#this is weirdly deep its just one of those nights. you know how it is

[circus-k]

sometimes transgenderism is tearing up at the thought of being a middle aged guy with a dadbod and a receding hairline

sometimes transgenderism is seeing people use old age and balding as a way to "scare" transmascs away from going as far as they'd like in their transitions and seeing those as positives. as proof that you're alive and you're here and you made it

i want to be that old trans guy who's hair has thinned out. who's body softened and filled with age.

i want to be happy.

[fev3rish]

YOUR EYES TOLD ME, “GIRL, COME RIDE ME !” kenji sato x fem!reader

you never could resist kenji’s eyes.

cw. oral (m receiving), overstim (?), mild dumbification (kenji doesn’t like thinking when it comes to you), kenji’s highkey obsessed with you, sex toys (vibrator that reader pulled out of god knows where), sub!kenji & gentledom!reader who’d do anything for him, alt synopsis: you and kenji fuck NASTY, aftercare, mina cameo, kenji and reader are equally obsessed with eachother. porn with barely any plot

notes. i’m releasing all my inhibitions just posting this; it’s incredibly self indulgent 😭🙏 this is my first time writing & posting smut, so i’m sorry if there any errors. this’ll likely be the first and last time i’ll post smut ever . chat i am literally so embarrassed this is not what i stand for . this is also good for a select audience; the ppl who get it, get it😄🙏

you never could resist kenji’s eyes.

it’s funny, you were the one to ask him out—you took a chance and decided to be brave, and when kenji heard the words roll out of your mouth, the expression that made its way onto his perfect face—god, it took all you had in you not to take him then and there. his eyes were so big, and he was just so cute, and the both of you were so very flustered, but as he smiled and accepted, you knew that you were in for the long run with him. 

his eyes pulled you in at every possible moment.

they pulled you into bed at night, and out of it in the morning. all kenji really needed to do was look at you the right way and you’d give in to every one of his whims, no questions asked; you were his. as much as you wanted to tell yourself you had him wrapped around your finger, because you did, it didn’t compare to just how much you’d risk for him. you were his, through and through. just looking at kenji did things to you.

you never could resist kenji’s eyes, especially now.

did he know what he was doing? in those sweatpants, that white shirt that accentuated his biceps just a little too good—the way his mouth hung open tiredly, the prettiest soft lips—in his hand, some of that ‘damned’ coconut water mina had given him. he must’ve been so tired to just settle with that. he was sprawled out on that weirdly big sofa of his, head thrown back, resting against the arm of the chair and legs spread—already enticing enough. you trailed your eyes from his tired body, to his eyes.

oh god, his eyes.

kenji’s hooded eyes raked across your form, then back to your face. His pretty eyes seemed to stare into yours for a little longer, almost needing—longing—to be paid attention to. 

you caved.

kenji’s breath hitched when you had suddenly straddled him, embarrassment evident in your face along with hints of poorly hidden lust. “baby?—“ he had tried to give you a proper greeting when you walked in, but you had foiled his attempts. now, he just looked at you cluelessly. you were breathing heavier than usual. “whats got you so perked up?” he tried to tease, but you shushed him. “you’re so — you’re so fucking stupid —“ you whispered. he raised an eyebrow.

“where’d that come from?—“ 

“can i give you head?” you blurted out and he did a double take. “where is this coming from?!” he asked again, his face heating up—he didn’t seem against it, though. you looked at him. he always looked at you when he talked, even when you didn’t have the bravery to look back into his pretty eyes—he always looked at you. It disarmed you so quickly. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty.” you began. “—Haven’t known love until you looked at me with them.” 

Kenji went haywire. it was so obvious that he was flustered, the blush reaching deep into his neck and the way he tried to cover his face was proof of that. you didn’t let him cover his face, you never did. “too pretty.” you muttered, and he only gave in to you more. “I want you so bad.” you looked into his eyes for what seemed to be the first time in forever. everything in you was just screaming, screaming at you to, for lack of a better word, fuck him. You wanted him so motherfucking bad.

kenji could never really resist your eyes either.

something in the way you looked at him, as you kissed the tip of his cock, did something to Kenji. “Shit.” he cursed, watching your spit dribble down the base—and he jolted up as you wrapped your fingers around him because you were being such a fucking tease. “You wanted me so bad, now you’re teasing me to death here, baby, please—“ he pleaded. you only smiled, your hands, your touch, was so light on him now. he could barely feel it, which made him reasonably pouty. then you unexpectedly pressed the tips of your fingers into him, and he gripped the couch a little bit tighter.

you took the tip into your mouth first, tongue swirling around it as he twitched in your control. kenji’s tip was always so sensitive, it wasn’t a surprise you had decided to go for it first—you wanted him to give in to you, after all. to give all of him to you this time.

it was funny how easy it was to get him to cave; just the bob of your head up and down had him clawing at your hair and pulling you in deeper and deeper. you could feel him in the back of your throat, and as you watched him babble on and on about how every hole you had was made for him (all the holes that mattered, atleast), and how you made him feel so good, you clenched your thighs and chose to be patient. 

you wanted to play with him for a little while.

“please, please, please, please, please—“

“oh, kenji, you’re moving too much. try to sit still, okay?”

kenji never realized his dick could get that red, nor did he realize you ever had any of this in you—you were always so obedient. you did what you could to please him, and he always made it a point to take good, good care of you; he was just so tired today, he didn’t think you’d be the one taking care of him this time. where did you even get that vibrator? how are you so good at handling it? why is he asking these questions? he doesn’t even want to think anymore, he just wants you on him. the feeling of your tongue, planting itself on the very tip of his cock—and the feeling of the vibrator perched upon his base is dizzying, and kenji can’t even speak. can’t talk. 

 it all just hurts so good.

how many times has he came again? he’s neglected counting. you’ve just been taking care of him so, so well, he doesn’t even want to think about any one but you. what does it matter? your pretty face is right infront of him, smiling up at him as you help guide him through yet another orgasm. another orgasm without him inside you.

he almost cries at the feeling.

he just feels so incomplete without his dick inside of you, feeling you clench all around him and watching you sink into his cock, watching it disappear, it’s fucking addicting. you’re fucking addicting. he can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop saying your name, can’t stop reaching for your body because he just wants to feel you! he just wants to feel you. whatever he can get, he’ll take. 

just let him feel you.

your eyes widen at just how far you’ve pushed him, his eyes are so glossy, and his cheeks are covered in dried tears—his lips, swollen and red because you may have gotten a little too carried away in last round’s impromptu make out,  call out your name weakly. his throat is hoarse and when you stand up, he forces himself off his position in the couch to wrap his arms around your body, his head resting on your stomach. his breaths are ragged, and you can feel his cock hardening against your leg once more. you coo.

“kenji, what is it you want, baby?” you ask him, soft and sweet. he looks up at you, and he shyly mutters something about… ah.

“let—let me feel you.” he hiccups,before quickly adding, “please!”

he wants to be inside you.

that’s so cute. you audibly ‘awww’ at the state you’ve reduced him too, so pliant and willing—eager to please, eager for you to take from him as much as you let him take from you. his eyes are glossy, glistening with unshed tears, and they will likely be that way for a while. kenji looks up at you, his doe eyes making you abandon any and all plans you had for him. 

you could never say no to those eyes, they were just begging you for more. 

and more you would give. 

“there, there we go, there we go, yes— yess..” his voice is a husky whisper in your ear as you sunk down onto his cock; you never did get used to the stretch, and kenji can tell, with how you grip his shoulders so tight the hold is almost bruising. he squeezes his eyes shut once more and he hisses, you’re so tight, he’s such a weak fucking man, he has to still himself for a bit—has to hold on to your hips to stop you from continuing, because he doesn’t want to cum, he doesn’t want to cum yet—you haven’t even started speaking yet, he wants to hear you talk him through it.

you’re so beautiful.

“kenji, when can i move?” you ask, you’re so close to his face—he hates to say it, especially since he’s balls deep inside of you right now, and because you’ve been dating for a while already, but he has the biggest crush on you. “you can move now.” he replies. you smile, and press a kiss to his lips. “you’re being so good to me, kenji. you’re always so good to me, i’ll be good to you too. always.”

kenji wonders how you’ll go about that.

you’re going so fast.

he didn’t know you had the stamina for that, and neither did you, but this is kenji sato you are riding—god forbid you waste a single second when he’s inside of you. kenji can’t even speak, kenji can only moan, moan, and keep moaning. he watches you ride him and he swears he’s died already.

this is a view you can only find in heaven.

you’re just so pretty, he’s going to cum just from looking at you in this state.

look at you.

kenji’s mind is gone, and the kisses you share while you ride him are messy—teeth clanging and tongues crashing, but he loves it. he loves it when you get messy. 

“you’re so—”you bite back a moan, “you’re so pretty, kenji, oh my god—” you say to him, and he whimpers. “you make the prettiest sounds, baby, again.” again. again. again. he whimpers and he writhes again, and again, and again, for you. you only look at him in awe, because he’s so pretty when he can’t think. it makes you want to do all the thinking for him.

maybe you will.

“kenji.” you call, “you with me?” and he nods, his eyes lidded. he’s tired, but he’s with you. your left hand grabs his face, squishing his cheeks together. a feline grin makes it’s way onto your face as you lean in, “you always take such good care of me, kenji. this is my ‘thank you’.” and you’re making him pull out, and kenji whines, but he moans even louder when you sink all the way back in and he feels you squeezing him all over again. you take him to the hilt, skin slapping against skin as you watch his mouth part in utter bliss.

“do you want to cum inside me, kenji?” you ask, so very sweetly to him, and he’s so fucked out that all he can do, all he wants to do, is say “please.”

the shit you pull next has kenji dazed. you’re going so fast, you’re taking him all in, he can feel you squeeze every time you sink down and oh my god, it feels so good. “you feel so good.” 

you cum with him in a sea of bliss, and the ring that he can physically feel where you and him connect, has him on a new found high.

“wow.” 

“you really took me by surprise there.” kenji chuckled, now laying on the same couch that probably needed to be deep cleaned—you laid on his chest, smiling up at him mischievously. “i wanted to be the one in control this time. you always take good care of me, so why wouldn’t i do the same for you?” you ask, a rhetorical question that has kenji tilting his head and patting your cheek. “well, i was in great hands with youu!” he hummed, taking your hand and placing a kiss to the back of your wrist. “literally. i was in great hands.” 

you laughed, eyes creasing at the pun—and kenji laughed, too. then, he nodded towards the bathroom. “you wanna take a bath together?” he asks, “that’s about the most romantic thing you’ve ever asked me.”

“well, most is an exaggeration.” he shrugs,

“what other question would have me so happy other than that?” 

“you would know.”

“no, i don’t, wanna say it?” you challenge, a glint in your eye and kenji knows that you know.

“i don’t have a ring yet, babe.” he chuckles, wiping a stray hair off your face. “gotta make sure you get only the best, after all.” 

“well, i already have the best.” you smile into his chest, and kenji looks at the ceiling with a stupid grin on his face, before he calls mina over to tell her to set up a bath for the two of you. she obliges, snickering. as you hear the slow running of water, you feel kenji’s fingers sneak into your scalp. you needed the massage. as you let yourself give into true relaxation, you hear kenji’s voice lulling you asleep. he trusted mina would wake the two of you up once the bath was ready, anyway. 

your eyes close, and so do kenji’s, but he can’t help but reply to you—you say you have the best, but he can’t help but disagree. “i have the best, not you.”

[whiteeyes-is-a-mad-scientist]

The new seawing in the reef

Sunhunter waited silently in the sand. She hated being so… out in the open. Especially now. She jumped hearing a dragon rise from the water.

"Relax. Just me." Snapping turtle shook off a stray piece of seaweed. His spots gave a faint yellow flash in the moonlight. "If your here just to tell me that I'm in danger I know…" sunhunter frowned at the familiar look the seawing held.

"I'm here to offer you a way out actually." He trudged through the sand as it began to clump on his wet talons. He shook the sand off and opened his talon. Within it was an earring, a shiny pearl carved in the shape of a star. "Oh its beautiful… but how is jewelry supposed to help me?" Sunhunter took it into her talon to further examine.

"Argile made it so he could come with me into the deep palace. He doesn't really come into the ocean these days." He glanced toward the deep blue "it's enchanted. It'll turn you into a seawing as long as you wear it."

Sunhunter felt her scales shiver "Snapping turtle… I can't… all my visions... they come in water I don't want to imagine how awful it would be in the water…" she shook her head. "How do you know? You've never been in the ocean." He leaned forward "Sunhunter you don't really have a lot of options here. The skywings are after you… they can't go into the ocean."

Snapping turtle was right. The mercenaries and assassin's were getting more crafty. Even those against the skywings would give longing glances at her. No doubt gaging whether or not the bounty was worth it. "I..I dont know how to be a seawing.." she frowned "I don't know aquatic or how to swim or or-" "I'll teach you." Snapping turtle flashed a rare smile. "What about the talons? I still want to help the peace effort…" she looked at the earring. "Oh for moons sake forget the talons! This is your life in danger!" He exasperated "Sunhunter… please… I dont want to see you become some trophy for the skywings.." His eyes were weirdly desperate.

Sunhunter sighed and slipped the earring on. A deeply cold chill ran through her scales. She shut her eyes tightly as the world spun, she stumbled forward and met Snapping turtles chest. Past the pounding in her head she could hear him "Its alright… Argile struggled a bit as well…"

Her scales stopped tingling and the pounding headache faded. She felt snapping turtles wing on her back, brushing softly. She also felt her new gills, webbed toes, and flashy spots. She opened her eyes to find her new night vision. Also finding herself needing to look up toward snapping turtle "Oh making me shorter than you is unfair." Snapping turtle snorted "Welcome to being the short and stocky tribe."

Sunhunter stumbled steadying herself. She used to be shoulder heavy but now her weight was all over. She felt stronger despite being shorter. Snapping turtle stared and sunhunter rolled her eyes "I know I look stupid don't I.." "No.. I think you look good as a seawing. I like that the earring chose a mix of more saturated green-ish blue scales. Unique in pattern but not out of place for a seawing." He smirked "but I do miss your original look."

Sunhunters face scales felt faintly like her sandwing warm ones but it went away quickly. She smiled "I have a great hunger for fish now." "Beats those awful roasted tarantulas you used to eat." He stuck his tongue out. "You never tried them so don't start." Sunhunter raised her head, her shiny sea ready scales catching the moonlight. Watching the moons for a moment she turned back to snapping turtle "Well what should my new name be? Sunhunter isn't... seawing... like."

He glanced away "hm.. clam?" "Clam?" Sunhunter retracted "Are you saying I have a big mouth?" She glared. "No! I just- ugh ill get something else…" He rubbed his chin "I'm not good at names…"

Sunhunter sighed before flopping into the sand. A faint dizzy feeling hitting her like a wave "So when does the dizzness stop?"

Snapping turtled perked up as she curled into a C "Cove! Your new name should be cove." He smiled as sunhunter titled her head "Hm... I do like it... but it doesnt mean something dumb does it?"

"No no... A cove is just a small bay often secluded. The waters often have a greenish blue look." He nudged her with a wing "I can show you."

"Ok... but dont let me drown..." She steadied herself and headed toward the water

Snapping turtle chuckled "Of course."

[k0r3s-smu1]

​🇦​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇦​​🇷​​🇷​​🇾​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹

Summary: You and the boy you've been crushing on for years, Muichiro, go stargazing together.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Reader: Female (But you can block some stuff out and pretend its gn)

A/N: I know this is supposed to be a smut account, but I couldn't help myself. I really like this one, and I hope you Mui simps do too :) Tell me what you think!

I held his hand as he led me through the night.

The air was chilly and I could hear the faint chirping of crickets in the background. 

His grip on me was firm but gentle, and he kept his gaze forward. 

I smiled warmly as I watched him, the way his long, silky black hair glided behind him in the wind.

He took time out of his busy life to stargaze with me, so I couldn’t help the butterflies in my stomach as I pondered why.

I’d been friends with him for such a long time, it wasn’t uncommon for him to do something like this… But I still felt incredibly special.

He never paid attention to other girls, or anyone, actually.

He’s always been so forgetful…

Except when it comes to me.

It’s like he actually listens. He actually cares. 

Sometimes it seems like he zoned out during a conversation, only to later surprise me with the dress I eagerly told him about earlier.

He’s an interesting boy, and I often feel like I, a regular village girl, have no right hanging out with such a high ranking slayer. I don’t know why he’s with me.

I don’t know why… but I’m so grateful.

The grassy hill we stood atop was illuminated with the moonlight. Wild flowers grew everywhere, and they danced with each passing breeze.

But the most beautiful thing of all was the boy in front of me. His blue eyes watched the stars above him in awe.

I really wished it was me instead.

He sat down gracefully and looked at me expectantly. 

I crouched next to him and watched the sky as well.

It was so clear tonight, almost no clouds obscuring the view. I tried to make out some constellations with him, pointing and tracing the sky.

He always had such a calming effect on me. I should’ve been nervous, sitting with the boy I’ve liked for years, but I felt completely at ease.

Completely safe.

I turned my head to look at him, and saw that he was already watching me.

“W-what?”

I asked, heat rising to my cheeks.

He blinked at me before murmuring, 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. How come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

I jumped at his response, backing away a bit.

My face must’ve looked so red at the time.

“H-huh!? Ummm… I-I don’t know… I guess uhhh…”

I searched for words and panicked, confused as to why he would say such a thing.

It wasn’t unlike him to say random stuff right out of his head, not bothering to check whether it was appropriate, but this was a bit different.

His gaze stayed glued to my face before continuing. 

“The boys in your village must be blind if they can’t see what I see.”

I faced him, a blushing mess.

“What do you see…?” He stayed silent a moment before responding, his hand on his chin thoughtfully.

“An artist. Someone who sees beauty in everything. Someone pure, with a smile that radiates warmth. You’re strong and hardworking, cheerful and captivating. You’re understanding and kind, showing respect to everyone… even those who don’t deserve it.”

He ended it in an annoyed tone before continuing.

“Everything about you is so beautiful, your skin, your eyes, your lips,”

He eyed them as he spoke that last word in a way that made me tense up.

“The stars above us can’t compare to you, Y/N.”

He kept almost the same factual expression, the only indication that he was embarrassed was the light pink hue in his cheeks.

I don’t know if time slowed down or if I was just staring at him for a weirdly long amount of time, that he didn’t seem to mind, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

I think a part of me was expecting him to just turn away and act as if nothing just happened, but he didn’t. 

He was serious.

I almost wanted to cry, and I didn’t know why. But the deep happiness in my chest was undeniable, and I didn’t even mean to but it just came out;

“Muichiro… Can I kiss you?”

I asked him, begging with my whole heart that he wasn’t just being friendly and that the speech meant nothing.

I realized what I said but I didn’t take it back.

His eyes widened and his blush darkened, but he simply replied, 

“Yeah.”

It was my first kiss. I didn’t know how exactly to go about this, but I awkwardly scooted nearer until I was right in front of him.

I gathered my courage to lean forward, insecurities suddenly popping up.

What if my breath smells bad?

Did I wear lip balm today?

What do I do if it's not a simple peck?

what if… what if…

what if….

Before I could think further, Mui moved forward and captured my lips with his.

It was gentle, and soft, and I closed my eyes and immediately melted into it.

He held my hands and tilted his head a bit.

My mind was blank. I wasn’t worrying about anything.

The sensation of his lips, and his hands grounding me into the moment was all I could comprehend.

I wanted this moment to last forever, but alas, he pulled away.

A cheeky grin spread across his face.

“You were too slow, so I had to take the lead.”

He told me playfully.

I blushed realizing what just happened.

I turned away bashfully.

“So…does that mean you’re… My boyfriend now…?”

He smiled at me warmly.

“Obviously.”

I laughed and hugged him, breathing in his fresh scent.

We cuddled on the hill that night, watching the night sky and the twinkling stars, just the two of us.

[thepaperpanda]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 5 - An Aggressive Gentleness || Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Everyone knows Hangman is good, but you'll have a chance to discover that he simultaneously has a bit of a persuasive streak as well.

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v, spanking)

Word count: 2325

Author: Rouge

A/N: the the prompt for today is: Spanking

Jake "Hangman" Seresin was one of the world's greatest and most successful pilots. He was a known womanizer, and he had as many downed planes as broken hearts among all the women he dated.

Yet, ever since you joined his team, he couldn't take his gaze away from you; you were not only a beautiful, young woman, but you also had a strong personality.

"I know there's a big age gap between you and me, Y/N," he said as the two of you finished the bottle of red wine that night, sitting together on the pier over the ocean. "But I really want to take you out. Would you be interested in having dinner with me one evening?" 

As a result, you both agreed to meet for dinner a few days later.

Despite your expectations, the dinner ended up being much more enjoyable than you expected. It sounded too good to be true. You teased, playing with your glass, "Maybe Hangman isn't such an asshole as everyone thinks."

You could feel his knee against yours under the table as you sat there staring and smiling at each other, your hand in his.

Of course, it could have been an accident at first, but when it returned, went away, and then returned again, all doubt was removed. It was done on purpose as a signal, a kind of request, to emphasize the request for a date. Again, perhaps a little old-fashioned, but extremely intimate and alluring.

Jake let out a little sigh, observing your face carefully as he said, "Don't judge a book by its cover."

"If I didn't interact with you on a daily basis and while on duty, I'd say you're an asshole," you concluded, scrunching your face. "You are charming, but you are a total asshole. However, I don't regret our dinner together."

Jake was certain he knew the game because he'd played it before; he was obviously used to dealing with stroppy little bitches like you. He was well aware of what you were doing and what you were up to. He seemed to be able to read you, understand what you were thinking.

He kept gently rubbing your palm and pressing his knee firmly against yours as he looked you in the eyes. "You have the most enticing eyes, Y/N," he murmured as he gazed deep into them.

A cocky smile spread across your face as you made a small yhym sound and rested your chin on your palm. "Just like the last girl, I'm sure." 

Since it wasn't the first time you heard those sweet words, you already knew what they meant. This was a popular saying among guys as if it were a kind of spell.

"I can see through your eyes that you are a passionate, intense woman. A woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. I notice a lot about you." As he accelerated, his foot landed on yours and ran up the side of your calf. You were his type, there was no doubt. This became especially apparent when his knee pressed firmly against your closed knees at first, then even more so after a moment or two.

You sighed heavily and decided to stop him. "I have to be honest with you - sweet nothings don't appeal to me at all. I've heard these things too many times to believe them."

Jake drew your hand to his lips. "Come to my flat, Y/N, and let me love you there," he said as he licked the back of your hand and looked you in the eyes.

“If you stop acting so weirdly sweet, I'll go with you."

Jake gave you a brief nod in response.

You took a cab to his apartment. It was a second-floor walk-up flat in a fairly large town house, nicely furnished in that fading elegant style that appeals to the well-to-do and aristocracy.

Hangman turned on one lamp but not the others. The street lights cast a nice, dim, romantic glow on the large lounge. He made no pretense that this was anything other than a sexual encounter. He didn't make small talk, offer you a drink, or request that you sit. None of that was necessary; he and you both knew it. You were there for one and only one reason - to have sex.

As Jake kissed you passionately, he took you in his arms. There was no preamble or asking permission; it was a wonderful kiss. As he held you tight, he moulded your bodies together and his lips found yours. While your lips touched, your mouths were closed, but as you pressed them together they slowly opened. As he licked your lips, he ran his tongue along your gums, over your teeth and into your mouth. Unlike the Hangman everyone used to know, he was patient, slow, methodical, and amazingly erotic. You could feel Hangman's hands running up and down your back.His hands fiddled with your bra strap, the waistband of your short denim skirt, which was just a whisker below your pubis line and the top of your bum crease, and the hem of the white, loose, short-sleeved top. 

Jake took your hand and led you to his bedroom.

The room was quite small, but it had a double bed. Although it was dim, you could still see each other. Standing beside the bed, Jake held your hand as you faced each other. Bringing your palm up to his mouth, he kissed its top; he took one of your fingers and softly sucked it, earning a moan from you.

You didn't speak, you'd gone beyond words, they simply weren't needed.

It wasn't long before Jake let go of your hand and stepped back a few feet. With his eyes glistening in the dim light flowing in the room from a streetlamp, he began undoing the button of his heavy, cotton, khaki shirt. Having fully undone his shirt, his fingers were now undoing his leather pleated belt. He was so confident and so assured, which you found very sexy and enchanting. Still, he didn't take his eyes off of you. “You’re so fucking pretty, Y/N.”

Reaching downwards, you grasped the hem of your top. You saw approval in his eyes as his belt came undone and he slowly pushed his zip down. Between the opened edges of his shirt, you could see that his chest was toned and muscular.

You both dropped your tops as if on cue. Jake's eyes wandered over your chest, focusing more and more on your round breasts, almost making you squirm with desire. Through Jake's masterful gaze, you became more receptive to his unspoken persuasions.

The silence was broken by Jake. His erection was evident and clear and gave him absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever. As you dropped your bra, he sighed, "You're so fucking hot, Y/N. What are you waiting for? Go on."

Undoing the brass button on the skirt, you slid the short zip down. The skirt slid down your legs as you wriggled it over your bum and hips. A surge of high-octane arousal surged through you when you looked into Hangman's hungry eyes. You soon pushed your panties down your legs as well.

As Jake took off his boxer shorts, his hardened erection rested proudly against his well-built abdomen.

Seresin reached for your hand, the one holding your panties, as you stood completely naked in front of him. He gently pulled them away from you. His eyes bore deep into yours as he rubbed his nose on the gusset, taking deep breaths as he did so, making animalistic noises at the same time. After that, he used your panties in a rather extravagant manner, rubbing them around his balls and up and down his erection without any embarrassment at all. As if to say don't you dare complain, he stared intently into your eyes before cupping his balls in your panties and rolling them around before pushing the silky underwear back across his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him, pressing himself against you, moulding your bodies into one. As he cupped your round bum in his strong hands, his cock squirmed against you. Jake squeezed and kneaded your buttocks all the while kissing you hungrily; he stroked your bum, pinched it, rubbed it, and caressed it.

As you got your hand between your bodies, your fingers tingled with desire as they ran up and down his erection. It was everything an erection should be; hard, warm, smooth and slightly throbbing. 

You then went to bed.

Jake carefully positioned you on your front and laid beside you. The hand that wasn't tugging your hair had slipped down your back and reached your bum. He stroked it and squeezed it. Jake whispered, "You have the most glorious arse I've ever seen," as he stroked it softly. All he had done when you were standing beside the bed was repeated, but he now focused more on your cheeks. After easing your legs apart, he parted your bottom's cheeks. He spent ages running his fingers up and down that sensual groove, on, over and past your extra sensitive entrance to your anus, on the base of your spine in one direction and into your fully soaked pussy in the other.

All hell broke loose within your body and mind. You could not help but notice as your body shook with the various sensations that you were cumming without any form of penetration, without your sensitive clit being rubbed or your pussy's lips being stroked. “Jake!” You managed to whimper loudly, nuzzling your face into one of his pillows.

Jake smacked your bottom several times. Not that hard and not that much, but enough to make your bum sting and for you to recognise what he was doing. Nevertheless, the combination of the pain from him pulling your hair, the stinging from where he'd spanked your bottom and the pleasure he was giving you with his fingers made you cum, very heavily indeed.

You hadn't even finished your orgasm fully when Hangman turned you over. After what he'd just done to you, your pussy was still tender, and your breasts and nipples were still pulsating. As he moved up and held his cock against your lips, you willingly opened your arms and wrapped them around his hips. 

The moment he bucked his hips, forcing his dick completely into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around his rock-hard erection, gagging yourself.

Jake's hand hit your bottom quite hard, so much so that it jerked your head from his cock as Hangman turned you to your side a little, to gain better access to your bum. In a matter of seconds, he hit you twice. 

Putting his cock back in your mouth, you grunted. Each thwack and smack was probably harder than the last. He spread them over both cheeks. Pumping his girth in and out of your mouth, you gagged, reaching out to massage his balls.

Jake grunted lowly as he hardened. Seresin hit you several more times after he realized you weren't opposed to what he had been doing. Now he was doing it harder, and it was stinging, but not too painful. It was amazing to see that each time he smacked your ass, and since he'd found a sort of rhythm, his cock began to jerk inside your mouth. His hardening and growth increased with each smack. “Fuck, look what you’re doing to me,” he grunted, taking a fistful of Y/H/C hair, tugging on it a little. He was now spanking you with a steady series of blows that covered every inch of each cheek and occasionally drifted down to your thighs. Between each blow, his hand gently fondled your asscheek. 

With that gentleness combined with the aggression of the spanking, you experienced sensations you hadn't felt before. While Hangman grunted and groaned and mumbled how wonderful you were and what a magnificent bottom you had, you sighed and moaned at the pleasure you were receiving, taking his cock out of your mouth with a loud pop sound.

Jake then fucked you. Straightforward, you on your back, him on top, your legs wide open and wrapped around him. Jake’s thrusts were fast and strong; his bed was swinging with each of them. It was quite quick and hard. Like the expert he was turning out to be, he didn't offer or ask for more foreplay. After what Jake had gone on so far there was no need for more and he seemed to be acutely aware of that. He didn't need to get you wet and you didn't need to get him hard, what you'd been doing for the past half hour or so had done both of those necessities. 

“Fuck!” You screamed, digging your nails into his back, rolling your head back on his pillow. “Fuck you, Hangman! You’re so fucking good!”

“I’m good, Y/N,” Jake grunted into your ear, instantly turning his head to suck hardly on your exposed neck. “I’m very fucking good.” You were obviously soaked and your lips were bloated from the blood that rushed to them during the previous orgasms. No complaints, just a straightforward hard and fast fuck and that, to be honest, was what you truly wanted. 

After cumming together, Jake laid on top of you, pinning you to the mattress with his weight, then rubbed your cheeks and neck with his kisses. “Do you want to stay for the night?” He asked simply, rubbing his nose against yours.

Nodding to him, you slipped your hands into his hair and massaged his scalp. "Yes."

Despite his nakedness, Jake kissed you one last time before getting up from the bed. "I'll bring a pillow and towel for you."

As his thick, sticky cum ran down your inner thighs, you rubbed them together and bit your lower lip. You definitely had the best fuck of your life.

[makoredeyes]

Hello, I hope you're doing well! This is probably an odd question, feel free to ignore it. I wanted to ask you as a fellow writer I admire, who is mostly focused on unpopular/dead/deep lore characters. Do you also sometimes feel like what you're writing is irrelevant and unexciting for everyone, except yourself? If so, how do you deal with this? For me sometimes this sudden realization is so crushing, that I cannot bring myself to finish a single work.

Hello! That’s not an odd question at all in fact it feels pretty relevant tbh. (Omg sorry long reply you got me going 💙)

I think I have several kind of interrelated answers for you so let me lay them out.

1- I am powered by autism and a MIGHTY hyperfixation. I have no choice I am compelled. I am blinded to all other things and so while the little bit of feedback that I do get is AMAZING and so extra sparkly motivating it is not entirely what compels me (but BOY does it help)

2- I joked with a friend just last night that, “this season is, as usual, does not have NEARLY enough Felwinter content and so I must therefore create my own.” - as she pointed out, there have been exactly TWO seasons with ANY Felwinter content at all and I wasn’t playing destiny yet for one of them. My point being, sometimes you gotta create what you want to see yourself. I’ve always found myself in some really niche corner of whatever fandom I’m in and have to do this a lot. Probably how I got to writing and drawing etc. fun thing is tho you find a really special group of people who think and love like you that way, and if it’s a smaller crowd, it’s all the more intimate for it Imo. I’ve made some super special friends in the last 9 months or so in my weird little corner here and it’s magical and I think that quality over quantity filter is awesome. (But yeah i know the validation machine is SO good too)

3- the BEST magic of borrowing from obscure content, generally unknown or undeveloped characters or lore is the creative freedom. The headcannon swapping the worldbuilding the background gathering… the RESEARCH! Gleaning what little bit I can from what we DO have. Who the fuck is timur?! We don’t know. I borrowed the beautiful designs for his face and general personality that Sylenth has developed because she’s done such an amazing job and was kind enough to allow me to play with him as she made him, and took that as jump off point for my writing etc but I have all the wiggle room in the world with but a few widely dispersed canon signposts to lead my direction and that is just so fucking fun for me.

(And that doesn’t mean more mainstream characters like Osiris don’t have their creative appeal to me either. I will deep dive on lore and character analysis for YEARS but living in the peripherals is comfy for me)

Those are all the positives to my work, but yeah, sometimes I do feel a little dejected. I have definitely felt a drop off in reader response weirdly in converse to the effort I put into my writing. Housefire has evolved into much more of a cohesive Plot(tm) that is going somewhere very specific from its origin of a few interlinked fluffy anecdotes and funnily enough about the time I started really digging my heels in and plotting and planning and putting in twists I was REALLY excited about, people started responding less. Some of my favorite fics are the least popular. Some of my art I am most proud of gets the least attention but that damn doodle of poor Felwinter getting splattered by a warsat has 200+ more notes than my next most popular art. (The shitposts always win Damnit! 😩🤣😅)

I get frustrated and yeah sometimes a bit discouraged sometimes and I spend Way Too Much time sitting here refreshing my notes because I am a sad lonely person chronically online just way too thirsty for a little validation or a conversation with someone but like. Every piece gets better. Every piece SOMEONE appreciates. Every piece **I** enjoy and is also a chance for all of that when I share it with the world and that’s exciting and good, and like I said the people in this community as niche and little as it is, are really something special, and some of the people that have come into my circle because of it make it SO worth it.

**I was done but then I read your ask one more time and I’ll add this since it popped into my head last-second:

If we are creating works for dead characters we love, we are keeping them alive.

How magical is that??

[forgottenroisin]

Malconaire Samain Traditions

AUTHOR'S NOTES

ok so!!! before i get into this too much, some author's notes, starting w fun facts abt irl samhain (which i wrote samain above bc that's the old irish spelling and we're mostly going w old irish spellings here -- caoimhe rather than keeva, etc) that im running w here are as follows: ancient celtic tradition holds w largely two types of major celebration on their quartered calendar: Beltaine and Samhain which occurred on opposite times of the year, and Imbolc and Lughnasa which also straddled the year. The latter set marked important crop rotations: sowing and harvesting the fields.

The former, however, are said to have been dedicated to the movements of cattle herds and their shephards. At Beltaine, the shephards and their flocks would wrap up their half year of having held their beasts at home amongst the village in the valleys where they were safe from winter snows. at samhain, the shephards would do the opposite: begin driving their herds home across the treacherous montain passes from where they had been grazing in upland pastures for six months, and heading home to the valleys. Both Samhain and Beltane were seen as liminal or threshold holidays. Yet, they were also seen as inverse of one another, with Beltane being a festival for the living and Samhain for the dead.

Many Irish and British Neolithic tombs are aligned such that they are illuminated by the light of the sun as it over Samhain and Imbolc.

In Celtic belief, all spirits appear to be interlinked, w ghosts alternately appearing as faries or gods and vice versa, so I've used guardians, gods, and ghosts here where I thought most appropriate as stand ins but yeah this is just my interpretation??? Anyway, fairy mounds are often literally burial mounds so make of that what you will! I did ultimately choose to include ghosts but I strongly considered restricting it to purely guardians and gods, but yeah! Lmk if you think I should go back and restrict it to just those two!

Samhain in Ireland and Scotland are pr similar, so there'll def bc riffs from both cultures but, bc Rosie's name means little rose, and the very related ancient Welsh tradition of Calan Gaeaf ties in both roses AND ivy v strongly, I'm gonna be pulling a lot from that, as well.

I'm also gonna steal some Venetian St. Mark's Day beliefs and practices and English St. Mark's Eve ones. I have zero excuse except that it dovetails really nicely, and that its frankly sooo fitting for our Miss Rosie.

all the 'tales' here are inspired and even drawn directly from ancient lore!

Cleansing fire and light, cleaning, divination, guising (dressing up and trick or treat-esque shenanigans), dancing, mummery, saining (blessings), feasting, belief that spirits (good and evil, human and fae and godly and demoic, etc) walk amongst us that night, and veneration of the dead are common themes, and it is believed that it is this time when the veil is thinnest between the various otherworlds and our own.

Samhain is a last deep breath before the plunge. It is a time of preparing for the death of winter to come. Interestingly, Samain, the Old Irish root word for Samhain, is thought to come from an ancient word for 'summer,' though it was celebrated in November. No one knows why, but imma lean into it as a rebirth kind of symbolism -- yknow that 'spring in winter' sort of concept. Another explanation is that Samain comes from yet another ancient word that means 'reuninion, assembly,' and imma lean into that, too.

There was initially a fortnight of celebrations for Samain, which overtime got cut down to our modern night of Halloween, so idk how long this celebration should last hahaha and i deliberately left the timeline vague bc of that

Conveniently, I'd already hc'ed that Rosie actually views autumn as more a time of rebirth than spring (weirdly enough, it was actually one of my v first hc's for her!), and all this will allow me to tie it in nicely with her character theme of wonder <3

(Also disclaimer that you might notice some similarities between this and my TFW not!halloween traditions in which case...no you didn't ;DDDDD its just that i was inspired by the same sources hahaha except here i pulled in welsh and venetian things as my secondary instead of ancient roman and greek things aklsjdflkjdfdf)

SAMAIN TRADITIONS

like her sisters, rosie was born around the time of an ancient astairan holiday, causing the celebrations to overlap in malconaire

hers falling near samhain, an autumnal festival celebrating the midpoint between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice, and is held to mark the beginning of winter

it is said that it is at this time that the veil between this world and the other is said to be at its thinnest and, thus, the guardians are feted in an effort to strengthen them during this most dangerous period, w seers and all the ppl of astaira gathering to do whatever they can to help

it is a time of unity and mutual faith, generosity and thanksgiving, of finding strength and hope and cheer in ourselves and in one another even as things grow their darkest

as twilight gleams its last, all the fires in the region are put out and a great bonfire lit by a seer at the local shrine. from this protective blaze, every fire in the region is relit so that cleansing, protective fire burns for the guardians against the gods in every home, every shrine, and every gathering place across all malconaire

it is said that on this night, sometimes even non-seers can hear the whisperings of the guardians -- and that, at times -- the howls of the gods echo across the world, but beware to any who hears ought, for gods can appear and speak as any being they wish and, it is said, one must never trust a stranger who arrives upon samhain who will not go into the light

according to ancient tradition, anyone who believes w a true heart may wield some of the powers of a true seer because the veil is so thin, and in addition to being able to hear the voices of gods and guardians, can also sometimes hear the voices of their deceased loved ones

sometimes this is said to be a trick of the evil gods, but many believe that deceased loved ones do in fact arise

in addition to the fires, many gifts of food and drink and harvest and flowers etc are offered to the guardians, in addition to gifts of delights and entertainments such as dances and plays

as it is said that ghosts rise from their graves at this time, whether crossing over from an otherworld or revived by the power of the wicked gods, welcoming feasts are held in every home and, during the feasts, in addition to offerings made to the guardians, places are set for dead members of the family who may be visiting their loved ones while they are able

hoping to thwart any wicked spirits or gods who might be walking the earth, many wear a guise each night when the protective power of the sun is snuffed out

bc it is said that everyone may have use of a seers powers, it is also tradition to go from house to house and give offerings and blessings back and forth there, and this is often when fires from the great shrine bonefire are brought to each home, as well

following feasting in homes, there is also a tradition of gathering around the great bonfire in the evening and sharing sweets

while there, dancing and plays go on with gift-giving continuing well into the night

traditionally, one carves their name into a stone and then tosses it into the fire. those stones that had had the name burned clean off of it will receive good fortune. those whose names are still writ upon the stones will do well to take care over the course of the winter, with death or misfortune said to hunt them

Myths, legends, and ghost stories are all frequently told around the bonfire, with some tales being considered specific to Samain, and others simply tall tales or simply invented stories, but whatever their origin, stories play a highly important role on Samain, both as offerings and as entertainment. i'll include one or two as a sample somewhere in here

traditionally, all across astaira, peace was delcared during samain and it was a great time of unification, of treaties, of mending fences great and small, neighbor to neighbor and nation to nation, alike, w any conflict or even grudge, save that against the gods, being seen as borderline blasphemous, and an insult to the guardians for all efforts must be communally poured into that conflict at this time

in this same vein, it is a time for housekeeping, both great and small -- houses are cleaned, spick and span, and great councils are called by the rulers to undergo yearly reforms

anyone who broke laws during this time would, therefore, be banished for the rest of the year for the grievous offence of having wounded the goodwill of the guardians

traditionally, astairans avoid crossroads during samain, said to be haunted by nefarious deadmen and gods

on the morning samain, young and unmarried people traditionally go out into the fields and collect ivy and autumn roses. traditionally, girls collect ivy while boys pick roses, after which they come together again, with the girls presenting the boys they admire with ivy and the boys presenting roses to the girls they fancy. if a couple's presentations are mutual, they then wind them together and create crowns of roses-and-ivy to wear. at the end of the day, each girls collects all the roses she has been given, and each boy all his ivy and mingle them till they do not know who gave which. then they toss one into the bonfire for the guardians are return home, placing the remaining plants under their pillow. it is said that they will then dream of their future and, if they remember any of the dream, some of it will come true in the coming year. it is also sometimes said that if they dream of a particular other person, they will likely wed that person.

unmarried women are instructed to darken their rooms in the evening, and then a married woman can look into the mirror to see the face of the future groom. If a skull appears in the mirror, the unmarried woman is meant to die within the year. If a future groom cannot be seen, unmarried women are instructed to peel an apple and throw the skin over their shoulders. The shape the apple skin makes is said to show the first initial of her future husband

just before midnight, any remaining children are bundled off to bed and, then, it is tradition for those who wish to see to gather on the holy ground of the shrine, for surrounded by the guardians is the only way one may safely witness what is to come. those who do not wish to see must return quickly home and close all their windows and close their eyes and try to sleep, for any not protected by the guarian who looks upon it shall die on the spot. those who stay at the shrine may see, but they must maintain absolute silence or it is said they shall never see again. at midnight, the dead walk. a whole squadron of them troop by, but if one should spot oneself or any known to one trooping with them, that person is doomed to die within the year. some say the cause of death may even be observed, drowned victims soaked to the bone or hanged men marching with nooses around their necks, and such the like.

games and friendly competitions around the bonfire are common, such as dares and apple bobbing

two hazelnuts roast near a fire; one named for the person roasting them and the other for the person the desire. If the nuts jump away from the heat, it is a bad sign, but if the nuts roast quietly, it foretells an excellent match. 

Items were hidden in food—usually a cakes and breads — and portions of it served out at random. A person's future is foretold by the item they happened to find; for example, a ring means marriage, and a coin means wealth

A salty oatmeal bannock was baked; the person ate it in three bites and then went to bed in silence without anything to drink. This was said to result in a dream in which their future spouse offers them a drink to quench their thirst

Egg whites are dropped in water, and the shapes foretell the number of future children

SAMPLE OF SAMAIN TALES

story of a seer who rushed up to the door to the otherworld in the repulsion of gods, but closed the door as the gods were sealed off on his thumb. he then sucked on his wounded thumb and, from that moment, was said to have gained otherworldly wisdom but the cost was that he was, too, a link that the gods had to this world so he ultimately sealed himself, too, away inside a tree using their own magic to bind himself so that he could harm no one, but it is said that the gods have no mercy and that they force his ghost to walk the world on the night of Samain and sow the seeds of their ill-will for the year to come.

the monstrous gods used to demand two-thirds of the ppl's crops and livestock and even children during samain before they were sealed away, causing many to starve

a certain god, it is said, would command three men to go to a certain goddess every Samain to seduce her. when they inevitably failed, he would take their lives and force them to walk the world as his undead vessels for the rest of the year, wreaking untold havoc upon the world till at least one did succeed and the goddess gave him her magical garter. before the god killed his two companions, the goddess' lover, said sometimes to be from the snail house and alternately from the frog house, warned the vile god that it would spell his own doom if he struck those men down. laughing, the evil god did so, and so the lover used the magic girdle to fight and defeat him and help the guardians seal him away ((fun fact, this is drawn from a story said to have been the origin of the bog men...hence the frog or snail house being involved!))

one samain night, before the veil was raised against the gods, the king offered a prize to any who could tie a band around a hanged man's ankle. each challenger after the other fled in terror to the king's hall but one. when the band was tied, the dead man asked for a drink so, feeling pity for the hanged man, the challenger carried him on his back, stopping at three houses. when they entered the third, the dead man drank and spat it on the householders, killing them. returning to the gallows to bind him again, the challenger spotted an army of the gods burning the king's hall and slaughtering those inside. the challenger pursued the host through a portal into an otherworld where he learned that what he had seen since touching the hanged man was only a vision of what would happen the next samain unless something was done. he returned to the hall and warned the king, and astaira began to arm themselves against the gods who plotted against them.

another tale tells of a man who fell deeply in love w a goddess before the veil was raised against them. so in love was he that he followed her to an otherworld, despite her warnings that if he followed her, he could never return home. they lived happily together for two years before he began to long for home. watching him pine away, the goddess agreed to allow him to visit the mortal realm on her own horse, but only if he solemnly swore never to dismount the horse which would take him there and then back to her. he hastily agreed and started on his way. yet, when he arrived, he found that in the mortal realm two hundred years, and not two, had passed and that everyone he loved had died. distressed to see their graves, he fell from the horse to kiss them, but as soon as he stepped upon the ground, mortality found him and he grew old and died on the spot, collapsing as no more than bones and dust upon the earth of the graves of those he loved.

according to legend, the tradition of presenting roses and ivy to a lover originated when a man of low social standing is said to have fallen in love with a lady of house malconaire known for wearing ivy in her hair. in order to win her father's approval -- who said he might only wed his daughter if he could prove his love for her was true -- he became involved in a distant war. he was mortally wounded in battle, but managed to pluck a rose from a nearby rosebush for his loved one. a companion was entrusted with returning the blood-stained rose to his lover, who cast the ivy from her hair and wore the rose until the day she died. from their graves, buried beside each other, ivy and roses still grow.

CHARACTER HC'S

it was during samain, many years ago, that domhnall and later his heir, eilionora, offered roderick a treaty but both efforts he rebuffed. to the first effort to achieve peace he did not reply. yet when eilia tried again, he did, sending her only a piece of paper that bore simply a list of the countries he'd already conquered, with astaira's name listed at the bottom. eilia did not try again.

on the samain before bran and sorcha began courting, he decided that he would woo her with the traditional roses. sadly, however, he wasn't able to get out into the fields until late and, when he finally did, all that were left were very, very small roses, indeed. fortunately, she had the same idea and presented him with ivy as well. when she saw the wee rosebuds, which he presented with some embarrassment, saying he ought to have given her something far greater, she laughed and declared that someday he would -- if they ever had a daughter born in autumn, her name should be roisin, for the first gift he had ever given to her.

last samain, rosie presented edmund with ivy, forgetting he problably knew nothing of the tradition (and would likely consider it heresy, if he did!) realizing too late that he probably didn't know what she was telling him, she laughed and made a joke of it, weaving him a ivy crown, anyway, saying that if he meant to rule over astaira, someday, he best pay attention as he would have to know how to make a flower crown. she never mentioned it again.

bran threw eggs into water with sorcha the year they were married. when her egg predicted four children and his six, he was terrified it might mean he would outlive her and she laughed and told him that was a ridiculous thing to suppose, for he'd come to their marriage with two children already: his raven, and malconaire.

the year of sorcha's death, she stayed out to watch the ghosts walk, hoping for a last glimpse of a loved one whom she had just lost, while bran took the children home to sleep. she was drawn and white when bran awoke the next morning and, though she made jokes of it when he mentioned it and proceeded about her day, she seemed distracted, but would say nothing of what she had seen. at the time, bran only assumed that she was distressed about her loss, but after she died, he always wondered if perhaps she had seen her own spirit on the march that night.

though usually done privately for their parents, rosie always enjoyed mumming with her sisters at samain, telling tall tales and dramatic ones alike amongst themselves

while she hasn't done any mummery since childhood, as she imagines its likely not dignified for a lady of her age and position, she does still enjoy guising and generally dresses as favorite heroines from fairy tales and other stories. she is convinced cassandra would enjoy this as well and wants to bring her to such an event one of these years. no o ne can seem to convince her this is terrible idea.

cillian stays out late every year to watch the souls pass and, every year, he informs saoirse that he has seen her go by, but she says she'll have her revenge one of these days, because someday he ~will see her, and then he'll be sorry when he has to tell her so and she laughs in his face.

[dreamersbcll]

“You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding”

- whumptober, prompt no. 27

(hey. let me see. show me)

——————————————————————————-

There wasn’t a word for this feeling.

Doubt, maybe. Fear worked as well. Terror mostly.

But nothing quite like the word desperation would sum up this feeling.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. She knew that getting clean wouldn’t be a linear journey. Fuck, she had gone through this process at least four times, but she thought that it would be easier knowing that she was five years clean now.

Naturally, she was dead wrong.

It started slowly, like most things did. She would find herself staring at the liquor aisles in the grocery store just a little too long. It became increasingly more difficult to ignore the smell of alcohol at the restaurant she worked at, and her mouth watered more frequently. The itching started within a week of the first liquor aisle stare down, and it didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop scratching. It was a consistent itch all over her body, and her nails couldn’t dig deep enough into her skin. Long scratches stretched across her skin, open cuts ripping each time she flexed her muscles. Weirdly, it felt good to bleed, and the pain kept her alert and aware of her surroundings.

Sobriety was a fickle thing. Just because Sam was years sober, it still was an untamed beast slumbering in the pit of her stomach. When it was ready to wake, it clawed up her body and sat in her throat, begging her to give in.

Nothing would taste better than a drink. She didn’t care if it was cold or lukewarm, fuck; she would even drink a hot swallow of alcohol. Anything to numb the terror that sat in her body.

Once it got to the point that she couldn’t stand the smell of cleaning products anymore, she knew she was fucked. It wasn’t long ago that she was taking swallows of Lysol just to tamp down the desperation tearing her apart. She wasn’t proud of it, not by a long shot, but at least everything went silent.

That’s what alcohol was, anyway. It's a way to turn down the volume and make everything tolerable. She could think clearly and make (what she felt were) rational decisions.

But she knew better now. She knows that drinking was only the start of a tumultuous period that would ultimately end with her death.

(Sam had promised herself that if she ever drank again, she would ensure it was her last time on earth. She couldn’t risk breaking her sobriety and living on to try again. She didn’t want to try again. She was so tired).

Instead, Sam stood in the mirror, letting the dim lights in the bathroom light up her reflection. She stared deep into those dark eyes, noticing how gaunt and desperate they looked.

Just give us a taste, Sam. One sip. One swallow. Give us a chance. We’re starving. Please.

“You can’t, You can’t,” she shakily whispered, her hands shaking against the porcelain sink.

Her reflection stared back, the person in the mirror cocking her head. Sam knows that person well. She knows what they’re capable of, and she knows what they want. Death and destruction were sewn into her bloodline, always there, always begging. All she wanted to do was to give in and dig up the bottle she had hidden in the back of the pantry.

Tara didn’t know about that bottle. Tequila. Sam’s vice. She had bought it on a stormy night and stayed up all night staring at the bottle. She watched the glass glisten in the moonlight, afraid to move. If she moved before daylight, she indeed would’ve succumbed to its silent pleas.

That was two months ago. She should’ve known the downfall was coming. She has an addiction, for Christ's sake. It never ended. The battle was continuous, and she couldn’t lay her armor down. For if she did, she would make sure that she died in battle, leaving Tara to pick up the sword and too-big armor to fight her own demons.

Sam couldn’t have that.

So she fought.

Breathing deeply, Sam swallowed, her mouth dry. She could feel a wave of nausea rolling through her stomach, the monster in her throat cackling at her weakness.

She looked into the mirror, pleading to the reflection. “You don’t need this. You don’t. Stop, just, please. Stop.”

Her reflection didn’t care. It took what it pleased and offered nothing in return. It wanted to destroy every single achievement and chip she had ever earned, all for the sake of a drink.

Pathetic. A servant to the drink. Absolutely pathetic.

“Stop, stop, please. Please stop. I’m good. I’ve been good. Please,” she begged, her nails scratching against the smooth porcelain.

She closed her eyes tightly, shakily breathing out. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Before her reflection could answer, the door slowly swung open, creaking on its hinges. Sam didn’t dare to turn around, afraid that if she left her reflection alone, she would end up with a bottle in her hand and swaying on the top of a bridge.

“Sam?” the voice whispered. Tara.

Sam screwed her eyes shut tight and tried to loosen her grip on the sink. It didn’t matter what she did, as she still looked insane, staring at the bathroom mirror in the middle of the night.

“Hey, Tara. Go back to bed, baby. I’ll be there at some point.”

Instead of turning around and leaving, Tara stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows furrowed—her thinking face.

“Are you having… a moment?” Tara said slowly, carefully, as if Sam was diffusing a bomb.

In a way, she was.

Chuckling, Sam flexed her fingers, wincing at the stiffness. “Yeah, something like that. It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all good,” she said nonchalantly.

Naturally, Tara saw right through her. “Are you seeing him again? Do you need your medications?”

Sam flinched at the mention of her father, noticeable enough for Tara to cock her head at the action. It had been a while since Sam had seen Billy. It seemed like her demons took a turn torturing her into submission, as right now, she was fighting the urge to break her clean streak. Delightful.

Breathing out, Sam opened her eyes, staring at her reflection. “Uh, no. Not him. It’s something else.”

Tara hummed in response and slowly walked behind Sam, her steps purposeful and loud enough not to spook her big sister. She got behind Sam, her reflection peeking out beside Sam’s. Unlike Sam’s shell-shocked face, Tara looked puzzled, her eyes tinged with somber emotion. Sam shook her head slightly, knowing she was caught.

She might as well come clean now. “I'm afraid, Tara,” she forced out, the words foreign on her tongue.

Her little sister cocked her head, her mouth downturned in a frown. “What are you afraid of, Sam? I'm here,” she paused, thinking over her words. “Show me, Sam. Show me.”

Sam bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. “It’s in the pantry downstairs behind the rice and beans. It’s in that silver bag, the one I told you was a gift for Danny,” she whispered.

Without a second thought, Tara breezed out of the bathroom and went downstairs. Sam’s arms ached as she held onto the sink, but she didn’t move. She watched her reflection as she listened to Tara’s footsteps. The downstairs light flickered on, and the pantry door swung open.

Tears started to stream down Sam’s face, hot, embarrassed tears. She could hear Tara rummage through the dry food, and the bag's crinkling signified the end of her hunt. Sam bit down on her tongue, letting blood pool in her mouth, the metallic tang keeping her steady. Her tears of shame dripped onto her hands, making her grip slippery. It didn’t matter. Tara knew now.

She listened as her little sister made her way up the stairs, the silver bag crinkling as she walked. Sam closed her eyes tightly as Tara walked back into the bathroom, holding the one thing that would take Sam away from her.

Tara sighed at the state of her sister’s tear-stained face, her heart breaking in two as she saw the blood-stained corners of her mouth downturned. “Oh, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam laughed a bit, opening her eyes and watching the reflection of Tara taking the bottle out of the bag, her little sister’s face falling. Despite the anguish on Tara's face, Sam licked her lips, letting the blood paint her skin. Her mouth watered as the bottle gleamed in the light, and her heart raced. It was so close, within arm’s length. She could snatch it and down it within a couple of minutes.

Not taking her eyes off Tara’s grip on the bottle, Sam spoke carefully. “It’s not what I do, Tara. I suffer in silence. If I do it loudly, I’ll lose control. I can’t—fuck. I need it,” she whimpered, her hands slipping on the sink.

She loosened her grip, ready to turn around and snatch the bottle from her sister. If she did it quickly, she could lock herself in the spare room and let herself disappear.

But Tara was always a few steps ahead of her.

Before Sam could turn around, Tara had already unscrewed the bottle and poured it into the sink. Wide-eyed and bordering on a massive panic attack, Sam watched as her sister poured all her desires down the toilet, flushing it until the room stopped smelling like death.

“I— what the hell? Why, Tara? Why?” she cried, watching Tara cap the bottle and set it on the bathroom tile.

In a swift motion, Tara crossed the floor and pried Sam’s hands off the sink. Her little sister took Sam’s hands, firmly holding on as if Sam was about to bolt. She looked into her sister’s eyes deeply, digging her nails into Sam’s skin.

The pain felt so damn good, and it kept her awake. Sam matched Tara's breathing, following as her sister breathed in and out, her eyes never wavering from Sam’s.

Once she caught her breath, Tara loosened her grip and cupped Sam’s face with her hands. There, Tara searched Sam’s eyes, watching Sam’s every move. Still full of slight rage and overwhelming confusion, Sam stayed silent.

“I can’t have you leaving me again. I won’t allow it. I know you’re struggling; I’ve seen it for days. That-” she said, pointing towards the empty bottle. “That is just a way to torture yourself. Not anymore.”

Tara pulled her big sister into a tight hug. Sam sank into her embrace, tears of embarrassment soaking into Tara’s t-shirt. Her little sister hummed, swaying the two back and forth. Once she felt Sam limp like a rag doll in her arms, Tara spoke again.

“I’m here. It’s time for you to get your shit together. You’re five years clean. I’m not letting you throw that away for a drink. I’m here. Let's get through this together, yeah?” she soothed, rocking the two back and forth.

Sam nodded against her embrace, kissing her sister’s shoulder.

She didn’t take her eyes off the bottle until Tara dragged her out of the room.

They smashed it on the sidewalk the very next day. As they watched the glass explode across the pavement, Sam could feel herself breathe again.

[valerileygreen]

Arthur used to believe his destiny was written in the stars. More specifically, he believed the stars were his destiny, ever since he first learned about them and fell in love.

He was just a little boy when his father first took him stargazing, showing him the constellations and telling him the stories behind them. That night Arthur learned about a brilliant star named Arcturus, and maybe it was just how similar their names were but he felt a connection. He thought it was a sign.

The memory comes back to Arthur now, as he’s tucked safely against Eames’ side (finally, finally) in the aftermath of inception, with Eames’ fingers gently tracing the outline of his tattoo.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the tattoo type, darling.” Eames breaks the blissful silence between them.

“I'm not really.” Arthur shrugs non-committally. “There's just the one.” 

“Oh yes, I’m well aware of that, pet, rest assured. What does it mean?”

And Arthur feels suddenly uncharacteristically shy, which seems incongruous at this point, with Eames. Eames, who is inarguably the person who knows him best now, but maybe that’s the point. For all he knows about him, Eames doesn’t know this part of Arthur, the bright-eyed little boy who fell in love with the stars. It’s a part of him that feels so distant and yet so intimate, and Arthur feels weirdly protective of that boy that was him, that still is him in some way. So he deflects. He shifts his head a little and raises an eyebrow, trying for nonchalance. “It’s just a constellation.”

But of course, he knows that Eames would never be fooled, his reluctance in full display for the forger’s sharp eyes to catch. If anything, it’s only going to fuel his interest, turning a passing curiosity into an intriguing mystery. 

“Yeah, I can see that, thank you very much.” Eames states somewhat sarcastically. “But why? Knowing you, you didn’t just get it for the heck of it. Unless you were just young and stupid.” A shit-eating smirk spreads on Eames’ face. “Oh, it's that, innit? Darling, you sho- Ow!” 

A well-aimed swat to the stomach cuts him off. “Shut up Eames!”

“I'm just saying, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I have a couple of those myself.”

Arthur snorts. “Why am I not surprised? But no, I was just young. Impulsive maybe. But I don't regret it. It’s a good token.”

“Ah, so there is a reason behind it.” Eames smiles, still with a teasing lilt in his tone, satisfied. But then he must read something on Arthur’s face, because he turns serious, tightening his arm around his shoulders a bit, as if to ease the tension seeping in, his voice softer. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, you know?”

Arthur knows it. He knows that if he says he doesn’t want to talk about it Eames would respect it and back down, for now at least. And part of him wants to go along with it, they’ve just gotten together, it’s too soon to reveal so much about themselves, no matter how harmless it is, and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that kind of vulnerability yet. On the other hand, this here is just the culmination of years of getting to know each other, flirting and dancing around each other, and after everything they went through together there’s no one he trusts more, in or out of dreamshare. And, he thinks, if he wants something more to come out of this, maybe he should take a little leap of faith.

He takes a deep breath and smiles slightly. “No, it’s okay. It’s a bit silly really. This is a constellation named Bootes.” At Eames’ low inquiring sound he huffs a short laugh. “I suppose it may not be one of the best known in itself, but it has a star…” Arthur shifts to point at a spot in his tattoo. “See this big star here? Its name is Arcturus and it's the fourth brightest star in the sky.”

“Arcturus? Oh. Oh, darling, are you telling me you have your own star in the sky?”

Arthur can’t help the light blush spreading on his face, that was actually kind of the point. “No. No, it's not like that. It just- it speaks to me. I got the tattoo just before the Army. I wanted something to remind myself that it was just temporary, that there was more to the world and I shouldn't stop dreaming. And, name or not, Arcturus is my favourite star.” He shakes his head wistfully. “It’s ironic in retrospect.”

“Maybe a little bit. But I think it worked splendidly, don't you? Look at you now, dreaming for work. Your younger self would be proud.” Eames muses while running his hand through Arthur’s wild hair. 

“Mm, perhaps.” Arthur concedes, slowly but surely melting to Eames’ touch. “I just like astronomy, really. Enough to entertain the idea of making a career out of it at a point. But then life happened. The war happened, and Project Somnacin happened. And here we are.”

“Here we are. And what a bloody good place is here.” Eames grins.

Arthur gives a contented sigh. “It really is.” 

“So, while we’re in the mood, care to tell me more about your star?”

Arthur hesitates just a fraction of a moment, but Eames just keeps looking at him as if really interested and petting his hair, and so he relaxes fully. While still a little self-conscious at first, he grows more excited as he loses himself in the story. He tells Eames everything he knows about it and its myths; that Arcturus means ‘Guardian of the Bear’, the Ursa Major; that Bootes is the Herdsman driving that same constellation around the North Pole. 

Eames is utterly fascinated by this adorably nerdy side of Arthur, always so practical and in control but finally letting himself loose with him. It feels precious, and Eames feels a surge of fondness as Arthur tries and mostly fails to explain his bond with those stars. He knows though.

“You may deny it, but I believe it really is your star, you know. It fits who and what you are perfectly. You’re naturally protective, and as a pointman it's practically in your job prescription to plan and guide and direct and take care of your team, like Bootes and Arcturus do for the Bear.”

Arthur freezes in surprise, but then a slow smile lights up his face as all the dots connect, and he kisses Eames. 

“Does this mean you’ll take me see the real Arcturus soon?” Eames asks with a laugh after breaking the kiss.

Arthur beams as he answers. “It’s a date.”

Bootes, the Herdsman. Arcturus the Guardian. Arthur the Pointman. Arthur’s destiny was always written in the stars.

[fshoulders]

Just saw someone on here say the Baz Luhrmann Romeo & Juliet is “considered the most faithful movie version of Romeo and Juliet” and had to stop myself from chasing them down the internet like the meme goose going “BY WHO?! BY WHO!?????” Don’t start internet beef over this, self! They didn’t say THEY liked it best! They might be an innocent bystander! Also you are weirdly aggressive about Shakespeare!

Okay, deep breath, short post. Short post! We can do this!

Romeo and Juliet has an oddly small cinematic footprint, compared to its cultural impact. That’s probably why Luhrmann’s version can still hold any primacy. (Gods, are there English teachers showing this in class? Because they don’t have to fast-forward through the Zefferelli nudity? What a thought. Stay on target.) I can only theorize that other Shakespeare plays get more adaptations because they’re centered on a huge male role, so they can be a Serious Showpiece for a single male actor. R&J doesn’t operate that way.

And in my experience (having seen four or five live productions, off the top of my head) it’s a play that really lives in the theater. Stupid as it sounds, every time I see Romeo and Juliet live, some part of me feels like this time, it might end happy. The letter might not go astray: the messenger won’t get caught in a quarantine, Romeo will know Juliet isn’t dead, and everything will turn out fine. It’s so often noted that the play isn’t structured as a tragedy, but as a New Comedy (like Midsummer Night’s Dream, et c. — a story about young people defying their parents for love) that goes wrong: somehow this works on me, in person, such that I really think maybe we’ll pull it off! The kids will be all right, the parents will be chastened, and all will end well. It breaks my heart, every time, when it doesn’t.

I have small quibbles with the Luhrmann R&J, but I won’t enumerate them here. I simply want to point out that Luhrmann makes the most appalling directorial choice he possibly could. And he’s not the only one! This choice was in vogue during the 19th century in England (which is also when Bowdler took the naughty bits out of Shakespeare, so…yeah. Not very concerned with being faithful to the text.) Luhrmann, and the rest of the 19th century text-criminals, have Juliet wake up while Romeo is still dying.

I suppose some of you are now going, “why is that such a terrible thing? It allows for more acting!” Well, yeah, that’s why the hams of the London stage liked to do it in Romantic and Victorian times. Everything for more melodrama!

But it’s a sin against the text, and I’ll tell you why. That breathless stupid hope I talked about above, that the entire play’s structure induces? The hope that everything will turn out right? It builds up in you like a flood, and everything goes wrong again, and the entire weight of your hope is penned up in your heart, and they came so close! It was so close to being all right, but Romeo kills himself, and nothing will be all right.

And Juliet wakes up, still a citizen of the Country of Hope where this trick is so clever and Romeo’s going to save her, and she finds him there. And nothing makes sense to her. He was supposed to be here, but he was supposed to be alive. It’s a cruel inversion of her hopes, it’s her love made Death at last, it’s her whole world collapsing. We know how close it came to being all right, but she doesn’t know. She despairs. She sees he poisoned himself. And then she kisses him. And she says,

“Thy lips are warm.”

Now she knows as clearly as we do how nearly they were together, how close they came to a happy ending. Total understanding crashes over her, and crashes out of us. It’s the perfectly weighted moment of catharsis for the entire play. No lie: just typing her words above, I started crying with no warning. It’s the sharpened point of the play in Juliet’s heart, and ours. Those four words are the most devastating, understated thing. They are the cold, uncaring touch of Death.

And if she saw him die, they don’t work. They make no sense. She sounds like a fool saying them. And the whole weight of the play lands wrong, because some director thought he knew better than William Shakespeare how to wring the salt tears from human hearts.

[normaltothemax]

@therebetterbepie from here

The nightmares weren’t anything new. Sure, sometimes they mixed things up a bit—he’d dream of one terrible memory one night, and another the next—but it was all more of the same. The worst nights, like tonight, were when memories bled into each other.

Opening his eyes to a pitch black wooden box, screaming and shouting and banging on the lid for someone, anyone to let him out. Clawing his way up, trying desperately to reach the surface, choking on dirt and worms, feeling the earth pressing in on him. Only to manage a single breath of graveyard air before green water was flooding his mouth, pushing its way into his lungs. He struggled frantically, but he didn’t know which way was up. He swam and swam and swam, lungs burning, burning, burning, all the while that voice, that laugh echoed in his ears.

Which hurts more? A or B? Forehand or backhand?

A little louder, lamb chop. I think you may have a collapsed lung, that always impedes the oratory.

Just as his vision started going dark, he gasped himself awake, sitting ramrod straight, clawing off the blanket covering him, tangling in his legs. He was shaking and sweating, dragging in deep gulps of air, like he hadn’t breathed in days. It certainly felt like he hadn’t. It took several minutes for him to calm himself down enough to remember he wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t there.

Looking around the dark room, he shuddered, shook his head. Yeah, no way was he staying in there. He wasn’t getting anymore sleep tonight.

Quietly, he made his way into the living room and turned on the TV, turning the volume down in the hopes that he wouldn’t wake up Dean. He made himself some popcorn (something to do that wasn’t associated with any of those terrible memories), grabbed a beer from the fridge (because fuck you, Dean, he wasn’t a little kid and he damn well deserved one), and plopped himself down on the couch, letting the voices on the television wash over him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there before Dean joined him. The bowl of popcorn was set between them before Jason grabbed a handful of his own. “Not sure. Some sort of shopping network. They’re selling weirdly specific shit. I’m half tempted to call in and order something.”

Whatever tension had been remaining in his shoulders eased out with the hunter’s presence. Holding his beer bottle between his knees, he plucked a couple pieces of popcorn from his hand and popped them into his mouth. “You know you can buy a shotgun rack for your mattress?”

[jasiemint]

Scaramouche Imagine~

when you suddenly fell asleep that he comes into your consciousness

theme: fluff (?), very cute and heartwarming, warning might make you cry, may contain sensitive topics, not proofread

on a serious note, this is crack LMFAO you have been warned.

It was very late at night. You can't fall asleep and there are two reasons for such: the stampede of thoughts in your head and the cruel stomachache. You opened your eyes, giving up on trying to fall asleep. Right arm making its way out of the blankets, reaching out for the top of your wooden bedside cabinet as you get your phone. You turned it on and saw the time. 3:27am. You have been laying down, tossing and turning, ever since it was 11. The situation looked deem, hopeless, yet confusing.

Suddenly, you again felt a sharp pain in your stomach. This has happened multiple times this night. In your head, sleep would have made it disappear, but it seems that sleep is nowhere near. You recalled what your great yet Lesser Lord Kusanali once quoted - "use the bathroom and flush your anxiety dookie away~". As you cannot help it anymore, you stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

You took a shit, and oh boy was it hard to push it out. It was like you had to muster all your strength and courage for this very hour, for this divine event. Oh? But all of a sudden, pitch black filled your vision. One second, your eyelids felt so heavy and now, you are finally in deep slumber. Who would have thought that perhaps changing your bed to a toilet can help.

Supposedly you are in a deep sleep where your mind is at peace and you do not have to think or do anything. But what is this strange feeling? As if your soul had been transported back to reality but far away from it as well. It cannot be explained, but you just felt it. Is this what happens when you become in touch with your own consciousness? Slowly coming to your senses, your once bowing head turned upwards. Shocked, you saw the face of The Balladeer staring at you. What are those in his eyes? That purple electrifying look. no. There is more to it. You looked deeper and you saw something you did not expect - mercy. Pity.

He then held your hand, and as if your consciousness is in fact connecting with reality in some way, you were finally able to release that one last tiny hard piece of poopoo you have been struggling to get out. You cried tears of joy and worshipped the one who had held your hand. Scaramouche, satisfied with his help, laughed with a sprinkle of both genuine relief and degradation. "Mortals... A very simple task yet you still need me to succeed. How laughable."

You completely woke up from your consciousness. Now unable to see Scaramouche, you felt sad. But no matter. It was a pleasure and honor already to see him, and hell, even held your hand. You don't know if he can hear you, but you wanted to express gratitude. You cried and screamed plenty of thanks and continuously did this as you wash and wipe your business away.

The neighbors, who were sleeping tight, woke up to your screams. They filed a complaint to the village owner of where you are residing. When they came to talk to you, you preached of how great Lord Scaramouche is. They all looked at you weirdly - "Do we need medical help?". They kept trying to know into your sense that Scaramouche is but a fictional character and that you need to touch grass. Yet you refused. You feel and know that you are in the right. Just like any follower, you defended your new god with all your might. You also know that no, you do not need to touch grass.

Unless you spent precious time reading all of this. Then maybe you do. Don't you have something to do in life? Are you okay? Touch grass, please.

Fear not, however, for I will come with you. After all, I spent 30 minutes writing all this down. Maybe, just maybe, we all need to seek help.

Oh, and to summarize all of this... You know what you just read?

A story about you taking a shit at 3am and being so tired that you fell asleep. But then Scaramouche went in your consciousness. You were crying deep inside so he pitied you and helped you release that one tiny hard last piece of poopoo then you woke up and thanked him in a very loud manner that the neighbors, cops, and doctors had to be involved. Did you get the therapy you need? Idk man, you tell me

[banguette]

Remember Me Once More | Ted Shackleford (The Man in The Yellow Hat) x f. Reader

description: He stayed. You left. 6 years after your last meeting, a game of circumstance lands you in the same room as him - and his monkey. With 2 weeks of working in close proximity, things are bound to come to light. The question is, how will he perceive it?

word count: 14.7k

warnings: they are both idiots!!! who are in love!!! angsty feelings, cursing a lot of talk of canada and the us as well as culinary schools (i did my research but i'm not from either of those places so pls forgive me if some things are wrong), some words are in italian because the pisghettis, awkward conversations, ted is a nerdy dilfy hotshot museum director, reader is a chef, sex fantasies (a LOT of them), they get trapped in a room, many many apologies, flashbacks to college, it's never explained but ted calls oc chowder, oc has two moms because we love diversity, brief mention of 'the office' and julius the monkey, sweet confessions, SO MUCH KISSING!!, cheesy lines are exchanged, boners, ted has a big virgin dick, experienced reader, oral sex (male and female recieving), a bit of a hair kink, clit play, ted is a bit too excited sometimes, bickering like they're an old married couple, reader has an iud, unprotected sex (do not try!! i repeat, do not try!!), several orgasms, creampies (yes, creampieS), missionary, riding, they act like horny teenagers, ted's butt deserves its own warning so here it is, brief mentions of bath sex, old wounds finally heal, the three of them are basically a family, public speaking, y/n is a bit unhinged, more sweet confessions, allusions to exhibition (pls keep in mind this is my first smut fic, be kind!!)

cover by: me (illustrations featured belong to their rightful owners)

note: I do not regret this book nor do I condone it. Fueled by Ted TikToks, inspired by 'Maroon' by Taylor Swift and 'Don’t You Remember?' by Adele.

Ted Shackleford was not a malevolent person.

Ask anyone and everyone who knew him; he was the last person to hold a grudge against anyone. His monkey had flooded his apartment - thrice! But his response every time he discovered George scratching his head uncomfortably and awkwardly giggling amid the soapy bubbles and rubber duckies surrounding him was to just sigh before proceeding to clean the place.

But you? You were a different story. Every time he recalls the blurry memory of you walking away from him - the last time he ever saw you - he only vividly remembers the anger bubbling up inside his chest. He only remembers the deep frown etched on his face, and the furrowing of his eyebrows as he dug his nails into his palm. Was it selfish to only recall what he felt at that moment, rather than the sight of you hurriedly making your way to your plane without sparing him another glance? To look back on perhaps the most significant turning point in his life and only focus on his emotions rather than figuring out why you left in the first place?

He didn't know. And, to be quite frank, a part of him doesn't care. Altruism was his one principle in life and constantly bent over backward 24/7 to make everyone happy; surely he could afford to be unkind in this one avenue.

But...

Some nights - including tonight - he thinks of the other memories you shared. That elementary school Halloween party, where you warned him that he was going to get teased relentlessly for dressing up as Percy Shelley (whom he was weirdly obsessed with back then), but come the day you surprised everyone by strolling in as Mary - Frankenstein plush and all in your hand. Yeah, you both still got ridiculed by all the Scooby-Doos and Rugrats in your class, but no bullying could have deterred the warmth he felt inside when you leaned over and whispered, "It's either both of us or none of us."

There was also that day in freshman year when you guys cycled through town, the sun setting behind you as you rushed home to make it in time for curfew. How you'd tripped over a train track and he'd tried his best to clean and dress the small gash on your knee, and how you looked at him as if he'd hung up the stars in the sky to accompany the moon when he matched his pace to yours and made it home extremely late. He'd gotten scolded, but it didn't matter. Not as long as you were safe. Besides, all was forgiven when you presented him with a history book in addition to his favorite cookies over a week later. The book inspired him to pursue history and eventually landed him a career as a museum director at the Met. Without you, he doesn't know how he wouldn't have gotten here.

It's that exact realization, however, that causes him to shift to his side on the bed and shake off all thoughts of you. He was approaching 30, for god's sake, and had a life to think about now rather than you; the one that got away. He lists them all in his head: a rambunctious monkey not even the age of 3, the meeting he has tomorrow for his new gallery opening, his friends... If it meant that, to focus, he had to drown out his thoughts (and the feeling of your soft lips pressing against his that one time) to the sound of George peacefully snoring in the room beside him, then so be it.

You had to remain in the past because Ted doesn't have space for you in his future.

The last thing you want to be confronted with after your tedious 6-hour flight to New York City is bitter coffee, but of course, that is what you get. The minute the foul-tasting liquid grazes your taste buds you spit it out onto the pavement, where the crowds don't even bother reacting to your gross public act of self-humiliation. It is at that moment when you truly feel like you are in New York, never mind the countless welcoming posters you'd seen passing through the airport. Being back in America after half a dozen years abroad felt dizzying - like something you'd spent so long carrying with you around British Columbia had finally lifted itself from your shoulders when you landed. You finally felt at home.

That being said, you weren't here for good just yet. Everything that you owned was still tied up in your apartment back in Vancouver, it depended on the outcome of your upcoming interview on whether or not you'd be moving here permanently. In the meantime, you'd spend the next few days here exploring the Apple; it's unlikely, but perhaps you could secure some last-minute Broadway tickets, or take a gander through the Central Park Zoo, or maybe even go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Right now though, the coffee had done nothing and you were more focused on getting to your hotel and crashing into the comfortable bed. Jetlag was a bitch, but it was one you were willing to give into.

After checking in, the concierge handed you a bunch of pamphlets on things to do while you're in New York before smiling and sending you on your way. Leaning against the elevator wall, luggage in tow, you flipped through them. You stop at the Met's in particular; despite being a culinary student, a dear old friend had gotten you somewhat interested in history and museums have kind of drawn you in since. You unfolded the paper, glazing your tired eyes over the words, briefly looking over the pictures.

Until you spot a familiar face staring back at you.

In your confusion, you bring the paper closer to your face. Surely it couldn't be - oh my god, it is. Your 'dear old friend' was right there on the paper, smiling and beckoning you to visit with a small monkey on his shoulder. Right as the elevator pinged, you folded the paper and removed the picture from your sight. Slight change of plans, you thought internally as you walked towards your hotel room. Maybe you wouldn't be visiting the Met after all.

"George! I'm home!" Ted yelled, walking inside and setting his keys into the designated bowl, and hanging his hat up on the hook. The day had been grueling, some cuddles with his favorite non-human in the world were all he was looking forward to. George was equally as excited to catch the man in the yellow hat up on his day; he'd spent his time playing with Hundley and one of the things they did together was making a mess in George's bedroom. Ted groaned, muttered 'I'll clean this up later,' under his breath before scooping the primate up in his arms and settling down on the couch. Together, they watched a few episodes of the show they'd started before Ted left to go shower.

As the water trickled down his body and he lathered the shampoo onto his hair, Ted recounted key points from his meeting. The new Invention of Cooking exhibit would be one of their grandest yet; aside from collecting hundreds of utensils, tools, and recipes from all around the world and from different points in history, they would also be flying in top culinary experts and food history enthusiasts for the opening. Having so many people come in and also having the entire gallery focused on food itself meant that they would have to bring caterers in, and obviously, Ted knew no one better to perform the task than the Pisghettis. He'd have to drop by their restaurant after work tomorrow to discuss the appetizers, main course, and dessert platters that they'd be serving. Aside from that, there were still a bajillion other things to do and only a month left to do it. He was losing his mind the more often he was left alone with it.

Once he got out, he tied a towel along his waist and ran another through his hair before making his way to the kitchen to make dinner. He only needed to heat up what he'd made the day before anyway, so he split the leftovers into two bowls and threw them in the microwave. While it was in there, he changed into his loose sleeveless shirt paired with his boxers; all his signature yellow. He made his way back to the kitchen before calling George over, and they made light conversation as they ate.

Later on in the evening, when Ted had read him his favorite bedtime story and tucked him into bed, he clambered onto the balcony and started to water his mini-garden. Halfway into this routine, he paused and looked beyond the railings to the brightly lit streets below him. In combination with the chill air, it was enough to make even the toughest day seem so distant from where he was now. Keyword: was. Ted had originally purchased the apartment solely for the view, but now he just felt lonely gazing down at it. He wished he had someone to share it with. There was always George, and he wouldn't trade that little guy for anything, but you could only converse with a monkey so many times. He longed for someone to be by his side, to have deep conversations, and also to joke around with. Someone who could do more than nod and make a few, albeit cute, sounds.

His mind flickers to an image of you for a millisecond. Then, he finishes watering all the plants and shuffles towards his cold, empty bed for another night.

You knock on the door anxiously, your gaze focused on the couple sitting at the dinner table in front of you. "Excuse me, I'm here for the interview?"

"Ah, you must be Y/N!" Netti, as you learn her name to be, says as she leads you to where her husband is sitting. "How was the flight, dear? Thank you for visiting on such short notice."

You wave her off, "My pleasure, I've been meaning to visit here anyway. You guys did me a favor!" Uh-oh. Was that too much? Possibly too little? They didn't seem to mind, both of them making polite conversation with you as Chef Pisghetti contentedly petted the kitten on his lap. They were extremely nice, you'd noted. Much better than some of the past bosses you'd had. At least, you'd hope they would be your bosses. Another thing you noticed was how each time one was speaking, the other would put their undivided attention on them and their eyes shone with adoration. It showed just how comfortable and in love they were with each other, and a fuzzy feeling filled your chest.

"Let's get into business, Y/N," Pisghetti says once the conversation fizzles out. "Your resume's extremely impressive; 4 years of school in Le Cordon Bleu and The Culinary Arts School of Ontario? Apprenticeship at the CN Tower? Ammazza! You're brilliant!" He grins sheepishly and you smile back in return. "I have one question though," He makes an inquisitive face.

"Yes?" Stress builds in your chest, scared of what was to come.

He throws his hands in the air excitedly. "When can you start?"

That's how you find yourself getting a pseudo-training session from the two for the rest of the time. The restaurant was closed for the day, so you got to learn the layout of their kitchen, how Pisghetti cannot accept anything less than perfection (which suits you fine anyway being a perfectionist yourself), and even take a tour through their spectacular rooftop garden. A lush green farm amidst the busy streets of New York, could you imagine? Most importantly of all, you learn about Gnocchi, the Pisghetti's kitten. The cutie had been saved from a tree by one of their firefighter friends a few months back, and once the pair had seen her they couldn't look back. Gnocchi was now part of their routine and soon would be a part of yours too. Everything revolved around the spoiled but loveable creature.

By the time it rolled around to half past 5, the Pisghetti's handed you some food so you wouldn't have to spend another day eating cup noodles and microwaveable mac and cheese and allowed you to hang your apron up. However, just as you said your goodbyes and were about to walk through the kitchen door, you heard a jingle come from the main dining area. "That's weird," You said to Netti and the chef went out to greet whoever came by. "Weren't you guys closed?"

"Don't worry about it tesoro mio, it's probably our friends. They told us they were going to drop by."

You nodded your head and hugged Netti one last time before making your way to the front entrance. At first, the odd and lanky yellow shape didn't register as anything familiar in your peripheral vision. It was only when the figure turned around to acknowledge you that you felt the wind get knocked out of your lungs. Your mouth felt dry and your knees felt weak as your eyes snagged onto those of the man in front of you. You felt zaps from his staring register in your brain, sending tingles down your spine to the tips of your toes.

Who knew that after so long, Ted Shackleford would still have the same effect on you?

It was strange. He always thought that, if he saw you again, he'd feel the same anger and resentment as he did when you left. But as your eyes connect and lock onto yours, all he feels is the sharp pain of old wounds reopening. An eternal flame of longing was reignited within him, surrounded by a moat of suffering.

After picking George up from Professor Wiseman's office after work, they made the journey to the Pisghetti's diner so that he could muck around for a bit with Gnocchi and Ted could discuss the menu for the opening with the chef. He'd called in beforehand to ask them if he should drop by the apartment or the restaurant, and they told him they'd be in the latter. Something about an interview with a girl who flew in? He didn't know. Forget pushing it to the back of his head, he'd thrown the piece of information out completely.

Pushing through the red door, the duo was soon joined by Pisghetti. George soon ran off once he spotted Gnocchi, making happy little monkey noises while doing so, whereas Ted settled down with Pisghetti and they had a light banter. "Like I was saying, Chef," Ted said. "I want you to go all out with this. Give it the full Pisghetti treatment. I'm thinking maybe 5 courses if you're up for it, some cleansers in between."

The cook nodded excitedly as he launched into his plan. "I've already been testing for this one recipe - I'll probably serve it as an appetizer - something I'm calling my giardino sliders. Oh, you'll love it! È magnifico!"

Had it not been for him keeping an eye out for George, he probably wouldn't have noticed the figure quietly making her way out of the kitchen. But he did. And once his eyes spotted her, his face turned to her and his jaw dropped. Pisghetti was unbothered at first, but once he realized the other wasn't responding anymore, his head shot up and he looked between the two of you, not sending the tension. "Ah, Y/N, this is Ted. He's a friend of mine. Teddy, this is Y/N - our new hire." He paused for a moment. "Hey, since she's going to help me make all of this anyway, maybe Y/N should join us here. What do you think?" Before either could reply, Netti called her husband from the kitchen and he shuffled his way to her.

Then, for the first time in 6 years, you and Ted Shackleford were in the same room together.

It was the latter that first broke the ice. "Y/N..."

"Please don't say anything." You mumble out, clearly uncomfortable as you shift from one leg to the other.

Ted's heart sank. He'd say this is not how he'd envisioned your reunion, but that would mean he'd have to admit he imagined it in the first place.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, that sounded rude as hell." You say, shaking your head. "I mean, please don't tell Chef Pisghetti anything. I really, really need this job, Ted." You stared at him with your pleading eyes. Ted could only nod in return.

"Um, anyway. How- how are you?" You say, biting your lip.

"Good. Uh, I'm a museum director now. At the Met. Metropolitan Museum. Of Art." He choked out, barely being able to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah, I saw a picture. You had a monkey in your hands and said something about coming by for an exciting afternoon."

"That's George, he's actually mine. In fact, he's around here somewhere. Where'd he go? George?"

After a few seconds, you felt a tug at the hem of your dress. You looked down to see the young simian from the pamphlet happily meeting your sight before rushing to sit on Ted's lap. "I adopted him about 2 years ago, he's been with me since." He said while George nuzzled into the man's arms (is it logical to be jealous of a monkey?).

You genuinely grin, "He's sweet. Wasn't expecting you to have a monkey but I guess it makes sense."

"I really don't think you have a clue about who I am." He replied, almost snappily. His eyes widen as he realizes the implications of his words.

Silence. Your heart pounded inside of your chest.

Chef Pisghetti thankfully walked in at that moment, "Mi dispiace, Netti was having some trouble with one of the recipes - or rather, some trouble reading my handwriting." He giggled to himself. "Anyway, Y/N, I've kept you waiting long enough. You can go, I understand you're tired. You can join us for another meeting, see you tomorrow. Ciao!" He said.

Nodding your head meekly and uttering out a soft 'thanks', you hurried out of there. You weren't tired, actually, but you couldn't stand being around Ted for another second. Could this get any worse?

Lucky for you, Ted didn't come back the next day. The entire week, really. Or the next. George would pop by from time to time, with you quickly getting fond of the silly guy, but his owner (dad?) was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was for the best. You don't need to be digging up any trauma, especially right now.

This good luck streak would end when Pisghetti asked you to hand deliver a parcel. To Ted. At the Met. It was cruel, how life was treating you. After two weeks of blissfully testing and experimenting with recipes once the restaurant had closed, fate had decided you were having too much of a fun time and sent down a terrible idea to shake things up a little, knowing you couldn't say no. You sigh as you hold the large box in your hands and climbed up the steps, hoping to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. It was once again after 5 and you craved nothing but the leftovers in the fridge (nowadays, you prefer to leave the cooking at work) and the new season of your favorite show.

"Excuse me, ma'am," An old white man dressed in an even whiter lab coat approached you. "No food allowed on the premises, please."

"Ah, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding," You say, reasoning with him. "These are for Ted. Ted Shackleford? I believe he's the director?"

The man nodded his head in understanding, "Ah, yes! You must be the Pisghettis' new girl. Sorry for not realizing sooner, I'm Alvin Einstein. No relation to the big one, unfortunately. This way!" He said, leading you through some smaller almost unnoticeable doors along the wall to get to the director's office faster.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you must not be local if you don't know who Ted is," Alvin pointed out as he ushered you inside the employee elevator. "Not that he's that well-known but people do recognize him in these parts."

"Yeah, I just came here from Ontario." You say in response, focusing on the ascending numbers as you got closer and closer to his office. "Started the job about two weeks ago."

Alvin nodded, briefly told you about the time he visited Ontario with his wife, and when the elevator reached its destination bid you off. "To the left!" He said. "You wouldn't miss it!" You face that direction as the doors of the lift close behind you and see a big door next to a plaque emblazoned with the words 'Director's Office - Theodore Shackleford' in gold. He was right, you couldn't miss it no matter how much you wanted to. You walk over and lift your hand, knocking once, twice, thrice.

You wait for a heartbeat before a faint 'Come in,' is heard from inside. You open the door and come face to face with Ted, sitting only a few feet away behind his giant desk with his reading glasses on his face. For one tiny split second that you would take to your grave, you imagine sucking him off underneath it as he takes an important call - beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as his glasses fog up - he'd clench his jaw, desperate to not moan and ruin your cover. God, he looked so fucking hot in his seat, even the absurd yellow suit draping over his curves and muscles deliciously.

His words snap you out of reality. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was expecting the Chef, I would've cleaned up a bit more had I known it was you. Come, sit. You're just in time for, err, linner?" He motions toward the seat in front of him, taking off his glasses to your disappointment.

You are about to protest when Ted shrugs you off. "Listen, I- I wanted to apologize. That was really rude of me to snap at you like that. You know that I'm not that type of person." He says, fiddling his thumbs.

"It's okay. Really, I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For not telling the Chef anything. I don't really want to go back to Ontario; I'm kind of dreading picking up all my stuff. Had you said anything about our history, I could have been let go. I mean, he's your friend. He'd do anything to make you happy."

"Y/N," he sighed, rubbing his temples. Despite his tone, hearing him say your name was a treat in itself as if he'd coated it in everything that is good in this world before presenting it to you. "You know I'd never do that. And neither would he, I think. He's my friend but he'd be crazy to give up such a talented person as you."

Your heart fluttered, and you gave a small smile. Realizing his confession, he coughed and pointed to the bags. "So, what have you got for me?"

You walk him through the meals that had been prepared, sharing all the ingredients and ideas that culminated in them. You don't notice how he barely looks at the food and focuses on you instead. Eventually, he calls George in to try the food and even convinces you to have a few bites. Most of the time you talk about the kid;- mostly about how cheeky he is. He tells you how he once got stuck on the subway for the entire day, making Ted run all around New York to find him, but even moments like those are worth it because the bond between them is unbreakable. You found it endearing and secretly wished you got the same opportunity - a second chance to love Ted as freely as you did before, or at least could have.

George left as soon as you guys finished, already having arranged a playdate and sleepover with Charkie for that day. As he left, your minds were too buzzed from being in each other's company for the entire evening that you barely acknowledged the click behind you as you packed away. Ted had loved everything but gave a few notes here and there that you'd have to take up with Pisghetti. You beam warmly at Ted, giving your thanks once more before grabbing the door handle.

You tugged. Nothing.

You tugged again. Still nothing.

Third time in and you were panicking. Realizing your distress, Ted walked over (was his scent always this intoxicating?) and gave it a try himself before he outwardly groaned. "Crap." he said, "The doors automatically lock after 6 for security measures, George doesn't know that. It's stupid, I've been meaning to change it. Ugh. It just - it just became second nature to me you know?" He ran his fingers through his hair. You had to stop yourself from reaching out and playing with his tousled strands. On the other hand, he marched over to his desk and punched a few numbers in, and spoke firmly but politely into the phone. He was met with a disappointing response on the other end, causing a frown to settle on his face. After pleading for a bit more, he eventually returns the handset back in place. "I'm sorry, Y/N."

"Why, what's the verdict?"

"They can't get us out until 7 AM. We're going to have to spend the night here."

Nothing about this was ideal. You were sprawled over on the pull out couch, your back facing him as you try your hardest to fall asleep. Meanwhile, he'd have to periodically pull his eyes from your serene figure and try to focus on getting comfortable on the floor. He shouldn't be complaining, he'd practically forced you to take the bed. Still, being 28 meant that he didn't have the same body as he did when he was 18. He was definitely going to feel this tomorrow.

That being said, Ted doesn't know if he'd really call it unfortunate. When you'd started to leave, Ted was about to reach out and ask you to stay, to take a stroll with him. Reminisce about the past. Talk about why you left and why it felt like you took a piece of him with you. Anything. He just wanted to be near you. It had been so long. His nervous prayers were answered when the door refused to open. Sure, you weren't talking, but your presence itself was soothing.

He heard you shifting where you were laying down and looked over to see you staring at the ceiling, clearly unable to sleep. "Can't sleep?" he asks, giving in to temptation.

Your eyes quickly snap to him, and he feels them glaze over his chest. The suit was not at all comfortable to sleep in, so he'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt a little. He hadn't realized how it made him look seductive but seeing the way your eyes widened as you looked him up and down did cause pink to bloom on his cheeks and ears.

"Uh... sorry, what did you say?"

"Can't sleep?"

You lick your lips. "Um, yeah. Today's been a long day and it doesn't seem to be over anytime soon."

"I understand. Hey, sorry about this mess. This was not the way I envisioned this evening."

"Didn't you say you didn't know I was coming?" You say, giggling.

"You know what I meant!" He chuckles in return. "Is the couch uncomfortable? I haven't slept on it in a while, might be a bit stiff."

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's fine, I'm just restless." A blanket of silence covers you again, but this time it's not awkward. You move to sit properly on the couch, essentially telling him you're available to talk.

"We talked a lot about George while we were eating," Ted says first. "However I still don't have a clue about what you were up to when you were in Ontario. How've you been?"

"Well, I did two years at Le Cordon Bleu, but in my 3rd year I decided to transfer." You begin. "Partly because I wasn't meshing well with the other students and partly because; well, I could. I'd been offered a scholarship from CASO, so I did my last two years there. It sucks though, I really thought it would be my alma mater. I bought an apartment but after a year I fell out of love with it and soon I fell out of love with the entire province. So, I applied for the sous chef role in Pisghetti's and, well. Here I am."

"I'm sorry Le Cordon Bleu wasn't like what you'd seen in Julie & Julia - still don't understand what you see in it by the way -"

"Hey! Leave me alone."

" - But, I'm proud of you, Y/N. Your talent overshadowed our town."

You're left dumbfounded. "That's so sweet. Thank you. Truly." You say, playing with your hair. How could he say probably the nicest words you've ever received despite what you did? Surely Ted couldn't be that nice.

"What about you? I knew you were going places but I didn't expect you to end up here so soon." You inquisitively ask.

He scratches the back of his head. "It was all luck, really. I started off as an intern, but the previous director took notice of me and took me under his wing. I've been here for, what, 4 years now?"

"You were only 24?! Jesus, you must be the youngest museum curator ever. Why're you watering your accomplishments down?"

"Ha, I was far from the youngest. I believe that title belongs to a 5-year-old?"

"What? Wow." You say, bewildered. "Hey, isn't George under 3? Maybe you could help him beat both that record and be the first monkey to do so."

"That's - that's actually not that bad of an idea." He says, daydreaming about how chaotic that would be to even approach.

You take your chance. "I've been meaning to ask... what's with the yellow? You were never a big fan of the color growing up."

He falls shy. "It's going to sound really stupid, but I purposely tried to make myself look like a banana so that George would come to like me faster. Professor Einstein told me we associate ourselves with other objects better when we have a pre-established bond with them. I still don't know if he was trying to get a joke out of me, but I guess it worked. Look, the brown boots are meant to be the stem, and the polka dot tie is meant to be the seeds."

You make an 'Ahh' sound, realizing why he'd paired the odd combination together. "That's really smart, wow. But George loves you now, why keep wearing it?"

"I guess I haven't found the time to shift back." He replied, shrugging.

"We'll have to change that. Also, Julie & Julia is a very good movie thank you very much."

He gives you a lopsided grin in response. His gaze stays on your face. The silence envelops you both once more. You both stare into each other as if there were no other people in the world, your eyes sharing words that were hard to put out into the real world. "I missed you." he finally says. "I missed you like crazy, Y/N."

"I missed you too." You say, hesitantly. More than he could ever know.

"Why did you leave? You never gave me a real answer."

"It's complicated-"

"You seriously cannot say you expect to stroll back into my life like you never left after breaking my heart like that." He says, his voice getting firmer as he scoots closer to you. "I- I deserve better. You know I do. I deserve an answer."

A sigh escapes you. The truth had to come out one way or another.

6 years ago, you had an epiphany. You remember exactly where you were; Econ 101, senior year of college. Your mind was in a distant land even as you stared at the professor's whiteboard, but by the end of class, you'd come to a decision. This would be your last year doing anything related to economics; you were going to go to culinary school.

It wasn't that you were particularly bad at the subject, your heart just wasn't in it. Every day when you walked into school, all you wished to do was go back to the 4 walls of your kitchen;- smell the aroma as the onions carmelized on the pan, the repeated action of the knife chopping through different vegetables, the sizzle of the wok as you added oil to it. You wouldn't find your heart calculating the GDP or GNP bullcrap, it would always be there at home standing in front of the stove figuring out what seasonings the meal needed.

The moment the realization hit you, you rushed to your shared dorm with Ted. You know he'd stayed at home today and wasted no time in letting him be the first one to know of your new decision. He's a bit surprised to see not just you but the frazzled expression on your face, but ushers you inside anyway. You unload everything that was on your mind from the last hour onto him and eagerly wait to hear what he thinks.

"I think," He says, stroking his chin. "You should do it."

"Are you sure? You don't think it's too late? I mean, 4 years of my life have gone into this already."

"Don't forget this is the rest of your life, chowder. I'd much rather you do something you actually love rather than something you only picked because of convenience."

"I don't know, Ted... It's in Canada. I'll be there for a long time, too."

He reached out to grab your hands, your cheeks turning a shade of pink that you hope would go unnoticed by him. "Y/N. You've always been there for me, and I can't thank you enough for it. Let me be the same for you. It doesn't matter how long, or how much, or whatever - as long as you're happy. Take the leap, apply for Le Gordon Blah-blah." You grin, lost in his cheerful eyes.

That was the push you needed to finally tip yourself over the edge. He was by your side when you repeated the same process with your moms (slightly less rambly this time). They were skeptical at first - who wouldn't be? - but eventually accepted that this was your life and you were more than capable enough to handle it. He was also by your side when you applied for the program. He'd helped you write and rewrite your application several times, batting your hand away from your mouth every time you got the urge to bite your nails. Bless his heart, he even clicked on the upload button when you got too scared to.

When you were accepted, it was his arms you ran to. Ted has always been your number-one supporter, hasn't he?

Of course, with only a few classes left to go before you got handed your degree, you decided to stick around for the final exams. It was pretty funny to compare your calm and serene mood compared to your friends who were freaking the absolute hell out - most of all, Ted. He completely forgot that self-care was a thing, spending hours hunched over his history textbooks and going for hours without food. His reading glasses were on him 24/7 - not that you minded. Still, you had to step in for him at that moment; prepping his meals, dragging him to bed, and massaging his back every time it started to hurt. He kept on thanking you, but you brushed them off. It was honestly the least you could do, and you knew he would do the same for you.

One night, you dragged him from his studies to watch The Office with you. "It'll help your brain relax a bit. You can't keep cramming everything into your brain." He grunts but complies anyway, resting his head on your shoulder while Jim and Dwight plan Kelly's birthday. It's more background noise, really, as your focus is more on him instead of their on-screen antics. You hear his breathing slow down and his eyelids flutter shut. You tread your hands through his soft hair, knowing that it always helps lull him to sleep.

Soon enough, you notice how you're synchronizing your breathing to his. It amuses you at first, but a bolt of fear strikes your entire body. This time next year - heck, in just a few months, actually - you wouldn't have the chance to do this. Yes, you weren't going that far - Canada was literally the next country. But it was still a 6-hour flight, and it was still a 3-hour time difference. And it's not like you could come over every so often or expect him to - that would create a huge dent in the already little savings you had. Could these moments be your last with Ted for at least the next 4 years? Your glossy eyes turn to Ted's stoic sleeping face.

Maybe you'll allow yourself to be brave just this once.

Slowly shifting yourself to face him, you bring yourself closer. Your mouth ghosts his, your breath fanning over his skin. You stay that way for a few heartbeats, contemplating whether or not this was a good idea. You inch in closer and closer until your lips brush over his...

And that's when you feel his hands frame your cheeks, his face crashing into yours. Your brain doesn't absorb the shock of him not only being awake but also kissing you back at first but caution is thrown into the winds as you pull him closer. Soon your back hits the sofa below and he's over you, desperate to reach each and every crevice of your mouth. You tilt your face to allow him to get deeper, hands over his to hold him in place because you were scared he was going to pull away. His glasses knock into your face but neither of you seems to notice.

When Ted closed his eyes, he expected to wake up to the sight of Dwight taping up half-deflated balloons to the ceiling - not the most beautiful woman in the world kissing him. And really, what could he have done except kiss back with triple the fierceness? He loves how your lips mold against his perfectly, his tongue running against your bottom one to make you open up even more, eliciting a moan from the depths of your throat.

You don't know how long has passed when you break away, a long strand of saliva connecting your bruised lips. His hands fall to your waist, his face nuzzling your neck. You revel in his glow, reminding yourself that it wouldn't be long before you'd have to give him up. You couldn't handle a distance of 3000 km, and he didn't deserve that either. You should not have done this. You start tearing up, feeling as if the walls are closing in around you, popping the bubble surrounding the both of you.

Out of nowhere, Ted feels a wetness on his cheek. "What the - Y/N, are you okay? What happened?" You gently nudge him off your body, wiping the tears from your face.

"Nothing, I'm fine. You should go sleep, you have an exam soon." You say, turning around and making your way to your room without waiting for a reply. You still can't believe that you left him confused and heartbroken on the couch from something you had done to him. That night had been the worst of your life.

Exam season came and went, neither of you bringing up what happened and in all honesty, you tried avoiding him just as much as you could. The system you had built was working relatively well, you would only see him in the morning right before the both of you left for your exams. You'd leave leftovers for him in the fridge with a brief note taped on his fridge, but that's where your contact stopped. Every so often, when you were getting ready in the morning, you'd see him from the corner of your eye trying to reach out to you opening his mouth as if he was going to say something.

But he never did.

You started packing up your room the day you were done with your exams. You'd turned down a celebratory night out with your friends, feeling the need to leave as soon as you could. What use was staying here anyway? No, now was the time to shove your belongings in boxes and start arranging your flight back home, arriving much earlier than expected. It wasn't a permanent solution since Ted lived right next to you, but it would work for now.

That's how Ted found you just over an hour later. By that point, your room was mostly bare save for some of your essentials sitting out on your desk. He had just returned home, about to use the washroom when he heard some weird shuffling from the direction of your bedroom. A bit alarmed, he rushed to you, only to see you stacking your suitcases on top of each other. You stop in your tracks when you see him, expecting him to be gone for at least another two hours. "Oh. Hey."

"Hi...? What's going on?"

"Uh, I'm going back home for a bit. Probably the day after tomorrow."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait, you're not staying for graduation? It's only two weeks from now."

"Yeah, but that's not really important to me." He clenches his jaw.

"Well, I suppose you would want to spend as much time with your parents before you go."

"Sure, yeah." You lie through your teeth. He was right, of course, but that wasn't the reason why. "How long are you here for?"

"A little after graduation, I think. Have a few job positions available, I'll need to go check them out."

"Oh, makes sense."

The conversation comes from a standpoint. Unable to maintain eye contact with him, you fiddle with your suitcase. "Y/N," He begins, sucking in a deep breath.

"Yes?" You say, biting your lip.

"Could you wait for me before you go? We could just, like, hang out?" He says nervously.

Oh god.

"Of course, Ted." You say unsure of what would come of the promise.

"Thank you." He adds, relieved.

Just as he's about to leave, you call out for him. "I don't know if I'm going to see you tomorrow, so, um. Bye. For now." If only he knew the true intent of those words.

He looks at you skeptically but returns the sentiment anyway. "Bye, Y/N."

True to your word, you didn't see Ted the next day, finally being dragged out of your cocoon by your other friends. You didn't see him the day of your flight either, not really knowing where he was. Once you'd lugged all your belongings outside, you paused to look over the apartment. A deep sadness instills within you - this was the place where Ted and you had spent the last 4 years of your life. He'd coached you through several panic attacks on that very table, you had spent hours behind that stove cooking whatever your heart desired, and the picture of the both of you still hung over the crack in the wall that came with the place. That sofa was the same place the both of you slumped over after a hard day to catch up on whatever you were watching and, very recently, where you'd both shared a brain-melting kiss.

You shake your head of these thoughts, it was time to move on. You had just been accepted into your dream school, why were you acting like your entire life was ending? Previously, you'd contemplated leaving him a note, but that didn't feel necessary anymore. You'd already said what you needed to say that night.

Wrapping your hands around the door handle, you say goodbye to the place one last time before locking it shut. As you load everything onto the small elevator, you hope that goodbye extends to Ted too.

The next two weeks have you fall into a pattern. You'd wake up and have breakfast with your parents before tagging along with either of them on any errands they needed to do. Sometimes that meant going with your mom to the grocery store or helping your mama in the soup kitchen a few streets away. Your days were dedicated to spending time with them, but your nights were left empty. It was really a matter of time before Ted occupied your mind during those times. You'd wake up and fall asleep to memories of him;- your best friend, your crush, your rock. The thought has you laughing. Despite the last 20 years of being friends, this was the legacy he'd left on you - and you had no one but yourself to blame. Funny how life works sometimes.

The day before you left, the Shacklefords came over to see you. You'd seen them at various points since you'd been back but this was the first time all of you were settling down in a room together. You didn't mind, these people were literally your second set of parents. The 5 of you discussed various topics over dinner; how your decision was so unexpected, how they would support you no matter what, how your brother was doing, if their other kids were coming for Ted's graduation party, etc.

"Oh yeah, how was the graduation by the way?" Your mama says. "Y/N robbed us of attending it," she adds, giggling.

"It went fine - it was pretty emotional to see our youngest reach such a milestone. We are really starting to feel the empty nest now." Ted's dad replies, smiling. "But Ted didn't seem to share the sentiment."

"Really? He looked pretty happy in his photos." Your mom questions.

"Yeah, he was pretty glum throughout it all. Those pictures I sent you were the best ones of the bunch. To be fair, I would be too if my best friend wasn't there with me." His mom says teasingly. You force a smile.

The conversation continues to flow around you but you let yourself simmer in that comment. No one except your parents knew that you were leaving tomorrow; they were extremely confused by your request but promised to not tell. His mom's remark was meant all in good jest, but now you're terrified of her reaction to the news that you left before saying a proper goodbye to her son. It would be fair, you felt like a horrible person, but you were not prepared for anything otherwise.

The next morning, your moms dropped you off at the airport. They both took turns kissing you on the cheek, helping you load your luggage onto a trolley before waving you off, promising to visit you once you'd found an apartment and settled in. You hug them and go to catch your flight, leaving a piece of your heart with them. Ted may have been your number one supporter, but those two had been with you through literally everything and you'd probably miss them the most when you're abroad.

An hour or so later you're done checking in, and you decide to spend some time window-shopping in the Duty-Free section. You didn't need anything, your mama had made sure of that while you were packing, plus everything was too expensive anyway. No, you just wanted to browse - at least, until, you'd noticed a pile of cute Julius the Monkey plushies in the corner of the shop. Okay, maybe you'd let yourself buy one thing. It could be a companion for this new scary stretch of your life.

You pick one up, fondly looking over the details on its plush body. Ted did very briefly have a Paul Frank obsession, you remember. He would've loved to have this. You miss him so much.

Suddenly, a hand reaches out to grab your shoulder. You jolt in surprise as you turn back, Julius falling from your hands in the process. "Sorry! Let me grab that for you," a wide-eyed and flustered Ted bends down before you, picking up the doll. He offers it to you, but you skip over it.

"What are you doing here?" You exclaim in shock. "Weren't you supposed to arrive in a week or something?"

"I got an offer I couldn't turn down, so I decided to come home early and surprise my parents. But I could ask you the same thing, Y/N. You said you were going to wait for me." He replies in an exhausted voice. You eye him. He looked a bit sleep-deprived, his messy hair poking out of his hoodie. A large suitcase stands next to him, adorned by his neck pillow. It must've been a rough flight.

You were cornered. "I, um, have to go. The announcement lady just mentioned my flight."

He stops you, spotting your lie. "Unless you're flying to Germany, I suggest you explain yourself." He replies in a firm tone.

Clenching your jaw, your eyes fall to the floor. You had caused all of this just because you couldn't keep your freaking lips to yourself. You deserved this moment of humiliation. "I'm sorry."

"You can't kiss me one day and then disregard our decades of friendship by running away, Y/N. What's going on?"

"That kiss was a mistake." You say, literal garbage falling out of your mouth. Was it something you regret? Yes, but it wasn't a mistake. "I did it in a moment of foolishness and I wish I didn't."

This catches him off guard. "No, it wasn't. You would have t-"

Gathering up all your courage, you stare into his eyes. "Don't make something out of nothing." Wow, now you were deflecting. Perfect. You sense anger building within him and realize you should probably step away while you still can. You grab your carry-on, about to turn away when he says something.

"I can tell when you're lying, Y/N."

You chose to not reply to that comment. "Goodbye, Ted. I wish the absolute best for you, congrats on the new job." At least that was wholehearted. You walk away, leaving Ted behind in that overpriced Duty-Free shop still clutching onto the Julius plushie as if it'll abandon him like you just did.

He purchased it in the hopes that you'd return back to him.

And there it was. The truth is all out in the open.

"You should know, Ted, I would do things completely differently now. I am so, so sorry. I never should have done that to you, it was stupid, I was a fucking coward-"

Ted's hands encase yours, and for the first time in 6 years, you feel like you're going to be okay. "No, you were completely right to feel those things, Y/N. God, if I had stopped being so hardheaded and realized why you became so closed-off, we wouldn't have missed so much time together."

"No, it's my fault." You say, gripping his hands tightly. "Don't you dare blame yourself. It was me - I made everything worse. I should have been more upfront with my fears. I shouldn't have lied to you." You cup his face, resting his forehead against yours.

"I would've flown there if you'd asked me to." He confesses, his voice a decibel over a whisper.

"I knew you would have, but I couldn't expect something of that scale from you." You reply. "You deserved to live your own life."

"When will you realize that you are my lifeline?"

"Fuck, don't say that... in some cruel and fucked up way, I'm kind of glad it worked out. I mean, think about it. You wouldn't have gotten George or this gigantic office!" You leave the warmth of his embrace, widening your arms to emphasize its size. He snickers, acknowledging that you have a point.

You spot something from the corner of your eye. Your hands reluctantly left their position and you reach to pick up a book lying next to you. Following your line of vision, Ted watches as you pick up and rotate the book in your hands. "Oh no, that's George's favorite nighttime story. He probably got it to read with Charkie but left it behind." He says, worriedly. He sees in your eyes, though, that that's not what intrigued you.

"You kept it? The book I gave you?" You say, staring at him with the rawest emotions anyone could ever see. There it was; the same look you'd given him when you'd fallen off the bike.

"It's you, chowder." He says, returning the stare. "It's always been you."

In a split second, you push your lips against his. You move the book aside and find your spot on the back of his head, playing with his hair. His travels further down your back until they meet your ass, caressing your cheeks and tugging them to be closer to him. This. This is what bliss felt like.

His mouth explores your tavern as if his only goal is to go deeper and deeper until you were one. It feels like the air is being sucked out of you in the absolute best way possible, melting into him just as you did that day 6 years ago.

Then, you feel something meaty poking your leg. Your eyes flow open in surprise and it takes you a few seconds to realize what it is.

"Are you hard?" You say as you pull apart. He squeaks, looking down and turning red and you stifle a laugh.

"I'm sorry, this isn't- oh my god, this is so embarrassing," he panics. "I'm so sorry, Y/N, I swear this wasn't my plan, maybe if we just wait a bit-"

"Ted," you caress his face and he immediately hushes. "It's okay. Honestly, it's kind of hot to know you're pining for me down there."

"Still, the girl of my dreams is finally back in arms-" your heart flutters. "-and this is how my body decides to react. Ugh. We could wait for it to go back down; or if you're uncomfortable having it around I could go to the bathroom and, um, take care of it?"

You bite your lip as you see the outline of his bulge and he instinctively covers it with both hands. "We could do that, but I am open to other options." His eyes widen as he realizes the implications of your words. "Only if you are as well, though." You add, quickly.

"...I'm open to it too," he reveals, and your smile widens.

Taking your chance, you smash your lips against his again before flipping your positions. Your fingers snake down to the buckle of his belt and you impatiently try to remove it, eventually being successful. Once it's off, you quickly discard his pants in the same way. Smirking into the kiss, you run your fingers over the erect tent in his boxers.

You pull away only to press more kisses onto his neck, making your way downwards to his nether region. He lets out a moan when you wrap your lips around his nipple and suck, and the sound sends a fresh wave of arousal through your body.

His flushed face scrunched up in pleasure, your saliva coating his lips, his bare chest dotted with sweat. The sight was simply erotic.

Your fingers slip into his waistband as your lips continue traveling downwards. You tug his boxers off and his member almost pokes you in the eyes.

My god, how was he hiding this in those tight pants? It was curved, veiny and thick. The angry, swollen red tip begged for some relief and your hands reached out to grab it in your hands. You felt drool escape from the side of your mouth as you realize your hands don't even wrap around properly. Your eyes shift to his. "I have to be honest," you say anxiously, rubbing circles on his slit with your thumb. "I don't know if you'll fit."

Those words were enough to send another shiver through his already overstimulated body. "You should know, I haven't really - um - done this before."

Your movements freeze. "What?"

"I'm still a virgin." He says, and your lack of reply sends him into a spiral of panic. "I'm sorry, is that a turn-off? I just never really thought about it that much. I'm so sorry-"

"What the fuck are you sorry for?" You startle him. "I'm sorry for literally everyone else in the world! Have you been hiding this monster in your pants for 28 years?" You grip the tip tightly once more, earning a groan from him.

"To think that I will be the first person to bring you an orgasm, to see how your eyes roll to the back of your head as you ride out your high... fuck, do you not know how hot that is? Holy shit, I cannot wait to feel you inside me."

Wasting no time for his reply, you pop his leaking tip into your mouth and roll your tongue over it. The whimpers he makes fuel you as your hands cup his balls. You bob your head, trying to fit him inside one inch at a time.

You see his palm quickly clamp over his mouth, amusing you immensely. "Moan as loud as you want, pretty boy. What are they going to do, walk in?" You laugh, unlatching from his cock for a bit before diving right back in.

He heeds your advice, letting out the most satisfying moans you've ever heard as he tangles his fingers in your hair. He gently pushes you closer and closer to him until your nose touches his pelvis. Is this what he'd been missing out on for his entire life? If only he could turn back time and slap himself across the face.

Your tongue only gets needier and needier, desperate to taste all of him all at once. You use it to trace his bulging veins, feeling him twitch as you do so. Your hands leave his balls to slip in between your own legs and you rub your clit in the same rhythm as you suck him.

Maybe the sight of you playing with yourself should've been enough to push him over the edge; but it's only when he makes contact with your hazy eyes that causes him to buck into your mouth and finally give you what you wanted, his essence running down your throat as you swallow. "Fuck," he says, surprising you by swearing. "You're a goddess." He says in his post-orgasmic bliss.

You wipe any remnants off your lips with the back of your hand and laugh. "That's my name, Teddy. Don't wear it out." Then you clamber onto his lap and meet his lips once again. He grins sheepishly when he tastes him in you, but that grin quickly turns into a moan as you grind down on him. He's tempted to let you bounce on him till he spills himself all over you, but he knew he wanted you to experience your own orgasm.

"Y/N," he shyly says. "Can I eat you out?"

You weren't expecting that, but who were you to refuse? "Yes, please!"

Placing his hands underneath your buttcheeks, he lifts you into the air - damn, has he been working out? His biceps are so hot - and awkwardly shuffles to the desk. He places you on the desk, albeit in the wrong spot as you end up having to scoot up a bit for fear of falling off - but with a man like Ted molding into putty in your hands, how could you care?

He fumbles to remove your shirt, his eyes darkening once he sees the glow of your breasts in the moonlight. You unclasped your bra and tossed it away without a care in the world, discarding your pants in the same manner. You feel exposed, desperately wanting to blow his expectations out of the water but secretly being afraid that you're not capable of it.

You see his breath hitch in his throat as he gazes at you lustfully, clad in nothing save for a pair of soaked panties. He reaches forward and plants a sloppy kiss on your lips, moving downwards to your chin, then the length of your exposed neck before settling on the center of your collarbones. You tingle with delight - only Ted could be so seductive in an endearing manner.

He wraps his pillowy lips around your nipple, one hand playing with your other breast. He's a bit rough at first but eases his force when he observes how you jolt up. His teeth graze your skin and you mewl.

He leaves your nipple and gets himself level with your clothed pussy. When you feel his nose digs into your clit, you instinctually gasp and wrap your legs around his head. You feel fucking powerful for a second, knowing you're suffocating him with nothing but you. You might just climax on the spot.

The feeling is interrupted when he pries your legs open. "Slow down, chowder, we have all night - and, err, next morning."

Just when you're about to reply with a giggle and call him cute, he pulls your panty to the side. He latches his mouth around your clit, giving it some experimental licks before deciding he was doing well when he hears you suck in your breath. He sucks on it like his life depends on it, teeth grazing ever so gently over your sensitive core. One hand keeps your legs apart so he could have access to more of you, while his other runs itself along your slit. When his fingers are sufficiently coated in your slick, he finally plunges inside with two digits.

The loud moan you let out makes his cock twitch.

His fingers repeatedly thrust into you, making a come-hither motion each time. It was really just a matter of time before he found your g-spot, instantly making you reach up and grope your breast.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck!" You curse, and you feel his lips twisting into a smirk as he keeps sucking the life out of you. When he feels you tightening as you near your precipice, he takes it as a sign to switch his position. You feel a warm, wet appendage poking your quivering hole, audibly gasping His tongue travels around the perimeter at first, but then they replace his fingers when it snakes inside of you - twisting, turning and plunging into you.

In just a few seconds your vision goes blurry and you wrap your thighs around his face again as you climax around his tongue. "Holy shit!"

He cheekily rises from where he was sitting, his mouth streaked with evidence of your orgasm. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the mess you're in. "Not bad for a first timer, huh?" You giggle exasperatedly, trying to catch your breath.

You were the definition of lewd at this moment; sweat highlighting the curve of your breasts.

"See something you like?" You joke, propping yourself in elbows.

"I love you."

"...what?"

"Sorry, sorry! I did not mean to say that! Forget what I said."

"Ted."

He sucks in a deep breath. "Maybe it's seeing you after so long but - I can't. I can't let you slip away again. I want to be with you, Y/N, you're it for me." He says, caressing your face and using his thumbs to wipe the tears welling in your eyes. "Stay with me." He hums, kissing your nose.

"You don't-" you start, holding onto his arms. Ted feels uncertain of what you're going to say. "You don't tell that to someone after you've given them an earth-shattering orgasm, you doof!" You exclaim, chuckling.

He feels like he can breathe again. "Reciprocate my love, woman." He says, pouting.

You pull him in for a hug tightly, never wanting to let go. His arm snakes around your back and holds you in place, his nose nuzzling into the base of your neck. "I love you too." You finally say. "It's definitely going to be an adjustment. I've only been back for two weeks, you have a monkey, I don't even have a place yet - but that doesn't matter. I love you so, so much. Letting you go was the worst decision I ever made, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again."

You're pulled into a kiss. This one is different though; not based on hunger or desire as before but rather passion. It feels like an ice cube spreading over your bruised lips. He breaks apart, resting his forehead on yours. "Soul meets soul on lover's lips." He quotes.

"Ugh, you haven't changed one bit, you nerd." You remark, rolling your eyes half heartedly as you recognize the line as one of Percy Shelly's. He shrugs shamelessly, elated that you remembered.

He gently lays you down on the desk once more, being careful to not crush you as his hands wrap around his dick and he strokes himself. He pulls away, slowly, leaning over to your ear.

"Think I can give you another 'earth-shattering' orgasm?" He smugly says, his sticky fingers gripping onto your hip.

"I might just die if you don't."

He blushes before slowly pulling your cum-soaked panties down, slipping them past your legs. God, the sight of your battered pussy was so lewd, but an essential detail registers in his head. "Y/N," he says, scratching the back of his head. "I don't have a condom."

That snaps you out of your trance. "Ugh, I completely forgot." You reply, annoyed. "I have an IUD, but I haven't been with anyone for a while. If you still want to continue, then I'm up for it too." You say nervously.

He bends down to kiss your nose again. "I trust you."

You reach out for his member, rubbing it against your folds with your slick making it seem so effortless. The pretty moan he lets out only edges you on - he had you wrapped around his gorgeous long fingers, didn't he?

He writhes in your grasp, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips leaving crescent-shaped marks that you prayed would remain. "Shit, shit, shit!" He exclaims.

His swearing really shouldn't be making you weak in the knees, but damn it all to hell.

"God, I can't wait to take you apart every single day." You say. "Crumbling before my very eyes. Fuck, I can't wait to be wrapped around you."

"Then what are you waiting for?" He pants irritatedly, arms placed on each side of your head.

"As you wish, pretty boy." You reach out for his hand to plant a kiss on his fingers. Finally, you align his head with your entrance and lace your legs around his waist. "I can't believe I'm finally making you mine."

He cups your face. "Chowder, I've always been yours."

And with that, you push him inside with your legs. The first stretch is uncomfortable due to his sheer size and girth, but that couldn't matter less. You were more focused on how his head rolled back and the loud groan that escapes his throat - possibly the most erotic sound you've ever heard.

It was like he'd lived in black and white before this, and all of a sudden there was an explosion of color and he was drowning in you, you only you-

"Holy crap, Y/N." He pants. "You're so tight and warm and- fuck."

"You're becoming quite the potty-mouth." You giggle.

"Hush, woman. You and your pussy are going to be the death of me someday." He says, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You stroke his wet hair, grinning. "That's the plan."

"Brat."

"Yours truly."

"At least you got one thing correct." He says, leaning in to kiss your lips. The inadvertent thrust that came with it causes you to let out a gasp, and you're starting to be weary of if you can survive being impaled by his monster dick.

Luckily your thoughts are silenced when his hips start to move; it starts slow as he adjusts to you, but he picks up his pace, pounding into you.

"Ted! Fuck - more!" You scream. Watching his cock disappear into you - seeing where you started and he began - it felt like he had no choice but to comply with your words.

Rolling his hips against yours, he diverts the attention of his mouth onto your exposed neck, pressing wet kisses along before harshly biting and sucking on your skin. It hurts - not unbearably so, but you still make a point to give him a hickey to show how it was done later on.

Wanting more of him, you slowly lift your hips and match his pace. "Holy fucking shit, your dick is skewering me alive." You cry, hands going to play with your clit. You see his face scrunch up at the image, which amuses you to no end.

Above you, Ted chases the warmth of your pussy. The sound of skin on skin makes him feel delirious, getting turned on by the mere thought of your fluids intermingling and leaving a mess on the space he has to work on.

He catches your lips with him, slowly feeling the coil tightening in his lower abdomen. Your pert nipples drag over his chest, sending tingles all over him. Between your pretty little moans, your tight hole sucking his cock in and the sight of your slick-covered fingers rubbing figure-8s around your clit, he knew he had no chance.

Soon he starts seeing white spots in his vision and something starting to unravel in his lower abdomen. "Y/N, I think I'm close. Where should I - um -"

"Inside, please." You say, panting.

And just like that, his hips still and he comes undone.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was a fucking vision - you wanted the sight imprinted on the back of your eyelids. His thick eyebrows knitted together as his eyes closed shut, his lower lip falling under his teeth as his stomach caved in and of itself. His thick, warm seed shot into your pussy in uncontrollable spurts, stuffing you beyond your wildest dreams.

"Fuck, I love you so much." You say unabashedly, feeling his essence dribble out of you slowly. He chuckles lightly, struggling to catch his breath. "Can I ride you? I'm almost there."

He nods his head excitedly before flipping the both of you so you were on top, your palms planted firmly against his chest as you straddle him. You waste no time in moving your hips and he seems all too happy to let you take over, watching your actions through his lidded eyes. You create a fast but deep pace, the sound of him fucking through his own cum pushing you even closer to your end. "So good for me, love." You praise him as he mewls beneath you. "So perfect."

You slump backward, allowing you to grind against his cock more as his head smashes into your cervix. His fingers vigorously rub your clit, making you wail. "Don't stop, oh my god, fucckk!"

He bucks his hips into you, desperate to see you crumble in front of him again. "God, I must be the luckiest man alive," he eggs you on as you swirl your hips. You clench your walls, the friction bringing him to his edge once more.

"Ted..." you whimper. Looking into your glassy eyes, he understands.

"I'm close again, love," he grunts. "Cum with me."

"Fuck - I love you, I love you I love you I love you-" you chant frantically. With one final thrust, your orgasm overtakes you with such force that your vision blanks out. Your hips stutter as you fall onto him, gushing around his length as his cum paints your walls again.

He brings his lips to yours, kissing you amid your choked sobs of pleasure. You stay in that position for some time, with his bulky arms wrapping around you and his softening dick plugging his cum inside you.

Moments pass as you lay on his chest, listening in for his heartbeat as it slowly calms. "That was amazing." You say, breaking the silence.

"I don't think I could ever go back to my hand again." He sighs as you laugh. "Don't you need to go pee or something?" He says, brushing his fingers through your sweaty hair.

"I don't want to leave our bubble." You pout.

He kisses your forehead. "Well, we have forever, don't we?" You smile. "We can manage maybe a few seconds apart."

"Ugh, fine." You say, slipping him out of you as you wobbly walk to his attached bathroom. He watches himself slowly leak down your thighs, licking his lips contently. If he wasn't completely spent, he'd probably take you up against the wall right now and add another load to the stash. Oh well, maybe tomorrow.

He wipes off the mess you made as much as he can before arranging the pullout couch more comfortably. He waits for you, immediately reaching out to your warm body once you're out of the washroom.

He falls asleep tucked up in your arms, and as you listen as he softly snores you realize that this is the most at home you've felt since you left 6 years ago.

"I'm glad to hear he had a good time," Ted says onto the speakerphone as he ties his tie. "We're still trapped but it shouldn't be too long now. Thank you for taking care of him, Margaret, it's lucky this sleepover was scheduled when it was."

Ted was the first to wake up this morning, but you soon followed when you felt his tongue lapping at your folds. After another dalliance in the hay, you watch as he dresses while calling Charkie's house to make sure George was okay. Once he talks to him and promises to take him to the playground today, he hangs up.

You smirk as he bends down to pick up his belt, your eyes training in on his round ass. "You know, I've always loved your butt. You should bend over more, it's my biggest vice."

He turns to you, rolling his eyes in amusement. "Shouldn't you start getting ready? They could barge in any time now."

"I would, but I think you've broken me, Shackleford."

"Don't be so dramatic, chowder. Here, I'll help you."

Once you're dressed and have fixed your hair (to an extent), you place yourself on Ted's lap and overlook the view from his window. "We live right about there," he points to a tall yellow building in the distance, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Ours is the one with the garden on the balcony. Speaking of, remind me to water the plants as soon as we get back."

"Dang, if I wasn't too busy bouncing on your dick we could've seen it at night."

He groans. "Don't talk like you didn't enjoy cumming all over my de-"

All of a sudden you hear the scraping of a key being inserted into the door. Ted swivels the both of you around to meet a maintenance worker and Dr. Einstein. "Heard you kids got locked up yesterday. Ted, you really oughta get this whole system replaced." He says, eyeing the two of you. "Glad it worked out, though." He shamelessly adds.

You cough. "Of course, I'll get a locksmith up here immediately Professor Einstein. Thank you for letting us out, Jerry." Ted rambles, blushing.

The man only nods his head and leaves, unfazed and unbothered. Professor Einstein, on the other hand, lingers for a bit more. "You should take the day off, Shackleford. Maybe get a shower, or touch some grass." He says, before walking away, humming to himself.

"That... was the most embarrassing thing I've been through." He says, dumbfounded.

"Get used to it, sweets." You laugh, picking yourself off as best as you could. "I think I want you to fuck me against this huge window, let everyone see how much I love your dick."

"Jesus, Y/N, I didn't expect you to be such a pottymouth." He replies, shocked, getting up to embrace you again.

"Speak for yourself;- did you hear the shit you were saying last night?"

"I really hope you don't influence George to be just as crude."

"Um, wow. Have some faith in me."

He kisses your forehead, pulling you closer. A warm silence ensues.

"I don't want you to go. You just got back." He whispers.

"I don't want to leave." You mumble, hiding your face in his chest, inhaling his scent. He always gave the best hugs; the ones where you melt right into him.

"I take back what I said about being apart for a few seconds. I want to be with you 24/7." He groans. How did you get so lucky?

"The Pisghetti's are expecting me at 10, right before the lunch shift. Maybe you should tag along? I don't think they'd mind. Actually, it'd help us if anything."

"Well, Professor Einstein did basically tell to me take a day off, and we do still have nearly 3 hours before you're expected. How about we freshen up at our apartment?"

That's how you find yourself curled up around him as he pounds into you in his tub, your 15-minute bath turning into 35. After the stickiness between your legs is washed off (and a sex-crazed Ted is satiated), you quickly rush to get ready, despite knowing that the Pisghetti's are immediately going to know if something is up when they notice you wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Oh well.

The pair of you pick George up from Charkie's, who only live the next block over. Margaret, the sweet dog's kind owner, is delighted to be introduced to you and offers tea, but you regrettably take a rain check. George on the other hand is surprised to see the man with the yellow hat's fingers intertwined around yours but accepts it happily, even climbing to your shoulders as you make the walk to the Pisghetti's.

Safe to say the Chef and Netti didn't expect to see the both of you together, but they don't make a big deal of it. George plays with Gnocchi as the four of you discussed the final adjustments for the meals in the kitchen.

You try your hardest - you swear you do. But every so often Ted's hands hover over yours and it's goddamn hard to not run your fingers over his soft palms. This doesn't go unnoticed by Netti, but she doesn't say anything. She'll squeeze it out of you on Monday, you suppose, judging by how the corner of her lips turn up every time she spots it.

By the time it rolls around to 11:30, you start preparing for your lunch shift. "I wish I could stay, but I did promise to take George to the playground. And I think the Chef wouldn't like me hogging space for potential customers anyway." Ted pouts. "Should I pick you up after your shift? You can have dinner with us - I'll cook." He offers enthusiastically.

"That sounds good! I do have one request; can we drop by my hotel? I really need a fresh set of clothes, and also make sure the staff doesn't think I died or something."

He kisses you briefly but passionately. "Consider it a plan. See you in a few hours, chowder. I love you." With that promise, he reluctantly leaves.

That night, as you're sleeping and sprawled over him, belly full of lasagna and hands holding onto a rather flat plush of Julius the monkey, Ted makes the realization that he has two sources of snores to drown his spiraling thoughts in.

This time, it's enough.

He sleeps contently, tucked in your arms like he hopes to be for the rest of his life with his beloved (and live) monkey just a few paces away.

"Passport?"

"Check."

"Wallet?"

"Check."

"Suitcase and backpack?"

"Check."

"List of Canadian snacks George wants to try?"

"Check! That should be it."

"You are missing one thing." Ted gives you a grave face.

You nervously think back to what could be missing. "What is it?"

"A goodbye kiss for me, hello?" He says, puckering his lips like an idiot in the middle of the bustling crowd around you.

You roll your eyes before planting a big fat wet kiss on his lips. Even Ted wasn't expecting to drop you at the airport today. Heck, he'd actually been trying to avoid flying; partly because it brought a whole list of complications because of George being classified as a primate but also because every time he'd step in one memory of you leaving would rush back into his brain, leaving him a grumpy old mess. He'd even completely skipped over the Duty-Free sections every time he did have to go somewhere.

There was also another reason;- the gala was tomorrow, and dropping you off was already taking a chunk of precious time that could've gone into overseeing the preparations. Obviously, Ted didn't mind - Professor Wiseman was more than capable of being in charge for an hour - but this event was important to him. It was the biggest he'd thrown in his entire career, plus, it had somewhat brought you to him. He was next to you, yes, but he'd be lying if he said a part of him wasn't worrying about the exhibit in the back of his mind.

Of course, you didn't mind. Truth be told, your mind was also a bit preoccupied with the gala - specifically the food. Most of the work was done, Netti and the Chef only had to fix it up to look more presentable. Still, if it hadn't been for your lease expiring soon you would've extended your stay by at least one more day.

You brush these thoughts aside as you give Ted one final hug. "Is it too late to stuff you in my suitcase and carry you with me?" You ask.

"Unfortunately, yes, chowder." He says, kissing the top of your head. "Though... I wouldn't mind being stuffed somewhere else." He says, raising his eyebrows mischievously.

You hit his arm. "Oh my god, give my pussy a break. I'm going now." You whine, turning away from him.

He snickers, stopping you from leaving. "Okay, okay, calm down. Just one more kiss and I promise I'll let you go." He says before bending down and capturing your lips in his. You stay like that for a while before you begrudgingly pull away.

"See you in a few days. Tell George I'll miss him. I love you!" you grin before walking away to the check-in station, waving as you do so.

"I love you too," Ted replies. He watches as you disappear into the crowd, just as you did that day 6 years ago, but he reminds himself that this time is different. You'd be back. And very soon.

With that in mind, he turns back to head to the museum again.

Someone snaps him out of his trance. "You're up in 5, boss."

"Thanks, Andie." Ted acknowledges, flickering through his opening speech again. This wasn't the first time he'd given one but they were very nerve-wracking either way for an introvert. Dressed in an all-black suit for the first time in 2 years, he only wishes you were here to see him. You'd been trying to push him out of that yellow suit for a while now.

Adjusting his tie, he devotes one more second (okay, maybe a bit more) to thinking of you before making his way to the stage stairs. The MC for the evening, a guy by the name of William H. Macy, introduces him - and soon he's facing a room of 500 people with a mic in front of him. He hopes all that practicing with you and George paid off.

"Distinguished guests, it is my honor to unveil the new Invention of Cooking exhibit to you tonight on behalf of The Metropolitan Museum of Arts." A round of applause ensues as Ted searches the crowd for familiar faces so that he could feel a bit more relaxed. "We'd love to extend our warmest welcomes to each and every single one of you. People from every corner of the earth have flown in just to attend this event; food bloggers, world-famous chefs, historians of different specialties, and so forth. A diverse palette of company, really - but all of us, including me, are united by one thing." He pauses to draw the audience in. "None of us know what I'm going to say!"

That earns a cackle from the horde, the most distinct being George. That soothes his nerves, but it's hard to spot the monkey with all these bright lights flashing in his face. "Plans for this new extension date back to several years ago, so seeing everyone stand in it is a very special moment for all of us who have been dedicatedly working on it. We hope that you enjoy immersing yourself in how cooking evolved from the discovery of fire to the stage it's at now." His eyes adjust to the darkness a bit, and he notices George cheekily smiling at him about 50 feet away. He was on someone's head - who was that? "But please do make sure to try out the assortment of appetizers and courses that are sure to give you a taste of New York." He continues, squinting to seek out who George was on but trying to not make it too obvious. It seems like they were walking toward the stage. "They have been prepared by our very own Chef Pisghetti, his wife Netti, and my partner, Y/N L/N, who unfor-" George's mysterious booster seat finally comes to light, and Ted makes eye contact with you.

He coughs, dumbfounded, but picks his jaw up from the floor quickly. This was a professional event, the show must go on. "Who have all devoted the last few weeks of their life making sure everyone in this room gets the best experience attainable. Uh, if you have any questions, feel free to direct them to any of our dedicated staff. Otherwise, have a wonderful evening!" He reaches the end of his speech, pausing for the applause before rushing downstairs to embrace you in his arms. George scurries away, picking up cues that this should be a more private affair. "Y/N - how'd you- Weren't you-" he excitedly queries as you pepper his face in kisses.

"I'll explain everything, can we go to your office though?"

"Sure. Wait, is something wrong?" "No, no! I just don't want to be with you, not surrounded by a bazillion people."

5 minutes later, you're back in his office and he has you wrapped in the tightest of hugs. "You weren't supposed to be back for at least three days - what happened?!"

"Don't scold me, but I chugged like 4 Red Bulls to pack up my entire apartment in under 12 hours. Honestly, you should have seen me. I think I set a world record, but anyway. I brought what I could - all the boxes are in the restaurant - but my friends are going to have to sell my couch and bed and blah blah. Whatever, doesn't matter, caught a flight and ran here." Ted gazes into your eyes. "What? Say something."

"You're crazy." He says, "Why would you do that?"

"You're crazy if you think I would have missed this for the world."

"God, I'm in love with a lunatic."

You beam. "Tell me something I don't know." He grabs you by your cheeks and smashes your lips together and you savor his taste. How did every kiss with him feel like it was the first? Your fingers card through his hair as you try to breathe him in. His tongue pressed between your lips to part them, slipping inside your mouth. You don't know how much time passes before you finally part, lips wet with spit.

"I am wholly and irrevocably in love with you." He confesses.

"Ditto." You teasingly smile.

"Ugh, I take it back."

"No! Don't!" You cry. "I love you too, so much. You are my forever, I couldn't imagine a life without you."

He bites back a cheeky grin, resting his head against yours. "Imagine being so cheesy."

"Watch it, mister, or I'll kick you to Mars."

"Will you come with me?"

"Of course. We'll have to find a spacesuit for George, though. I doubt they make them monkey-sized. Speaking of suits, you look particularly ravishing tonight, Shackleford."

"I could say the same for you, chowder. Where were you hiding this little number?"

You twirl your dress for him. "Do you like it? Had to dig it out of the closet. Sorry, it's not exactly black tie,"

"Are you kidding? The only place this would look better is on the floor."

"Oh, really?" You smirk, turning and walking away from him.

He stares at you in confusion. "Uh, what're you doing?"

"You had them remove the auto-lock security feature thing, right?"

"Yeah, the day after we got stuck. Why?"

"Oops!" You say as you close the door shut and slide the bolt in place. "My hand slipped! Uh oh." He slowly catches on to your plan, a bulge already forming in his pants. You turn back to face him, a mischievous look on your face.

"Now, what happened to your promise of fucking me against your window?"

[animebw]

Short Reflection: Summer 2022 Anime

Is it just me, or does summer tend to be the worst season for anime? Ever since I’ve started watching seasonally, summer has consistently been the weakest season every year, with the most high-profile disappointments and the least genuine successes. And that felt especially true this year, with show after how either failing to rise to its full potential or just never showing any potential in the first place. This has been a barren three months, and even after deciding to drop all the shows I really wasn’t feeling, I was left with far more bad than good. If not for a couple spectacular late-minute arrivals, I’d be confident calling this the worst ever season of anime in the modern era. It may well still be that! Either way, fall’s already looking exponentially better, so let’s give this cursed season the post-mortem it deserves and take a look at what gems are worth salvaging. I’ve already given my thoughts on the miserable second season of Devil is a Part-Timer (3/10), the ambitious but amateurish RWBY spinoff Ice Queendom (5/10), and the problematic delight that was Call of the Night (7.5/10). As for everything else... read on.

Shine Post: Unfinished/10

So, I guess the folks at Cygames finally dispense with all the stupid, ill-fitting gimmicks and just make a straightforward idol anime, huh? Forget the unholy amalgamation of horse-racing pop stars that was Uma Musume, Shine Post is pure idol through and through, a story about a bunch of ordinary high school girls chasing their dreams and make the world hear their songs. On the one hand, I appreciate them for finally cutting out the middleman; watching Uma Musume break its own back to shoe-horn all those competing genres into the same space was painful, so deciding to just focus on the idol stuff that was always Cygames’ clearest inspiration was a sound decision. Unfortunately, once you strip away all that genre-blending weirdness that made Uma Musume so compelling in spite of itself, all you’re left with is, well, a basic-ass idol show with no real selling points beyond some admittedly stellar character animation and a unique-but-poorly-utilized gimmick of the manager being able to magically tell when someone’s lying. And then you’re forced to contend with the fact that Cygames writing is pretty uniformly terrible, overwrought melodrama (the second season of Uma Musume nonwithstanding), and all their female characters speak in the most ear-grating attempts at forced, quirky cuteness imaginable, and then you start hyperfocusing on the weirdly sexualized character designs with perfectly see-through t-shirts and prominent thigh gaps and... yeah, suffice to say, my interest in this one is pretty much dead. The last three episodes had to be delayed thanks to an untimely Covid outbreak at the studio, so we’ll see if the finale somehow manages to turn this thing around. But I’m not holding my breath.

Yurei Deco: 2.5/10

Is there such a thing as Oscar-bait anime? I don’t know, but if there is, it probably looks an awful lot like Yurei Deco. It’s an anime original by the critically beloved studio Science Saru! It’s got a unique art style and a eclectic musical score! It’s telling a topical, relevant story about the modern-day surveillance state and how our lives are run by algorithms! It’s a very loose adaptation of a piece of classic Western literature filtered through insane anime goggles (Huckleberry Finn, in this case). It’s a show that practically screams its desire to be taken seriously, to have thinkpieces written about how Deep and Meaningful it is. But all that surface-level posturing can’t hide the fact that this is one of the stupidest goddamn anime I’ve watched all year. The story is limp and fails to connect, the animation isn’t appreciably better than other more generic but better produced shows, the literary references don’t amount to anything and honestly kind of make things worse with their incongruity, and whatever message it was trying to convey ends up so mangled by the end that it feels like you’re being made fun of for even trying to care in the first place. Bad anime are a dime a dozen, but few things are as aggravating to sit through as a bad anime that’s convinced of its own brilliance despite having all the intelligence of a lobotomized monkey.

Shine on! Bakamatsu Bad Boys: 3/10

The easiest way to describe Bakamatsu Bad Boys would be “Akudama Drive in the Sengoku era of Japan.” The premise is similar, at least; seven colorful and color-coded criminals are brought together by an outside force to help change the world that forced them into criminality in the first place. Sadly, the second easiest way to describe Bakamatsu Bad Boys would be “Akudama Drive but infinitely worse.” There’s some good chemistry among the cast, but they’re almost always split off into designated pairs and never allowed to shine as a group dynamic. Plus the animation is weaker, the themes are sloppier, the character arcs are so much more pedestrian, and there’s a real lack of spark to the whole affair. This is a story about criminals taking over the wreckage of the Shinsengumi to help rebuild it into a better force for good, but very little of the juicy potential in that concept makes it on screen beyond some decent moralizing against outright torture. But what really kills this thing is the only female character being subjected to the absolute worst kind of predatory “romance” and gender essentialism. That’s where this show crosses the line from inoffensively boring to outright disgusting.

A Couple of Cuckoos (2nd Half): 3.5/10

Is it just a rule that all harem anime must be cursed to go completely to shit by the end? I remember actually liking A Couple of Cuckoos back when it started out, but by the second half rolled around, it was just completely out of gas. Whatever story it had to begin with round to a halt and stayed there for twelve episodes of mind-numbing, meaningless faffing about, occasionally threatening to sputter back to life before promptly fizzling out all over again, finally belching up one last fart cloud of a non-ending before going completely silent. And I might not even be that upset about it; plenty of great anime have been forged off the backs of watching fun characters just hang out forever, and if there’s one thing I can say in Cuckoos’ favor, it does have some very entertaining character banter. But when you keep threatening to actually do something interesting? With cliffhanger after cliffhanger that are resolved near instantly and accomplish nothing except tricking you into thinking that finally, something, anything is about to happen? That, folks, is where my patience officially runs out. This show is a waste of my time, your time, and the time of every artist who worked on it. Skip it.

Phantom of the Idol: 6/10

Some things don’t need a deep reason for why you like them. Sometimes, just being a good time is good enough. And this heartfelt screwball comedy about a lazy, cynical male idol teaming up with the ghost of a former idol sensation to help advance his career without putting in the work himself is fun aplenty. Sure, it’s no Ya Boi Kongming, and the lackluster CG during the actual idol performances isn’t gonna blow anyone away. But it’s got good jokes, lovably eccentric characters, a sharp sense of comedic timing, and just enough sincerity to balance out the high-tempo wackiness. This is popcorn entertainment at its most easily digestible; it won’t blow you away, but it’s a good time guaranteed if you’re just looking for something to kick back and enjoy without thinking about it too much.

Shadows House Season 2: 6/10

Shadows House was one of last years’ most pleasant surprises, a slow-burn gothic shonen mystery that slipped neatly into the Promised Neverland-shaped hole left by that show’s misbegotten second season. Few anime settings in recent years have been as memorable as the titular house, and the first season left me eager to see Kate and Emilico continue their slowly blossoming revolution. Unfortunately, while season 2 keeps the twists coming hot and heavy with even more fascinating revelations about the systems governing this nightmare mansion, the narrative machinery feels on much less solid footing this time around. Answers come from awkward places and drawn-out exposition dumps, some reveals feel shortchanged, and there’s a frustrating sense that too many of these answers are coming not from the characters putting the pieces together of their own accord, but the narrative just dropping the answers in their laps. If Cloverworks decides to come back for a third season, I hope they’re able to tighten up the story’s structure and make its progression feel more natural. Because there are some damn exciting developments brought about by this season’s end, and I’d hate to see their potential squandered with writing that doesn’t earn their fallout.

Drifting Home: 7/10

Well, this was a pleasant surprise! Studio Colorido has been making this exact kind of whimsical-yet-poignant kids’ adventure flick forever, but this is the first one I’d call an unqualified success (at least from what I’ve seen; I hear Penguin Highway is supposedly pretty great). A bunch of kids break in to explore the worn-out, set-for-demolition apartment building one of them used to live, only for that building to somehow become stranded out at sea with no clear way home. What follows is a far more thematically complex odyssey than one might expect from this movie’s lighthearted exterior. Drifting Home is a story about, well, drifting away from home, about the pain of leaving a home behind and the fear of never being able to replace the sense of love and security that home gave you. But it’s also about those abandoned homes themselves and the emotions tangled up within them, how they reflect the lives lived within them and carry those memories even after they’re left behind. It’s a shockingly heady film, and even at two hours it feels like it could’ve used a little more time just to give it all space to breathe. But it mostly all comes together thanks to the gorgeous animation (seriously, Colorido is really starting to give Ghibli a run for its hyper-romaticized naturalism money), creative high concepts, and instantly lovable cast of child protagonists. Check it out if you’ve got a couple hours to kill; this is one adventure you won’t regret getting swept up in.

The Girl from the Other Side: 7/10

I remember a couple years back when Studio Wit put out a ten-minute short based on this bewitching fantasy manga. Even in such a bite-sized format, it was one of the most evocative pieces of animation I’d ever seen, and I knew I would never know peace until it got a full-length treatment. Well, that day has come at last, and surprising nobody, this movie adaptation of The Girl from the Other Side is absolutely mesmerizing. In a dreary fantasy world beset by curse and corruption, a lost human girl finds solace in the company of a cursed being still trying to hold onto his humanity. The exact details of the world and its greater context are left deliberately hazy; if you’re looking for meticulous fantasy worldbuilding, this isn’t the place to turn. What you get instead, though, is a gorgeous fantasia that makes you feel like you’re wandering the very woods where all those Grimm’s fairy tales took place in. The thick, ink-textured textured animation is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, equal parts terrifyingly supernatural, serenely archaic, and achingly human. And while the story may be as perfectly predictable as any other “jaded old dude takes care of a precocious little girl” plot, the vibes are so immaculate that it doesn’t really matter. If you’ve got an hour to kill, then you absolutely owe it to yourself to give this movie a watch. It’s a dream- or a nightmare- you won’t want to wake up from anytime soon.

Ao Ashi (2nd Half): 7.5/10

I said in my quick thoughts on Ao Ashi’s first half that this show is exactly what I needed to fill the Haikyuu-shaped hole in my heart. While that remains true, the second half has revealed one significant caveat: Ao Ashi has significantly weaker antagonists than Haikyuu. The strength of Haikyuu’s cast was that every player felt like the protagonist of their own story, with understandable goals and dreams, so you couldn’t help but root for them even when they went up against Karasuno. Ao Ashi’s antagonists are aiming for that same kind of energy, but they’re much more one-note and cartoonishly mean. I’m sorry, I can’t take this Akatsu guy seriously as a bully when by all rights he should’ve been kicked off the team for his shitty behavior by now. It’s far from enough to kill the show, thankfully, and the arrival of a shockingly great romantic subplot is more than enough to keep Ao Ashi as one of this year’s biggest delights. And now that the end of Haikyuu’s anime has been announced, I hope Production IG sticks with this one for the long haul as well. With a little stronger production, this could easily become the next sports anime juggernaut.

Made in Abyss Season 2: 8.5/10

You know, it’s funny. I spend most of the first half of Made in Abyss’ second season complaining about how it wasn’t as good as the rest of the series. The Golden City is visually boring and we spend way too much time in it! It’s overly reliant on shock value for the sake of shock value that doesn’t add anything to the overall message! The animation is so much more limited and reliant on ugly CGI (gee I wonder if making this in between seasons of a certain garbage isekai adaptation took a toll on the production)! But then the turning point hit halfway through the season, and it was like nothing had changed at all. The back half of Golden City of the Scorching Sun is as heartbreaking, horrifying, and unspeakably beautiful as Made in Abyss has ever been, finally tying the sixth layer’s meandering threads together into a single awe-inspiring tapestry of loss, vengeance, and what it means to find value in a world that doesn’t offer it easily. By the time it was all over, I barely remembered the awkward, subpar footing it had all started on. Made in Abyss is not an easy show to process, and it’s probably only going to get more and more difficult to stomach as we plunge into the Abyss’ deepest recesses. But while season 2 may be the weakest outing overall, it’s yet further proof why this twisted nightmare of a journey is one of the greatest fantasy anime of all time.

Lycoris Recoil: 8.5/10

You know what I love? When an anime comes out of nowhere and absolutely takes the world by storm. Lycoris Recoil wasn’t really on my radar before the season started, and what few trailers I watched didn’t do much to sell me on its weird mishmash of cute girls doing hardcore assassin work. Well, just slap a big fat egg on my face, because this bonkers original project is one of the most exciting things you or I or anyone else is likely to watch all year. Yes, it’s a little iffy that our protagonists are essentially government-sanctioned child sleeper agents tasked with keeping the peace by murdering anyone who even threatens to disturb it. And while the show does its best to wring some interesting thematic ideas from that concept- authoritarian security vs anarchic freedom, the ethics of killing for government- it’s far from a perfect treatise on the subject. You know what it does do perfectly, though? Basically everything else. Top-tier action, inspired direction and cinematography, consistently spectacular animation for fight scenes and comedy bits alike, a roller-coaster plot that perfectly balances hilarious slice-of-life shenanigans with the intensity of shootouts and car chases, actual canon gay representation (though not in the way you might expect), and two of the most pitch-perfect protagonists to ever share a screen. Seriously, Chisato and Takina own my entire soul and I apologize for nothing. Lycoris Recoil may not be a philosophical masterpiece, but it’s popcorn entertainment at its absolute finest, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Cyberpunk Edgerunners: 9/10

Sound the alarm, folks: Trigger’s back on track to save anime again! I knew Cyberpunk Edgerunners was gonna be a great time from the moment its first trailer dropped: marrying Hiroyuki Imaishi’s iconic directing style with the neon-soaked atmosphere of the cyberpunk genre was a match so perfect you gotta wonder how we’re only just now getting around to it. What I didn’t expect, though, was just how goddamn great the story ended up being. Imaishi’s always relied on the back of his high-octane visual style, and the thematic ideas that style alone conveys, to cover for the actual writing being kind of a hot mess. But Edgerunners gives him a genuinely great script to work with for the first time, and the results are magical. This tale of an impoverished teenager lashing out against the hypercapitalist system he lives under and finding companionship among fellow societal rejects may not break much new ground for the cyberpunk genre, but it delivers the single most exhilarating, heartbreaking, and breathtaking version of that story I’ve ever seen. And Imaishi’s style doesn’t just make that story pop, it infuses even the most played-out plot points with astonishing new life. This may well be his best work as a director, and I do not say that lightly. Cyberpunk Edgerunners is easily Netflix’s best anime since Devilman Crybaby, and I consider it a must-watch for anyone who can handle the intensity of its bloody action. Never before has something so perfectly embodied its genre while simultaneously feeling like nothing else that genre has ever produced.

[oftatteredwings]

New York City is a big place but [ LUCIAN CARTER ], a [ 30 ] year-old [ GENDERFLUID PERSON ] has made it their home in [ THE ROCKAWAYS, QUEENS ]. In this city you can be anything you want to be and [ THEY/THEM/HE/HIM ] is a [BARTENDER AT THE STONEWALL INN & A HOMELESS SHELTER LEADER]. Described by loved ones as [ PASSIONATE, EDUCATED, AND INDEPENDANT ] but those wanting to bring them down might say they are [ OBSESSIVE, CARELESS, AND BLUNT ] but I guess that is up to everyone else to decide! You never know who you’re going to meet around here, but weirdly they look like  [ CODY FERN ] - what are the odds?

tw: drug abuse, abortion mention, violence, drug overdose, divorce

ABOUT.

Name: Lucian Carter. Age: Thirty. DoB: April 23rd 1992. Occupation: Bartender at The Streetwall Inn and Homeless Shelter Leader. Sexual/romantic orientation: Pansexual/grey-romantic. Birthplace: Staten Island, New York. Current Location: The Rockaways, Queens, New York. Time in New York: Native, returned September 2018. Face-claim: Cody Fern.

They’re a native to New York and grew up on Staten Island.

Product of a one night stand who was treated like crap by their mother from birth. She didn’t want them and made that clear each and every day. The cops were constantly getting called to their place because of the continual screaming and shouting.

At 7 they found their mom’s drug stash which suddenly explained why they had no money even though she was working all the time. It explained a lot.

Shortly after that they were joined by a younger sister, who their mom seemed to want this time.

Threw themselves into school. They were a bit of a brainiac. Mathletes, debate, constant tutoring of other students, anything to keep them away from home.

By the time high school had come to an end they’d found a passion for activism and spent all their time in the city involved in protests. Constantly spent their time clashing with the cops, chaining themselves to buildings and locked away for the night after peaceful protests ended up violent.

At around 21 they came out as genderfluid. They’d never fit in any kind of box anyway. Started going by both they/them and he/him.

They spent the rest of their time working in bars, coffee shops, restaurants (whatever brought the money in) and a local homeless shelter.

Attempted a relationship for the first time. Failed. It lasted a couple of years but ended when he let them get dragged off by the cops without helping at all. He is a bit of a hopeless romantic deep down, but has never really felt he deserves love because of how he was treated by his mother when growing up.

Spent the next couple of years flitting back and forth between LA and New York constantly, unable to settle. Picked up a bit of a love for surfing while in Cali that they’ve not really been able to give up.

Moved back to New York permanently around four years ago after receiving a phone call from their younger sibling, who told them their mother had overdosed. Despite everything they still came running to take care of them both.

Picked up a job at a bar again pretty quickly, needing money to support themselves and their mother and sister, something they never thought they’d be doing. They live in an apartment away from them though, choosing to settle in Queens and near the beach, there was no way they were staying in the same house as their mom ever again.

Time moved kind of slowly after the initial move back, but they soon settled into a routine and it wasn’t long before they’d found themselves as the leader of the shelter they’d worked at on and off for years.

Shortly after that, the idea of love found its way into Lucian’s life. It was a whirlwind, someone they’d considered an acquaintance (maybe even a friend) for a while before, who rather quickly became their husband on a raucous trip to Vegas. It seemed like a great idea at the time.

SPOILER ALERT: It wasn’t.

Just as soon as they’d moved in together and made a start on their married life, the cracks began to show. Arguments became frequent, more common than the happy moments that had built the beginning of their relationship and within six months, Lucian had moved out and the words divorce came up.

A year on with legal documents still not confirmed, he’s simply trying to work his life out again, figure out where the hell he even goes from here.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Maternal Half-sister (0/1): Of at least half European descent. 7/8 years younger.

Childhood best friend (0/1): This person was like Lucian’s family when they were growing up. That’s never changed.

Childhood friends (0/?): Anyone they knew growing up on Staten Island.

Friends from time spent in LA (0/?): Friends made in LA that have ended up in the same place as them.

Sister from another mister/brother from another mother (0/1): They’ve never been close to their actual siblings (or don’t know them at all) so this is someone they’ve formed a sibling-like bond with over the years.

Close friends (0/?): Friends they’ve grown close to since settling in Queens.

Getting to know you (0/?): They’ve only recently got to know one another, but they’re working on it.

The best kind of people (0/?): They’ve met on numerous charity/good will projects over the years and just made a bond.

Ex-husband: [Nate Jones.]

Ex-partners (0/2): There have only been a couple, Lucian doesn’t have the best luck with lasting relationships.

You’re kind of special (0/1): Someone they’ve found themselves growing closer to recently, although it might all be one-sided, they’re not sure yet. 

One night stands (0/?): There aren’t too many of them, but every so often they’ll spend a night with someone.

Friends with benefits (0/2): Same as the one night stands, though these two keep coming back to one another.

Roommate (0/1): They are by no means rich, so having a roomie helps with rent.

Neighbours in The Rockaways (0/?): They can get on or not.

People from work (0/?): People they know through their work at the bar or others who may work with the homeless from time to time.

Not quite the best of friends (0/?): They just really don’t get along… at all. They could have clashed during a protest or something in the city at some point.

[creepychan08]

Yandere Oikawa x reader

It was a known fact that Oikawa always get what he wants. Be it in sports,  academics,  or girls he always come out at the top and he relishes in the attention that he gets. With his smooth words and gestures,  he managed to get the hearts of everyone he met- teachers, classmates, the trust of his teammates and even the principal himself.

Oh and did I mention?

Oikawa Tooru is the great Alpha of Aoba Johsai.

In this world,  werewolves exist and the population is divided into three class- alphas, betas, and the omegas.

There is also a predestined mate for each one of them. Usually, werewolves find their mate during their high school days where there bodies started releasing pheromones that catch the attention of their specific mates.

Despite of this however,  unmated werewolves can still flirt with anyone as long as they were still not taken to just generally waste their youth.

You were one of the people who are against that. You believed that since everyone has their own mates,  they must remain pure and untouched until they meet the one destined for them. That way even before meeting them,  it shows their loyalty in waiting for their partner.

Yes, and that's why you kind of despise Oikawa Tooru. Unfortunately,  he is your classmate so you have to suffer everyday in just being near his presence. His huge ego doesn't help as well.

"Omg,  look,  look!! He's sitting over there! I wanna talk to him!"

"Oikawa-senpai looks so hot today!!"

"Gosh,  I wonder if he will accept this lunch I prepared for him!"

"Notice me, Oikawa!!!"

The shrieks of girl flocking outside your classroom caused another headache in your already throbbing head. Closing your eyes in distressed,  you buried your head in your desk trying to drown out the sounds. Some of your classmates surrounded Oikawa and were eagerly shoving letters and foods on his desk as he laughed and winked flirtatiously at them.

You sighed and took out your bento,  figuring that it would be better to eat somewhere quiet. Standing up,  you didn't notice the gaze that followed your form as you exit your classroom.

Timeskip

It was the end of the last period and you walked out of the school when you forgot your textbook underneath your desk. Heaving a sigh of irritation,  you turned around and went back only to see two people talking in your classroom.

With the light from the sunset coating the room in a soft orange glow, you squint your eyes to see Oikawa with his hand tilting the chin of another girl as he moved his face forward and from where you can see, softly press his lips to the pair of awaiting ones. Feeling your face burn in embarassment from the scene, you gasped and quickly hide when you saw him turn towards you.

Disgusting.  Fucking disgusting.

Is the thought going in your head. You know he's a playboy but you couldn't help the shivers of disgust that runs in your body as you saw his display. How could he do that??  And the girl as well??  Yes,  they were unmated but still!  Haven't they ever thought how their mates would feel when they discover how their mates acted before meeting them? First kiss,  first hug,  first date. Wouldn't it be better to reserve that for your mate when you finally meet them?

Shaking your head in defeat you kind of pitied whoever ends up as Oikawa's mate. Oh well none of your business.

As you decided to forego your earlier plan of picking up your book, you turned to walk back down again when you feel a cold hand tightly gripping your arm.

"Yn-chan~" an eerie voice sounded loud in your ears as you shuddered in response. Turning around you saw Oikawa with the usual grin on his face but there was something dangerous in his eyes.

"Its bad to watch a confession,  you know?"

"I-" you felt the words stuck in your throat but you took a deep breath and faced him properly.

"I apologized for that Oikawa-san. I didn't meant to watch. I was just getting my book- I left it behind but seeing as you two were busy, I decided to just leave it there." You explained.

"Oh and please don't call me by my given name. We are not close. It's Ln-san to you."

Oh? One of Oikawa's eyebrows raised at your statement before he dramatically bowed at you as he pulled the door to the classroom open.

"By all means, please take what you need, Ln-san." It wasn't much but you feel uncomfortable in his presence so you quickly entered the room to find the girl crying where she stood. Trying to get out of the place at once,  you took your book and immediately flee the scene only to hear Oikawa giggling at you from behind.

"Don't worry Ln-san,  I didn't kiss her~ Take care!"

You scoffed in return. Who the fuck cares about that? That egoistic bastard!

A week has passed after that and you'd gladly say that everything return to normal but unfortunately it did not. After that encounter,  Oikawa started acting different around you. He seems to bother you at any chance he could. Like suddenly talking to you in class and asking to be partners for activities. Occasionally asking to have lunch with you as well.

Needless to say, you gather a lot of hatred from his fangirls who started harassing you. You heaved another sigh. Well.. there goes your plan for a quiet school year. Inwardly you curse him in your mind as you trudge towards your club activity. Hopefully, seeing your friends in the club can help dampen your negative mood.

It was night time when you finish in the school. Your friends waved goodbye to you and you return the notion as you slowly walked behind them. You took the time and just admire your surroundings. You always love watching the stars and moon. It makes you feel peaceful and relaxed.

Weirdly though,  you felt something unusual in your body. There was a tingling sensation and you felt light headed. Fortunately there was a bench near the gates of the school so you decided to rest there for a couple of minutes.

Breathing in the clean air around you,you try to relax when you suddenly pick up the scent of the most wonderful aroma you've ever smell. A group of footsteps soon followed and you watch a small crowd of volleyball players come out of the gym and towards the exit of the school.

You froze as you realized that wonderful smell is coming from their direction.

You feel your heart stopped. Is your mate a part of the Aoba Johsai volleyball club!?? Who is it??

Your answer soon came when you saw a lone pair of shoes stopped a distance before you. His friends unknowingly leaving him behind.

"Yeah,  don't you agree,  Shittykawa?" you heard a guy said before realizing they left their friend behind.

"Oi,  what are you standing there for?  Hurry up Oikawa!"

Your eyes twitched as it slowly goes up to see the owner of the pair of shoes that stop a distance from you and the group.

Oikawa Tooru.

He's your fucking mate!!?? 

Your mind couldn't grasp the info as you stared dumbly at him. At his awestruck look as well. His teammates seems to piece the picture and they immediately left,  bidding him farewell.

"You're my mate..." Oikawa whispers,  and you saw how he look at you as if you're the most precious thing in the world. You wish you could say the same. But its not because he's fucking Oikawa!  The one who played around and break a lot of girl's hearts. The one who probably had sex with a lot of girls before you.

And it broke your heart.

"Why is it you?" you asked, seeing him walk nearer towards you.

He stopped and looked at you like you shot him.

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment all my life and now... " You turn to hide your tears, ashamed to let him see your appearance.

"Don't!" Oikawa shouted, grasping your face with both of his face as he turn your face towards him.

"I always wondered why am I drawn to you in the past days.. what is it with you? And why have you caught my interest. I thought its because of what happened back then in that afternoon when you saw me with her." Then he shook his head,  "But I guess its not so. You see Yn-chan even before I knew you were my mate, it seems my body already knows its you. You're mine!" And with a strong force he pulled you towards him in a crushing embrace.

You stiffened. The words he uttered must be romantic to others but it only made shivers run down your spine. You don't know why but when he pulled back to look at you and you stared at those golden eyes of his, both pupils dilated, a rush of fight and flight kick in. He is dangerous. Your mind screamed at you. Get away from him!

You pushed him back and started running down past the school gates towards the empty street. You looked back to see his astonished face before it morph to a feral look and he smiled widely at you.

"Oh Yn-chan, don't run away~"

A set of footsteps soon followed and you gasped as you hear it coming nearer and nearer you.

"No!  Please stop!  Don't follow me!!!" You screamed as you continued running,  panting for breath. You knew there was something dangerous about him and with him acting like that it only proves your point.

"No!!  Can't you see you're mine and mine alone!! I'm your alpha!! " He yelled and with one lunge he pounced at you, grabbing you as you fall to the cement floor. Twisting his body so he take the blunt fall, you both finally skidded to stop. With you on top of him.

Opening your eyes,  you breath heavily as you realized you were lying on top of someone breathing as hard as you. That and you felt arms tightly wrapped around your waist was enough to jolt you back to reality.

Eh?

From below,  you saw Oikawa grin madly at you.

"I catched you now babe~ So don't try to escape me, your one and only alpha~"

Fin