retaliation. It obeyed her easily, stitching up the splintered seams, her corset tightened, cinching at her waist. Her hairpins reorganised themselves. She looked almost like her old self, the girl she'd been at school, with a spark of fire in her eyes that mirrored his own. 

"Before you go running off to the next little witch who bats her eyelashes at you, Bash. Try to remember - I don't share." She placed his wand back on the counter and slipped a canteen from her purse. She drank deeply. Gagging, hand smacking into her chest to keep down whatever foul liquid it contained.

If Sebastian had still been drunk the way her face bubbled like stew on a boil would have turned his stomach. Her lips thinned, her hair shrunk back into her scalp, her scars paled and her muscles softened. The woman from the Pub returned, exactly as he'd met her. It did nothing to quell the sickness churning in his gut. 

"Au revoir mon amour." She was gone as quickly as she came, but her presence lingered like a gaping, festering wound. 

Sebastian sat in the dark. Hatred for her that he cultivated in public and the private yearning he tended to as it grew like persistent weeds in his garden he tended had given way to emptiness. A void that for a time he was content to let swallow him whole as he stared at the cracks in his floor. Mourning the woman he'd loved. But most he mourned for himself, for all she took from him. 

Shadows inched across the floor as dawn eventually broke. Long after the bindings had dissolved. Sebastian hadn't slept or moved for hours and his joints stiff, groaned as he got to his feet. He trudged to his bathroom and ran the water until it was scalding. Intent on scrubbing his skin raw. As if she could un-touch him. 

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 15-16 & 25-26

Prompt: “You look awful.” | “I’m fine.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Depictions of illness; vomiting; allusions to symptoms of stomach virus

A/N: Daryl’s human so humans with stomach bugs experience icky symptoms. There are allusions to those but nothing gross.

You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, your lip securely tucked between your teeth in anticipation. Carol chuckled behind you and patted a hand between your shoulder blades. 

“I think you’re actually vibrating, Y/N.” She laughed a little louder when you beamed at her before it softened into something a bit gentler. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone other than Judith so excited to see Daryl come back. Well, and me but that’s a given.”

“It’s been two weeks. I’ve been going out of my mind!” You made a crazy gesture with your hands and then clasped them together again and continued bouncing. 

“How does he do around all this…energy?” You went still and blinked at her, a great many questions swirling in your gaze. “No, no. It’s not a bad thing! You’re good for him. Great for him. I just wanted to make sure he’s not being a total grump and raining on your parade.”

Pursing your lips, you tilted your head. “No, not really. I mean, at first it was like he didn’t know what to do when I would do a cartwheel through the living room. He just stared a lot. But he smiled!” Daryl always smiled for you. In the beginning, it was only in private. All of it was. He was wary of you. 

You had lived in Alexandria since the beginning. Knowing now what you didn’t know then, he was justified in holding back, keeping secrets. When you had proven to be just the average person trying to survive, it was like a switch had flipped. He’d show up at your house unexpectedly. Sometimes you’d find him just sitting on the porch steps, having a cigarette. Other times, he’d actually knock and ask you to go for a walk. He even taught you how to defend yourself with and without weapons. He wouldn’t teach you to hunt though. Always said you’d scare off the game. 

Things evolved from there. It started small. Daryl wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed public displays of affection. Well, he wasn’t before you came along. He would still blush and duck his head if you kissed him in public. You were always the one to grab his hand but he never pulled away. Hugs were okay but he’d yelp (in a very manly way of course) when you’d grab or swat at his ass. 

It had been nearly two years and you couldn’t imagine life without the grumpy, quiet bowman. 

“I’m glad he found you.” Carol wrapped her arm around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head when you laid it against her. You were about to say something else when the shout came to open the gates. 

You jumped up and down, jostling the woman beside you but even as she laughed, you paid her no mind. Your eyes followed the man on the motorcycle. He rode through faster than he should have, something you always scolded him for but he’d only scoff at you. 

“You’re back!” You leapt on him, wrapping your legs around his waist, just as his boot touched the ground after dismounting the bike. “I missed you!”

“Ain’t been tha’ long.” He spoke into your shoulder. His arms held you steady but if he had let go, he would have found you securely latched to his front. 

“It’s been two weeks! That’s the equivalent of forever!” You pulled back and pouted at him, your lip jutting out further when he lowered you. “You hurt? Bring back all your parts?”

“Nah, M’good.” He answered tiredly. Your eyes narrowed when you realized how exhausted he actually looked; something off by the way he was even just standing still. 

“I think we should get you to bed and not for the fun stuff. Not yet anyway.” You stepped around him and retrieved his bag and crossbow, smacking his hand when he reached to take them from you. “I got it. Come on.” He was grumbling something about stubborn woman as he walked just beside you. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye, making certain to be discrete. Daryl would never openly show vulnerability, especially outside your home. He rarely let it be seen inside your home. At the very moment though, you weren’t sure if he realized he was doing it. His hand was clutching his stomach over his vest, fingers digging into the leather until his knuckles were white. His face was neutral but the pallor to his skin wasn’t something he could hide. 

You balanced his bag on your shoulder and opened the door for him, smiling cheerfully when he scowled at your special treatment. “Go on upstairs. You want a shower?”

“S’tha’ yer way’a tellin’ me I stink?”

“Yes, sir.” You noticed his hand had left his abdomen, but was flexing at his side. “You want something to eat? There’s some leftover venison stew that I could—”

The archer blanched, any color that was left present drained from his face while his throat visibly worked to swallow convulsively. Oh shit. Before you could even put down your burden, he dashed from your sight and into the downstairs bathroom, the sounds of his retching painful to hear. 

You placed his bag on the floor and the crossbow against the wall, walking quietly to the bathroom door. When you peeked around the doorframe, Daryl was on his knees, arms draped around the toilet seat with his forehead resting on his hands. He was no longer heaving but still spitting into the water below. 

You knew what his reaction would probably be but you couldn’t act like you didn’t care. “You okay?” The archer didn’t look up. He stretched out a leg and kicked the door shut. You had the good sense to not be in the way of the wooden barrier. 

You were expecting wounds and bruises, not stomach ailments. The medical supplies you had set up in the en-suite bathroom would remain there. You hadn’t seen much of him before he was sick and he could still have injuries that needed care. Now, you needed to add some fresh towels, clothes, and a basin of water with a cloth to put by the bed. You had some Tylenol from the infirmary, just in case he needed it for pain, not anticipating he’d probably need it for fever. 

There were a few cans of chicken noodle soup that you could drain the broth from later, but for now, until the nausea passed, you went downstairs for a few bottles of water. You doubted there was any ginger ale in the pantry but if you were able to see Carol or she came for a visit, you could ask. There was no way you were leaving him for it. 

Everything was set up, including the shower. You were hoping you could coax him in just to get him clean and comfortable. With a gentle knock on the door, you placed your forehead against it, wincing at the sounds coming from inside. Seemed like the toilet and sink were receiving his attention. 

Definitely a stomach virus, but you’d have to ask about what he’d eaten the past few days to rule out food poisoning and other gastric ailments. 

“Daryl? Are you okay?”

“Go ‘way.” The reply was gravelly and weak. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” You replied softly, promptly walking away from the door. He was going to be ultra embarrassed after that, so you had to handle things carefully. The last thing you or he needed was for him to try and run because he was ashamed of things he had no control over. 

You set about cleaning up the kitchen, though it barely needed it. You kept everything spotless most of the time. Daryl was always out doing physical jobs while you helped with inventory or delivered meals to the elderly residents. He didn’t need to worry about the state of your home when he was able to be there. 

It was about half an hour before you heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on. It ran for longer than usual. You assumed he was washing his hands and rinsing his mouth. His toothbrush was upstairs but you made a mental note to ask for two more to keep downstairs. 

You were leaning on the kitchen island when he finally emerged. He was drenched with sweat, his face flushed from embarrassment or fever. Maybe both. His belt was still undone but his pants were zipped and buttoned. Poor guy looked like a wreck. 

“Hey.” You called softly, earning his attention. “You look awful. Are you okay?”

He nodded, the movement jerky. “Thank christ fer indoor plumbin’.” He rasped, joining you on the other side of the island. He leaned forward and placed his forehead on the cool surface of the countertop with a sigh. 

“Did you eat anything weird while you were out?” You circled the structure to stand by him and rub his back in slow, soothing circles. 

The bowman rolled his head back and forth against the countertop. “Nah. Jus’ the regular expired canned shit we could find.” It made you sad to think that this was the norm now. Relying on food that was far past the date of recommended consumption. 

“When did you eat last?” You rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles stiff and knotted. 

“Yesterday afternoon. Wanted ta get back. Didn’ go lookin’ fer anythin’ today.”

Still could be food poisoning. You’d have to ask if anyone else was sick. “Let’s get you upstairs. Think you can shower?” Daryl straightened with a grimace before nodding. You met his gaze with a gentle smile, bringing up a hand to sweep the damp hair away from his eyes. “Come on then.” A hand on the small of his back gently urged him forward, his shuffling steps and unsteady gait giving him the appearance of a living walker. 

You trailed behind him up the stairs, braced and ready in case he lost his balance, but the ascent was successful without any tumbling. The archer was shedding clothing before even reaching the bathroom, down to his jeans and socks by the time he was standing in front of the shower. 

“Do you need me to stay?” It was a reluctant question. Daryl hated it when you hovered but he was sick and exhausted so it was an offer you had to give him. 

“Nah. M’fine.” He was unzipping his jeans when you pulled the bathroom door closed behind you. 

The shower began running moments later, so you busied yourself with grabbing your own pajamas, turning down the bed, and pulling a chair over to his side. As an afterthought, you placed the room’s small wastebasket there as well. The shower was still running when you heard the unmistakable sounds of another round of vomiting, your heart clenching at the painful noises. 

“Daryl?” You called loudly enough for him to hear through the door and over the spray of water. 

“M’…m’okay.” A low, strained answer from the other side. 

With nothing else to do, you sat down on the end of the mattress to wait for him. The toilet flushed but the shower continued for several more minutes. There was a brief silence followed by a shuffle of clothing, and the sounds of him brushing his teeth. 

When the door finally opened, he looked clean in his sweats and t-shirt but no less miserable. His hair was still damp, beads of water dripping from the ends. Even as undesirable as the situation was, it was hard not to take note of how normal he looked dressed like that. It was as if you were a couple before the end of the world, spending an evening at home in comfort and without fear. But the reality was that fear was always lingering. Always. 

“Bedtime for you, mister.” 

He couldn’t even manage to scowl at you properly, ending up with a tired frown dripping with resignation. He was slow to lower onto the bed and said nothing when you pulled the blankets over him. 

“Anything need stitched or bandaged?” You asked, brushing his hair away from his face. There was always a warmth that crept into your chest when he didn’t flinch away from your loving touches. 

“Jus’ a few bruises. Nothin’ ta worry ‘bout.” When you fixed him with a skeptical stare, he sighed. “Promise.” Daryl didn’t take that word lightly and never used it carelessly. 

“Okay, try to sleep.” You perched yourself on the chair, noticing he couldn’t be bothered to care. He turned onto his side, facing you with his legs drawn up slightly. His stomach was surely angry and cramping, muscles tired from heaving on top of feeling nauseous. There was no hesitation in your hand resting just below his knee, rubbing the area in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. 

He was asleep within moments. 

Watching him grimace and tense without waking, you let your mind build scenarios and how you would handle them. If Rick came knocking with requests of the archer, you’d kindly tell him to get bent. If Carol came over, you could get her to fetch some things for you that would help keep him comfortable while he recovered. If he continued vomiting and couldn’t keep down the water at the very least, you’d need to leave long enough to grab Denise. 

Daryl woke suddenly, lurching over the side of the bed to retch into the wastebasket you had been smart enough to grab earlier. There was nothing left but acidic bile to bring up but it sounded no less brutal. You could do nothing but keep his hair out of the way and rub his back. There was a moment of consideration. Maybe if you could alert Denise, she would have something for the nausea. 

That train of thought was interrupted by the hunter shakily pushing himself back up only to sag back against his pillow. 

“Sucks.” He mumbled, eyes closed.  “Ain’t been sick since…S’been a long time.”

You were gently rubbing his stomach which he either didn’t notice or it felt nice so he allowed it to continue. 

“It won’t last forever.” You whispered, watching as he dozed off again. 

He was still resting comfortably when the knock came on the front door downstairs. Reluctantly, you rose from the chair, taking just another second to brush Daryl’s hair away from his eyes. He mumbled something, turning his head away, but remained asleep. You wanted to be quick.You just weren’t willing to leave him alone for long. 

“Hey!” Carol greeted with that gentle smile of hers. After all she’d been through, even with her apprehension about settling there in Alexandria, she was able to keep that kindness. Especially when it came to Daryl. 

“Hey.” You said, turning to look anxiously at the stairs. 

“What’s wrong? Where’s Daryl?” When you turned back to her, the smile was gone, replaced with growing concern. 

“He’s asleep. I need a favor. He’s sick. Could you grab a few things for him? Anything he might be able to keep down.” The other woman was already nodding. “Maybe put a bug in Denise’s ear in case she has anything for nausea.”

“Is he alright? Really?” Carol was leaning closer toward the doorway. It was obvious she wanted to go to him. 

“Yeah, he’s okay for now. He hasn’t thrown up in an hour or so but when he first got back…” You trailed off, looking back at the stairs again. “Could you please do all that for me? Then maybe come upstairs and see him? I know he won’t want anyone else seeing him like this. But you and me? We don’t count.” You smiled, knowing it was true. Carol and yourself were the only people Daryl was fully comfortable relaxing around. 

“You got it. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked.” You watched her swiftly descend the porch steps before closing the door and nearly sprinting up the stairs. The bowman was still sound asleep when you returned to the bedroom. He still looked pale but there was no fever, no signs of dehydration just yet. 

You made yourself comfortable in the chair, drawing up one knee to rest your chin on it. You’d be his silent sentinel until he was better. 

Whether he liked it or not. 

[mattyriddlegf]

The Stupid Closet (2)

Sorry I'm a day late! But here's chapter 2 of my story, I hope you all enjoy :)

Please feel free to comment that you want to be added to the taglist if you'd like!

-----------

The next morning you wake up with no hangover like you had intended. It took you a minute to realize that the kiss that happened last night was real, not just a dream. You kissed Mattheo. Mattheo Riddle.

You get out of bed, slipping on jeans and high top converse to match your slytherin sweatshirt. You walk to Theo’s dorm door, knocking. The door opens but it’s Mattheo at the door.

“I need to talk to Theo.” You say implying that it’s urgent.

“Theo!” Mattheo shouts without taking his eyes off you. You squirm just a bit in your shoes standing there. Mattheo’s eye contact felt too intense.

Mattheo opens the door more as Theo comes out and closes the door behind him.

“Can we talk?” You ask quietly.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Theo adds, still standing outside his door.

“Please Theo. We need to talk.” Theo sighs before walking out of the Slytherin house. Too many first years were lingering in the common room.

You find a staircase to sit on at the end of the hallway, completely silent and secluded.

“Ok, first of all I feel like I need to explain last night-” You start.

“There’s nothing to explain. It was for a game.” Theo shrugged, looking off into the distance.

“Theo, hey” You grab his chin and turn it towards you so he’s looking at you, “What’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me?”

Theo looks between your eyes for a second before responding, “I’m not avoiding you. I just-” He pauses.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” You say, still looking in his eyes.

“I was just thinking that we could be more than sleeping buddies” Theo responds quietly.

“What, you mean like…dating?” You respond as you tilt your head.

“Yeah, I mean like dating” Theo shrugs, “Does that surprise you?” he asks.

“Well, it’s not what I expected. Especially after last night.” You say as you laugh.

“Oh I want to kill Mattheo but it only made me realize that I wanted you all to myself” Theo responds pecking you on the lips after.

You back away, taking his hands in yours. You didn’t say a word, just staring at your joined hands. You hated that you were thinking about last night.

“You ok?” Theo asks.

“Yeah. I’m great.” You smile. You were so happy that Theo was turning out to be more than friends with benefits, it makes sense why he was a little distant, but you also couldn’t help thinking about the way Mattheo’s kiss lingered even now. 

“Is that why you were avoiding me?” You ask after standing up.

“Uh…I was a little nervous,” He admits, scratching his head sheepishly.

“Theodore Nott nervous? That’s so cute” you respond as he stands up, rolling his eyes.

You and Theo walk back to the Slytherin House, holding hands. As soon as you walk in, Pansy sees you two and squeals.

“Oh my god! I knew it!” 

Mattheo and Draco turn around, both sitting on the couch.

Mattheo scoffs, shaking his head as he turns back around. Nobody else seems to notice but you do.

“It’s not a secret anymore?” Draco jokes. 

“You knew?” You ask, sitting down next to him.

“Oh I’ve known since Mattheo saw you guys.” Draco comments. You glance over to Mattheo to see him watching your response. Of course Mattheo told.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask as Theo throws his arm over your shoulders.

“I wasn’t about to meddle in another one of your relationships. Remember the last time?” The last boyfriend you had (Cormac McLaggen) wanted you to cut off Draco completely and you refused. He made some mean comments and called you a few things and later in the day, Draco came back with a bloody lip and bruised fists.

The boys, even Mattheo, had always defended you throughout the years. 

“Well this has been fun but I’m gonna go shower now” Mattheo says, pursing his lips.

Mattheo walks off towards his dorm, everyone else now engaging in conversation about their classes.

“Hey I’ll be right back” You whisper to Theo before getting up and heading to his dorm. You lightly knock on the door, Mattheo opening it just slightly.

“What do you want?”

“Can I please come in?” You ask, practically begging.

“Whatever.” Mattheo says as he opens the door, letting you walk in and shutting the door behind you, “What is it?”

“You had no right telling Draco about Theo and I.” You blurted out, turning around to face him.

“Oh really? Because if I remember correctly, you told Snape that I was hooking up with some Ravenclaw last fall and we got house points taken from us” Mattheo retorts immediately.

“That was your own fault. You did it in the girls bathroom. During classes.” 

“And yet you were hooking up with Theo in MY room. I’m supposed to be here. Not you.” He raises his voice, pointing at you as he steps forward, “Speaking of, can you please not do it in my room every other night? You two are insufferable”

“You’re so overdramatic.” You run your tongue along the inside of your cheeks as you roll your eyes.

“Maybe but at least I don’t have a tramp stamp on my ass” Mattheo smirks, you standing about three feet apart from each other. This was him pushing your buttons.

“You saw that?” You cross your arms in front of you, cowering away a bit. 

“Oh honey, I saw all of it. Every single curve of your body.” Mattheo smiles wide as he steps closer, you two practically on top of each other at this point.

“I-” You didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry. Theo doesn’t know and I don’t intend for him to find out.” You hadn’t realized it but you had backed right into the post of Mattheo’s bed. He places his arm on the post, over your shoulder. He leans down before adding, “But look at how I have you stuttering”

“Fuck you.” You say, gritting your teeth. You duck under his arm to make your way to the door. You look back as you walk out and Mattheo is turning around with a small but noticeable smile on his face, again watching you with those brown doe eyes. You pause for a moment, considering saying something else, before turning around and closing the door behind you.

He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you cowering in front of him but he had completely blindsided you mentioning the one tattoo you had. You couldn’t explain why but you wanted to know what Mattheo thought of your body. Not that his opinion should matter but for whatever reason, it did.

You rejoin the group, sitting down next to Theo and leaning in. You were in a relationship, you were happy. But Mattheo’s breath felt like it was lingering on your skin. The smell of cigarettes and mahogany lasted in your nose, keeping your thoughts on Mattheo.

I wonder what he looks like right now in the shower…

Your mind started to drift to not so acceptable places until you were brought back to reality by Theo kissing your neck. The rest of the group had gone, leaving just you two.

“Hey pretty lady, where’s your mind at?” He asks. You couldn’t tell him that you were thinking about Mattheo naked…

“Just thinking about you…” You tell a little white lie.

“Oh yeah? What about me?” He smiles.

“Just how hot you are and how I haven’t had you since June…” You trail off, straddling his lap, kissing his neck. He groans, showing how you affect him instantly.

“Let’s take this to my room…” Theo purrs out, placing his hands on your lips. You stand up, him following. You drag him, holding his hands as you walk to the dorms. Instead of walking to his dorm, you walk to yours, thinking about what Mattheo said.

You both enter the room and lock the door behind you, hooking up for the first time this school year. You had to get your mind off Mattheo. You had to.

taglist: @helendeath @mayamonroem

[xxsycamore]

⊰∙ LUDUS ∙⊱

╰┈➤ Napoleon is your highschool sweetheart, and despite how close the two of you are, you're yet to have your first kiss. Now that you're both out of highschool and even the stress of your college entrance exam is behind you, you can't help focusing on your boyfriend and the things you want to experience with him...

Napoleon Bonaparte x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Horny Teenagers (they're 18-19 btw!); Modern Era; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Aged-Down Character(s); First Kiss; French Kissing; Making Out; Awkward Boners; No Sex • wordcount: 3,243 • masterlist

a/n: Here we are. After a whole damn day of thinking about this dream I had, I turned it into a fic. This was also a great chance to explore this dynamic that I really like! Intimacy where nothing feels rushed, even when they are both needy and curious about where it could lead. I really liked the overall nonchalant vibe this whole thing had in my dream and I tried to convey it here as well. Enjoy!

Sitting at the desk in your room, you can't help this subtle feeling of academic responsibility that eats at you. Even if your final year at high school is over now, with your college entrance exam coming up, you can hardly catch your breath. You wish you could be more like Napoleon… He never loses his cool, seemingly breezing through it all just as you always remember him to be. Not that you can be mad at him, especially not when he's been helping you so much with your studies in the past four years. Even before you two started dating.

You've come a long way now, it seems. Your teenage romance started at the very beginning of highschool, back when he caught your eye pretty much from the get-go. He was hard not to notice, anyway, being practically everywhere. The student council, the sports team, the literature club, never not stopping to talk to someone in the corridors, he was not only extremely popular but also good at academics. His only flaw was being extremely late for first class, every single morning, but that never truly affected his grades. You figured it's only to be expected, a busy student like him must be finding it hard to catch up on sleep. Except, when you accidentally found his secret napping spot in the school's attic, he revealed to you that he actually never sleeps less than 8 hours a night. Huh. You'd apologized many times for your intrusion - you figured even social butterflies like him need some alone time - but he still didn't mind you staying with him. This is how you unexpectedly came to know him better, once it became a regular meeting spot for the two of you. There was also this guy, Leonardo, something right between a delinquent and a genius - he'd join you from time to time, going as far as inventing a makeshift detector that would wake you all up in the event of a janitor or someone else approaching your hiding spot. Once you joked about the three of you forming a "napping club", and Napoleon laughed so much he nearly hit his head on the low ceiling. You were surprised, to say the least. Not unpleasantly so, but… it was quite the twist to his otherwise spotless prince charming reputation. From there on, once you discovered how easy is to make Napoleon laugh, it became one of your favorite things to do. Even in inappropriate situations. Especially in inappropriate situations. The dynamic of your friendship slowly changed as his polite side cracked to reveal the devil incarnated underneath, one that ruffles the top of your head and makes a mess out of it every single day. Of course, you didn't back down to him one bit, like a never-ending game of cat and mouse. Until at one point everyone around you knew what was going on, everyone but the two of you.

You'd never seen him as nervous as when he asked you out, but from there on, things between you have been going as smoothly as ever - that's it, if you count getting used to his romantic side first. Napoleon is nothing short of the perfect boyfriend, one that you're still not quite sure you deserve. He's spontaneous, but could very well plan ahead if he wishes to, when it comes to dates. He quickly fills your bedroom with various plushies he gifts you, and never shies away from physical affection either - holding hands, hugging, or just holding you close every chance he gets. And once he caught up on your sweet cravings during your periods, he made it a habit to bring your favorite chocolate when he comes over during those days...

The only thing that keeps you from being constantly head-over-heels for him to the point of not functioning normally is how much of a menace he can be sometimes. An absolute bully. Once again, in the current moment, he's done with his own studies far quicker than you are, and he's messing up with you instead.

"Look up, this time for real. C'mon."

He's standing behind your desk chair, "helping" you with your entrance exam material, but giving you the answers right away seems to be too easy for him. You don't know why you rest your back in your chair and do look up towards him - you don't know why he's in your room, to begin with - and he leans down and kisses your forehead. Just like that.

The soft sensation of his lips against your skin gives you butterflies, and you feel giddy against your own will. You can't help it.

"Don't get distracted now, Nunuche, you almost got it."

His large hands are resting on your shoulders, cupping them, caressing them slowly in something like an encouraging massage. It's like he can't decide if he wants your attention or if he wants to be of genuine help here. You don't remember him being this…needy. But perhaps you shouldn't be so surprised. With the hectic way everything has been the past month or so, forcing the both of you to be serious and responsible, he must be dying to become more lax for a change.

The next time he puts a sneaky kiss on your cheeks, of course, you're again chuckling at him, letting him tear down your concentration bit by bit - maybe it is indeed time for a break - until you feel your heartbeat speeding up with a dangerous thought crawling to your head. It's very bold, and you're not sure how he'd react but…

"Hey, lean over again? Just a little bit more. A liiitle bit—"

Even if it ends up being sort of upside-down, you easily manage to align your faces, and your lips touch Napoleon's. The sensation is somewhere between feather-light and bold enough for both of you to fully register the other's presence lingering there for a second. It's you and Napoleon's first kiss. In the short time you've been dating, the playful friendship between you did come to include those romantic gestures, the dates, the hugs, but somehow it never came to this. Neither felt the need to rush things. It's always been so natural, so you figured he wouldn't mind if your first kiss happened without unnecessary grandeur to it.

Even though he leans right into it without moving for the short duration of it, once the brief touch of his lips is gone you see him hiding his face in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Utter defeat. You laugh at him, letting the bubbly feeling in your stomach overtake the anxiety. Gods, now only if this prep work would take care of itself...

Time goes by, and at long last, you find yourself sharing the joy of passing your entrance exam, together with Napoleon. As a part of the celebration, you go to the movies that same night. For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to relax.

But now that your mind is free of one brand of thoughts, it just wants to fill itself with another. It's a cloudy afternoon, the sky darkened in what seems to be an upcoming storm, and you call Napoleon over. This weather simply calls for a nap! Without your favorite attic slash club room, you have to make do with your…what, super comfy bed covered with many pillows and the plushies he bought you? Seems like a bargain. Not that this is the first time Napoleon has been in your bed, the cuddle monster he is, but you haven't taken many naps there yet.

You want to suggest something to him today… It's strange, how anxious you're feeling, looking in the mirror for the tenth time in the past couple of minutes now. You were nervous about picking up your clothes for your nap date too, and ended up with a cutesy spaghetti-strap tank top and a pair of orange booty shorts. Just as you adjust the clothing some more on your hips, the doorbell rings. You rush to it with your bare feet on the cool floor tiles (heck, you really need to warm those up against Napoleon's own feet later!) and practically throw yourself at Napoleon before he even has the chance to take a step inside.

He's so soft to cuddle once he's in your bed, with his cotton black t-shirt and black sweatpants. Like one big teddy bear. The only thing missing is your sleepiness and that is, well, fundamental for the nature of your date. But you know the reason for that fairy well, and you decide to speak up before your boyfriend can fall asleep without you.

"Napoleon, say…"

"Mmm…?"

"How about we… kiss for a little bit? I feel like kissing."

A pair of turquoise eyes stare at you. While he doesn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, he doesn't mask his feelings well either. So it's weird that you can't tell what he's thinking right now, as he looks at you. Then he lets out a laugh.

"What's gotten into you?"

So, does he want to do it or does he not…? You breathe in noisily and start to fiddle with the hem of the blanket you're both under.

"Nothing, I just liked it, you know. Kissing you that one time at the desk. I wonder if we could do that again. We don't have to stop at that, even. No, I mean—…!!"

This time fully going into a hearty laughing fit, Napoleon turns on his back and covers his eyes with the back of his arm. He keeps that position even after his laughter dies down.

"By going all the way, you mean like, kissing with tongue?"

"W-Why do you feel the need to say it out loud?!"

You see him peeking at you, head turned to the side. His mouth is still blocked by his hand but you can swear he's smirking. You're starting to regret your suggestion,  but not because you don't want to french kiss him, but rather… because you're not sure you can be as nonchalant about this as you planned to be.

"Sure, let's do it. C'mere."

He spreads his arms in invitation, like it's winter again and he's going to give you a nice warm cuddle. You're so used to his touch, his smell, his loud presence, yet you feel shivers when you nestle your head on his bicep. Napoleon tips your chin up, and your noses almost bump with how close you are. After simply staring into each other's eyes for a little bit, Napoleon wheezes and turns his head towards the ceiling again. You furrow your brows.

"Stop messing with me!"

"I'm sorry, Nunuche, it's just— snrk— you're serious about this, aren't you?"

Your legs start feeling restless under the blanket as your blood boils. He's the worst.

"You can just say you don't feel like it! Jeez!"

Before you can completely change your position, Napoleon captures your chin between his thumb and index fingers - firmer than what he did last time - and leans in for a kiss. It's another chaste one. But it's welcomed. It's exactly what you remember sharing with him, what you craved a taste of.

When you withdraw from each other, neither of you keeps their previous expression - no sign of mischief on his or of frustration on your face. You're back to staring at each other, with something akin to need. Something unexplored.

Napoleon's lips come near to yours again, but he waits for you to be ready to close the distance on your own. And you do so, without hesitation. You still want this as much as in the beginning, no, you want it even more now that he provoked you. Napoleon's lips part slightly. The drumming of your heart echoes into your ears as your tongue meets his, and- what are you supposed to do now?

Napoleon chuckles and the sound is so close to you, as if resonating inside your own head. He takes the lead, like he's always done for you - his tongue moving between your lips, prodding them open, caressing. His tongue feels… weird, but it's something you quickly get used to. You don't want to be passive, so you try imitating what he does. Why is he so good at this? Actually, you can't quite judge what's good or bad with your lack of experience. He pulls out, breathing softly while looking at you, checking for reactions from you. You use the chance to ask.

"Have you done this a lot before?"

"What, do you think I've fooled around like this with others? You're my first love, Nunuche, I think I've told you that."

You can only guess it's due to your heart already being put on racing mode that you don't die over his words, but then the realization makes your eyes widen.

"So how do you know what you're doing?"

"I don't. I just do what feels good. Here, let's try again."

You manage to nod before he dives into it again, a little excited almost. You're quicker to open up for him this time, and his warm tongue dances around yours again. While eagerly returning the gesture, your teeth accidentally clank into his. But neither pays too much mind to it, simply continuing. You try to breathe through your nose as much as you can, but you still end up letting out a small noise, a grunt, like you're out of breath. Napoleon always finds it hard not to touch a part of you while you're close - you're almost surprised he kept his hands to himself all the way until now, or maybe that means he's been extra concentrated on what he's doing. Either way, his right hand finds your shoulder, gently caressing it. It's only when he starts nudging you to rise up that you understand his intentions, and you oblige. It's indeed better when you're sitting up in bed instead of lying down. Finding the right position is a bit awkward as you thought you'd be alright sitting on your folded knees, but you need to be even closer, so you end up sitting in his lap. As if pulled by a magnet, you never withdraw from the kiss the whole time until you settle nicely into the new arrangement and it stops mattering altogether.

Napoleon tries something new, sucking on your bottom lip before tugging slightly on it using his teeth. It's playful, and he gives you a second of eye contact and that look in his eyes already makes you want to return the gesture - you've been copying him tit for that all this time, frankly. Exploring each other like that feels good, even if it's strange. Like skipping ten steps ahead, but also like you want to keep making progress. As if there's a secret new technique you're about to discover next, so you have to try it all. Your restless fingers run through the dark hair at the back of his head. You've always found this part of him attractive, and it seems very appropriate to caress him that way right now. He, in turn, grabs your waist with both hands, moving them slowly up and down. It feels nice. You're a bit sensitive, more so than when he normally pets you there and there. Something like a mewl comes out of your lips, and Napoleon sucks on your tongue. It's like he purposedly goes into it harder when it's about time to let go and catch a breath. Doesn't he know you'll just end up making more troubled noises that way…?

You initiate another kiss, all too soon, and his soft pants are hot little huffs of air against your lips when you capture them. He too, makes some noises, you've never heard those, not even when he's short of breath after a practice. Not when he takes you to the local manège on the weekends, riding on the back of his favorite mare there that he takes care of. Your fingers travel further up, where the strands of hair are longer, and you tug a little. Napoleon makes another noise, and your stomach sinks for some reason.

"Is that enough kissing for you, Nunuche?"

You blink your eyes into focus - realizing you had them closed for a few whole minutes now, and the room has gotten quite dark on top of that because of those clouds outside. There's a pout on your lips, even if you never planned to get so into it… But you gotta agree, it's getting a bit too much for your heart already. So you sigh, carefully backing out of his lap.

"Can't believe that got you feeling sleepy! No, don't tell me, I know… It's a five-star rarity type of weather for a nap, right? Can't miss on that."

"You're funny, Nunuche."

The comfort of your bed is welcomed after how stiff your muscles got during your little session. Okay, maybe you are a little sleepy. Or maybe that's because of how long you were out of breath, you must have gotten a little dizzy. Facing away from Napoleon is not too bad, especially now that you're a little shy to look at him, and you're craving for some more familiar kind of touch, one that doesn't make your heart explode. So you nuzzle back into him, nudging him into a spooning position. He seems somewhat hesitant, so you try again… and you feel something hard poking you in the rear. Your face heats up.

"Oh my god, Napoleon, you're—"

"I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

You feel bad about him apologizing, and worry about him getting the wrong idea because you instantly put some distance between yourself and him in the heat of the moment.

"Please, it's me who should apologize! I suggested this and didn't realize you'd get— um—…Y-You can leave if you want to, you'd probably want to—"

"It's fine, don't think about it, okay? As long as it doesn't bother you, I mean. Or if you want me to leave—"

"I don't! I mean, unless you want to! I'd understand if you need to— take care of it… you know…"

In a rare moment where both you and Napoleon are feeling awkward, not even looking each other in the eye, you don't expect him to laugh, yet here he is.

"W-What's so funny now! Honestly, Napoleon…!"

"Nothing, it's just… You can be so brave with your actions yet you feel shy saying some things out loud. I'm sorry, I just find it cute. Come on, Nunuche, just go to sleep already."

The pout is back on your lips, and in response, you just let out a small "hmph" noise before pulling the blanket up to your nose. Despite having a head full of racing thoughts, you soon find yourself dozing off. In the last moment before you drift to the land of dreams, you sense movement on the bed, and it seems like Napoleon is leaving it. He's out of the room, seemingly going in the direction of the bathroom…? You're not quite sure, because the sound of his footsteps gets lost together with your consciousness. When you wake up later, you wonder if he'd let you kiss him again. Do you have to worry about giving him boners every time you two kiss now? That would be such a shame, you really liked doing that with him...

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison   @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita @nightvers @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[stagvixen-exploration2]

A party at a friend's house turns into a fun night of naughty shenanigans with friends...

At first it was a regular weekend party, just a random get together to bbq and reconnect with friends. Max, a very long time friend of mine, and his lovely wife Amy, liked to host these sort of parties every summer. The grill was hot, the Cornhole bags were flying, the drinks were flowing, and the pool felt great on a hot summer afternoon. We had a great time socializing, but as the night went on, everyone slowly started to filter out. One here, a couple there, until it was only a few of us left. Max and Amy were tired from the chaos and a little drunk so they decided to turn in early but told everyone to make themselves at home. Next to the pool was a hot tub, and several of the guests had made their way that direction. The people that had been in for a bit were getting out to leave as we made our way down there with our friends. There was one random guy, Mike, left in the hot tub as we got in. I'd known him since high school and he was honestly a little weird. Our crew comprised of myself, and my sexy wife Leah that I'd been on many sexy adventures with. We are a stag and vixen couple and know how to have some fun, especially in the water. Then there was Summer and Austin, Summer a childhood friend of mine that I'd known for the better part of 20 years, was now fully grown and married to Austin. The two made a good looking, fit and active couple in their late 20s. We were having an incredible time with the other couple and really vibing.

Music. Drinks. The warmth from the tub, all lead to some serious sexual tension. Mike, the random, could feel it in the air between the two couples. He saw the flirting, the touching and fully knew what was about to happen, he wasn't budging either. He really badly wanted in on it, but we didn't want him there for the fun that was about to be had. Luckily Mike was extremely drunk and only getting worse as time passed in the hot water. We were able to eventually convince him he needed to go in and lay down. Problem solved.

Now down to just the four of us, the conversation and vibe got even more sexual. The girls had started playing "never have I ever" which lead to Summer saying, with a giggle, "never have i ever been spotroasted!". To which Leah put a finger down. Summer gasped and jokingly poked fun at her for the naughty deed. Leah replied, "you gotta try it sometime! It feels so good to be getting taken from behind while you have a nice hard on in front of you to suck on!". Summer said "it doesn't sound all that bad. Maybe we should give it a try!?" At that I gave Leah a wink and she knew they were in. I told Austin he could sit next to Leah if he'd like with a sly grin. Excitedly he looked at his wife for a nod of approval. Which she granted. As we shifted around so he could sit next to Leah, I ended up really close to Summer. Now, "how to get these girls naked" I asked myself, simple. I asked them, "You both have pretty nice tits but which one of you has the better nipples?" And with that the tops came off to compare.

Summers breasts were a thing of beauty. Large, perfectly shaped, and fantastic looking. I'd always enjoyed seeing her tits when she'd get drunk and pull them out on our yearly float trips. Leahs breasts while not quite as big, were still perfect and very fun to look at. Firm, perky and not a flaw to be found, I had always loved playing with and sucking on her nipples. And never to be shown up, she also didn't mind pulling them out either! Austin, picking up on the game, said "well I know what Summers tits feel like, and Tyler knows what Leah's feel like, I should probably feel Leah's and Tyler should feel Summers.... You know for science" the girls shrugged in agreement and guided our hands to their chests. Perfect.

After that it was on. Leah and Summer, with a surprising idea, wanted to see what each other's husband's thought of their blowjob skills. The girls had us stand up, helped us out of our swim trucks and had us sit on the edge of the hot tub. Kneeling down in front of Austin, Leah was the first with a cock in her mouth, bobbing and licking, twisting and stroking with enthusiasm. I knew exactly how good that felt. Summer and I watched in amazement for a few minutes before she went down on me. Except she didn't go straight for my erection. Instead she took my large balls into her mouth, while licking at the base of my sack, nearly licking my ass. What an incredible feeling. After she treated my balls to her warm mouth, she then pulled back and took my entire shaft down her throat in one quick, swift motion. While not quite as good as Leah, it was one of the better blow jobs I'd ever had. However the girls didn't want us to cum yet, so they stopped short and said it was their turn. Fair enough.

We repositioned once again, I sat back in the hot tub, and Summer climbed into my lap. She had removed her bottoms and for the first time I could feel her cleanly shaved pussy lips gliding over the head of my penis. Even in the water, I could tell how wet she excited she was. I so badly wanted to slide into her. But I had to wait. Summer slid down my body far enough to have her butt cheeks resting on my knees, she rocked back, her head next to mine, facing away from me, I hoisted her out of the water. Fully exposed to all of us and looking damn sexy with the warm water evaporating off her tattooed skin into the cool night air. Summer had wanted her pussy eaten and Leah was quick to volunteer, which surprised me. She'd never really shown an interest in girls. Summer spread her legs while I caressed her breasts and explorered her body with my hands. Leah then stood up in front of us, full nude and also looking sexy as hell. She leaned over and started making out with Summer, tongues wrestling in each other's mouths. Leah, bending at the waist, worked her way down, licking, pinching, lightly biting and sucking Summers erect nipples. She worked her way down her body before diving in to lick Summers clit. She used every trick I had ever used on her and had Summer shaking in no time. Two fingers between her tight lips and a tongue dancing across Summers little button, she was on the verge and ready to orgasm. What a sight to see. Leah looked so sexy bringing another woman to orgasm.

Summer, Leah and I were in our own little world and had barely noticed that Austin had moved around behind Leah and was fingering her. Summer and I finally noticed when Leah abruptly stopped eating pussy and got a contorted look of pleasure on her face. Austin had eased into her and began to slowly move in and out. He was several deep and long strokes into my wife before Summer, in a moment of clarity, told him to stop. She wasn't down with going that far tonight. So he stopped and pulled his erection from my wife's velvety walls. Summer also said she wasn't ready to experience that spitroast just yet either. But she wanted to watch Leah do it.

With everyone fully on board with that idea, I got up and spun Leah around, bending her over to take her from behind. I quickly slid my throbbing cock into her already extremely wet pussy. She then took Austin into her mouth too resume her fantastic blow job, which prompted a quick chain reaction. It was mere seconds before Austin was pumping shot after shot of hot cum down Leah's throat. Seeing this, I couldn't hold back anymore, I quickened my pace just before flooding her cervix with my sticky sperm, causing Leah to start squirting and orgasming to seizure like convulsions. As she was quivering, coming down from her orgasm, we looked over to see Summer had used her fingers to finish herself while watching the rest of us.

Things wrapped up pretty quick after that. Everyone exited the hot tub and got dressed, we headed home while Summer and Austin spent the night there. The next morning I got a text from Max. The text simply read, "so about this video on my security system from the back porch.... When's it my turn?"

It took a few weeks, but boy did he ever get a turn 😉

[billthedrake]

STANDING HALL PASS

"Hey," came his sexy voice as he let me into the hotel room. He had that killer smile that first made me crush out on the guy - when he first had that press conference for his hire my dick stood up immediately at his easygoing masculinity.

It still does. "Hey, Coach," I grinned, stepping in to follow him. This wasn't a date, but I tried to look my best for him. Sport coat, dress shirt, hair product in. Maybe because I'd met him smarted up in a blazer for an athletics award bruncheon. I was certainly overdressed now... the man had on sweatpants and an oversized team sweatshirt.

"You're looking good, G," Don said. "I got you a beer from room service," he offered, sitting down at the table. It wasn't a luxury hotel but it was a pretty nice room.

Coach Hartman and I had been having an affair for ten solid years now, and I was getting used to this phase. And to the man's desire to have a conversation before we fucked. So I sat down and we made chit chat, talked about the Broncos game the next day and my promotion at work.

It wasn't always like this. I was an Ohio State lax bro when we met, riding my youthful horniness and feeding of Coach Hartman's pent up sexual energy. We had some exploratory hookups at first, with wild, fevered sex, until we figured out a way to meet more frequently. I was living the dream, indulging my desire to top an older man, a man old enough to be my dad. That he was an honest to god NFL coach stud made me feel like I'd gotten the ultimate prize every time.

Then Don told me he had to break it off. Maybe a combination of guilt and fear of getting caught. I was from the Cincinnati area and I'd hung after graduation, but I knew it would suck being there and not being able to bone Hartman any more. Seeing him on the local news all the time, knowing he was just miles from where I lived. When I half lied and mentioned I was thinking of relocating to a different city, I saw the relief in his face and that nearly broke my heart. "I'd never ask that of you, Grant, but that would be for the best," he said.

So I moved to Denver. Had a great job and was into the outdoor culture. Even made some good friends quickly. But Denver is a young city and didn't have as many bottom daddies as I craved. Still, I was a good looking ex-jock, I did OK. And I took some vacations to Palm Springs that let me scratch my dadfucking itch.

It was about two years to the day when I heard from Don. He was still "William" in my contacts for the messaging, since I'd entered his middle name for anonymity sake. "How are you doing Grant?" was all it read.

The rest was history, I thought, as Hartman and I made small talk now, eye contact getting heavier. I kicked off my sneaker and ran my foot along his anke.

"You're making me hard," he whispered.

"That's the point, right, Don?" I teased. Working my foot higher.

He grunted and with a nod, raised his hips off the chair to pull down his sweats. The man was going commando and his smaller, thick tool stood up from the forest of grayish brown pubes. His legs weren't as toned as when we first started fooling around, but the man kept in shape.

I peeled off my socks and undid my jeans, not taking them off yet but letting my hardon have some breathing room in my briefs. I scooted the chair to angle us facing one another, allowing my foot to travel up his inner thigh, teasing him more. I don't know that either of us were into foot play, but this was novel and sexy, and I got off seeing Don's dadcock twitch.

"You sure you want to be with a 60 year old?" Coach asked, with a glint of flirting but also an insecurity there. He'd just had his birthday the previous week. Just as I'd had my 30th milestone the previous summer.

"Sure I'm sure," I replied. I breathed deep and felt my cock throb. I was glad it was no longer so constrained. "You sure you wanna be with a guy who gets turned on by fucking a 60 year old?"

I thought maybe I was going too far. Like a lot of guys, Don didn't like to think of himself as old, and he'd bristled any time I brought up any "dad" or "daddy" talk. But his spike jerked some, and I moved my foot up to tease his hairy balls sac and his short shaft.

He gave me a sly grin. "Maybe you have more of a granddaddy kink than a daddy one," he laughed.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "Would that bug you?" I challenged him.

He laughed. "Honestly, Grant? I don't fucking know." This was Hartman in his laid back mode, more laid back than I'd seen him in a while. I liked this version of him, I decided.

I played with his exposed genitals some more, getting into the new kind of foreplay. "Well, 60 or not, you're hot as fuck, Don."

He smiled at me, those trademark dimples forming, then lifted up his sweatshirt. It was a gesture that said he was self conscious he didn't have the body he did at 50. But a gesture that said he was seeking my approval.

I gave it to him. "Seriously, Coach," I grunted. "Your body is incredible. All of you." I wasn't laying it on thick, it was the truth. I was now partnered with my boyfriend Kevin, who twelve years older and a total bottom who indulged my incest kink. But I'd been up front with him that I had a married fuck bud who was going to stay in the picture. A famous guy who'd remain anonymous. Kevin actually suspected it was Tim Ryan since I'd fantasized, crudely and out loud, about that man being my bottom bitch more than once.

Kevin had actually called things off with me, until he decided he could live with me hooking up with mystery man 2 or 3 times a year. I'd get a text from "William" and drop any plans I had to come over to the hotel Don was staying at.

Like now. Hartman was feeding off my praise and my clear lust. I pulled out my cock and let him see not only its size but how hard the man was making me.

"Why don't you come over and suck it, Coach," I hissed. I'd played up the alpha jock thing when we first met. Hartman had to get me to tone it down a little, since usually he was more likely to put out for a buddy rather than a dom type. But on occasion, I'd order him around and on occasion he'd get excited by it.

It never got old seeing the middle-aged man naked and hard, getting into servicing position between my legs. Even more as I realized he wouldn't be middle aged much longer.

I grunted as his hands ran along my jeans and his head came closer. His hair was grayer now, much grayer, almost bristly with the silver. I ran my hand through its short length and felt him hiss, just before his tongue made contact with my dick.

Don Hartman wasn't a good cocksucker when we met. That gave me a source of pride, that I was the one who trained him, taught him the way to treat a dick. If I wasn't into fucking so much and if Coach didn't have such an amazing ass, I'd be happy sticking to a nice BJ and calling it an evening.

But it had been too long since we'd gotten together. So I'd let Hartman work me up, tease me to a full fuck-hard. And maybe he wanted to indulge his newfound oral fixation, too. Fine by me. I just pulled him off when I got too close.

"You didn't have me come over just to suck me, did you, Coach?" I growled.

Don's fist now encircled my spit wet prick. "Nah, G.... I need this in me, man. You know that?" His face blushed red at the admission. Carrying on an affair with Hartman was an emotional mine field, but I learned to embrace that part of it, too.

I ran my thumb along his cheek. Still can't believing the man I lusted for in my high school years was here with me now, still... again. "I know, Coach.... you know it turns me on to hear you say it."

He gave me a sexy smile. The embarrassment not giving way fully but transforming into something else. "You know, I thought I could go cold turkey... when you moved away...."

That hit me deep. Maybe I was the one going on the emotional rollercoaster with Don. My whole hand now patted his cheek, stroking his face tenderly. A part of me wanted to give him a slap, but he and I didn't have that dynamic and never would. "I'm here now, Don.... maybe it's once a year, maybe it's more. Whenever you need this cock, tell me, OK?"

He nodded, almost grateful. Fuck, my dick throbbed and started leaking. Hartman's eyes watched excitedly. "Maybe I can fly you out East sometime. If your boyfriend would be OK with that." We had an asymmetrical understanding. Don could talk about Kevin, but his family was off limits to discuss when we hooked up.

"He'll be fine," I replied, reassuring him. Don still had major cheating guilt, but his one stipulation was that he was not going to be a homewrecker for me. "He knows I need this."

With that I leaned forward. Don leaned up and met me. We didn't always kiss, particularly in that "it's just a fuck" phase when we rekindled our affair. But lately, Coach had been open to it. So I greedily kissed back, working as much game as I could into each lip lock.

It wasn't entirely romantic, though. I was horny, and Hartman was crazy pent up. Maybe his wife hadn't been putting out much lately. Or maybe he'd just missed a man's touch after too long. I put no claim on the man, but I knew I was the only guy he fooled around with.

I stood up, and Don was a half beat behind. We embraced and I let Don help me take off my clothes. I was regretting now that I hadn't come in casual attire like Don, because I would be naked now. Sometimes the slow stripping is fun, but just then I wanted to get naked with this hunk of a granddaddy. It had been too long.

"GOD!" Don hissed as I finally peeled off my shirt. I hit the gym pretty regularly and I guess I was in even better shape than last time we'd hooked up. His hands greedily ran over my muscle.

I let him explore my body, then softly patted his ass. "On the bed, Coach. Face down."

He grinned and nodded. I watched him crawl up on the bed, pulling down the covers and settling into a comfortable position. I got up behind him and took a second to massage those daddy buns, feeling just what a 60 year man felt like. Hartman was the oldest guy I'd ever been with, and I found a strange thrill in that. He wasn't the man I first fucked ten years ago, but mentally I still had 50 year old Don in my head and loved the way that fed into the 60 year stud in front of me. Oscillating back and forth, each version bringing out the hotter part of the other.

I leaned in and started burying my face in his ass.

This was my calling card. Before me, Hartman didn't realize he loved getting eaten out so much. After our first time together, he knew that's what he'd been missing. Sometimes our rim sessions would be epic, but tonight it was just going to be intense. Maybe 5 minutes of me feasting on the coach hole I missed so much.

Hartman was worked up too much too. Within a minute he was bucking his hunky ass into my face, challenging me to hold his hamstrings or hips down to steady him. I did just that and powerdrilled my tongue in and out.

I couldn't take any more though. Thankfully Don had set out some lube. I slicked myself up and fingered a good bit into his hole. I knew he'd be tight, which was great but also not. Gently I guided him up to into a doggy position.

He was horny but also a little nervous. I patted his lower back and massaged his muscle some while my other hand worked my lubed pole along his crack and over his pucker.

"It's like riding a bike, Coach," I assured him.

He chuckled. "I want you to open me up again, G," he hissed.

I did. Bluntly I applied force to his ring, until I popped through. I actually wasn't skilled at this when I was 20 but I had it down now... force, then restraint, perfectly timed. I breached that coach hole and then held the breach still so the man could get comfortable with a dick in him again.

"Feeling good, Coach?" I asked when I felt the vicelike spasms let up.

"Jesus, G, you have no idea," he answered. "Go ahead... I'm all yours, buddy."

The magic words. I pushed all the way inside Don Hartman, feeling every bit of warmth and snugness and getting off on his mature muscle. Dad, Granddad... who the fuck cared who he was in my psyche just then. I gave gentle but deep strokes. All the way in, all the way out. I used his hips for leverage, slowly.

"Fuck me, Grant... oh god yeah..." Don hissed in time to my cock. Hartman may take a lot of work to break in sometimes, but when the man got into it, he really got into it.

My fingers gripped around his waist tighter and I fucked harder. I was amazed I was able to hold off this long, but it was gonna happen soon. I was gonna spunk the insides of one of the league's best coaches. I pounded faster, even, feeling so close. I didn't know how close Don was, but his hand was now on his spike, working himself in sync to the fuck I was throwing him.

"Goddamnit, Coach, I'm gonna cum... gonna cum inside you," I announced.

Maybe Don was close already. Or maybe the idea of my sperm shooting in him was the trigger. But I watched his back muscles tense and I heard his deep orgasmic grunt. Hartman was beating me to the finish line by a split second.

My prick fired heavy inside him. Several full jets of my cum flooded his raw NFL coach ass, soaking it full. I always felt like I had won a prize trophy after nailing Hartman, but I also liked to think I was giving him his own personal trophy and keepsake.

I slowed my hips and finally stopped, leaning down to kiss between his shoulder blades before I pulled out.

"That was incredible, Coach," I said. I felt I could never praise this man enough and in the afterglow I always felt grateful as hell.

He had a content smile when he rolled onto his back. The next time I'd have to do him missionary and take advantage of seeing his more mature body. "That it was, G." His hand reached forward and felt up my thigh muscle. "Maybe we can shower off together?"

I still never knew which Hartman I was gonna get. The man who'd be quiet and standoffish after orgasm. Or the one who wanted some intimacy after. But I rolled with the punches. I offered a hand and helped him out of bed.

We actually didn't kiss much in the shower, but it was amazing feeling up each other's body, soaping and rinsing.

When we dried off and got back into the main part of the room, I knew not to push my luck. "I know you have a big game tomorrow, Coach," I said, walking over to find my briefs.

"Yeah," he said. "But if you wanna come over tomorrow night... we can go a little longer then."

I knew I'd have to make this up to Kevin somehow. A whole weekend with another man. But I also knew I'd be back in this hotel room, probably overnighting here. I wasn't gonna pass up on that chance.

"That'd be awesome, Coach," I said, stepping up to get one last kiss. This time it was Don who didn't want to break it off. I felt my dick stir and knew I could go again with this coach hunk, but I would save it for tomorrow night.

I grinned as I pulled back. Maybe cocky, which I tried to keep in check around Don. But he smirked at my reaction. "Jesus, G... you haven't changed a bit since you were in college."

That wasn't true. But I knew what he meant. And I knew he was like me, getting off on the dynamic between me 10 years ago and me now. And liking that difference.

I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say that would be better than the afterglow we were feeling. So I got dressed, eye contact still heavy on Don as he sat, naked and content in his chair, watching me and finally finishing the last of his beer. I picked up my sportcoat... I could put it on later. Tomorrow, I'd definitely be casual.

"Just text me tomorrow and let me know what you're feeling," I instructed. Sometimes Don wasn't in the mood for sex after a tough game, and I always wanted to give him an out.

"You know I will, G," he said. That happy-go-lucky smile getting a more serious paternal look. "Thanks again for coming over."

"Anytime, Coach," I said. "You know that." I patted my pocket to make sure I had my phone. Then I bid him good night.

[m1d-45]

my take on sagau lore / logistics

summary: sagau lore! includes you the creator, self-awareness, khaenri’ah, celestia, literally everything i could think of

word count: ~4.1k

-> warnings: spoilers for literally everything bar the sumeru archon quests. khaenri’ah lore, kaeya + albedo lore, celestia lore, archon quests, all of it. i ramble and stray off topic and swear while doing so.

-> lowercase intended. forgive the format pls

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

< masterlist >

ok, so, just off the top of it, let’s address the largest problem with this au, specifically my genre of it:

how can teyvat be real if it’s a game?

great question! the answer is that it’s both.

i haven’t thought this through entirely, only enough that i personally can suspend my disbelief about the fics i read, but the way i see it is that you, the creator, made teyvat a billion (or more idk) years ago. you made the people—or the animals, if you still wanna subscribe to evolution—the lands, the waters and the mountains. everything was carefully pulled and molded by your hands, your influence stretching to how the wind blew.

(that’s because the god who controls it wants your attention so badly but whoooo that’s cultish territory)

anyway. fast-track past the archon war, yeah? after that was sorted, you began to hand out visions, personally at first before assigning celestia to do so. there were simply too many people, and you could not judge them all. it would not be fair.

so you didn’t.

but i’d be lying if the archon war didn’t take a toll on you. you’d been influencing it from the sidelines, carefully making sure as few innocents were harmed as possible, trying to keep the terrain intact. you were technically fighting, but on the side of teyvat itself.

(it loved you for it. every blade of grass and leaf on a stem sung your praises.)

micromanaging like that, across an entire planet, let alone trying to simultaneously set up the constellations you wanted for vision holders… you’re exhausted.

now, you could, in theory, just burrow down into the heart of the earth and rest, but that felt… impersonal, almost. you still wished to look after your world, you just wanted to have a little less responsibility while you did so.

so you left the planet, momentarily, leaving that entire universe behind, and made another. it was, admittedly, not your best work, worse than even the rest planets you tried before teyvat, but you were tired. you half-heartedly scattered some resources, salted the water, and placed the beginnings of life. with a final goodbye to celestia, you allowed your soul to rest in the core of this new planet you called ‘earth.’

now, you weren’t just going to sit there, no. as the people above lived, oblivious to the god resting in the molten core, your subconscious pulled some strings. not enough to influence wars—so many wars, so much cruelty and bloodshed—or any major occurrences, but enough to shift some small details around. these people would start a company. this game would be launched. and when you, your soul, had finally recovered from the ordeal of managing a whole planet, a child would be born.

you knew mortal minds had a hard time conceptualizing the divine, let alone dealing with the knowledge that they were one, so you made the executive decision to remove your memory. call it a product of your pity, but you decided you’d live a human life here before returning to teyvat. the world’s time difference shouldn’t make it that much longer for your lovely followers, only about a year or so, so it would be fine. you set up some dominoes, then allowed yourself to be mortal when they fell.

bad call. turns out you shouldn’t try and fudge space-time when you’re overworked and burnt out. the time dilation ended up being reversed, meaning an average life of 80 years was 4,800 years for your followers.

still, not all was lost! you, human, came into contact with a device, came into contact with advertisements from a company you, god, had a heavy hand in. the world you had loved carefully recreated, admittedly with far less detail and nuance, but what could you expect of the technology at the time?

as you downloaded the game, a final domino fell into place. the traces of divinity in your blood bled into your machine, turning the screen from a screen, and into a portal.

billions of billions of light years away, exiting this universe and entering another, two twins approached your world. they had witnessed you build it all but frowned at your lack of presence. their world, one of many that you had also crafted, still was visited by you from time to time, but this... where had you gone? were your people okay?

they approached, only to be stopped by one of celestia’s guards. boiling red cubes stung the air, lashing at their sides as she—the sustainer, she said—fought. the two drew back, sharing a look, and when they dove-

your light filled the air, time seeming to slow to a crawl. your chosen traveller sucked in a breath, feeling the familiar aura envelop them. even as their twin was swallowed, as their stomach opened into a pit and their heart crumbled, as gravity took hold of their suddenly much weaker form, you were there.

and so your journey in teyvat began once more, this time not as the creator, but as the creation.

that’s the basic lore down. yes, i know ‘basic’ took nearly 1k words on its own, but oh well. anyway, now onto some other details outside of that, such as….

the raiden shogun!

the visions were signs of your favor—not that the comman man knew that, but the gods did—so why would she ever confiscate them? simple; after you had started giving out visions, you had first passed the duty to celestia, and then… left. it’s reasonable, in her mind, that the visions were sapping at your energy, keeping you away even longer. she hoped, in a twisted sort of desire, that she could hasten your return. celestia had tried to stop her, stopping giving out electro visions, but it wasn’t enough. other visions were still in her lands, and she needed to remove them. if only on her isle of eternity, anything harming you would not be allowed.

the tsaritsa!

ok, i admit, i’m not sure how much of what i’m about to say is canon. i watch too much game theory to be 100% sure that this is Actual Lore, but… whatever. so the tsaritsa is collecting all these gnoses, right? the gods’ connection to celestia? just… kinda taking them, collecting these connections, weakening celestia so she can take it down. her reasoning is very similar to ei’s, in that you created celestia and imbued it with some of your power. however, you must have accidentally given too much, wanting them to thrive, and had weakened yourself. so, she figures, by taking down celestia, she can restore you your strength!

but wait, you ask, why not do a vision hunt decree like the shogun? simple! you gave out visions before you involved celestia, so they clearly aren’t the problem. besides, she thinks there’s a lovely poetic quality to taking down celestia with soldiers bearing weapons they awarded.

delusions!

it’s people sabotaging their health to pretend their strength is god-given, not much changes in this au. there’s implications between it and the tsaritsa’s motives for gnosis-hunting—notably if she’s taking down celestia because your strength was drained, why drain the strength of her people—but that’s ~not my problem~

morax?

morax!!! silly boy. anyway, he doesn’t see any problem with stepped down as an archon, if that’s your worry. after all, you yourself left, letting the people run themself, so…. surely he could—should, even—do the same. he feels maybe a bit bad about leaving liyue without anything, but soothes himself knowing they don’t know you’re gone. most mortals don’t, really. but in a similar vein…

venti!

venti feels the same way. if anything, his conviction is even stronger. you left your people—not entirely, admittedly, but still, you did—so he should be able to as well. he knew you had left celestia in your wake, but he had left the knights! and surely, to be overly-controlling was worse, right? you had allowed decarabian to fall, so you must not want dictators(a good thing, as he doesn’t know how he’d handle you going against one of his most core virtues).

celestia!

for the sake of the au, celestia will be kinda proxy rulers of teyvat. i know there’s probably some lore out there suggesting otherwise, likely something in the 3.2-3.3 archon quests, but i haven’t done those and so it can’t be held against me. anyway, you’re tired after the war right? so you decide, as plan A, to create celestia as a council of proxy rulers, to enact your ideals—the heavenly principles—and take care of things. this goes south, because the act of creating celestia drains even more of your strength, and you really hadn’t taken a break since you started creating teyvat so maybe it’s time to pick up plan B off the back burner…

(in celestia’s opinion, burrowing into the earth should have been plan B. taking a nap in a gilded palace should have been plan C. leaving the planet entirely was the nuclear option.)

paimon!

OOOOHHHHH BOYYYYY the emotions i have about this little fairy aidjwrkfkkds

anyway. the way i see it, she’s a manifestation of the remaining divine energy in your body/teyvat. pick your favorite, the end result is the same: she’s attached to your traveller, to you, your device. she can vaguely sense the buttons you have—which is why the tutorial changes across platforms—and loves whenever you open the paimon menu, because she can bask in your light all the more. off camera, her and the traveller gush about you. canon, i said so.

anyway, she’s the one that gives us the ability to time travel so the way i see it, she has to be at least a little divine, or be able to wield power of that strength.

take a shot every time i say strength this fic

i have some feelings about the time mechanic, most notably that it’s likely an alteration of the (very scuffed) time dilation system you implemented, but i’m writing this during school hours and can’t really be bothered with trying to rationalize that. for now, just know that Its a Thing That Exists.

co-op!

if we’re operating under the ideal that your game is the only one self-aware, then how does co-op work?

um… it doesn’t—

ok ok ok uh there’s two interpretations you can go with, of which i don’t have a favorite:

Option 1: when you go to co-op, your (self-aware) characters are transported into the digital world of your companion. they’re confused, because everything seems flat and empty of detail and there’s these weird bars above enemies and HOLY SHIT IS THAT ME???

they eventually gather that this is a false recreation of teyvat, one run by another person. whether or not they can see the chat is up to you. umm regarding farming and stuff: that means tackling the inventory, which… i’ll talk about that later, i swear-

Option 2: when you enter co-op, you leave teyvat. your vessels go back to their places—again, i’ll touch on that later, promise—and your aura leaves. paimon’s the only constant, but that’s mostly because she follows you or the traveller at all times (if you don’t have your traveller on your team… wait a few paragraphs pls). she is fascinated by the digital world, more so of the replicas of your vessels within it. maybe she tells the traveller of it when they have time.

they’re kinda similar, boiling down to whether or not you want your vessels to have a cosmic-horror level freak out at the fact that that’s them. i don’t have a favorite, and usually kinda fluctuate between the two whenever it’s convenient.

the inventory!

the inventory!!! arguably the most convenient system in teyvat, of which my answer is wildly inconvenient.

the basic principle of it is that it’s a pocket dimension, much like the one paimon vanishes into. it’s a very cool pocket dimension, with a menu and filtration systems, but that’s all it is. it preserves the quality of food, it keeps things from burning each other(i. e. mist flower corollas and flaming flower stamens are right next to each other, yet the quality of both never dwindles), and generally keeps things frozen in a sort of stasis. i like to think that vessels with a good sense of detail can pick up on an odd taste/texture to the food if it’s been in there a while, with the effect lessening as the food quality(suspicious → delicious scale) and level (stars) increases, but it really doesnt impact anything all that much.

regarding co-op: this is where things get blurry. if the inventory is a pocket dimension, and co-op is fake…. the best option is to, once more, chalk it up to divinity. whether yours, as you pick them from the digital world, of the remains of your aura in teyvat, when you return.

(another option that doesn’t work as well is thinking of the inventory as a tally, as in there’s a number of items you have and when you access it the number goes down and it summons / creates the item. the number is a representation of the power stored for that specific item- kinda like the omni-ubiquity nets, i guess? anyway, this is kinda pushing things, and though i don’t prefer it, it definitely can be useful to think about in some situations, such as an imposter au where you(reader) can draw energy from the inventory via sacrificing food or supplies. that’s really cool actually wtf-)

KHAENRI’AH HOW COULD I FORGET KHAEN-

so. khaenri’ah.

….i don’t know a lot about the lore of khaenri’ah.

[one wiki check and a lot of deleted ranting later]

khaenri’ah was a godless nation. it didn’t have a god ruling over it, it didn’t have a god influencing or building it, it didn’t have a - oh my god khaenri’ah is the nation of hubristic greed.

sorry i had a revelation mid-sentence there: to clarify, khaenri’ah was built entirely by people. they may (read: did) worship a god, you, but refused to allow you to meddle with their nation. that was their creation. you could have all of teyvat—and they would give you some of their crops to try and satisfy you—but you could not have their nation. they lived underground, away from your holy light and the overbearing gaze of celestia, and in the dark of a cave with only the earth as their witness, they began to learn khemia. they began to learn how to create, how to mimic your power. theirs was more transmutation, less pure creation, but it was so close to it that rhinedottir let it get to her head. she started her program, created durin and [REDACTED]- sorry, subject two (have i mentioned how much i hate he doesn’t have a name? fucked up fr fr). eventually, finally, after many tests and trials and rifthounds, with abyssal magic beginning to stain her hands, she created synthetic life.

the port on its neck sealed into a shimmering star, crystal blue eyes fluttering open, chalk ribs expanding as it took a breath. gold watched with rapt attention, pen falling from her hand.

she’d done it.

high on joy, she kept going, neglecting her new creation, herself, neglecting even basic safety, and eventually, she had toppled the pride of man.

khaenri’ah fell.

this allows for khaenri’ans such as dainslef, albedo, and kaeya to all know of and worship you—important, since kaeya is a character we’re automatically given—while still being bitter and jaded over khaenri’ah. this keeps as much of the lore in-game as intact as possible, with the only big difference being that khaenri’ah dedicated itself to you, but it would not be influenced by you. it was toppled by its own hubris, its desire to be divine without ever worshipping the god that made them too much for mortal men to handle. they don’t hate you, and in fact the fall of their nation has made it clear that they should have respected you more. they don’t blame you for it, as it was their own desire that brought them down, but they are a little more aware of the power of a god.

FAQ!!

i don’t have the traveller on my team, how does that work lore-wise?

excellent question! i…. don’t really know—

the way i see it, this is mostly a problem attached to the concept of ‘parties’ in the first place(again, please put a pin in the idea, we’re almost there). paimon is always with us, but the traveller… since they don’t have ‘a place to be’ as with your other vessels, as you were with them from the start… you could say that they’re always with you. silently watching from the realm of stars just outside of reality, watching you level your characters and give them strength. they wish you could pay more attention to them, but they know that teyvat is your prize creation, the people within it your most beloved. while you had encouraged them and their sibling to traverse your other worlds, it made sense that you’d want to empower these people first. your choices were.. odd, but you seemed happy, mostly, so they were too. ultimately, they are just another of your creations, and they want you to be happy just as the others do.

what happens when the game closes?

this connects to both the party system and the ‘realm of stars’ i mentioned in the traveller’s section. now, the personal belief i subscribe to is that it’s… another pocket dimension sorry—

akcnkwdjdkd ok so you know in the character menu how the background is all hazy and star-like and tinted the color of their element? i think the hydro’s have bubbles floating around but i have just spent too much time in enkanomiya-

anyway, that’s a ✨separate dimension✨. i imagine its like a line, where your characters are arranged like the bar on the side (top if you’re a pc gamer). characters can look over if they wish, though that’s dependent on some other factors (i know this is already long but i’ll elaborate on this later). the poses for weapons, artifacts, etc. are all forced on them, like strings on a puppet—war flashbacks for my scaramouche. they’re tugged into place, and stay like that. your mains are used to you fussing about with their artifacts, and have learned to simply rest into the feeling. why shouldn’t they, after all?

ANYWAY this is getting long. so when you’re in the field, your characters fall away save your party members, who move to the odd starry landscape of the party menu. there’s a large screen, which allows them to see like it’s your screen, almost. there’s a health bar, they can see the energy, and though that’s about it the important bit is that they can still see the character on field and the battle around them. this way they know what to expect, and where to aim, where to brace for an impact because sorry, they have the most hp and you need to tank this hit. when the game closes, you swap team members, etc. they are transported back to where they were prior to being on your team. now, for those you don’t utilize as often, they aren’t fully pulled into the character menu, as this would cause complications, but they are vaguely aware of when you open it. this way they can prepare in the rare case you switch to them for whatever reason.

additionally, when you shut down genshin, the traveller takes your characters’ place. they hold your place, often using the time to catch up with paimon and eat, both talking about their separate perspectives on your battle. paimon from the outside, watching the vessels switch in a shower of gold sparks, and the traveller from the inside, watching them lean on each other when their health was low and swap encouraging phrases during a tough fight. the traveller can’t really move all that much, but they don’t have to stay very still—what’s the chance you’ll notice they’re facing the wrong direction anyway?—which is good since they may have to defend themself against any enemies wandering in. if they’re off your team and unbuilt, it’s a little difficult, but between their status as an outlander and paimon’s influence, it’s not that big of a hassle.

(sorry this one’s real long but this is the concept i spent the most time developing. i have a very very long albedo fic where this mechanic is center stage so i have a lot of junk stored in my mind abt it)

what about friendship levels?

friendship levels!!! in-game they’re a metric of how long/much a character is with you, and it’s the same in sagau. the higher a character’s friendship, the more of your aura they emit by proxy, since they’re… in the absolute kindest way possible, you know how shoes have to be broken in -? yeah—

the harsh tugs of your device commanding them to move softens into a gentle guide, but they’re so in-tune with your playstyle that they go ahead of the strings, attacking slightly quicker. a high-friendship team has synergy like no other, the characters swapping just before you actually press the button to do so, their elemental reactions booming brighter, skills and bursts doing that much more damage just because they know what their doing by heart. they’re certain they could replicate it even without you, though they’d never dare, and your main sometimes finds themself repeating your usual rotation in their head to help them. swap, skill, swap, skill, burst, they mutter, their fingers tapping along where the buttons would be as they try to puzzle something out. swap, skill, swap, passive, swap, the familiar routine providing comfort.

how does the concept of being “self-aware” work?

lovely question.

…

it doesn’t.

jsksskdjd i feel like a software developer— ANYWAY-

google defines self-aware as “having conscious knowledge of one's own character and feelings”, which isn’t (inherently) the case. in relation to video games, it’s usually something along the lines of “this game is aware it’s a game” which doesn’t work since, as we’ve established, teyvat isn’t a game.

in this case, being self-aware means recognizing that you are operating through a device. it means knowing that you are not controlling them directly, that you instead use a proxy. it means, for characters like albedo, recognizing the sticky binds of code that limit his movements, it means registering that you are still far, far away, and that you only feel this close because of your device. it means, for some such as, say, diluc, there wasn’t a reason why kaeya was a vessel before him. it means knowing that their god is still lost, and knowing that they have to ensure you come back safely.

and that’s about it! discarding some icky topics such as the semantics of an isekai (which boils down to tapping into the divinity stored in your device so it doesn’t really matter much either way) and the abyss (which i don’t know enough about lore-wise, sorry) that’s everything i keep in mind when i write my genshin impact self-aware works!

if you have any further questions, feel free to either reply or send in an ask, or check out my masterlist if you want to see these concepts in practice.

have a good one!

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

[blowflyfag]

WWF RAW MAGAZINE: JUNE 2001

On Top of his Game

The More Triple H Is Hated, the More He Loves It

By Aaron Williams

Triple H knew this was his chance. For years, he had studied his craft, honed his skills, and prepared for the day when he would be given the opportunity to be one of the top Superstars responsible for carrying the World Wrestling Federation.  As the fall of 1999 approached, he knew that his time had come, and for better or worse, his performance over the next several months would either make or break his career. Looking back almost two years later, not even Hunter’s most ardent supporters could have predicted the success he has attained. From refining his character, to pulling off matches thought impossible in today’s sports-entertainment environment, to playing an integral role in the behind-the-scenes activities of the Federation, he has, in many ways, changed the way the game is played. 

There comes a point in everyone’s career when learning one’s craft takes a back seat to applying what has been learned. For Hunter, that point came in the fall of 1999. Undertaker and Stone Cold Steve Austin were hampered by injuries, and he and The Rock were given the ball and asked to take the Federation to new heights. While he definitely felt pressure of being put in such a high-profile position, he also felt that the timing couldn’t have been better.

“In the months leading up to that point, I was preparing for it to be my time,” Hunter recalls. “When the time came, it was really on myself and The Rock. I think that there was a feeling of a lot pressure because some very important people were gone and we were still expected to draw. But I work best under pressure, and at that point, there were really no restrictions to what we could do. It was full steam ahead for both of us. I don’t think there was ever a question of whether The Rock and I could do it. We were ready.”

Hunter didn’t always feel this way, and if he had earlier, he questions whether he would have done as well. Although he studied the business from the moment he first stepped into the ring, in the early part of his career he was more concerned with “Enjoying the business” rather than really learning it. 

“I was into the business, and studied it a lot, but I didn’t apply what I was learning as much as I could have,” says Hunter. “There was a point in time when I was still learning, and I just wasn’t ready to be where I wanted to be. I knew that, and I was really more set on enjoying the business. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it now, but it was more just going along and doing things. I knew it wasn’t my time, and I knew I wasn’t ready. 

“Until I was ready, I didn’t want to do it. So I spent time learning, sitting back, being a young guy in the business and enjoying all the perks that come along with it,” he continues. “Now I'm much more serious about it. Believe me, it’s a dream job and I'm thankful everyday for what I do, for the honor to do what I do. But at the same time, I’m very determined and focused and try not to leave any stone unturned.”

[“My goal is to be the one who can have matches with anybody and be able to make those matches great; to make them mean something. And when the matches are over, I want to be able to say I brought out the best in both of us.”]

Today, rarely a moment goes by when Hunter isn’t thinking about the World Wrestling Federation, and if he isn’t wrestling or working out, you can be sure that he is working on future storylines or the nuances of his character’s actions. Always searching for ways to improve the Federation’s product, Hunter spends countless hours watching matches. He understands that even though he is more in the application than learning stage, the learning process never really ends. So he watches other Superstars’ matches with a  keen eye, always asking questions that go beyond the ordinary, probing deep into the psychology and philosophy of the business.

Instead of simply admiring moves or asking just how a particular move is executed, he asks questions such as, “Why are they doing those moves at this particular time?” and “How do these moves fit in with those Superstars’ particular angles?” and “What kinds of things are the crowds responding to?”

As a result, he has earned such monikers as “The Cerebral Assassin” and “The Most Intelligent Superstar in the Business.” More importantly, he has earned the respect of his peers who admire his instincts for and knowledge of the profession, and his boss who appreciates his work ethic. 

“You can learn from everything. Even daily things like watching a movie might spur an idea,” says Hunter. “I try to incorporate everything I do back into the business, and that’s why I think people have given me those nicknames. That’s how the whole ‘Game’ nickname started. Vince [McMahon] used to say that I was the biggest student of the game. And then it came down to the point where they thought I wasn’t just a student anymore, but ‘the Game.’”

Hunter spends most of his time studying the business by himself, but he is very open to others and their ideas. He believes that no one knows everything, and they day you stop learning is the day you will cease to thrive in the business.

“Even the guy who made it all, Vince McMahon, listens and watches other people,” Hunter remarks. “I can watch guys doing a dark match, guys who maybe have had only 20 matches, and i learn from what they are doing. Learning from someone doesn’t necessarily mean you see someone do something right. You can see someone do something wrong and learn just as well.”

As a result Hunter has become an integral part of the off-camera activities of the Federation. He takes part in television production meetings, often talks to the writers, and often serves as a conduit between Superstars and the writers. He enjoys thinking of ideas that will work either for himself or others, and he’s not shy about voicing his opinion. Of course, he understands that not all of his ideas will fly: “Believe me, if they think my ideas suck, they don’t use them.”

Years ago, it would have been unthinkable to have a sports-entertainer involved in the business the way Hunter is. In the past, there was a perception–if not a reality–that it was the boys against the office. “Today this is no longer true,” Hunter says. “We’re all in the same business, and we’re all working for the same thing.” According to Hunter, today’s Superstars understand this, and his involvement in the behind-the-scenes activities has been beneficial for the entire Federation.

“I think at one point when I first started to get close to the behind-the-scenes stuff, there was a fear that I was going to have a ton of heat with the other guys. But I honestly believe that I don't have heat with most of the guys. I believe that’s because they understand that I'm just trying to help everybody. I’m not in there saying, ‘to hell with that guy, give me the push.’ I’m trying to think up good ideas for everybody. If I think of a good idea for Jericho, I push it. Also, sometimes some of the guys might have an idea, and if they don’t have a good relationship with [the writers], or they feel funny talking to the writers, a lot of them ask me to tell the writers. So they can use me in that way, and I think that’s a good thing.”

Hunter’s open relationship with Vince McMahon has also proved beneficial to the Federation, and after spending a few moments with “the Game,” it becomes apparent how much Hunter respected his boss.

“I know I’m going to sound like I’m kissing my boss’ ass but I really think that Vince is a genius. How can he not be? Look where he’s taken this business. He’s made it larger than life, he’s made it into a billion-dollar industry, and now he’s gone to the point where he’s taken over his competition. He’s won the war. Beyond that, he’s a good person. He’s interested in having quality human beings working for him and being involved in his product. He’s extremely passionate about what we do.

“Sometimes people say negative things about him, but I believe it’s because when you are a businessman. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions,” Hunter continues. “It’s not personal, it’s business. Trust me, I don’t envy his job because it’s so difficult. But as far as working with him, you can’t think of a greater honor than to sit next to probably the smartest guy in the world about this business and pick his brain about things all day.”

It’s been Hunter’s ability in the ring and in front of the camera that has really distinguished him in the past two years. One of the hardest things to accomplish these days is to remain a heel for an extended period of time. Heels do a lot of ass-kicking and trash-talking, two activities that tend to endear Superstars to fans these days. Instead of generating hatred, heels often earn the respect of today’s fans and become fan favorites whether they want to or not. 

Hunter, through his smarts, has been able to avoid this pitfall. For the past two years, he has been able to keep fans hating him, a fact in which he takes a lot of pride. 

 “It’s very hard to keep fans from liking you, and that’s something that I’ve worked very hard at. In the last two years, I’ve been one of the few guys who’s been able to do that. I’ve had a long, long run just being hated by the fans. It hasn’t been by accident. I want it that wat. I’m very in tune to when my fans start cheering at things, and I’m very cautious with my prompts in terms of what I say and how I say it so I won’t be cheered. I’m very cautious. I think about everything I do; I don’t do anything just because.”

Other accomplishments that Hunter takes pride in include his ability to take part in long-running feuds, and his ability to work in any type of match and have the and his opponent come out better for it. Observers of the business claimed that the days of long-term feuds were over, but Hunter has proved them wrong with his conflicts with The Rock, Kurt Angle and Chris Jericho. These same observers also claimed that today’s fans would never enjoy a 60-minute match, but Hunter and The Rock proved them wrong again with their epic Iron Man match at Judgment Day in May 2000.

Also, his well-documented relationship with Stephanie has provided hours of entertainment for Federation fans and enhanced his status as a great communicator. Their never-ending scheme to control the Federation has been a high point of Federation programming and if one didn’t know better, one would think they were two veteran performers who had worked together for years.

“I think that when you get two people who are very good at what they do, things work out pretty well. There are certain people in the business who you just have good chemistry with, and Stephanie and I have that chemistry. It’s no different than an opponent who you always have great matches with because there is great chemistry. There’s a good chemistry between us as far as everything we do on television. It’s easy for us to play off each other, and it worked out well.”

Life as a heel isn’t always easy. Sometimes fans forget that Hunter is a Federation Superstar, and that in real life he is a much different person than the despicable heel he plays when the cameras are on. People often confront him, and others have a negative attitude toward him. At times, this bothers him, but he’s wise enough to know that these negative perceptions have come about because he has been so effective in the ring and in front of the camera. Still, being a heel can have its advantages. 

“It's a horrible thing when you have people in your face or you’ve got people who believe you’re what they see on television,” he says. “But there are other times when you don’t really want to be bothered and just want to be a regular person. It makes it a whole lot easier to tell someone to get lost when they think you’re an ass anyway. Trust me, I love the fans, but we’re all people, and I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else. Sometimes you just need some time for yourself. In my position, sometimes they expect me to turn them down, so it can be helpful.”

Despite being mentally drained at times, Hunter couldn’t be happier. After all, he’s living out his childhood dream of being a World Wrestling Federation Superstar. 

“This is going to sound corny, but I get to wake up everyday and live my dream. Being in this business is what I wanted to do. There are days when I need to get away for a little bit, but it’s very rare. For the most part I get to do what I love to do every day, and what could be better than that?”

[cdyssey]

Yellowjackets 2.05 Reactions:

The stacks of VHS tapes everywhere in Van’s house/shop are so charming. 😭 The rainbow carpet! The past due bills!

“Parker Posey is my new dream woman. I would marry her today.” So right, bestie.

VAN RECOMMENDING QUEER MOVIES TO PEOPLE. OH, I LOVE HER. VAN’S STORE BEING SAFE FOR QUEER CUSTOMERS!!

Tai collapsing after seeing her ex for the first time in 25 years because she hasn’t slept in, like, five days. Go, girl failure. Give us nothing. <3

Shaunatai friendship moments. 😭 Tai being so gentle with her. I’m actually unwell about them.

“Happy wife, happy life.” I fucking love her.

Atm, Shauna is firmly in nothing-fucking-supernatural-is-happening-here-at-all-camp with Tai and Nat! It’s really interesting that this makes three out of our core four. (I honestly half-suspect that it’s actually four out of four, and teen Misty is just going along with the majority right now to be included.)

Shauna overhearing Lottie creepily prophesy the sex of her baby again and Tai turning around to watch her. 😭

Fucking creepy grown ass detective who is taking this underaged teenager on dates!! Preying on her emotions for a gd case!!!

“I sexually hustled you.” Oh, God, Callie. Go home. ☠️

Good on Callie for figuring out who Matt is by looking at the check!!!! Okay, yes, she absolutely did not need to be having feelings for this man, but also, I feel so bad for her. Everyone this girl cares about hurts her in some unimaginably fucked up way.

“Maybe he did die, and that’s his ghost.” ANANWJJEJWNWDIWWI

Akilah naming the mouse Nugget. ;w;

Misty kissing her and Crystal’s pinky swear. 😭 Mari is 100% manipulating the chore cards.

Callie lying to Matt!!!!!! Oh, God, she’s in it to protect her parents now. Her mom. So fucked up, but so good. All she has wanted this entire time is to feel close to her mother.

“There’s only ever one rule: Win.” Very suspicious line, lmao. I wonder if this is going to end up being Walter’s ethos.

Van immediately knowing that Tai is there about the sleepwalking.

NOT TAI GIVING HER THE BOOB PEN WKQKQKWJEJDJWIEJDJEJD.

THEY WENT TO SHAUNA’S WEDDING. OH, GOD. THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY. And that also means they were together at least for a little bit after returning from the woods. (We know from Jeff’s bro-off with Kevyn that he and Shauna basically got married almost as soon as Shauna got back from the woods. It’s wrenching that Mrs. Taylor was there in so many ways. Wow. For Shauna, who was so entangled with Jackie, and now she’s about to literally live her life. For Jeff, whose two girlfriends died and one of them came back wrong. For Tai and Van and other Yellowjackets if they attended, who had to look at the Taylors and know that they ate their daughter. And even for Mrs. Taylor, a grieving mother. Just one line, but it’s so, so loaded.)

“Promise you won’t freak out.” / “Sure.” / “No.” AJWJWJJWIWJSJDW.

“A fucking cop?” MELANIE LYNSKEY’S EYEBROWS ARCHING EJWJDNS.

CONCERNED PARENTS ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTIONS ABOUT THE COP’S AGE!!! Listen, the Sadecki family is fucked up to hell and back, but I love them.

“So… I did fix it?” / “You-you did that great.” So, so effed up. <33

NAT IS STILL WEARING THOSE GODDAMN LEATHER PANTS. GIRL, YOU’RE GONNA GET AN INFECTION!! This being said, it’s notable that she’s wearing a purple top now.

Akilah being a skeptic too. Also, every time we get a new piece of Akilah lore, I want to die a little inside because it’s so lovely and they’re 100% priming us for her inevitable death. 😭 Her friendship with Tai is so sweet, though.

I love the distinction that Akilah makes here, though—doing the pre-game rituals and going to Lottie’s morning sit-down not because she believes in these things, but because they make her feel good.

“Well, yeah—because you’re totally whipped.” AKKQKQOQIEIEJWJEJDJS. Splashing each other with water. Kids being kids, even in the desolate and unforgiving wilderness. 😭

Oh, God. This Travis/Nat confrontation. So upsetting. Nat immediately fessing up to it is incredible; she’s not a character who likes to deal with lies.

Lottie curling her hand around Nat’s shoulder!!! Gays, we win again.

“Actually, uh, before we go into the black recesses of my soul, I just need a minute.” Same.

MISTYNAT REUNION!!!! What if they kissed between the gate slats. Then what

(I’m sorry. I ship almost all of these women together. I think if this season doesn’t end with ALL of them making out by the fire in Lottie’s compound, it’s a missed opportunity.)

Misty’s look of utter horror as Nat stalks away. She came so far for her.

I know it’s just the effect of Tawny Cypress’s contacts, but Tai’s eyes being slightly red at certain times is just chef’s kiss.

Tai sitting in the chair like a child, knees pulled up to her chest. She looks and sounds so vulnerable, even as she’s trying to be glib.

Misty and Crystal trading secrets back-and-forth QNQKQKKWJE. So funny and so effed up.

You know, I could have done without the shot of the shit and piss being poured out. We can imply that. 😭

KRISTEN. 😭😭😭😭 The fact that she went by the mistaken name just to keep her peers’ approval. So Misty-coded.

OH, GOD. IS MISTY ABOUT TO FUCKING ADMIT TO DESTROYING THE BLACK BOX. NO. NO. NO. THAT MIGHT BE TOO EFFED UP, EVEN FOR KRISTEN.

FUCK, SHE’S GOING TO DO IT.

IT IS TOO FUCKED UP FOR KRISTEN.

“You’re the reason we never got rescued?”

“You’re not that good of an actress.” Fair in this moment, but Misty did slay that Steel Magnolias monologue.

“I’ll… fucking… kill you.” JESUS CHRIST

KRISTEN. OH, MY FUCKING GO D.

I’M LOSING MY SHIT.

GOD, GOD GOD GOD DGOD GOD

I am so FUCKED UP ABOUT THIS.

Directly on the heels of Misty losing her best friend in the wilderness, we get adult Misty reeling over Nat. I am so fucking unwell.

“Maybe Lottie is jealous of what Natalie and I have.” Natalie has two hands, Misty. <3

Walter having done the due diligence of checking to see about Adam’s murder, but coming to the wrong conclusion.

“You think I’m capable of murder?” DIRECTLY ON THE HEELS OF KRISTEN’S DEATH. I’M SO FUCKED UP.

WALTER STILL BEING INTO MISTY EVEN THOUGH HE SUSPECTS SHE’S A MURDERER EJWNDNNE. Listen, I love him, but I think he’s as dead as a doorknob by the end of this season.

“… regardless of your extracurricular activities.” AMQMQKWKDNSSN.

Shauna all dolled up to pretend to have an affair, lmao SNDNSNDNWJNS.

Randy Walsh being such a dumbass is one of my favorite recurring bits. Just stellar.

“After what you and Jeff did, you owe me.” ANQKWJRJWJJWNDJSSN. Where else on television will you find an emotionally unwell, violent MILF who tells her husband’s best friend who blackmailed her friends to go jerk off into a trash can? Go on, tell me.

“Hey. Don’t you you dare think about me.” AKQKQOOQJEEIENNWIEIWKWJDNNENEJD. SOBBING.

Tai playing the mediator between Lottie and Shauna.

NOT TAISSA SNOOPING THROUGH VAN’S MEDICINE CABINETS. GIRL FAILURE, DON’T SCREW THIS UP A SECOND TIME.

Van having cared for her mother—despite everything—in the last years of her life. Goddamn.

“I’m mixing my pop culture metaphors ‘cause I’m fucking upset!” AWKWKWKJEDJWJ. Lauren Ambrose is killing it.

“I’m losing my fucking mind, and I’m terrified!” GOD, THAT WAS VISCERAL. The way she can’t admit to not having been this afraid since the woods. The way she can’t ask for help because she doesn’t want to hurt any other people that she loves. She still loves Van . Absolutely fucking devastating.

Tai breaking down in sobs. I’m so upset. 😭 TAIVAN EMBRACE.

No, Yellowjackets, I did not need to be in the bathroom with Randy Walsh failing to jerk off. Thank you for asking.

Nat screaming at Lottie!!!! “She’s preying and profiting.”

Nat breaking the fuck down in front of Lottie.

“You know what he was going through. You started it.” JESUS CHRIST.

“Maybe that’s true, but I need to know.” YELLS, SCREAMS.

Tai following Shauna out into the woods, even though she’s giving her the silent treatment. 😭

“But I’m rightfully freaking the fuck out about having a baby in the middle of the fucking woods, and news flash, having a bunch of psychos praying for me in some weird fucking tree cult isn’t making my life any easier.” GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD.

“I don’t need your fucking prayers. I need you to have my back.” / “I do.” LOSING MY MIND OVER THESE TWO.

IT’S SHAUNA NEEDING SOMEONE TO BE NORMAL WITH HER, AND TAISSA NEEDING TO FEEL NORMAL HERSELF, TO NOT HAVE ANY MORE NIGHTMARES.

NO, NOT LABOR PAINS. OH, GOD.

Misty sobbing over Kristen. Calling her by Crystal twice before she says her actual name. Ugh. Trying CPR to the Bees Gees. Jesus CHRIST.

Can they go into Randy’s room without a warrant???? Kevyn so badly doesn’t want it to be Shauna. I really do appreciate that about him.

NOT MATT SMELLING THE GODDAMN CONDOM. WHAT IS THIS SHOW.

STRAWBERRIES.

LIKE THE LUBE.

UNREAL.

Javi speaking cryptically about someone not telling him to come back, a “she.” 😬

Misty coming up with a believable lie about Kristen, and one of the last things Kristen ever said to her was that she was a bad liar. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Van screaming for Tai and Shauna. Misty calling out for Kristen, even though she fucking knows that she can’t hear her.

THE GIRLS RITUALISTICALLY CHANTING. I’M SO FUCKED UP. AND IT’S WORKING. AND TAI’S DOING IT.

Tai finally sleeping soundly at Van’s. 😭

Oh, my fucking God. Van taking the pills out of the trash can.

SLEEPWALKING TAI. THAT EVIL SMILE. THE WAY SHE BOBS HER HEAD. TERRIFYING.

“This isn’t where we’re supposed to be.” AUHDJDWNH.

“He was seeing some girl. Part of me wanted to ruin it. But another part of me just missed him.” This line of dialogue is so goddamn raw and brutal.

NAT OVERDOSING.

NAT ENVISIONING THAT THEY DIDN’T FUCKING MAKE IT. THOSE BURNED BODIES.

THE ANTLER QUEEN?!?!!

WE BROUGHT IT BACK.

WE BROUGHT IT BACK WITH US:

WHAT THE AFTUAL HELL

NAT LAYING HER HEAD ON LOTTIE’S LAP AND THEY’RE FUCKING TEENAGERS AGAIN. I’M

NO, IT’S ONLY NAT WHO’S THE TEENAGER. SHE’S GONE BACK TO BEINT A CHILD. AND LOTTIE IS STILL AN ADULT, BUT SHE’S SEEING THE SHADOW OF THE ANTLER QUEEN ON THE FLOOR AND

DID ALL OF THESE PEOPLE DIE AND LITERALLY COME BACK WRONG

THIS SHOW

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

I finally saw INSIDE OUT 2 yesterday.

That's probably the longest it has taken me to see a new Pixar movie.

I don't have any memory of whether I saw TOY STORY in the cinema in late 1995/early 1996, but we had the original VHS release from late 1996 and I went as Buzz Lightyear for Halloween that year. If I didn't see TOY STORY in theaters on its initial release, then it took me almost a year to see the movie. Movie came out Thanksgiving 1995, VHS was released right before Halloween 1996. The days when you had to wait a WHILE for a movie to come out on tape.

I eventually saw TOY STORY in theaters, when they re-released it in 3D in fall 2009, ahead of the release of TOY STORY 3.

But I *did* see A BUG'S LIFE in theaters, and so on. Never missed a Pixar since, that was until SOUL, LUCA, and TURNING RED skipped theaters... And then played at theaters not near me earlier this year. I'll get 'em eventually.

So yeah, INSIDE OUT 2 released on June 14th, I saw it yesterday, July 22nd.

And I thought it was a perfectly fine sequel, like most of Pixar's sequels are. I just love revisiting characters and worlds again, and the new story doing something neat and fun with them for a good 90-100min. That's all I needed, really.

I feel TOY STORY 2 is the *one* Pixar sequel that equaled the original, and surpassed it in some ways. Very rarely do sequels do that, really. And I think, in addition to things some folks expect out of Pixar, this is why Pixar sequels tend to be looked at a certain way. But to me, a lot of them have just been comfortably fine movies. Good enough on their own, and solid enough companions to the originals. And I think a lot of that is because the first movies were usually that special, that it's almost unfair the original exists. The new movie has such huge shoes to fill in the eyes of many. I feel like when the original is being made, there's a sort of "all or nothing" attitude behind it. With the sequels, things get more comfortable. "Okay, we made the first one..."

Especially now, since Pixar is no longer a little studio in the Bay Area, and hasn't been since 2006...

So, TOY STORY 2 is still tops for me. And a small clicks under, TOY STORY 3. Then INCREDIBLES 2, not too far behind. I actually legit love INCREDIBLES 2, even if I think its third act setpiece is a little rushed and the resolution a bit lacking. The rest of it, to me, is totally spot-on and just so well-made. Even the big twist that there's no shadowy mind control guy as the main antagonist. It's still a Brad Bird movie through and through, and he's largely in his groove here. That puts it very high in my book.

Next click down would be this movie, and MONSTERS UNIVERSITY. INSIDE OUT 2, plot-wise, is solid and clever. I like that it's small scale like the first movie is: About three or so days of following Riley through an exciting, if not anxiety-stoking time in her life. First movie, she moves out of state. Second movie, leveling up in her sport and meeting new people once more. It does feel like it's retreading a lot of the first movie's major beats without some of the punch (which I think plagues a few of these Pixar sequels), but I do think its 3rd act panic attack does land. Really, the first INSIDE OUT had Bing Bong. This doesn't have anything like that subplot. There was enough really fun and creative stuff here (Bloofy, Pouchey and Lance were the MVPs), I really liked the four new emotions, and its best moments sit right alongside the original... I almost consider MU truly great, the final third in the camp cabin almost puts it over for me. The rest of the movie, I think, quite works as well. Gets progressively better as the Scare Games commence. The early stuff up until Mike and Sulley get dropped from the scare program is just fine to me. Like INSIDE OUT 2, we're in the perfectly fine territory with this one. It's always a very satisfactory watch for me. Both films sometimes rise a little above that and have their moments that I find truly fantastic.

Underneath are CARS 3 and LIGHTYEAR.

I guess my only major issues with CARS 3 are that the pacing is weird to me in the first third, particularly how they handle McQueen's post-crash depression. Once they start really traveling in that movie, like to the Thunder Hollow and Thomasville racetracks, that's when it really gets into gear for me. When it really leans into the Cruz stuff. I still think it sidelines most of the Radiator Springs gang, though, much like CARS 2 did. If they make a fourth movie, I'd like to see them appear more. That ensembles helps make the first one so good to me.

LIGHTYEAR I've already defended multiple times on here. I really like it as an old-school space adventure movie, and I particularly appreciated the themes of ego, legacy, and doing better by your past mistakes. Of all the 2020s Pixar movies, it feels like it's from the Lasseter era. Kinda old school. I just don't think it's spectacular or anything, doesn't really go as hard as it should, but it's a very solid sci-fi treat nonetheless. I think it would've fared better had it been an original movie, and not a Buzz Lightyear story.

Then a click below those two, for me, are FINDING DORY and TOY STORY 4. These are both firmly of the 2010s Pixar in my opinion, very much of the Lasseter in complete control era. The "legacy"/"nostalgia"-heavy era. And it makes sense, TOY STORY and FINDING NEMO hail from the classic period when it was largely "Team TOY STORY" calling the shots. John Lasseter and Andrew Stanton. There's fantastic stuff in both of these movies that I really love and admire, and I think they're overall satisfying and good. FINDING DORY in particular hit close to home as an autistic person... but I also feel like they are very, very overplotted and busy. I know the low-hanging fruit is stuff like, say, how TOY STORY 4 ended. I didn't have a problem with that, I actually found the ending with Woody going off with Bo to be a good - albeit risky - choice. No, my main issue is that this is where it starts to feel like the needle had gotten stuck for the studio. Like, "This IS a Pixar movie". It's gotta have the big cries, the big goodbyes, the big emotional moment, the plot has to have a lot going on. They gotta be here while this is here, and vice versa. They have few moments where they can just breathe a bit, or when they do, then it's WHOOSH onto the next thing. TOY STORY 4 does, however, have that long quiet stretch with Forky and Woody on the road. Good stuff. The reprising of certain moments, particularly in DORY's case, feel like "Greatest Hits" (to paraphrase someone else), and I don't think DORY's 3rd act grand theft truck sequence really works well. So, it's all just a matter of me thinking there's too much complication in these 100min stories. Too much plot crammed into them. Floyd Norman himself put it best when describing animated movies in the early 2010s, that the films with "hopelessly overworked plots and convoluted structure" were trying too hard to "convince" the audience rather than "entertain" them.

Then last but not least. Bottom ring. CARS 2.

With everything that movie has going against it... The jam-packed plot, Mater being confused as a spy being largely unbelievable (Finn McMissile and Holly Shiftwell aren't very bright, it seems), McQueen and Radiator Springs largely pushed aside, and the weird stuff with the lemons - cars that break down, that universe's disabled people almost - turning their collective plight into corporate villainy... I don't dislike it! I think there's a really good international race/spy action movie buried in here, and I'm aware that the movie was originally meant to be a summer 2012 release and then it got bumped up to summer 2011... Maybe it needed that one extra year to coalesce into something solid? But, yeah, I still think it's beautifully-realized, full of visual candy, and great action even. That opening setpiece on the oil rig slaps, I say. Pixar could've had a really solid James Bond-style movie here.

CARS 3 seems to imply that everything that happened in CARS 2 was all a dream. Even Larry the Cable Guy himself, Mater's voice, seemed to imply that not too long ago...

I had a weird thought recently... What if they took the existing movie, and re-framed it as a Mater's Tall Tale? The movie is very much informed by those CARS TOONS shorts that Pixar started making in 2008, where Mater made up some big fib about having various careers. Those worked because they were presented as silly fantasies, conjured up by a goofy old dingus. CARS 2 comes close to being that, there's a bit in the end where Van (the lost minivan traveler husband from the first movie) doubts everything Mater told them, but then jet Holly shows up. I think CARS 2 could've landed if they did some PRINCESS BRIDE thing where Mater's telling the tale back to someone, maybe Lightning, and being doubted every step of the way. Like he's making it all up on the spot, like the movie itself seemed to be doing. He did that in the shorts, "Yeah, Lightnin', you was there too!"

It's a massive mess, a car wreck you could say... but I still enjoy most of it. I bought the Blu-ray back in the day, even. It was one of those 2-discers that had LOTS of bonus features on it.

So on the whole, I like the Pixar sequels, even if they may not always match the originals. But I think that's just true of a lot of sequels to movies considered among the greats, or very high on folks' lists. Not all of them can be GODFATHER PART IIs or EMPIRE STRIKES BACKs. TOY STORY 2, for me, is the Pixar sequel that's the equivalent of that. I'm totally okay with the other ones not being that... So long as I still really like them and took something home with me from them... Yeah, that's what matters to me most.

[cassiaratheslytherpuff]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you so much for tagging me @orange-peony, these things are always so fun to do!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 40 works right now.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

624,677, which is more than I thought I had (probably due to the fact 1/6th of them were posted during the past 5 months or so)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I only really write for Harry Potter, though I do like to play in next-gen, marauder and golden-trio era so there's a little variation there.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Blue Roses and Other Impossible Things Drarry, 40k, E To Be Out of Your Own (and consumed by another)  Drarry, 18k, E Though My Mind Could Think (I still was a mad man) Drarry, 87k, E Things Unknown but Longed for Still Drarry, 30k, E Use My Last Breath (to say I love you), Harry/Charlie, 6k, E

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do. I love talking about fics in general, but especially the ones I write. I love reading theories or thoughts people had while reading, and responding to those. And also, comments make me so happy and I want to show that to the person who commented because I know it can take a lot of energy and mental work to comment at all.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I actually think I have to list more than one, because I have three that all end kind of terribly.

A Long Line of Fine Rarry 2k There is a First Time for Dying Scorbus, 1.5K Give Me a Memory Drarry, 2.5k

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably all the rest of them.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yeah, sometimes.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, I think like 35 of the 40 fics are rated E for smut. I like to write all kinds tbh. Like, super angsty, kinky, romantic, longing etc. I think it's the feelings and emotions that makes it fun for me, but they don't really have to be all positive.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I tried once years and years ago to write a supernatural and Hunger Games crossover, but I never finished it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I had one reposted on Instagram once, but nothing else that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, a couple.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I don't think I'd be any good at it tbh, I can never stick to an outline.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I think maybe Drarry, but that might be because there are SO many great fics written for it. But I also adore rarry and prongsfoot, and I think I love them just as much – I just read them less because there are fewer fics.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There are a lot tbh, but the one I'm always angry about not being able to finish is a fic I started a loong about Muggles finding out about magic and inventing technology to supress it, and Draco and Harry working to get Teddy out of England.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think (or at least hope) it's putting words to feelings and emotions. I tend to struggle to name or describe my own feelings so I usually explore that a fair bit in fics.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm pretty sure I'm ace so I struggle a lot with writing my characters as feeling physical attraction. I think I can do the emotions and physical bits, but yeah, the whole attraction thing is difficult. And also describing actions. I'll have a character stand up to do something and then completely forget I did it, so they'll be sitting down in the next line. Or they'll just be talking with zero description of what they're doing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm not sure I have any. I never have myself, but I'm not really opposed as much as I've never had a need.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. I think it was a hinny fic sometime between the fifth and sixth book came out. At the time I had no idea what fanfiction or shipping was at all, and it never left the notebook I wrote it in.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I think my favourites changes every time I try to pick one, but right now it's these:

Like a Dream I Can Reach (but not quite hold) queerplatonic darry, 19.5k

Though My Mind Could Think (I still was a mad man) Drarry, 87k

Four Gallons of Oblivious Rarry, 18k

I'll tag @stargazing-enby, @drarryruinedme7, @acnelli @maesterchill @pineau-noir and @shealwaysreads if you want to do it (and haven't already). And anyone else who'd like to do this!

[brendaonao3]

Super new to the fandom of Top Gun, but I've read your RoossMav stories and am officially in. May I ask to play that ship ask game with this paring, please? Thanks!

Helloooooooo there!!!

So happy you're here, welcome to the fandom, it's great to have you <3

For the Ship It/Don’t Ship It Ask Meme:

What made you ship it? Oddly enough, I came out of TGM the first time still shipping IceMav (okay, I'm always going to ship IceMav lbr :D), but Mav & Rooster clearly have THE biggest journey in the film & are the emotional core of the story & Rooster can't keep his hands off of Mav & Mav can't keep his eyes off of Rooster. Pretty easy to ship them. :D

What are your favorite things about the ship? All of that delicious history between them - it's just so rich. But I also love that there's still so much love between them, even during their fights, and I love that they still mean so much to each other, in spite of everything. And the easy way they fall into looking out for each other & being there for each other at the end is beautiful. (And, look, I'm as shallow as a kiddie pool, okay - they're HOT together.)

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? How long do you have, because I have SO many :D Okay, here are a few: 1) I think the fallout is JUST as much Bradley's fault as it is Mav's and I will die on that hill 2) I don't think Mav was around all that much when Bradley was growing up, so no, I don't buy into the whole "pseudo-incest" bit the antis keep ranting about (which, honestly, what does that even mean??? They're NOT related. So what if Mav knew Bradley as a kid? They haven't been part of each other's lives for YEARS & they're both very much adults now.) 3) I don't think Bradley is the center/end-all be-all of Mav's universe or that he's been sitting in some sad, lonely corner just waiting for Bradley to forgive him (I have more, but I'll spare everyone :D)