#the way they cut between the show and the day of the show

[jaystardust]

‎˙✧˖°📁 ⋆｡˚‧ OFFICE HOURS

Pairing: lee heeseung x female reader

Genre: Manager Heeseung, Workplace, Suggestive, inspired by No Doubt MV

Warnings: Suggestive

Summary: When your boss, Heeseung, demands you to come to the office during a heatwave while everyone else works from home, you’re frustrated by his arrogant, demanding ways. But as the heat intensifies, so does the tension between both of you, turning annoyance into undeniable attraction.

Words count: 3.3K

The heat was unbearable, even by summer standards. You felt every inch of the sticky air clinging to your skin as you entered the building. Your clothes were pressed uncomfortably to you, and the usually spacious lobby felt stifling, a symptom of the broken air conditioning that had sent all employees home. Well, almost all employees.

You took a deep breath, fingers gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you made your way up to the office, the whole building unnaturally quiet, almost deserted. The annoyance simmered beneath the surface, each step a reminder of the early-morning email that dragged you in.

“YN, I require you in the office today. It’s an urgent matter, so please be here by nine.”

The message had Heeseung’s name signed at the bottom, as if he were doing you some great favor by deigning to summon you into the heat-ridden office while he remained cool, collected, and oblivious to your discomfort.

Your phone chimed as you approached your floor, and you saw another message from Heeseung:

“Are you here yet?”

With a huff, you pocketed your phone and headed toward his office, finally pushing open the glass door to see him sitting there, looking effortlessly… handsome, if you were honest with yourself. He was fanning himself with a file, his sleeves rolled up, collar slightly open, and that usual smug look on his face that made your frustration bubble over.

“Heeseung,” you greeted coolly, folding your arms over your chest. “You dragged me in here because…?”

His gaze flickered up, sharp and assessing, a small smirk curving on his lips as he looked you over. “Nice of you to show up on time. And I thought punctuality wasn’t your strong suit.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for giving me an option,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm

He ignored your tone, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly relaxed look. “I need you here to go over the quarterly report in person. There are a few key points I want to discuss, and remote work just wasn’t cutting it.”

You felt the sweat trickle down your neck, a reminder of the oppressive heat lingering in the room. “You know the AC is out, right? Or was that part of your plan?”

A chuckle escaped him, low and quiet. “Maybe I just wanted to test your commitment to the job.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the room and taking a seat across from him. “So, what’s this urgent matter that required me to show up in person?”

Heeseung glanced at you, his eyes drifting to your bare arms, where you’d rolled up your sleeves in an attempt to cool off. “There are some details in the report that need immediate attention,” he replied, his voice calm and measured. But you noticed the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his lips pressed together slightly, as if he was holding back more than just words.

The silence stretched between you, and you shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling the weight of it as the heat pressed down. Heeseung seemed to notice, too, loosening another button on his collar, the sight of his neck and collarbone more distracting than you cared to admit. You looked away, heat pooling in your cheeks, an unwelcome but undeniable reaction to his presence.

“You don’t have to stay all day,” he added after a pause, his tone dropping an octave, softer, almost teasing. “Just until we’re… satisfied.”

You felt a strange pulse in your chest at his choice of words, his voice heavy with implication. He was too close, his presence too intense, and the heat only amplified the tension already thick in the air. You could feel your pulse quickening, each glance, each slight movement building the pressure between you.

The file in your hand felt heavy, but you held onto it tightly, refusing to let yourself get swept up in the charged atmosphere. “Let’s get this over with,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart was racing.

Heeseung’s smirk widened slightly as he reached for his own copy of the report, leaning forward, his arm brushing yours, sending a jolt through you that you couldn’t ignore. You looked down, the movement forcing you to notice the subtle, intoxicating scent of his cologne, a mix of something clean and woody, and the heat only seemed to make it stronger.

Heeseung’s hand came to rest just beside yours on the table, and his fingers brushed yours ever so slightly, sparking a shiver that shot up your arm.

“You’re tense,” he observed, his voice a whisper, eyes meeting yours. “You don’t need to be.” His tone was soft, but there was a glint in his gaze, an invitation wrapped in those simple words.

You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to keep it together, but your voice betrayed you. “If you keep looking at me like that, Heeseung, I will walk out of here.”

“Looking at you?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as his fingers traced a light line over the back of your hand, lingering there. “I thought you weren’t the type to run from a challenge.”

“Maybe I’m just not interested in this kind of challenge,” you whispered, though the flutter in your stomach told a different story.

Heeseung leaned closer, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I don’t think that’s true.”

The space between you seemed to disappear as he reached up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, lingering at your jaw. His touch was soft, tentative, but filled with intention, and you felt yourself leaning into it despite yourself.

The warmth of Heeseung’s fingers lingered on your skin, a subtle touch that felt anything but casual. His gaze softened, and for a moment, the cocky facade he wore so easily faded, replaced by something deeper, something… vulnerable.

You swallowed, feeling the air between you thicken. He hadn’t moved, his hand still at your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek, setting off an unsteady rhythm in your chest. Your mind screamed at you to snap out of it, to brush him off, to act unaffected, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from him.

And then he moved, slowly, his lips just a breath away from yours, giving you one last chance to pull away. But instead, you felt yourself leaning in, closing the distance as if you were both magnetized, unable to resist the pull.

When your lips finally met, it was electric, a collision of every lingering stare, every hidden tension that had built up between you since day one. His lips were soft but insistent, coaxing you, drawing you in deeper, and before you knew it, you were kissing him back just as fervently, hands tangling in his hair as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss intensified, a heady mix of heat and desire, as if all the frustration and annoyance you’d felt for him was being transformed into something else entirely. You didn’t care anymore about the temperature in the room, or the fact that this was your manager, or the flood of feelings he stirred in you that you barely understood. All you could focus on was the way his mouth moved against yours, each kiss deeper and more urgent than the last.

You let out a quiet gasp as he pushed you back slightly, guiding you against the edge of the desk. He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded, filled with a desire that left you breathless.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured, his voice rough, sending a thrill down your spine. His hands found your waist, fingers tracing the fabric of your top, slipping just beneath it to rest on your bare skin.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, but your hands were already moving to the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against his neck as you loosened another button, craving more of him.

He laughed, low and quiet, his lips grazing your jaw, down to your neck. “I think we’re both a little guilty of pretending we don’t care,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “But I’ve wanted this… wanted you… from the start.”

His words sent your heart racing, and any lingering hesitation evaporated as his mouth moved along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, making you arch into him, every nerve alight with anticipation. You pulled him closer, feeling the firmness of his chest pressed against you, the sensation intoxicating.

Heeseung’s hands slid to your hips, lifting you onto the edge of the desk as he stood between your legs, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs, sending tingling sensations all through you. Your hands drifted to his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, exposing his arms and the toned muscles you’d only ever caught glimpses of.

You kissed him again, your movements urgent, almost desperate, the heat between you consuming. His hands traced up your sides, slipping beneath your top, pushing it higher until it was discarded somewhere on the floor. His gaze swept over you, appreciation and hunger mingling in his eyes, and you felt a rush of confidence, of satisfaction, knowing you had this effect on him.

He pulled you closer, his hands firm against your back as he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if trying to memorize every part of you. Your fingers traced the bare skin of his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he leaned into you, his mouth exploring every inch of skin he could reach. His name slipped from your lips, barely a whisper, but enough to make him pause, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Say that again,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your cheek, his gaze focused, almost reverent.

“Heeseung…” you breathed, the sound sending a shiver through him.

At that, he pulled you closer, his kisses trailing down your collarbone, down to your shoulder, his hands roaming over your body, every touch leaving you craving more. You let yourself get lost in him, in the weight of his touch, in the way his lips traced down your skin with a tenderness that contradicted the earlier arrogance he so often showed.

“Why did you wait so long?” you whispered, tilting his face up to meet yours, unable to shake the question as he looked at you, a mixture of warmth and desire in his eyes.

He hesitated, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he answered. “Because… every time I thought about you, I knew I’d lose control.”

“Maybe I wanted you to lose control,” you replied, your voice barely more than a murmur, your hand moving to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm, strong and steady, mirroring your own.

His mouth met yours again, harder this time, as if those words had unlocked something in him. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and any remaining distance between you disappeared as he lifted you slightly, his lips never leaving yours. The room seemed to fade around you as he deepened the kiss, his hands tracing down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was dangerous, that you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Not when his hands were on you, his mouth against yours, his body pressed against yours in a way that felt both grounding and electric.

You tugged him closer, fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders, his chest, marveling at how someone who could be so infuriating could also make you feel like this, like you were the only person in the world. His lips moved back up to your neck, trailing soft kisses up to your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Are you sure you want this?”

Your response was immediate, a soft “Yes,” that felt like a promise, and with that, any hesitation he had seemed to vanish. He lifted you in his arms, guiding you further onto the desk, his hands holding you securely as he kissed you, each touch, each movement, a slow, intoxicating unraveling of all the walls you’d built between you.

Heeseung's hands traced along your sides, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin, his touch both tender and possessive. You lost track of time, of where you were, letting yourself get swept away in the heat, in the desire that seemed to consume you both, until nothing else mattered but this moment.

For once, you didn’t care about tomorrow or what this would mean for your work, for the strange push-and-pull between you and Heeseung that had driven you crazy for so long. All you knew was that here, now, in his arms, every unspoken word, every hidden look finally made sense.

As Heeseung’s lips traveled along your jawline, his warm breath fanning over your skin, every nerve in your body felt alive, every touch leaving you wanting more. The heat in the room no longer mattered; it was dwarfed by the fire between you two, something undeniable and electric that had been simmering for too long. Your heart raced as he took his time, his lips and hands exploring every inch of your exposed skin, leaving a trail of warmth and goosebumps in his wake.

His hands moved from your waist, up your back, pressing you closer to him, fingers tracing circles that left you shivering despite the warmth. You couldn’t help but respond, your own hands finding their way over his shoulders and down his back, fingertips brushing the muscles that tensed beneath your touch. Each movement between you felt like a silent confession, a revelation of how long you’d both resisted this, yet how deeply you both needed it.

Heeseung paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his breathing heavy, and the raw intensity in his gaze sent a thrill down your spine. There was something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before—something softer, almost reverent, as if he was seeing you for the first time and finally allowing himself to admit what he’d felt all along. The room was silent except for your breaths, mingling in the small space between you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could speak, he leaned in, capturing your lips again in a kiss that was softer this time, yet just as passionate. It was slow and deliberate, a contrast to the urgency that had ignited between you just moments ago. The tenderness in his kiss surprised you, melting any remaining defenses you had. Your hands found their way to his face, cupping his jaw, feeling the slight roughness there, anchoring yourself in the moment.

Heeseung’s hands slid up, resting on either side of your face as he deepened the kiss, his thumbs brushing gently along your cheekbones. There was an unspoken understanding, a mutual need to make up for every moment you’d denied yourselves this, and the kisses grew more intense, more consuming with each passing second.

You could feel him smile slightly against your lips, a mischievous spark in his gaze as he broke away, resting his forehead against yours. “You know, if I’d known dragging you into this office would lead to this…” He let the sentence trail off, his grin widening as he searched your face, clearly pleased with the way you were looking at him.

“Oh, I’m sure you knew exactly what you were doing,” you retorted, trying to keep your tone light despite the fact that your heart was still racing.

“Maybe I did.” He leaned in again, his voice dropping to a whisper as his fingers trailed along your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I didn’t expect you to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, feeling a rush of warmth in your cheeks.

“Like you’ve wanted this as much as I have,” he replied, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just letting the words hang in the air. You felt your heart pounding, the weight of everything that had led to this moment, the months of stolen glances, of unspoken tension, coming to a head. It was strange, feeling this way about someone who had driven you crazy with his arrogance, his endless demands, yet now, standing here, you couldn’t deny that there was more to him than you’d let yourself see before.

Your hand moved to his face, tracing the line of his jaw as you looked into his eyes, letting yourself truly see him. “Maybe I have,” you admitted softly, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

Heeseung’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the arrogant, bossy exterior he usually wore was completely stripped away, leaving only the man in front of you, vulnerable and just as affected by this as you were. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he closed his eyes, his hands gently holding your waist, as if grounding himself.

When he finally looked up, his expression had changed. There was a new determination in his gaze, something deeper, as though he was making a silent promise to himself—and to you.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he said, his voice steady, leaving no room for doubt. “I want… more than just this.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the unexpected sincerity catching you off guard. You hadn’t thought about what would happen after today, after finally giving in to the feelings you’d both been ignoring for so long. But looking at him now, seeing the honesty in his eyes, you realized that maybe… you wanted more, too.

Before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to intertwine with yours. It was a small, almost hesitant gesture, but it spoke volumes, a sign of the unspoken connection between you, a promise of something beyond the walls of this office.

“So,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with a playful smirk. “Are you still mad at me for making you come in today?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looked at him, unable to keep the smile off your face. “I suppose I can let it slide this time… as long as you don’t make it a habit.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hands gently. “Deal. But don’t think I’ll stop asking you to work late if it means we get more moments like this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he replied, his smirk softening into a genuine smile.

As you stood there together, the heatwave outside forgotten, the hum of the empty office surrounding you, you knew that this was the start of something unexpected, something that would change everything.

A/N : kind of did it in a rush, hope you liked it tho !!!

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Just A Prank

Franco Colapinto x Fem!reader

minor angst and a lot of fluff

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 and 2 Masterlist

The day began like any other. You and Franco had both slept in, rare and cherished moments of rest squeezed between the constant hum of his career as a Formula 2 driver. Lately, every moment together felt extra special—his season was nearing its end, and with it, the uncertainty of what would come next loomed ever closer.

That morning, you both lounged on the sofa, Franco’s head resting comfortably in your lap as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his messy dark hair. You could feel the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body leaning into yours. He seemed unusually relaxed, but you could also sense an underlying tension—like he was holding something back.

“Do you want to go out for a walk later?” you asked, trying to pull him out of his pensive silence.

Franco looked up at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’d rather stay like this for a bit longer,” he murmured, leaning up to steal a kiss. “Besides, who knows when I’ll get the chance to do this again.”

“Franco, don’t be so dramatic,” you chuckled, but his words stirred something inside you. You both knew the competitive nature of racing, the constant push to perform, and the slim chances of moving up to Formula 1. He’d been hoping, of course, but you could feel the weight of the uncertainty. It had been pressing on both of you, silent and unspoken.

As the day wore on, you found yourself nestled in the little routines that made life with Franco feel so complete: cooking breakfast together, debating which show to watch, laughing over silly inside jokes only the two of you understood. The hours passed, and you found comfort in his presence, a sense of home you never thought you’d find so soon in life.

Then, in the early afternoon, Franco’s phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the quiet, and he tensed immediately.

“Hold on, amor,” he said softly, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the screen. “It’s my boss… I need to take this.”

You watched him slip into the next room, closing the door behind him as he answered. You felt your heart rate pick up, your mind running through a million scenarios. You knew he’d been anxiously awaiting some news about next season, but he hadn’t said much—always downplaying it, always acting like it was no big deal. Yet you could tell it mattered to him more than he let on.

Minutes ticked by, each one dragging longer than the last. You strained to hear snippets of his voice, but it was muffled behind the door. Your stomach churned with nerves, and you hugged a pillow to your chest, wondering what could possibly be taking so long.

Finally, he emerged, his face unreadable. You searched his expression, looking for any hint of what he’d heard, but he just sighed, walking toward you with a faint smile.

“So…” he said, plopping down beside you, trying to look nonchalant. “Looks like next season… they’re, uh, bringing someone else in to replace me.”

The words landed like a stone in your chest. “What?” you whispered, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Franco, no—there’s no way! You’ve been amazing this season! Who would they possibly bring in that’s better than you?”

He shrugged, looking away, his face somber. “Apparently they want a different direction or something.”

Anger bubbled up inside you, your face heating as you struggled to keep your composure. “I’m sorry, but that’s insane. You’ve worked so hard, Franco. You don’t deserve this! It’s not fair!”

Franco bit his lip, struggling to contain a grin. You were too furious to notice.

“I’ll call them,” you continued, clenching your fists. “I’ll go down to the paddock myself if I have to and demand answers. They don’t realize what they’re giving up.”

“Y/N,” Franco interrupted softly, his voice trembling slightly with laughter, “it’s a joke.”

You froze, trying to process his words. “A… a joke?” you repeated, blinking in confusion.

He laughed, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into his embrace, his whole body shaking with laughter. “Yes, cariño, a joke! They didn’t replace me. They actually… called me up. I’m going to F1.”

For a second, you couldn’t speak. Relief and shock hit you in equal measure, a tidal wave of emotions threatening to spill over. You blinked, your mind racing to catch up. “Wait, Franco, are you serious?”

He nodded, his eyes shining with excitement, a look you’d never seen before. “I am. I didn’t want to get my hopes up until I knew for sure. But yes… I’m moving up to Formula 1.”

“Franco!” you gasped, grabbing his face in your hands as the reality of it set in. Pride, love, and pure joy swelled in your heart, and you leaned in, pressing a fierce, grateful kiss to his lips. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

He grinned, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. “So… do you still want to go to that fancy dinner? I think I could use a celebration.”

You didn’t need any more convincing. After changing into something special for the occasion, you spent the rest of the evening out together, every laugh and glance shared over the candlelit table a reminder of the journey you’d both been on together, and the exciting path that lay ahead. It felt surreal, like a dream you both dared not wake up from.

The restaurant was perfect—a quiet, candlelit spot with a warm ambiance, the kind of place where you felt like the world outside melted away. It was just you and Franco, tucked into a cozy booth with glasses of deep red wine glinting in the soft light. You both had eyes only for each other.

As you sat down, Franco took your hand, his fingers warm and familiar as they laced through yours. He began tracing soft, invisible circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, a simple gesture that sent gentle shivers up your spine. You caught yourself smiling, wondering if he realized just how much these little touches meant to you.

“Who are you most excited to see on the grid?” you asked, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. You knew he had a few favorite drivers, people he looked up to and couldn’t wait to work alongside. The mere thought of him among the ranks of those he admired filled you with pride.

“Ah, I can’t lie,” he said with a grin, leaning closer. “It has to be Alonso. To think that I’ll be racing alongside him… It still doesn’t feel real. And Verstappen, too—I’ve watched them since I was a kid, you know? To be up there with them, fighting for positions on the same track…” He shook his head, a little awestruck, and you could see the light in his eyes, that spark of a dream coming true.

You squeezed his hand, feeling his excitement wash over you like a wave. “It’s everything you’ve worked for, Franco. And you deserve it more than anyone.”

He gave you a bashful smile, a flicker of vulnerability in his expression. “I’d never have made it here without you, Y/N. You’re my biggest supporter, and that means the world to me.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you murmured, brushing his cheek softly. “It’s just… I’m so happy to see you finally getting what you’ve dreamed of. It’s going to be incredible, Franco.”

The two of you settled into an easy rhythm of talking about the future—where he’d be traveling, who he’d meet, the circuits he was most excited to race on. He laughed as he recounted stories of watching past races as a kid, how he’d imagined himself on those tracks, feeling every turn and straight as if he was already there.

“To celebrate,” he began, leaning back with a mischievous smile, “we should travel somewhere just for us. No circuits, no media. Just the two of us, like old times.”

Your eyes lit up. “Like a real holiday?”

He nodded. “Exactly. We could go somewhere quiet, off the grid. A beach, maybe. Just us, some sunshine, no worries.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, a smile spreading across your face. “After your first race, we’ll sneak away and have our own little victory tour.”

Franco laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a date, then.” He raised his glass in a toast, and you clinked yours against his, both of you laughing, a gentle warmth in the air as the wine brought out the color in his cheeks.

As he sipped, he looked at you thoughtfully. “What about you, Y/N? This is going to be a huge change. Are you ready for all the travel, the media, the madness?”

You felt his fingers lace through yours a little tighter, a look of genuine concern crossing his face. You took a breath, holding his gaze. “Franco, I’ll follow you anywhere. This is your dream, and I want to be there to support you every step of the way. I’ll be right there, cheering you on, reminding you to eat, helping you decompress after every race. Whatever you need.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his face softening, his eyes full of that love that had been there from the beginning. “I’m the luckiest guy alive, you know that?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your voice caught as you noticed something over his shoulder. At a table just across the room, seated side by side with familiar expressions of pride and warmth, were your parents. They were dressed for the occasion, looking right at you with knowing smiles, raising their glasses in your direction.

“Wait… are those… my parents?” you whispered, glancing back at Franco, utterly bewildered. “What are they doing here?”

But when you turned back to him, Franco was no longer in his seat. Instead, he was down on one knee beside you, his warm hand still holding yours. In his other hand, he held a small, velvet ring box, his face a mixture of nervousness and undeniable love.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft yet steady. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were something special. You’re my best friend, my rock, and the reason I’ve been able to dream as big as I have. I can’t imagine facing any of life’s twists and turns without you by my side. I want to spend every lap of this life with you. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the enormity of the moment crashing over you. You could feel the warmth of his hand still holding yours, the love in his gaze steady and unwavering. You could only nod, whispering, “Yes, Franco. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The restaurant broke into applause as he slid the ring onto your finger. He rose to his feet, pulling you close, and you laughed through your tears, burying your face in his shoulder as the joy of it all overflowed. It felt as though time had stopped, as though the two of you were the only people in the room.

When you pulled back, your parents were there, wrapping you in hugs, congratulating you both. You looked back at Franco, his eyes never leaving yours, that same quiet joy radiating from him.

In that moment, you knew that no matter where this life took you, every twist and turn would be worth it because you’d be facing them together.

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan @styl1shl1v @eddieharrington @hellowgoodbye

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

When I watched OFMD this year, I literally knew three things:

It was called Our Flag Means Death

It was a pirate comedy

It had been cancelled

I didn’t know Rhys Darby (��that Murray bloke from Conchords’) or Con O’Neill (‘the weird guy from Chernobyl’) were in it until they came on screen. And please don’t stab in me in the face, but I had never heard of Taika Waititi. I’m very much not the target market for this show. Although I will say I think it’s universal in its exploration of the human condition. So if you’re human, the show is for you.

I knew nothing about budget cuts, editing decisions, or even at this point any circumstances around why it had been cancelled. I had not an inkling it was a romance. I had no notion it was going to overtake my life to such an extent.

I watched one episode a night for 18 nights (I know, I know… I binge-watched it immediately afterwards over two days, and haven’t stopped since). I also had no-one to talk to about the show as I watched the 18 episodes. No-one I knew had ever heard of it. I really was a blank canvas.

And this is what I thought. Other than finding Calypso’s Birthday a little uncomfortable on first watch (and that’s largely because I find torture, even the OFMD variety, difficult to engage with - I always skip the opening of 206 now), I saw no difference between the seasons in terms of artistic merit. It’s possible that because I didn’t experience an 18-month hiatus, and build up my own version of what season 2 should be in my head, I didn’t have any expectations to be knocked down. I just engaged with what they asked me to watch.

I fell in love with this show at ‘My name’s Stede. I’ll be your robber here today.’ I fell in love with Stede Bonnet when he did his little Scrappy Doo air-punch in episode two.

With regard to season two, The Innkeeper affected me so much I honestly think it altered my brain at a structural level. More so than The Chain sequence which is when I think this show started affecting my brain chemistry.

I also loved the development of Stede and Ed outside of their personas. The couch scene in Fun and Games made me believe in them as a couple in ways I hadn’t quite in season one because they were growing and being real with each other. I thought their arguments were so well-written. Man on Fire has one of the most authentic representations of couple miscommunication I have ever seen on tv. And I think Mermen is really good in doing what it needed to do, and did it well. How do you end a tv series that gives a satisfactorily emotional ending, but doesn’t give away everything in case there’s another season?

Ed’s journey in particular just ripped my heart out and then glued it back together. And seeing Stede continue to develop his very nonlinear understanding of the power of his earnestness and gnc self, whilst still sometimes wrestling with notions of traditional masculinity… I needed to grow a second heart.

When I learned of the financial and time constraints later on, I was shocked they had achieved such a high standard of tv.

Imagine my shock when I discovered the Canyon…

It’s fine if you don’t like season 2, or season 1, or OFMD at all for that matter. But if you want me to say season 2 isn’t any good, or as good as season 1, then you want me to say something that I have never felt to be true. When you experience it holistically like I did, it all hangs together beautifully.

[buzzinrusso]

Please Don't leave pt.2

(Light at the end of the tunnel)

Summary: where ingrid and mapi try to mend the forces , leading alexia to explain herself to you.

Contains: angst ,fluff ,polyamory and a little suggestive at the end

Word count : 1.3k

The next few days were a whirlwind of emotions .

You cried about it. You sobbed and cried, but eventually accepted the fact that you weren't enough for them .

Your manager was contacting multiple teams for your "loan" that you were hoping to turn into a full transfer. The teams interested were Manchester City ,Arsenal , Real Madrid, and Chelsea , along with a few other European teams .

Today , you had a meeting with the team manager to actually talk about if you really wanted to transfer.

Your plans were deranged when a fan account posted about your possible transfer from Barcelona to Manchester .

Word got around quickly, and surely enough,your teammate started flooding your messages ,questions you throughly in the team group chat.

You decided to just ignore them and talk it over at practice.

So , you got up ,went into the shower whilenoncall with your best friend from back home ,telling her about your situation.

This led to her talking and intense amount of shit about the girls and telling you that she was there for you.

A few hours later

You arrived at practice with the intention to ignore everyone .

You parked your car at your designated parking spot and went to the trunk of your car to get your bag .

When you walked into the training ground ,you were greeted by the media woman asking you what your phone wallpaper was ,you quickly showed it to her ,telling her that I was a picture of you and your bestfried ,alya,from back home after your graduation.

You sighed and then continued your way to practice ,making sure that it was a normal ,civil, and calm day ,avoiding anyone and everyone who tried to mention that rumours about your transfer .

Until patri came up to you in the middle of practice and started interrogating you about the post , which led pina to start questioning you too while the while team listened in ,especially two girls who were hoping that the rumours were not true.

"For the last time, Claudia, I'm not telling you anything right now ." You rolled your eyes at the girl for what felt like the 100th time today and walked away .

You marched into the locker room with full intention of packing your bag and rescheduling your meeting until a certain blonde walked in with an unrecognisable look on her face.

"Why are you leaving ?" The captain asks .

"None of your business, alexia." You snapped at her .

"I know something is wrong." You went quiet ."You can talk to me, nena."

You let out a loud scoff ," I clearly can't," you said while rolling your eyes at the captain as you got up to storm away .

"Come o-" you immediately cut her off with a yell ."Just stop ,alexia! I heard what you said at the team bonding night ,so you can stop pretending and say what you have to say to my face instead of talking ahit behind my back!" You borderline yelled at your captain and stormed out of the room with your training bag in hand.

Later that evening, a knock sounded at your door ,you swung the door open with annoyance painted on your face only to be met with the only two people you didn't want to talk to at all.

You rolled your eyes at them before trying to close the door only to be stopped by the one and only ingrid engen who shoved her foot between them and the door.

"We need to talk." Maria said as she walked into your apartment. "Please don't leave ,cari"

"Oh ,I think we're done talking." You exclaimed."I think the way you laughed at me when alexia was joking was enough talk for me."

"Wait ,wha-"

"You can save it .you know, I actually thought that you guys liked me . It was so obvious that I had the biggest crush on you guys ,and you were always - what I thought was - flirting with me .and I really liked you guys up until I heard you guys laughing at some cruel joke about me." Tears were starting to prick up in your eyes as they stinger them, but you kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.

Mapi eventually stopped your rant ."Look,cari, what you walked in on was not what you think it was . It's actually a really fucked up miscommunication about a really embarrassing conversation. We were talking about football .we were talking about the double tackle we did on Monday, and it turned into sex talk about tops and bottoms, and alexia was claiming that ..."

"Claiming what?"

"She was claiming that we would top you..." ingrid said in a hushed whishper as embarrassment flooded her body.

A moment of silence passes .it was a minute ,then two ,and then your laughter filled the air .

You were full on crying of laughter as mapi and ingrid just stared at you in confusion .

"What the fuck" you said in between breaths while still wheezing from laughter ."God, this is so ridiculous. "

"Are you still going to leave Barcelona?" Mapi asked.

"Ugh,I don't know .I've been in contact with a few teams, but I can pull out of it anytime before next week.".

"Can we get you not to leave?" Ingrid questioned

"I would take a lot of stuff for me not to go." You said truthfully .

"Stuff like this..?" You looked at the raven haired girl confused until she pulled you in and planted her lips on yours .

The kiss was electric , passionate, and perfect. Her soft lips moved against yours in the most glamorous way ever ,like you guys were meant to be.

It's only when you hear mapi whine that you moved back away from ingrid and then pulled into another kiss from Maria.

Her lips were like candy on yours as you easily melted into a rhythm with her .She moved her lips just right and snuck her tongue into your mouth while pulling you over her lap .

You pulled away for a breath of air but then got quickly pulled back in as ingrid started gently kissing your neck.

------------------------------------------------------

Sorry that this one is a bit of a short one ! Next chapter will be about 5k words of just fluff and smut ;)

Tags :@marvelwomen-simp , @iamagoddess1

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Welcome Home, Tough Guy

Pairing: Simon “Ghost Riley X Reader

Warnings: fluff, reader acting silly and get to see some humanity in Simon instead of just the soldier we know he is

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i needed to see Simon as more of a human, so… here’s the baby boy

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The past few weeks had been long and lonely without Simon. The countdown to his return felt endless, and in the days leading up to his homecoming, you’d channeled your anticipation into planning a celebration. It was silly, maybe even a little over-the-top, but you wanted to welcome him back in a way that showed him he was loved and that he could let his guard down here.

So, after a lot of last-minute tweaks and second-guessing, you finally set up your surprise: a big “WELCOME HOME, TOUGH GUY” sign, balloons you’d blown up by hand, a lopsided banner, and a snack table packed with all his favorite treats. You knew it might be too much for Simon, who always tried to slip back home as quietly as he could, but you couldn’t resist. After all, he deserved something a little special.

When you finally heard the familiar rumble of his truck pulling up outside, your heart skipped a beat, and you practically sprinted to the door, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Through the window, you caught sight of him as he stepped out, his tall, broad frame cutting an imposing figure in the fading light. Despite his usual guarded posture, there was something softer in his eyes as he looked up at the house.

As he made his way to the door, he froze, taking in the decorations with a raised eyebrow. His gaze lingered on the crooked banner, the balloons, and finally, the giant welcome sign on the door. His mouth twitched, the hint of a smile breaking through his usually stoic expression.

“Really?” he muttered, his tone deadpan. “A sign?”

“Oh, come on!” you teased, barely able to contain your excitement as he came up the steps. “After all this time away, you think I wouldn’t celebrate?”

He shook his head, clearly fighting back a laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘welcome home party’ type.”

“Well, I’m making an exception for you,” you replied, hands on your hips. “You deserve it.”

He paused, glancing at you with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Deserve a good meal and a quiet night, maybe. Not… all this.” He gestured to the decor, and you could see he was a bit overwhelmed.

“Oh, please.” You gave him a playful nudge as you guided him inside. “There’s even snacks.”

“Snacks?” His eyebrow lifted again as he took in the spread of chips, sandwiches, and a few neatly arranged drinks on the table. “Didn’t know I’d be gettin’ the five-star treatment.”

“Only the best for you, big guy,” you teased, and motioned to the couch where you’d piled up every blanket and pillow you could find. “Now, sit back and let me pamper you.”

Simon sighed but didn’t argue, sinking into the mountain of blankets with a look of amused exasperation. “I feel like I’m at some kind of spa,” he muttered.

“Exactly!” You handed him a cup of iced tea with a tiny, bright pink umbrella sticking out. “A full tropical experience, just for you.”

He stared at the drink, glancing at you with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. “An umbrella?”

“Obviously,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Welcome to paradise.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. Then, with a faint shake of his head, he took a careful sip, holding the tiny umbrella off to the side. You could tell he was trying to keep his usual stoic composure, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was impossible to hide.

“Happy now?” he asked, glancing over at you with a smirk.

“Very,” you replied, settling in beside him with a grin. “Now, relax. Let me spoil you a bit.”

Simon gave a resigned sigh, leaning back against the cushions. But as he looked around at the makeshift decorations, you noticed a softness in his expression, a rare ease that he reserved just for moments like these.

“Missed you,” he murmured, his voice low, and reached out to take your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. The simple confession hit you like a wave, filling your heart with warmth.

“Missed you too,” you replied, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You know, you really need to take more breaks. You deserve some softness now and then.”

He let out a short chuckle, looking down at you with that rare, affectionate gaze. “Spoilin’ me with pink umbrellas and throw pillows, yeah?”

“Exactly,” you said, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Think of it as a taste of what life could be like if you ever let yourself actually relax.”

He shook his head, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d ever be the kinda man to need all this,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear. “Didn’t know I needed it ‘til I met you.”

The admission made your heart ache with a fierce tenderness, and you reached up to brush a hand across his cheek. “Everyone needs a little comfort, Simon. Even you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze deep and searching, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, with a rare gentleness, he shifted, slipping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. You nestled into his side, feeling the steady, reassuring warmth of his presence.

In that silence, he started running his fingers through your hair, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling you into a comfortable haze. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the closeness, the softness of him in this moment. It was a side of Simon few ever got to see—the man beneath the mask, the one who craved peace just as much as you did.

After a while, you stirred, looking up at him with a playful grin. “So… what’s next? Movie? Board game? Or maybe I’ll make us some popcorn?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re just lookin’ for an excuse to beat me at somethin’, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, poking his side. “Or maybe I just want an excuse to spend more time like this. With you.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t need an excuse, love. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As he held you, you felt the weight of his words settle into your heart, filling you with a deep, quiet happiness. For tonight, there were no missions, no walls between you, and no expectations—just Simon, your Simon, wrapped up in blankets and silly decorations, basking in a rare moment of pure, unguarded peace.

Here, in this cozy little bubble you’d created together, he wasn’t Ghost. He was simply Simon—the man who loved you, who let you see every part of him, even the sides he tried to hide. And for you, that was the greatest gift of all.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[capquinn]

ok we've been losing our minds about seeing quinn with kids but imagine him losing his mind seeing you with kids and babies. they're just so naturally drawn to you, smiling and giggling at you. when it's time to leave the kids pout, the babies cry and refuse to let go of you. it breaks his heart a little, but then he thinks about how you have that effect on kids and his heart is just so full and warm. he can't stop smiling thinking about how great of a mom you're going to be one day

It’s something Quinn’s been noticing more and more — how babies and kids always seem to be drawn to you, like there’s some invisible pull. He sees it everywhere, little moments that only fuel the quiet ache he’s been carrying, a bad case of baby fever that just keeps getting stronger.

It was a late summer afternoon at his friend’s BBQ, the kind of day where everything felt a little softer around the edges, the air warm and filled with lazy laughter and the smell of grilling food. Quinn was mid-conversation with a few of his buddies when he glanced over and spotted you down on the driveway, a piece of colourful chalk in your hand, showing his friend’s daughter how to draw a flower.

You were laughing, your voice floating over the soft hum of conversation as you patiently guided her tiny hand.

“Like this, see?” you were saying, helping her press the chalk down firmly. “And a little harder here — see how it makes the colour brighter?”

The little girl, determined to get it right, nodded with intense concentration, her face scrunched up in that serious way kids get when they’re trying so hard. She pressed down on the chalk with all her might, the green and purple smudges already staining her fingers. And you, just as focused, knelt beside her, not minding that your knees were getting chalky too.

Quinn couldn’t look away. The sight of you like that, so at ease, laughing with a child who was barely up to your waist, tugged at something in him. He imagined a version of this scene in a few years’ time — maybe it was a little girl with your eyes, or his determined frown, a toddler who insisted on doing everything by herself. He could already see the two of you, that same effortless connection, sharing these small, beautiful moments, and his heart did this odd little flip that made his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

The little girl tugged on your hand, proudly holding up her chalk drawing. “Look! I did it!”

Your smile lit up, and you nodded, leaning closer to inspect it. “You did! That’s amazing! I think you’re a pro at this, honestly.”

Quinn’s friend nudged him with an amused grin. “Man, she’s a natural. I think the kids like her more than us.”

Quinn only nodded, distracted, not fully hearing what was said because his mind was spinning. It wasn’t just that you were good with kids — it was the way you seemed to understand them, to genuinely enjoy being there with them, in their world. And suddenly, this idea started to blossom, the thought of a life where this wasn’t just an afternoon at a BBQ but something that happened every day. He pictured you like this, kneeling in your own driveway with a little one by your side, his heart pounding with a kind of certainty he’d never felt before.

Lost in thought, he didn’t realise he was smiling until you caught his eye and gave him a playful little wave. Quinn’s chest tightened, a shy grin pulling at his lips as he waved back. He barely heard his friend teasing him about being “smitten” because in that moment, all he could think about was how right this felt, how natural, and how he wanted that future with you more than anything.

It happened again a few weeks later at the grocery store, a place Quinn usually breezed through, his list memorised, rarely giving more than a glance to the colourful chaos of the cereal aisle. But that day, he was momentarily caught up, staring at the endless choices, debating between two boxes. That’s when he heard it — a tiny giggle that somehow cut through the chatter of shoppers, the hum of the store. Glancing over, he saw you a few feet away, your attention fully focused on a baby sitting in a shopping cart beside you.

The baby, not much older than a year, was staring up at you with wide, amazed eyes, completely entranced as you wiggled your fingers and made a soft, silly noise, your face lit with an easy smile. You repeated the sound, and the baby’s mouth dropped open, then let out another round of giggles, that beautiful, innocent laughter that would soften anyone’s heart.

Quinn couldn’t help but pause, frozen mid-decision, just watching. The baby’s mother had been focused on reading the back of an oatmeal box, scanning ingredients with the usual distracted look of a tired parent. But after a moment, she glanced up, noticing the small, quiet exchange unfolding beside her cart. Her gaze softened as she took in the sight of her baby reaching toward you, chubby fingers stretching, drawn to the warmth in your playful smile,

And then Quinn’s heart did that strange, achy thing it had been doing lately, where he felt both immensely full and oddly vulnerable, like he’d stumbled onto a vision of the future without realising it.

He imagined you like this, but with your own baby — a little one with his dark hair and your bright smile, or maybe a mix of everything he loved most about you. The two of you would share that same joyful bubble, so completely at ease with each other, lost in some private little world only you two would understand.

Quinn placed both cereal boxes into the basket, feeling a strange warmth build in his chest, one that he couldn’t seem to shake. His fingers tightened around the handle of the basket, the weight of the thought filling him with a kind of quiet longing. It was such a simple scene, one he’d seen a dozen times with strangers, but with you…it was different. He was already imagining a life that was filled with moments like this, and the ache that came with it was exhilarating, a reminder of how badly he wanted this — wanted you, wanted this life with you and all that came with it.

“Hey, are you ready?” you asked, glancing over and catching his gaze, breaking him out of his reverie.

He blinked, realised the mother and baby had moved on, then nodded, feeling a soft blush creep up his neck as he tried to play it cool.

“Yeah, just… got distracted,” he muttered, but he couldn’t hide the small, knowing smile that stayed with him all the way to the checkout, the warmth of the thought still lingering as he followed you down the aisle.

The feeling roots itself deeply, one he can’t quite ignore as he watches you with his cousin’s 8-month-old, who’s been wide-eyed and mesmerised by you since the moment you walked in. The baby, fussy with everyone else, settles effortlessly in your arms, chubby fingers curling tightly around your shirt, her small head resting trustingly against your shoulder.

Quinn’s cousin chuckles, watching you both. “You’ve got some kind of superpower,” she says, amused.

You smile down at the baby, shifting your arms to hold her closer as you sway gently, instinctively.

“She just needed someone to chat with,” you murmur, your voice soft and soothing.

You don’t see Quinn across the room, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s trying to memorise this scene, the tenderness in the way you hold the baby, your gentle laugh, the look in your eyes. His chest tightens, that strange warmth filling him again that’s both beautiful and a little overwhelming.

From beside him, his mom nudges his arm lightly. “You’ve got a look there, Quinn,” Ellen says quietly, watching him watch you.

Quinn gives a faint smile, eyes still locked on you, almost in disbelief.

“She’s… good with kids,” he says softly, as if the realisation itself has him feeling a little unsteady. “Just — look at her.”

Ellen’s face softens, a knowing smile lighting her eyes. “Some people just have that kind of warmth. Kids feel it. She’s going to be such a wonderful mom someday.”

Quinn glances at her, but his gaze quickly finds its way back to you, his heart doing an uneven thud as he watches you look down at the baby, cooing softly as her eyes close. You look up then, meeting his eyes, and you send him the sweetes smile, one that makes him feel like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

His mom places a hand on his back. “You’d make a wonderful dad, too, Quinn,” she whispers.

Quinn swallows hard, feeling a sudden swell of emotion he wasn’t prepared for. His mom’s words settle over him, and he feels it, the truth of them, sinking in deep. He’s always thought about it in passing, but the whole idea feels closer, more real, like something he could almost reach out and touch.

“You really think so?” he murmurs, voice barely audible, eyes flickering to his mom.

Ellen nods, her hand a steady presence on his back. “Absolutely,” she whispers, surprised that he even has to ask, her smile softening. “Have you two talked about kids lately?”

Quinn’s face flushes slightly as he keeps his gaze on you.

“A little,” he admits quietly, a small, almost shy smile creeping onto his face. “I mean, I think about it all the time.”

Ellen chuckles, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Well, whenever you’re both ready, you’ll be wonderful parents.” She pauses, trying to keep her smile from widening. “I can see it already. A Baby Hughes with those gorgeous dark waves,” she laughs, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

Quinn shakes his head, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he gently swats her hand away. “Mum,” he murmurs, trying to hide how much he’s secretly loving the idea.

Ellen laughs, her hand falling to his shoulder in a gentle squeeze. “No pressure, of course,” she says, though there’s a glimmer of excitement in her eyes that she can’t quite hide. “But when you do, I know you two will make a great team.” She looks back over at you, voice dropping. “You both have so much love to give.”

As he watches you across the room, swaying gently with his cousin’s baby asleep in your arms, he can’t shake the feeling that someday, hopefully soon, this picture will be a little different — a little closer to home.

Later that night, in the cosy guest room at his parents’ house, you lie curled up against Quinn’s side, watching the soft flicker of the TV in the dim light. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder as you both unwind from the family gathering.

In his other hand, he’s casually scrolling through his phone, when he pauses, then turns the screen your way. It’s a picture his cousin posted of her daughter in your arms at the party. In the photo, you’re smiling softly, looking down at the baby as she rests against you, and the sight of it, even through a screen, makes his chest warm.

“That’s a good picture,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, thoughtful.

You smile, curling up closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder. Something about that moment earlier had felt so natural, so easy. And as you look at the picture, that feeling stirs again, warming you in a way that feels both exciting and a little nerve-wracking.

After a pause, you swallow softly, gathering your thoughts, and then, before you can second-guess yourself, you say, “hace you thought about having… you know, a baby? Starting a family?”

Quinn tenses for a split second, and you can feel his heart pick up, thumping faster under your cheek. He pulls back a little to look at you, eyes wide with surprise.

“Did my mom talk to you?” he asks, a hint of suspicion, as if he’s caught onto something.

You let out a laugh, the tension breaking instantly, and sit up, leaning back against the headboard as you turn your body toward him, raising an eyebrow. “No, why would she?”

Quinn rubs the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “She, uh… she sort of mentioned it earlier. Said she thought we’d make a great team as parents.”

He glances down, a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks, and there’s a shy look in his eyes when he looks back up at you. The gentle vulnerability in his expression makes your heart squeeze, and you can’t help but smile.

“So,” you say, voice small, “what do you think?”

He shifts a little closer, his hand sliding to the back of your knee, fingers tracing gentle patterns. “I’ve actually thought about it a lot lately,” he says, his voice steady, direct, like he’s sharing a part of himself he’s been holding onto for a while. He glances at you, his hand giving your thigh a soft squeeze.

There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, an openness that makes your heart flutter. “I just… I can see it, you know?” he continues, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his eyes linger on yours. “Us, with a little one. And…” He chuckles, pausing, looking a bit shy, “I wouldn’t mind if that happened sooner rather than later.”

You feel a warmth rise in your cheeks, the blush creeping up as you take in his words, your heart skipping a beat. He’s watching you with such earnestness, a quiet hope in his gaze that matches the longing you’ve kept close to your own heart.

You say it softly, almost like a secret, “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

The words settle into the quiet between you, filling the space with a warmth that’s been building, unspoken, for weeks. Neither of you rushes to say more, just letting the admission linger, letting it shape into something real and close.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

i wrote homeward a little while ago that sorta touches on this too if u wanna check that out too hehe

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[forthegothicheroine]

I've made a post about great lesser-known noirs, but it occurs to me that some of you might not be familiar with the classics, and might want to know where to start. This is a ridiculously short list- I have a million more to talk about- but here are some of the big stars of the genre.

The Maltese Falcon: Sam Spade, a clever but callous private detective, gets wrapped up in intrigue relating to an artifact that is functionally cursed. If he's an unscrupulous character, just wait until you meet everyone else. The whole damn cast is electrifying, lending charm and cruelty in equal measure.

The Big Sleep: Philip Marlowe, a kinder and more poetic detective for Humphrey Bogart to play than Spade, is called upon to deal with a wealthy, dysfunctional family, and it keeps on getting weirder from there. Is the sharp-tongued Vivian Sternwood the femme fatale she seems, or is she just another person trying to find the right thing to do in desperate circumstances? And will she and Marlowe keep their hands off each other until the plot has had its last twist?

Double Indemnity: Rich housewife Phyllis Dietrichson and sleazy insurance agent Walter Neff are, by their own admission, rotten people. It's only natural that they should plot a murder together, and that they should turn on each other the very second things go wrong. Every single domestic murder movie since 1944 has ripped this off.

Kiss Me Deadly: This is nominally an adaptation of a Mike Hammer story. Screenwriter Bezzerides hated Mike Hammer. As depicted here, he is one of the worst people in the world. Depending on the cut of the film you see, he may inadvertently cause the nuclear apocalypse. (For once, the theatrical cut is darker.)

Sweet Smell of Success: Cruel, all-powerful columnist JJ Hunsecker wants his sister's boyfriend out of the way (for reasons that are, um, ambiguous.) To accomplish this, he enlists the biggest weasel in New York, Sidney Falco, and the two completely deserve each other as they spend the rest of the movie trading elaborate insults. Popular on tumblr for its dialogue and chemistry between the leads.

Sunset Boulevard: Broke screenwriter Joe Gillis thinks he can con a has-been into hiring him as a script doctor, and that's the last free decision he ever gets to make. From then on, his life is in the hands of Norma Desmond, silent film starlet turned crazed recluse, terrifying yet intensely pitiable. This is as much gothic horror as noir.

Ace in the Hole: The story of a man trapped in a cave is turning out to be a big hit in the newspaper, and if the publicity will make a reporter's career, then what's the harm in delaying rescue just for a little while? This is as vicious as noir gets, but damn it, you've just got to see what happens next. (Watch Jacob Geller's video Fear of the Depths after this.)

Sorry Wrong Number: Of all the films on this list, this is the one that really scared me. In the days of switchboards, a rich hypocondriac woman is connected to the wrong phone line and overhears a murder being planned. It doesn't take her long to figure out she's the intended victim, and each call she makes or recieves makes the situation darker. But how can she escape her fate if she can't- or won't leave her bed?

The Asphalt Jungle: The heist movie. Maybe the only heist movie ever made. Every line is quotable. Every member of the team is an unforgettable personality. When things go wrong, they go horribly wrong. One minute you're laughing, and the next minute you think you'll never laugh again.

Gun Crazy: Laurie and Bart, two practiced sharpshooters, are perhaps the most perfect match in all of noir- and that's a bad thing. When one half of the duo gets a criminal idea in their head, the other can't say no. When the opportunity to ditch her man like a sap comes up, the femme fatale throws it away to be doomed at his side. He fell in love with her when she first aimed a gun at him. Quentin Tarantino kissed star Peggy Cummins's feet at a showing of the film, and I hope she kicked him in the head.

Laura: Everyone was in love with Laura Hunt, and somebody killed her- or did they? Did they get the right person? Is the cop on the case in love with a dead woman? Was her columnist mentor just her gay best friend, or was there something darker beneath that facade? And what would Laura think of all this? A big inspiration on Twin Peaks.

In a Lonely Place: Bogart isn't at all heroic here, as a screenwriter with a drinking habit and a violent temper. He's obviously a bad idea to date, but just how bad an idea? He's not the type of guy who'd kill a woman, is he? Bogart and Gloria Holden give perhaps their best performances here, and they'll wound your soul.

Touch of Evil: A Mexican cop (played, unfortunately, by Charlton Heston) finds out a nasty secret about the big hero cop Hank Quinlan: he's framed the culprit in most of his cases. Not because he's crooked, but because his intuition tells him they're guilty. Director Orson Welles as Quinlan is frightening, grotesque, and a little bit tragic in what some consider the last classic noir.

The Killers: The first twenty minutes or so are an adaptation of a Hemingway story, where out of town hitmen gun down a man so depressed he won't even bother to run from them. The rest of the film is an investigation into how he got that way. It had something to do with a radiant gangster's girl, and something to do with a few botched crimes. Sometimes a man can die before the bullets even touch him.

The Third Man: Everybody is lying about the whereabouts of an American expatriate named Harry when his friend comes looking. Did they do something to him? Or, more frightening still, is he the one who's been doing things to other people? Orson Welles is a more charming monster than he was in Touch of Evil; the light and shadows on his face cast him as a vampire, while his fingers sticking up through the sewer grate look like something terrifying emerging from the earth.

[suzukiblu]

Day eleven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh–is it?” he asks, not really sure what else to say. Or more like, not really sure what else to say that would not sound both desperately, desperately horny and desperately, desperately weird. 

“I dunno,” Kon replies, giving him a quick, sheepish little smile. “Just makes me feel good, that you think I’m worth, like–taking out and showing off, or whatever. Like–without the S-shield on, even.” 

“The S-shield would definitely make date night a lot harder to enjoy, yeah,” Tim says, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to dissolve the entire entertainment industry and all of Kon’s previous romantic interests in acid from the ground up. Slowly. Kon blushes again, his smile widening. 

“And, uh–and that,” he says, glancing sidelong. “And that you wanna hang out with me without anybody interruptin’.” 

I want to hang out with you until I overthrow Gotham AND Metropolis and then I want to install a zeta between them and the biggest beachfront property you’ll let me buy for you and any little Kon 2.0’s you let me make you, Tim’s most insane self thinks and his slightly more rational current self does not say, because he has at least some small and tiny and miniscule scraps of self-control. 

Like, barely, and only lasting until the fifteen-year sidekick-to-supervillain plan goes off, but still. 

“I definitely don’t want anyone interrupting, no,” he agrees instead, and Kon beams at him again and then ducks in and kisses him again–just a quick little peck, but definitely still a kiss. Tim, belatedly, realizes that Kon might actually be getting more up in his space than he was before the whole . . . script issue happened. Just–standing closer, and leaning in a little more often, and things like that. Not in a demanding way or anything; just like he wants to be there a little more often. 

Like maybe he’s a little more comfortable being there, now. Or like maybe he thinks he can do it without anything being–expected from it, maybe. 

Tim doesn’t even know if Kon’s doing it on purpose or not, but he’s definitely noticing a difference either way. Just–there is very much a difference there to be noticed. 

He is definitely, definitely not going to be able to find out who any of Kon’s exes are before he goes supervillain. That’s just not going to work out for his timeline at all. 

Also Bruce would absolutely get upset if he found out about whatever he ended up doing about it, and he’s an emotional support sidekick, not, like, an intern or whatever. He is not here to cause problems, he is here to facilitate Bruce’s mental health, help him manage his paranoia, and minimize the amount of overkill beatings of petty thugs and small-time criminals. 

Admittedly Bruce managing his paranoia is not going great, but it’s a process, alright? He’s doing his best here. 

“So like, if we do go shopping again, wanna pick something out for me to wear for you next time?” Kon asks, still beaming at him. Tim’s brain attempts to reboot a couple dozen times before he manages to remember how to string a coherent sentence together. 

“Yes,” he says in an almost normal-person voice. Maybe. Theoretically. He . . . hopes, anyway. “Uh–yeah. That sounds, uh–like something I would like to do.” 

It’s a little harder to focus on the supervillain thoughts with Kon both wearing that expression and actually asking him to buy him something–especially specifically something he wants to wear for him–so that’s helpful for keeping to his timeline. But also, uh–embarrassing, kind of, because usually Tim is better at thinking than he currently is being. Like, his normal thought processes are a lot more involved than Kon’s so hot and Kon’s so CUTE and hurr durr pretty boy. 

He definitely still wants to ruin some people’s lives, but first he wants to get Kon dinner and dessert and buy out a boutique or four for him, and just like, a small suburb. Or town. City. Tri-state area. 

And also to pick out something for him to wear “next time”, since apparently Kon still wants there to be a next time that he sees Tim Drake and also just like . . . just the whole thing with the picking out something for him to wear thing, because Tim only has so much self-control, alright? He is doing his best here, but he’s only an emotional support sidekick, alright, he’s not made of stone. 

Seriously, Kon asked him to dress him and asked him to buy him something. Tim is not actually sure if he’s more thrilled about actually getting Kon to specifically ask him to buy something for him or frazzled over Kon offering to let him pick out something for him to wear. Just–god. Tim is just not even–Tim does not know what he’s feeling right now. Just–whatever it is, he is feeling it. 

He wonders if it would be, like, a little too pathetic of him to maybe get Kon another crop top. Or, uh, a little too thirsty of him. 

. . . probably, yeah. Probably definitely, in fact. 

. . . . . . but like, if Kon sees one he likes, it's not like Tim's gonna say no or–

Anyway. 

[canonicallyobserving911]

Bobby, Buck and Brad: In 8x7 Brad will be one of the “Wannabes”

He's obsessed with Bobby; he wants to be like Buck and his antics will likely lead to another Buddie and Bathena Parallel

I believe he's going to be the reason for the above call that will mimic when Buck was struck by lightning in 6x10 and I've included my speculation underneath the cut.

Before continuing, I need to make a point about the "Hotshots" storyline. Reminder, it's Bobby's arc therefore, whatever happens with it will be centered around him. However, Buck was enthralled in his own problems with Bobby's replacement (Gerrard) after Bobby left the 118 at the end of season 7. At the time, it was difficult to see how these things would be related later on but I think I figured out how things might play out.

Please note: these are my interpretations and observations and it's completely ok if someone doesn't agree because everyone interprets media differently. Two opposing opinions can coexist.

Now back to the regularly scheduled program...

Brad is a “fake” fire captain on the TV show “Hotshots” and he idolizes Bobby. Based on everything that was included in episodes 1-4, it's evident he didn't want Bobby to leave the show and go back to firefighting. It appears he has a "Hero Complex" and it's possible he's the one who fixed it so an actor will be hanging from the aerial like Buck was in 6x10.  He reminds me of Jonah but I don’t think he’ll be after everyone at the 118, just Bobby and Buck.

I did a post yesterday (linked here) about the similarities between 6x10 and 8x7 with regards to the lightning strike and I believe Brad is the one who's continued to STUDY Bobby’s past (he said he was going to do it in 8x1 while they were sitting at the same table) and he considers Bobby to be a "hero."

In episodes 1, 2, 3, and 4, he proved how mesmerized and captivated he was along with his fixation on Bobby and it was kind of weird.  He asked him to do a bootcamp with him and his friends in the mountains or at his house in Malibu but Bobby’s facial expression said, “Hell No” but Bobby always treated Brad with dignity and respect. He never belittled him and this fact will be reviewed again below. 

Furthermore, when Brad saw Bobby and Buck working together in 8x2 and 8x3, he was IMPRESSED and he tried to be like them during the airplane rescue. When he saw Buck commandeer that motorcycle and ride it to stop traffic, he called Buck, Bobby's boy.

He lied to the soccer player and said he was a firefighter but when she showed him her injured leg, he fainted.

Two things happened that intrigued me and reminded me of things that happened in previous seasons and they led to my speculation about him.

5x18 8x2

First, when I saw the way Brad followed Buck in the sneak peek video for 8x2 and the way he positioned himself right behind him, I figured he was crazy since he was already fixated on Bobby (related post linked here). And it reminded me of something I saw in 5x18 but it happened with Bobby and Buck. At the end of 5x18, after Eddie returned to the 118, Buck was walking in step with Eddie and within seconds, he was behind Bobby and you couldn’t even see Buck anymore (I did a post about what I believed it meant back then [linked here] and I still believe LD was there to do something to Buck but they changed her storyline and tried to make her a good person 🙄. Reminder she was friends with Jonah). But now it’s Brad who wants to be like Buck because Buck is Bobby's protégé and mentee and he will be captain of the 118 one day and it's been foreshadowed since season 1.  In 8x2, Brad did the same thing Buck did in 5x18 except Brad walked behind Buck and he was almost invisible until Buck stepped away and Brad got in the truck behind them.

5x3 8x3

Second, in 5x3, Buck was sitting in the captain’s seat when Bobby and the 118 went to go and help Athena so she could arrest Jeffrey.  In 8x2 and 8x3, Bobby and Buck were sitting exactly like they were in 5x3 with Buck in the captain’s seat and Bobby driving but reminder, they were in a FAKE fire engine.

Brad HATES Gerrard and in 8x4 it was easy to see especially when Gerrard told him that he doesn’t watch firefighter shows. He said, “ALL I SEE IS WHAT THEY DO WRONG.”   Also, he likes doing things the old school way and it was proven in 8x1 when he was talking to Buck and he doesn’t do things the way Bobby does them.  Therefore, it’s likely things on the “Hotshots” set aren’t going well and Brad wants Gerrard gone and he wants Bobby to come back.  I’ve included a video so the things Bobby, Brad, Buck and Gerrard said can be heard (GIFs are great but IMO, sometimes it's better to hear what's being said than to read it). 

Additionally, Brad thinks Bobby’s like “God” on set and he wants to be like him, so if Gerrard is pulling the same $hit he was pulling with the 118, it's likely Brad will try to get him fired.

In 8x7, I believe Brad will be the one to stage the scene to be like the one from the lightning strike and I think he’s doing it so that Bobby will go back to “Hotshots” and so that Gerrard will leave.  But I also think something’s going to happen and based on the narrative, Buck will be the one to get hurt and Eddie’s going to be the one to save him.

Bathena and Buddie have been paralleling each other for years but in season 7, Bobby and Athena had an NDE on the cruise ship and they had another one at the end of the season when their house burned down and Bobby died for 14 minutes.  But that was before TM (showrunner) changed the scripts after they got an early renewal for season 8.  I think if things would have remained the way they were supposed to, Buddie would've had an NDE too but it would have been both of them at the end of the season so they could have told each other, "I love you" like Bathena did when they were trapped inside of that room on the ship. 

Fast forward to season 8 and the opening disaster was of Bathena again but this time, Bobby was on the ground and Athena was in danger.  I think whatever’s going to happen at the end of 8A, it’ll be Buck in danger because of something Brad did and Eddie will have to use his medic skills and remain cool under pressure like Bobby had to use his firefighting captain’s skills to save Athena by shutting down the I-110 to create a runway for her.  Now all of this could change but reminder, Buck and Athena always parallel each other the same way Eddie and Bobby do so if this holds true then, Buck’s next up for another NDE with Eddie set to save him like Bobby saved Athena.  Bathena and Buddie Parallel posts linked here and here.

The purpose of this post is to offer speculation on why I believe Brad and the “Hotshots” are still around.  They’re there so that Brad can cause chaos to get Gerrard fired so Bobby can go back to the TV show but it’s going to end up in a cluster f~ck and Buck will be the one to get hurt.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

I re-emerge with a soft and vaguely angsty Nik/Price/F!Reader

Unedited, 1k, enjoy <3

It's not unusual for Nikolai to look after her while Price is away. As a matter of fact it grew common, the burly Russian staying with her more often than not, even when John was home.

And what had originally been a friendly extension of John, extra security at her call, had evolved into another soft body in their bed, both men's mingled cologne sinking into her sheets as she slept tucked between them.

However, these last few days had been devoid of soft embraces and stolen kisses, but rather wretched coughing and sniffly noses. 

Nikolai, has been sick as shit for days.

Thankfully, he'd been minding her with only a small amount of caterwauling. Huffing and puffing about her not sleeping beside him, whining as sickly boys are want to do.

His raspy voice somehow stupidly effective in getting him his way. 

Can I have more blankets lisichka? he rumbles pitifully.

What will we have for lunch?  he asks with big brown eyes. 

As if he could keep anything more than cheese and crackers down.

Unable to sleep due to Nikolai’s chainsaw level congestion snores, she slinks down stairs in the wee hours of the morning. Having already decided to make her favorite comfort food. Something simple, savory and carb heavy for the pair of them. 

On a whim she gives John a video call, setting it up on the counter while it rings and rings. 

She hardly expects him to answer, he rarely does.  And considering he'd already been gone 4 out of his supposed 6 week stint, she was sure her man was still up to his chest in work.

She's got a maw full of shredded cheese when John's voice rings through the receiver.

“Hello darling”

She sputters, recovering quickly to flash him a big goofy smile.

“Hey love” she whispers back, heart fit to burst as she takes him. There isn't much to see, just the pale light of his phone illuminating his features in the darkness. His beard is scruffy, bags under his eyes far too heavy for her liking. 

“Hello” he repeats again, an infinite fondness in his voice. His sweet cheeks pulled up into that little smile that still makes her blush. She sheepishly brushes the remnant shredded cheese off her tits, tries to quickly adjust her hair. 

She can see her own image reflected in the top corner of her screen, she looks like hammered hell honestly. Hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes, clad in ratty stained oversized shirt. She almost feels a little guilty for not looking more presentable for him when he chimes in again.

“Missed that sweet face.” he murmurs, and all those nagging thoughts plop right from her noggin. The goofy man would think she'd look hot in a trash bag. 

“Missed your face too baby, you okay?” She knows better than to ask about the op, instead lets him pick and choose what he likes to talk about. 

“Much better now, might even be home sooner than we thought.”

Her ears perk at that, spiritual tail wagging hopefully. She missed him dearly, occasionally shed tears in the lonely showers away from Nikolai, when the weight became to much for her to bare. She does her best not to say anything, doesn't want him to feel bad for being so far away. Instead she sends him updates, pictures of the animals, of her meals, this weeks favorite song.

He doesn't reply, she knows he can't, but he does read them, follows up with each one in a big text or call when he can. Somehow holding the details despite whatever hell he sees.

“What you makin’ over there?” he cuts in, trying to eye the counter with a raised brow through the screen. 

“I was hankerin’ for some potato soup, thought the patient would like it too.” she chuckles a bit.

“Mmm, sweet thing aren't you? How is he?”

“He's only a little whiny, spends his day trying to coax me close enough to cough on me, claims he just wants a cuddle” she laughs.

John chuckles too, shaking his head with a fond exasperation.“Well, you gonna show me how to do it?”

“Huh? Right now? I was just calling…you can get your rest babe, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm far from tired with a pretty thing cookin for me, now go on.”

She flashes him a knowing look. John Price was no chef, he did well enough, but she'd caught him on more than one occasion following along to the little cooking videos he'd dug up on the internet. Especially those made by other soft southern women.

With an expectant look she continues her work, cutting vegetables and getting the stock pot ready. 

“Talk to me love, need to hear your voice.” he reminds her. 

Not want. Need. And who was she to deny him? So with a little fumbling she starts narrating, mimicking the smooth diction she'd often heard in those same videos, biting back a smile as she watches John fight sleep. Tired baby blues drooping lower and lower, closing briefly before the sharp snick of cut carrots stirs him again. Eyes straining to keep watch.

Sweet man.

She knows he's exhausted, more so than she can probably imagine. What hell he's had to dodge up until this point, and possibly a few days more until he can see them again.

Something in her chest stirs at how he stills for her, easily drawn into the soft bubble of comfort she can provide at such a distance. Lulled easily by a silly soup recipe, simply because it's her voice. She wonders now if he uses her voice messages similarly. She wonders if he would let her read him to sleep.

She files it away. Along with the thought of sending him softer voice messages for when he's away. 

She looks to him again, bristly face squished against his pillow. Eyes closed serenely. 

“Wanna know my secret?” she asks, soft and playful, watching one of his pretty blue eyes creak open at her tone.

“W'sat luv?” 

“I use instant mashed potatoes to thicken up my soup, makes it extra potatoe-y” she giggles.

“My clever girl” he mumbles dreamily, followed by a string of more barely intelligible praise. It rolls easy and proud from his chest, voice no more than a sleepy purr that makes a grin split her face. 

By the time she's finished up John is fully asleep, his measured breaths pouring through the receiver just shy of a real snore.

Her heart aches deep in her chest, a chunk of it long gone and far far away in the form of one John Price, and while she can see him now, know he's alive and relatively well, she longs more than anything to crawl in next to him. Hold him close tucked beneath her chin, where she can keep him warm and safe herself.

As if on cue, a pair of strong arms wrap around her middle, Nikolai’s hot cheek pressed to her temple where he briefly lays a kiss. This time she doesn't fight him. 

Getting sick be damned.

“Pretty thing isn't he?” Nikolai rumbles quietly, eyeing the phone screen with those fond brown eyes. 

She simply hums an affirmative in his arms, words caught in her throat by the emotion that's threatening to escape her. 

Nik seems to catch on, giving her a soft squeeze. “How is he?” he whispers instead, voice low to not wake the man on the other side of the world.

The question is able to at least shake a little out of her. “He seems okay, worn out, fell asleep watching me cook.” She watches John for another moment before sucking in a deep sigh, squirming around in Niks arms to face him, tuck herself into his arms. 

“I'm just ready for him to be home” she mumbles into the soft plush of his chest.

Nik pulls her in closer, warm hands petting along her back, squeezing the back of her neck soothingly. “Me too, malyshka” he returns, the weight of John's absence equally heavy in his own voice. 

The pair stay there for some time, swaying gently in each other's embrace, listening to John's soft snores until the sun paints their meager kitchen gold.

[a-ikuoliver]

kinktober day 31: maki + stepcest

w/c: 2.9k warning/s: f!reader (wearing a dress, referred to as woman), stepcest/incest, characters are referred to as sisters/use of honorifics, masturbation (r!receiving), panty sniffing/stealing, degradation, oral (r!giving), semi-public sex, maki's kinda (read: very) mean lmao notes: this is part of @ficsforgaza kinktober event!! ffg kinktober masterlist — please enjoy and check out the creators who helped raise over $400 usd for gaza aid!! this is my first time writing maki and i think i've gone blind from horniness so i think i did well LMAO inspo/acknowledgements: co-written with my lover @cottoncalicoes

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

“congratulations again to the happy couple!” swallowing thickly, you take the opportunity during the applause to clear your throat, “and i’m so excited to be an honorary zen’in.”

you hate your cognisance of the weight of the microphone in your hand, your sweaty palms sliding against the metal no matter how nervously you adjusted your grip on the cylinder. you feel like you’re going through withdrawal, your lips too tight in your smile, showing too many teeth, your fingers twitching at your side, sweat beading on your brow as you stood at the centre of the dance floor in front of your new family on the best day of their lives.

for them, it looks like it is; mai, mingling with everyone in her stunning bridesmaid’s gown, dark green hair framing her pretty face, glitter sparkling on her eyelids in the low light, the blushing bride glowing at the centre table, her white slip dress rubbing against her grooms leg as he inched their chairs closer, both of them beaming with lovesick smiles. and maki, in a matching dress with her twin, the gown ruching, plunging and bunching on every addictive curve of her body, like your mother had chosen the dresses just to torture you. you, in comparison, look miserable with your flushed cheeks, darting eyes, clammy fingers attempting to pull the clinging fabric away from your searing skin.

you can’t do it. you can’t. you can’t even last a day without it.

your lewd vice. an unintentional habit born the week you moved in with your new family. you’d all settled into a routine quickly; family dinner, tidying the home, showering and bathing, and then slinking back to your bedroom for some peace. any apprehension you may have felt about the change melted from you when you’d stepped into the bathroom on your fifth night, the walls still sticky with humidity from your step-sisters shower, the faucet dripping against the porcelain tile rhythmically. only after stripping down to your underwear did you notice it; your downfall served to you on a silver platter. maki’s underwear strewn carelessly across the floor.

the fabric was plain. black. a boy short cut, curved to complement the shape of her ass. everything you'd expect from your new step-sister.

shame bubbled in your stomach, a pit of trepidation building the more you stared at the garment. moving on autopilot, hot water spouted from the shower, noisily hitting the tile and glass opposite it, steam billowing to the ceiling, your fingers snatching the panties before you can think about the repercussions, your left hand slipping between your thighs to furiously fuck yourself, your garbled moans and pants muffled by your right hand, holding her panties over your nose and lips like a depraved version of a mask.

each and every single day since had been no different. you and maki crossing paths, her hair still damp, droplets trailing down the skin of her neck, and you, refusing to meet her eye, hurrying into the bathroom after her, needing to huff and suck and lick at her underwear while they still tasted like your oneesan.

wetting your dry lips, you pass the microphone along to the next, family members rushing to pass along their well wishes to the happy couple, you only hope your new family doesn’t notice the way your eyes glaze over, meeting maki’s across the room. your (now official) step-sister stares over the top of the round frames of her glasses, tawny eyes studying you like she’s watching the memory replaying in your mind, too, hearing the wanton call of her name.

with a polite smile to a cousin who’s name escapes you, you slip from the banquet room, ducking your head past ornate decor, white, gold and a muted emerald green to match the bridesmaid dresses, the train of your own billowing after you as you rush toward the end of the hallway, near sprinting by the time you reach the door.

swinging the door open, your chest heaves, lungs tightening each time you try to catch your breath, too preoccupied with hiking the length of your dress up to focus on your breathing, too impatient to even hold your underwear aside when you press your fingertips to your aching clit, only just managing to slam the stall door shut before you breathe out an airy sigh.

the bathroom door swings open, the hinges creaking, a noise that should send your heart to your throat. instead, you only feel a frustrated scream build in your oesophagus, willing your unwanted guest to take care of themselves quickly, to let you take care of your issue.

their steps echo ominously toward your stall, each click in time with your erratic pulse before stopping outside your door, their shoes eerily similar to the heels maki adorned for the event.

“you're pathetic.” the familiar, bored voice rings from the opposite side of the stall, icy blood rushing in your ears nearly deafening you, “what’s it been, hm? not even an entire day without stuffing yourself full?”

your cunt aches at her tone, disappointment laced through every syllable, disappointed in your weakness, about to lecture you on self-control.

when you don’t answer her, she knocks sharply against the door, demanding your attention with the jarring note, “come here. now.”

reluctantly, you obey, a painful jolt shooting through your spine to your neglected clit when you drag your hand away, clenching your fists between your thighs, trying not to release a petulant groan, willing yourself not to whine and cry to your step-sister about your addiction, your debauched habit, the wail catching in your throat before it can be free. easing the door open, you attempt to steel your features, letting your dress fall back into place, hiding the slick on your thighs when you meet maki’s wolfish gaze.

“look at you,” she sneers, tilting her head to take in your dishevelled appearance — your dress creased at your hips, the angry marks your nails left in your palms, your swollen, bitten lips, “can you even get off without your nose stuffed in my underwear?”

your stomach drops at her words, eyes darting around the confined space, trying to find something to look at other than her face. feeble excuses tumble past chapped lips, stuttering over every word that comes to mind, finally landing on a complete sentence, “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

picking nervously at the bed of your nails, painted to match hers for the special day, you still avoid her sharp eyes, your gaze landing on her lips as she laughs at you.

“perverted and an actor,” crowding into the already cramped space, she’s sure to slide the lock into place behind her before she continues, “you really thought i wouldn’t notice your little habit?”

cowering under the heat of her stare, maki easily backs you against the wall, the tension thick enough even the dullest blade would slice through it; a heat blossoming anywhere she touches you, one hand at your shoulder, the other your waist, her hips pressing into yours to trap you beneath her patronising sneer.

“how long?” her slender fingers move to grasp your jaw, calloused fingertips squishing the fat of your cheeks, pressing them together until your lips parted dumbly, tilting your head to look into her shining eyes. the glass atop her nose flashes, a fierceness reflected back at you.

although, the longer you stare, the sooner you realise it’s her pupils swimming with the wickedness.

“what?”

“how long did you think you could get away with it?” pressing herself harder to you, she studies every minute reaction: the flutter of your eyelashes, the pucker of your lips, the whine in your throat, the wiggle of your hips, chasing the euphoria she was willing to give you with every adjustment of her hips.

“using me to get off like that,” leaning closer like she’s going to kiss you, she continues clicking her tongue at you, her voice dripping in vitriol, “stealing my underwear, getting yourself off to the smell of me like some pervert, and all i get is a selfish little sister and stained underwear.”

digging her fingertips into your side to halt your wiggling, you bite back a moan, a small part of you worried you’re going to stain her dress with your slick.

“christ, and you’re getting off on this, too?” looking down her nose at you, there’s a pang of humiliation blooming at the nape of your neck until she grins, as evil as the glint in her eye, “you fucking freak.”

“i’m not a freak.”

maki laughs, no, snicker at your weak voice, sounding more like a frightened child trying to stand up to its playground bully, 'sensei said you're not allowed to snatch,', dropping her hand from your waist, she slips it between your thighs, allowing you to wiggle and grind into her hand, your body still screaming to cum, here, like this, with your sister’s fingers inspecting the slick drooling from your pussy, the voice in your head screaming at you to leave growing quieter and quieter, silenced for good when she swipes her thumb over your clit.

“you have a different word for getting this wet for me?”

heat rushes to your face, stammering like a poor little victim again as she strokes your dripping slit painstakingly slowly, “you know what i think?”

you only whine in acknowledgement, reaching for her wrist in an attempt to get closer, to feel her weight pinning you, her heat, for more.

tightening her grip on your jaw, she sadistically draws her fingers away from you, “when your oneesan asks you a question, freak, you answer.”

“w-what do you think, maki?”

“show some respect,” she goads, “what do you moan when your fingers are stuffing your greedy cunt? say it.”

“what do you think… oneesan,” you sound pathetic moaning the honorific, the taste of it on your tongue enough to make your cunt pulse and gush, your empty hole clenching around nothing when maki rewards you with her thumb stroking circles on your clit.

a predatory smile graces her lips, still glossy with makeup, her feminine features twisting as she taunts you, “i think you owe me.”

it doesn’t take much for maki to get you to your knees, pushing at your limbs until you’re fumbling to kneel on the frigid tiled floor beneath her, your face level with her crotch. even maki’s hands tangling in your hair can’t stop you from pressing your face between her thighs, the dull pain of her tug at your scalp nothing compared to the ache in your stomach, a hearth burning and smouldering with each prod, pinch and spit from your step-sister. the scent of her like gasoline, your kindled hearth quickly growing into an uncontrollable flame.

she was right, you can’t get off without this anymore, without the taboo, the scent of her, the taste of her on the cotton.

your eyelids flutter, dazed when you dip your head beneath the hem of her dress, sucking in a deep breath with your face pressed to her cunt, already addicted to how much better it is like this – the heat of her muscular thighs around your head, the strength of her smell, the way you can trace the shape of her cunt while sucking her taste from the material, more and more of her cum starting to drool from her cunt the more you tried to lap it up, greedily drinking everything in.

hot blood rushes in your ears, into your cunt, pressing your face harder into her cunt, bruising your nose against her pubic bone while mouthing desperately at her pussy. as if remembering yourself, you bring your hands up to join your ravenous mouth beneath her dress, a whimper torn from your throat when she snatches you away from her soaked underwear.

“still so greedy, aren’t you?” maki’s eyes match yours, a debauched need burning in the depths of her dark eyes, “use your manners. ask for a taste.”

“oneesan,” you don’t hesitate like you did moments ago, too caught up with the desperation to taste her firsthand, instead of your face buried in her panties trying to taste the minute amount of her through the material, too caught up in your sister’s gravity to bring yourself to care about the humiliating position she had you in. with a broken voice, you plead, “please, let me taste you, oneesan.”

hazel eyes flash at your eagerness, hardly moving an inch in a nod before you're pouncing on her — pawing at her underwear like a woman starved, tugging the material down enough to curl your tongue around the string connecting her to the fabric before you abandoned them in place of spreading her thighs apart, conscious of every precious second that could be spent with your nose bumping against her clit.

if you thought you were addicted before, tasting maki like this had you hooked, euphoria swimming in your veins when your tongue connected with her flesh. you didn't think you could sink any lower than suckling your step-sisters underwear clean in the shared bathroom, but stuffed and kneeling in a bathroom stall at your parents wedding, you realised you had miles left to sink for her. moaning against her skin, you press forward, crawling on your hands and knees to impatiently suck at her skin even as she stumbled into the stall door.

saliva slips down your throat, your lips wet with it when you keen, curling and swirling your tongue over every inch of her cunt you can possibly reach like this, desperately pawing at her thighs to get more, taste more, touch more, just more.

“god,” crossed eyes meet hers, expecting her to look even half as debased as you do, instead eye to eye with her glare, one dark brow quirked, there's only disinterest reflecting back in her pupils, “i finally let you eat my cunt, and this is the best you can do?”

gripping the hair at the base of your skull, she steps over you until you’re stretching awkwardly to keep your head comfortably in her grip, one of your hands holding her ass to stay upright while she positions herself to fuck your mouth, “maybe you should just stick to licking my cum off my underwear. seems that’s all you’re good at.”

tightening her hold on your hair, maki manoeuvres you beneath her, tugging your hair — and subsequently your head — where she wants you. she's slow, deliberate, at first, tortuously so, your tongue tracing sensuously along her slit, dipping into her cunt to taste the cum beginning to drip from her, before she’d drag you backward to her clit.

while pushing and pulling you, her hips grind in a perfect rhythm to soak her pussy, working herself  closer and closer, using your tongue like some toy; grinding harder on your face when she wants to let you have a taste, tugging you back by the hair when she wants to watch the way your lips are connected to her cunt with a silky white string, studying how your eyes roll into your skull, hazy with lust when it snaps back onto your bottom lip.

“so lucky your oneesan is here to teach you how to eat pussy, hm?” her cheeks are flush, the only sign of your affect on her other than the cum sticking to her thighs, to your lips like her perverted take on lip gloss. licking her cum from your mouth, you nod, your eyes darting back to her cunt in a silent plead for her to let you continue, to taste her cum as her thighs shake around your head.

she obliges your taboo request, a hiss echoing in the small stall when you dig your nails into the fat of her ass, burying your face in her once more — gently lapping at her pussy while your nose rubbed against her clit, the scent of her cunt driving you insane, her smell embedded in the hair just above her clit making you dizzy, grateful for your kneeling position, taking everything in you to be patient, to go slow, to follow her movements as she strings you along.

sucking and swirling your tongue around her clit until she cants her hips, slurping and flattening your tongue to drink in much of her as you could, mouthing along her slit when she'd cradle the back of your skull to hold you close to her.

you think she's close, her clit pulsing like yours did beneath your fingers when you'd nearly suffocate yourself with her panties to your nose, her pussy clenching around your tongue, her hips jumping erratically. her moan wavers as her hold on your skull tightens, dull nails scratching angry marks into your scalp as she holds you with both hands, using your face, spreading her cum all around your nose, lips and jaw, your tongue stuck out dumbly as she takes what she needs from you, holding your face deep into her cunt when she cums with an airy, drawn out hum — silky cream drooling straight onto your tongue while you hungrily lapped at her skin, licking her cunt and thighs clean of the precious liquid, ears perking at each of your sister's sharp inhales.

like an over excitable puppy, maki has to pull you away from her again, “you were alright.” she pants, catching her breath as you stare up at her with clouded eyes, “try harder tonight you can keep the panties to jerk off with, pervert."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 致命游戏 / The Spirealm.

The Spirealm is a 2024 drama about two young men who fall in love while basically playing a whole bunch of horror-themed escape rooms that can for-real kill you.

This show/book combo has gripped my entire ass. The second I knew I wanted to watch this, almost immediately after it started airing, I muted the tag. I was so right to do this, because this is worth not spoiling yourself about. If you are a Guardian fan in particular, you owe it to yourself to watch this for reasons I think will become clear as you go about watching it.

So! If all you need to know is that I think you need this show in your life, great! You don't even need to scroll down to the end of the post for the links; go to Viki and press play. In case you need more convincing than that, though, I'm going to give you here five reasons to watch it that are as spoilerless as I can make them.

Before we start, though, I'm going to take a moment to note that I had to torrent the video files so I could make screenshots of my own, and if I hadn't, this would have been a much uglier rec post than the others I've done. Not only were there not many promotional materials or official stills released, the show itself barely stayed up two hours on iQiyi, and that's because this drama is a...

1. (Barely) Censored Adaptation Of Same-sex Original Work

Ah, you know that MyDramaList tag well, don't you? Yeah, the original novel, Kaleidoscope of Death (which has a rec post of its own!), is supernatural story about grief and loss built on the love story between the two male leads. Now of course you know already that a mainstream Chinese television adaptation of something like that is going to straighten up everything and turn the horror romance into the sci-fi platonic love of besties.

...But damn, folks, it's still real gay.

Ling Jiushi, the sweet-faced newbie, is a canonical virgin and loving cat dad who plays the mysterious video game once, then finds himself suddenly able to enter the game worlds bodily -- and of course, if you die in the game, you die in real life. He's pretty much doomed, until he meets...

Ruan Lanzhu, the cool-as-a-cucumber veteran of the door worlds, who falls pretty much immediately for the completely oblivious Ling Jiushi, then has to spend the rest of the series consumed with lust while trying to keep him and a couple other dipshits alive.

The show preserves so many overtly gay beats and declarations of affection from the novel, to the point where it's just this side of suggesting that the romance is actually, textually happening just offscreen, every time the camera cuts away. I am forever grateful that working with Zhu Yilong on Reunion seems to have perfected sweet baby Junjie's ability to look at a man with nothing but love in his eyes.

I adore so much the dynamic they have, one where a man who has never told the truth a day in his life encounters a man so sincere and naive that you cannot seduce him with anything but absolute honesty or he's never going to get it.

There are three (3) separate door worlds where they share a bed, and in every one of them, they both sleep with their shoes on. Like the absolute freaks they both are.

2. It's puzzle solvin' time!

So if you've read some of my rec posts before, you know that I am critical of stories that center around cases that are unfollowable, uninteresting, or both (e.g., Mysterious Lotus Casebook and White Cat Legend). I am therefore thrilled to tell you that the door worlds are actually (largely) thoughtful mysteries with reasonable solutions, where you care about what's happening and why.

The way each door world is set up is that you have to solve the puzzle to find a key and unlock the door that will let you leave. One of the challenges is each world's door ghost, who has the key and does not want to give it up. The other challenge is the world-specific set of taboo conditions, where violating them means the door ghost can kill you -- and you are not always told what those taboo conditions are. That means that solving a door involves 1) figuring out what will insta-kill you, 2) not doing that, 3) finding where the hell the exit door is, 4) placating and/or scamming the door ghost long enough to snatch the key from them, and 5) running like hell to the exit door with that key before the door ghost fucks you up about it.

As the show goes on, you get introduced to the concept of door-passing shepherds, which are experienced door-finishers who take through lower-level players, building them up in the process. A lot of these shepherds work for organizations, such as the one Ruan Lanzhu runs. And a lot of them are ready to reach the exit by climbing over everyone else's corpses.

That's part of the fun of the setup: You're not just thrown in alone. You show up with a random number of other players, some with very different levels of experience. At least one of you will make it out; not everyone will. So you can add a step 6) to the list above, which is: surviving all the other players who will gleefully stab you in the back in order to be the first player out the door.

The door worlds are also lovely. They all feel like sets -- and I know that's a weird thing to say about places that are literal sets, but they manage it feel it even on film. In fact, even the show's uses of clunky-ass greenscreen feel appropriate, because of how unreal everything is supposed to be. Everything looks like a dream, which is only amplified by how beautifully everything's shot.

(What's that you say? You say the guy who directed this was the editor on Infernal Affairs? No kidding.)

From a fandom perspective, what's great here is that even though there are technically just twelve doors, there are canonically way more than twelve door worlds out there. That means that whatever worlds you want to create are valid. The best pieces of fanfic I've read are the ones that dream up their own door worlds, complete with taboo conditions, key puzzles, and world-specific perks that lead to gay sex, because come on.

3. A good middle ground of horror

So at this point you are perhaps wondering: How scary is it?

And the answer is, kind of as scary as you're willing to let your mind go with it. Everything has been science-fictioned real hard, including the video game premise that "explains" what's happening with these doors. It relies on dread way more than jumpscares. The blood/gore/gross content is extremely low, again on account of Chinese content censorship. Most icky things are done with offscreen sounds and shadows. I'm pretty squeamish about pain and injury, and I can't recall a time I had to look too long away from the screen.

However, that means the show works some real conceptual horror. That picture up there is of a man forcing three young girls to hold raw eggs unbroken in their mouths. There's nothing about that image that's not technically G-rated, and it's awful in context.

The best bits are when the monsters don't need a lick of CG to become horrors. They cast a contortionist in the Waverly Hills door world, and she absolutely earned her keep.

I have a lot of critiques about how the show handles things, especially in terms of defanging the horror elements (which it does), but one thing I think it absolutely gets right is that it understands that ghost stories are first and foremost tragedies. That's a thing I've always liked about Asian horror in particular, how often you wind up siding with the ghost. Yes, sure, she tried to strangle you with her hair, but have you ever considered she's the real victim here? There's always a bit of a calculus: Can you negotiate with the door ghost, or do you just need to stab them and run? The Spirealm prefers negotiation, and frankly, so do I.

So yeah, it's about as scary as you let it be. If your horror tolerance is low, watch it in a well-lit room and focus on the unreality of it, and you'll be okay. If you're looking for something genuinely spooky, spend some time thinking about the existential dread of the entire situation, and that'll be good for a couple good spine tingles.

4. The Obsidian Family (& Friends!)

In a show where death is always an option, you have to have characters where you actually care if they live or die. Fortunately, all your allies are charming and loveable enough that you are going to be real upset every time they get put in danger!

Obsidian is one of the organizations I mentioned earlier. It's run by Ruan Lanzhu, and it includes a cool and collected doctor, a mom friend who cooks for everybody, a guy who's maybe not having the best mental health day of his life, and two identical twins who could not be more different if they tried. They all live in the same amazing big fancy house, which is where Ling Jiushi too goes to live when he joins the group. They have big family meals, they look after one another, they hang out together -- I mean, if this is the kind of setup you love, then you will love this setup.

There are also plenty of allies who aren't technically part of Obsidian, but who are our friends nonetheless, and who come over to hang out in the Obsidian house from time to time. Some of them are rivals turned friends, some of them are clients turned friends, and some of them were just friends all along! Surely nothing bad will happen to any of them, and they'll all live happily ever after, right? ...Right?

5. Toast and Chestnut!

Of course, the true heroes of the show are Toast the Corgi and Chestnut the Kitty.

Animals are so good.

Truly, I love that one of Ling Jiushi's defining characteristics is that he is a Cat Dad. He is a simple man with simple needs, and one of those needs is to pet his kitty or he'll explode.

caveat: Some thoroughly bad adaptation choices

Yeah, so I keep talking about the novel (and talk even more about the novel in its own rec post), but I assure you, you don't need to have read the novel to feel the degree to which this is an adaptation -- and one that's had its rough, nasty, spooky, gay edges all sanded off in the desperate hope of ever seeing daylight.

Now, sometimes I consider batshit nonsense janky creative decisions to be a selling point for a show (see: Mysterious Lotus Casebook, Legend of Fei, Sand Sea)! In this case, however, I'm going to have to take points off for how incoherently bad they are here. We're talking Psych-Hunter levels of Why Would You Do That-- and the answer, as always, comes down to how you write around what censorship won't allow on television.

The novel says the doors are supernatural. The show says they're a virtual-reality computer game. Now, on the surface, this move sort of makes sense -- you can't have ghosts, but you can have computer games that make digital ghosts, which, sure, okay. But then the problem quickly becomes that the plot of the novel is not remotely built to support a sci-fi premise, so a lot of things have to be grafted awkwardly on. Like, say, a bad guy who stole his corporate logo from Even Worse Twitter. Or a game-designing bestie whose face is never seen. Or [late-stage spoilers about a major character].

The eventual explanation is that this whole setup is a righteous and good game that has somehow been corrupted by evil game-designing capitalists from the West, and that's why it can abduct you in broad daylight and kill you if you fail it. There are good people who want to purify (???) the game, and evil people who want to make money off the game. And I don't mind spoiling you for that part, because it's garbage nonsense. You will be deeply unsatisfied with the show's half-assed attempt at resolving it all. (You may, however, have that disappointment tempered with the amazing concurrent display of heterosexuality that is apologizing to your best bro by coding his perfect man for him. The Spirealm is a land of contrasts.)

Look, I consider myself a mild to moderate socialist, and even I was yawning and making jerk-off motions every time someone started to wax halfheartedly poetic about how evil American capitalism is. Like, yeah, but not because some college student made a vile and wretched video game that eats people! This show is a critique of capitalism like a five-year-old crying because he doesn't get ice cream before bed is a critique of authoritarianism.

And even this, I can't be too mad at it about, you know? I just assume that this was some absolute Hail Mary attempt at getting past censorship -- you know, maybe if we make all the right "grr, USA bad!" noises, they'll let our gay ghost story slip by? And it worked! I mean, just barely, but it did.

So yeah, fair warning that the Spirealm is a show that, if you love it (and I do), you will have to love despite some glaring flaws that haunt it all the way through and hit especially hard during what should otherwise have been an amazing endgame. But hey, we're c-drama fans! We're good at loving janky things, right?

Want to enter the World of Doors?

As I said at the start of the post, Viki's got it -- and only Viki. I'm not sure what circumstances got it up on Viki after iQiyi pulled it, but I'm glad. Watch it quick, before Viki changes its mind!

Hug him! Hug that boy!

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

It's another Wednesday people, let's see those wips. Tagged by the always incredible @changelingsandothernonsense (seeing Josh always improves my day <3) and I got tagged @bostoniangirl21 for a WIP whenever <3

Tagging: @dirty-bosmer @theoneandonlysemla @lucien-lachance @thequeenofthewinter @captain-of-silvenar @firefly-factory

@pocket-vvardvark @hircines-hunter @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @umbracirrus

Do I have two chapters I should be working on? Yes. Am I working on a silly little Post-Alduin/Pre-Happy Ending self-induglant fic instead? Absolutely :P Under the cut because suggestive, enjoy! 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

“You went swimming often at home, did you?” 

“I did, whenever I was stressed; hence I’ve been in the water every day since returning.” She looks up at him with a soft smile, a memory coming into view. “When I was young I used to tell my father I wanted to grow up and be a mermaid.” He laughs. 

“A mermaid? Well, that’s quite the ambition.” 

“Oh I had a plan and everything, asked Father to find a wizard who could do it. I didn’t know how magic worked at the time so I thought wizards could do anything. And Father had a guy for everything, ergo he had a guy who could turn me into a mermaid.”

“Ah yes, there must be some type of alteration spell that could do that.” He leans down to kiss her, she notes that this is the first kiss he’s initiated this evening. Though appreciated of how gentle he’s being, so very grateful for him; how badly she wants more than just a kiss. “That’s very amusing of you.” He chuckles. “You’re certainly beautiful enough, I’m sure if I saw you out at sea I’d be easily fooled.”

“You would, would you?” An opportunity seems to be arising. “Do you think I could convince you to jump overboard? Plunge yourself into the sea to be with me?” She pulls him down, their lips meeting again. Carefully, she nibbles on the corner which only succeeds in making him break the kiss. 

His pupils are wide, glossy-eyed but he still shows concern. 

“Theodora, are you sure you want this? I am far from against it but I do not want you forcing yourself on my behalf. Last thing I want is to rush, forget myself and hurt you.” 

“I love your concern, Ondolemar; it’s what is making me want to. Knowing you’ll be so tender and slow.” Eyes are lidded for the next sentence. "I have beaten back the World-Eater, no mere mortal can hurt in a way that matters. Certainly not the likes of him." She grabs the front of his tunic. "And besides, I'd have to force myself not to want you, and as we know that is futile effort." The change in expression indicates he gives credence to her answer. 

“Is that so?” Another kiss, deeper and it makes her head spin. Yes. Despite the urge to sit back further, nearly laying down and pulling him on top of her, she doesn’t. He has a question to answer. 

“I believe I asked you a question.” 

“Hmm.” He steals another quick peck. “You did, you wanted to know if I’d throw myself overboard, so captivated by you by you I lose all sense of reason. 

“Yes.” She hums. 

“Well, you’ve bewitched me across the province, tempted me into closets while both of us are surrounded by our superior officers; it would seem I abandoned reason long ago. I think a better question is what I wouldn’t do for you?” He looks off into the distance. “To that which I do not know.” He turns back to her, barely hearing what he says as she’s so distracted by how the fire makes him glow. “So yes, you could probably get me to drown myself if you looked at me the right way.”

Between the warmth of the fire and his equally burning gaze, Theodora feels unbearably hot. Her eyes slowly move from him to the water. The light from Masser and Secunda makes the lake look so inviting, the summer breeze still warm despite the night. If he’d throw himself overboard then perhaps… Taking his hand she goes for it. 

“What are you doing?” Her boots are kicked off and then thrown back towards the fire. 

“I’m testing your claim.” 

“Do not tell me you expect me to get in the water with you, it’s likely teeming with slaughterfish.” She rolls her eyes, giggling.

“I’ll have you know they stay much further east in summer.”  

“Ah, so they are found here.” Hmmm, what was that he said? If I looked at him the right way? 

“If you’re too afraid of being an exotic snack to the creatures of Lake Illinata, you can stay here, love.” Tuning away from him, the stale tunic and brown trousers find their way to the ground. Though she normally forgoed smallclothes when home alone, particularly now as she couldn’t even be bothered with the rest of the world; the choice was proving even more fruitful when she turned back around. “But I’m going to cool off.” Fingers fleetingly touch his clothed chest before she enters her beloved lake. 

Facing him, she watches his eyes linger as the water envelopes her. It’s brisk and invigorating, but could be so much more so if she was not alone. 

“It’s lovely in here, Ondolemar.” Laying on her back, Theodora continues taunting him. “Why don’t you come join me?” Slipping beneath she submerges herself, finding so much peace in the quiet below. Popping back up, hair flipping overhead, she looks at him the right way. That much is evident as he removes his own clothes, casting them aside to wade through the water. As he approaches, the wanting expression creates quite the contrast with his words. 

“So this will be how I die.”

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

omg hi if ur inbox is open can u give us a short blurb/your thoughts on or some kind of headcanon list for yan tim drake (romantic) bc ur interpretation of him is so yum🤤 i like how you rlly focus on more darker aspects of his character which i dont see a lot of ppl doing unfortunately bc the way he’s a complete FREAK LMFAO🫣🫣

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒…

!!! GN reader, mentally ill Tim, psychotic Tim, just Tim, he’s a problem, manic/depressive episodes, violent tendencies, suicidal tendencies, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behaviors, gross ways to show affection, slight insinuation of pervy Tim, blood, mutilation, harm to reader mentioned, self-harm, severed body parts, drugging, gaslighting.

YAAAAYYYYYYYYY, TIM DRAKE TIME!!!! This is so long overdue. I’ve been meaning to write for him, but… it just hasn’t happened yet. I hope the ideas will start flowing after I get some of this off my chest. I’ve been harboring so many miscellaneous Tim thoughts for a while.

(Y’all. The CW on this just kept getting longer and longer. My bad.)

First thing’s first, Tim is a fucking mess. There’s no way to know for sure which version of him you’re gonna get each day. Maybe he’s going through a manic episode, coming up with batshit crazy schemes and going on about things that don’t make sense. Maybe he’ll then swing into a depressive fit, where he can’t even bring himself to get up from the floor. Maybe he wakes up completely fine after an hour long nap, regretting whatever initial brash decisions he made. Maybe he quickly turns violent at the sound of knocking at his door. Maybe he wants to claw his own arteries out after trying to maintain a normal social interaction.

The possibilities are endless! Which makes him extremely dangerous.

If you’ve caught the eye of Tim Drake… yikes. Good luck. There’s a chance you don’t even know who he is before he inevitably kidnaps you (completely on a whim, no less). Maybe you’re a total stranger he saw on the street once, captivating him and causing him to spiral into a twisted obsession. While I’ll defend Tim against the fandom allegations until my lungs give out, I’ll admit: they’re on to something when it comes to stalker Tim. Bro definitely has pictures of you covering every square inch of his walls. And, yes, it’s to the point where they overlap each other.

Kidnapping can take anywhere between 3 days and 3 years. During that time, he may try to weasel his way into your life in an attempt to win you over... though we all know how well that would go. As I’ve mentioned before, he may be attractive, but he’s such an off-putting person. Just being around him is enough to give you the creeps. And it doesn’t help he’s completely unaware of how weird some behaviors are. Tim... honey… you can’t shamelessly stare at people with a startling grin like that. I know you’re thinking about how much you want to lick your darling-to-be’s neck, but it’s weird.

Whether he attempts to interact with you or not, one thing’s for sure: he’s stealing your shit. Clothes, toothbrushes, half-eaten food, straws, whatever he can get his hands on. Don’t ask what he does with it. You don’t wanna know. Tim is a neeeaaaasty freak, to the point where even he thinks to himself, “what the fuck is wrong with me” after he calms down from a fit.

Oh, speaking of guilt, Tim is filled with that shit. He may swing from various stages of instability, but there are moments where he’s perfectly fine. And those are the moments where he has to grapple with the consequences of his own actions. Those can range from slightly scaring someone to causing irreversible damage. There have been many times where he snapped out of some episode with blood dribbling down hands and chunks of skin under his fingernails. Who did he hurt? Could be someone else, could be himself, could be you. Who knows!!

Let’s actually get into his suicidal tendencies a bit. His arms and legs are covered in scratches and cuts. Now, this could be explained by his vigilante life, but it gets harder to justify when you get to the bite marks at angles that only make sense if they were self-inflicted. Oh, and also the carvings of your name. He does that a lot. It’s like you’re with him everywhere he goes!! And kind of on the same note, he wants you to have him with you as well!! This could come in the form of strips of skin, vials of blood, toes, an eye, an ear, a spleen… just whatever he’s willing to cut off or out of himself in the moment.

His suicidal tendencies are also connected to those moments of guilt I mentioned before. After calming down and realizing what he’s done, he may harm himself as some sort of penance; especially if he’s done something to you. Depending on how far he spirals from his guilt, he may actually enact “an eye for an eye” (perhaps in the most literal sense) to help make up for what he’s done. Who knows, maybe he’ll replace missing pieces of you with his own. Will it work? No idea. Maybe a skin graph or two, but let’s hope you don’t have to find things out in the more extreme cases.

I think it’s important to keep in mind that Tim Drake is just generally fucked-up. “Normal” Tim doesn’t mean “completely well-adjusted” Tim, it just means he’s not acting on some manic or brash decision. Normal Tim would be fine with chaining or drugging you if he’s justified it to himself. As long as he’s not causing active physical harm to you, he probably won’t see anything wrong with whatever he’s doing in the long run. It’s for your own good, okay? Don’t worry, he’s gone through the possibilities and failsafes. Nothing bad will happen to you!

Unfortunately, manic Tim does not go through the possibilities and failsafes. Well, he kind of does, but the logic is far from realistic and runs in total circles. Whereas drugging you has a rational (fucked up, but still rational) reason behind it — to keep you immobile — filling your ear canal with cement takes some mental gymnastics. Manic Tim doesn’t want you to listen to anyone else. Solution? You can’t hear through concrete, right? At that point, you’re at the mercy of his mood swing RNG. Let’s hope he calms down enough to take a step back and really think about this. Hmm… filling someone’s ears with cement… probably not healthy. Wow. Silly Tim! He let himself get carried away, didn’t he? Whoops! There are more logical ways to keep you from listening to anyone else.

That’s where manipulation comes in. I mean, come on. Y’all know who his mentor is, right? Stable Tim is wicked good at manipulation. Huh? He’s acting weird? Well, he didn’t want to say anything, but he was actually thinking the same thing about you. Yeah, you’ve been kind of off lately… is there something wrong? You sure? You know he’s there for you, right? Okay, just making sure. A gaslighting king when he’s in the right headspace for it. Too bad his psychotic aura gives him away; he’d probably be really good at keeping up appearances if he just got medicated or something.

So… yeah. Just some Tim thoughts. What a charmer, amiright? I don’t think this one’s salvageable. No amount of therapy could ever fix whatever Tim’s got going on. Just throw the whole damn guy away. Start over. Your only hope of escaping him is the chance of someone on the outside realizing what’s up. Here’s to hoping Tim gets institutionalized before he does something really bad!!

[itsmyfandomandilikeit]

Ok I have gone through all available evidence and I have a prediction.

Look I'm ngl I am watching Arcane for Cait and Vi. I love the show overall but this ship is what I'm most here for, especially after I spent the last 3 years under the assumption that Mel was dead. Glad she isn't. Point is, I really want CaitVi/Violyn/Piltover's Finest to be handled well, and I pay a disproportionate amount of attention to what happens with these two.

After watching the first arc of season 2 the other day, I was trying really hard to ignore the ending to episode 3. I didn't like that Cait hit Vi in the stomach and abandoned her in a pit after being all classist at her, but I thought, this is Arcane. Arcane is the greatest fucking thing I've ever seen, of course they're gonna find a way to make this work. But that made me think of it as a puzzle. How could they possibly make this work?

Option one, Cait sucks now and she and Vi don't get back together. I don't think this makes sense, because of the brand. CaitVi is a popular ship that just about everybody likes. A huge amount of the hype for this season before the trailers came out was building up assurances that don't worry, CaitVi is happening and it's not gonna be ambiguous. Take this teaser from like two weeks after season 1 ended, a couple of Valentine's Day icons, and one million tweets from Amanda Overton. Why the fuck would they make this season be about Cait and Vi not working out? It simply doesn't make logical sense.

Ok, so we're starting from the assumption that Cait and Vi have a happy ending that makes people feel like they should be together, and continue to want to play as them in the games and buy merchandise. That means they either explicitly get back together, or it's so implied there isn't much of a difference. My money is on zero ambiguity. Vi is the main character and Cait is maybe #3 or #4. Ambiguity about their ending would just look like a weak writing choice and they didn't know what they're doing. The Arcane writers don't tend to go for wishy washy.

But here's the problem. Domestic violence is bad. It's about the fastest way to guarantee the majority of your audience doesn't think two characters should be together. It would take a herculean effort on Cait's part to make up for that and honestly I still wouldn't believe it. To me, there isn't any kind of act of service that makes up for hitting your partner. Not even ensuring the independence of the nation of Zaun. Add on top of that the over the top hurtful comments about Vi's blood and class. It makes her look very much like, deep down, she thinks of Vi as beneath her. If she meant those things, a relationship between them is impossible. (Not to mention how many teenaged girls I know are watching this, and I don't want them to think it's ever okay to be treated like that, even in a fantasy series.)

So my prediction is this. The only way to make a relationship between Cait and Vi viable again is to render those comments and the sentiment they carry meaningless. How do the writers do that? Imo it turns out later that Cait intentionally came up with cruel things to say to cut Vi loose. She realized that Vi would never be able to kill Jinx, and this new explosion will make the situation aboveground even worse, and Vi still won't be able to contribute to the hunt after this. Vi has no future as an enforcer against Jinx and will probably get treated like dogshit as a Zaunite, so Cait is "breaking her heart to save her", as Tvtropes would say. In Cait's mind, it's better if she's left down here in Zaun.

What evidence do I have for this? It fits Cait's characterization as a genius who thinks quickly and several steps ahead. It fits the tiny animation details we zero in on of her stiffening her trembling lips and furled eyebrows. It un-ruins the most popular canon relationship in League. It allows act 1 to end on massive shock value but roll it back later to show that Cait actually does love Vi, enough to let her go for her own good.

I'm not arguing this is the best possible solution but it's the one I think they're going to go with. Amanda Overton and some others have repeatedly said that CaitVi fans will be happy with the ending to Arcane. Everything about the show(the opening, Netflix Brazil's Twitter account, the story) points to them being the show's OTP except for this one scene. I think Cait intentionally cut Vi out of her life by pretending to be much crueler than she wanted to be, to protect her and, likely, as a form of self destruction.

[mars-ipan]

Mars i fear i may be dying of the plague. I have coughed blood into my sink twice now and my throat feels like I gave really aggressive oral to a scrubdaddy spongue.

Do you have any priest au thoughts/scenarios/rambles to sooth a troublde lad such as mysrlf🙏🙏

hemo. as a guy who has also coughed up blood somewhat recently. it may be time to go to an urgent care and make sure it’s nothing serious. there’s a pretty nasty pneumonia going around rn and if that IS what it is the sooner you get those antibiotics the faster you’ll recover.

as for priest au stuffs: the election kinda killed my creative flow (we’re ballin but we’re stressed) BUT i’ve been trying to flesh out hajime’s backstory a bit for the the past few days so here’s some bullet point brainstorming on that :D

check under the cut for the goods, as per usual ^_^ tw for mentions of child abuse, and also a general warning for priest au-typical horny talk and homophobia

i’ve been thinking abt hajime’s childhood/past a lot, partially bc i don’t feel fully confident writing him until i have the details of his backstory fleshed out. i think his dad was more of the aggressive “no son of mine” type of homophobic, where his mom was more of the “hate the sin love the sinner” type of homophobic. it’s cliché maybe but like. traditional catholic family values yanno. his family does differ from traditional catholicism in one way though: hajime is an only child.

i don’t think hajime was ever The Manliest Man growing up. yeah he was strong from helping on the farm, but he never felt the need to flaunt his masculine attributes. he never wanted to impress girls, he never initiated an arm-wrestling contest, and once he hit teenagerhood he quit wrestling with his friends altogether. when his friends asked him why he never roughhouses with them anymore, he tensed up and mumbled something about it being “weird” and “immature.”

he showed a lot of delicacy towards nature as well, a trait he carries into adulthood! rescuing turtles from roads, gently rehoming bugs, taking care not to step on wildflowers, that sort of thing. he was teased for this growing up :( he’d be compared to a disney princess and the like or just be called a pussy for Caring About The World Around Him. while he still loves nature and knows there’s nothing wrong with that, he does get embarrassed if his gentleness is pointed out— he’s anticipating some sort of reprimand.

been trying to think about hajime’s gay awakening. i imagine once he hit puberty he started having vague… thoughts. they weren’t attached to anyone but he kept it secret anyways since Lust Is A Sin and Masturbation Is A Sin Too and he’s not interested in growing hair on his palms or going blind (he later finds out that those are myths, but for now he heeds the tales), nor is he interested in the scolding he would get from his parents if they found out. from there we have two main options as i see it.

option A: in a parallel of the magazine he finds in Jabberwock, teen!hajime comes across some sort of gay porn. it’s completely accidental— he finds a mag or some other paraphernalia in a log or something, opens it, Realizes what is is, looks around for witnesses, and quickly stuffs it into his jacket. he’s not even sure why, but he knows he’s curious. as soon as he gets home he hides it between his mattress and his bedframe, and that night, when he’s sure his parents are asleep, he grabs a flashlight and starts to look through it. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fascinated until he realizes: he’s breathing heavily, hot in the face, absentmindedly rubbing his thighs together, and, most incriminatingly of all, he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life. mortified, he shoves the magazine back under his mattress and tries his best to forget about what he saw, tossing and turning as he tries to calm down and go to sleep.

option B: hajime is really close with one of his peers. they’re childhood friends, and they’ve gotten along great forever. at some point, though, hajime starts feeling weird around him. not BAD weird, but… he’s nervous, and his skin seems to buzz whenever they touch, and his heart flutters when he makes his friend laugh, and… he can’t make sense of it all. not until he wakes up one night from a particularly vivid dream, chest heaving, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his sheets soiled with the evidence of his subconscious sin. he realizes what’s going on, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he does his best to ignore it, but it haunts him.

we could also combine these options and say both of these things happen, but idk yet. i like the loneliness of the porn but i also like the guilt of having to talk to your close friend and pretend you aren’t feeling confusing and frightening things for them.

hajime lives at home until his early adulthood, when he is Caught. if we went with option A for his awakening, then he comes home one day to find The Porn sitting on the kitchen table, its pages now crinkled from years of viewing, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he’s not sure how they found it— maybe his mom was cleaning his room and lifted his mattress? but it doesn’t matter— they Know now, and he has no way to explain himself.

if we go with option B, hajime is caught with that “good friend” of his. he had snuck in via hajime’s bedroom window, at a time they both were sure hajime’s parents would be asleep. unfortunately, hajime’s dad comes up to his room (hajime never learns the original intent of this visit) and opens the door to find his son, hair and clothes a mess, with the neighbor boy straddling his thighs, hands clearly paused in the middle of lifting up his son’s shirt. it’s silent for a bit, and the tension in the air is so heavy hajime feels like he can barely breathe. still, he breaks out of the stupor first, muttering a quiet “you need to go” to his friend without breaking eye contact with his father. the friend gets the message and bolts, leaving via the same window he came from. hajime is now alone with his father, so guilty and scared that he feels nauseous.

regardless of which of these events occurs, the outcome is the same. hajime’s father responds first, yelling and berating. hajime is terrified— he’s seen his dad mad, but never like this. never shouting obscenities and vile words at him. when told to explain himself hajime stumbles over his words, eventually landing on some variant of “i don’t know.” eventually, his father decides words aren’t punishment enough, and hajime gets the shit beat out of him for the first time in his life. he tries to defend himself, but he’s never been much of a fighter, and he doesn’t want to hit his dad, self defense or not. when his father finally storms off, his mother comes near, her eyes brimming with tears. she holds her arms out to hajime, tells her baby to come here. hajime, aching and bruised and perhaps with a freshly broken nose, collapses into his mother’s arms, silently crying into her shoulder as she pets his hair. she holds him close, rocking them from side to side, before she speaks. “oh, hajime, darling,” she starts, voice thick with tears and love, “i’m sorry. we’ve failed you, haven’t we? that’s why you’re doing this to us.” hajime’s stomach curdles at those words, and he quickly excuses himself, washing the blood off his face in the bathroom sink before he locks himself in his room.

regardless of the guilt he carries— he knew he was sinning, after all— hajime knows he is no longer safe at home. his father had never beat him like that before, and he doesn’t know that he would be able to walk away if it happened again. he doesn’t want to leave his mother, but he could tell that she was disgusted by him, too, her words still echoing in his mind. so, hajime packs as many of his things as he can fit into his suitcase, and the next day he leaves town, never letting himself look back. he job hops for a bit before he manages to get his house in Jabberwock— he got really, really lucky with the price of the property.

hajime hasn’t talked to anyone from his hometown since he left, and while he still has his parents’ landline number memorized, he doesn’t dare call. his dad’s probably disowned him, anyhow. sometimes he wonders how the people he grew up with are doing, but he can’t bring himself to go back. it’s not home anymore.