#this was less than a minute into his video for the record. what's wrong with him.

[thecranewivesrpf]

"if there's rank there's top and bottom, there's only two of us and your name is actually top so that makes me bottom" skizz what the actual fuck

[dwaekkicidal]

free use with a frustrated minho <3

wc» 1k

cw» fem!reader, free use, rough sex, slightly mean dom min?, some dirty talk, p in v, multiple creampies, oral (both f and m receiving), 1 mention of shower sex, 1 mention of somno

an» take this minho hard thought that i forgot to post earlier this week as a double post bc the chan.in x reader is fucking 2k words and im still not done yet lol... ><

“This literally never happens. Why did this have to happen?? I practiced this dance for fucking HOURS.” You surprisingly miss your boyfriend's indecipherable mumbles and continue to watch your TV.

Minho walked through the front door less than 5 minutes ago and is still sporting his stage outfit and makeup. He plays the part of some sort of lunatic all too well when he’s pacing back and forth and mumbling incoherent curses to himself. And you already tried asking him what was wrong- all you got in return was ignored as he slammed his keys on the kitchen counter and began this weird manic spell.

But all of this is in the past now. You eventually came to learn that he slipped up on stage today; you learned that all that fuss was because he kept making minor blunders during the recording of their MNET performance. And although it was a recorded thing, something videoed multiple times anyways and not seen live, and he wasn’t the center during these mistakes, he was still pissed.

Minho does not make mistakes very often, so he was upset that he even made one today. But the fact that he managed multiple across the many hours they spent in that god-awful building made his blood boil. But! Luckily for him, he has this very convenient agreement with his beautiful, lovely girlfriend who just so happens to be you.

And this agreement is exactly how he stopped dead in his tracks as he came to this “revelation” an hour after he had arrived at home. It’s also how the oversized shirt of his you were wearing got lifted up to your chest. He didn’t even blink towards the food you were cooking on the stove before he shoved your panties down your legs and slid himself along your already wet folds.

“Dirty girl. Wet when I’ve not even touched you.” He landed a playful smack to your ass and gave you no time to react before he slid into your walls, stretching you out almost painfully. You were thankful that you fingered yourself just before he got home, so the stretch was more tolerable than it would have been if he went in dry.

Minho ignored your pleas of “The food!! It’s gonna burn!” and “Give me one second, babe!” Instead, he wrapped one of those veiny hands around your throat and squeezed as he started moving his hips. He started off nicely, giving you slow, deep strokes. But he quickly found a different pace, one more to his liking.

And that pace included fucking your brains out, pounding you into the cold kitchen counter. If it wasn’t for the refreshing cold of the ceramic, you think your cheek would get some sort of “rug” burn. Well… you can’t really think anything, not when his hips slam into yours so intensely that you can feel your ass stinging from each thrust.

Although he holds you in place, one hand on your head and the other on your hip, he still gives you more than enough chances to actually stop him if it’s what you want. It comes out in the form of dirty talk as he goes on about how good of a hole you’re being for him and how he should “freely use” you more often.

It’s more of a hint to the recent kink you’ve been discussing, but it doesn’t go over your head, so you nod as best as you can. And, even though he’s pissed off and needs to fuck you into every surfance he sees, he’s not mean enough to leave you high and dry. So he lets you cum right as he does.

You’re barely catching your breath after the fact before he’s pulling out and admiring your messy form; your cheek still firmly against the kitchen counter even though his hand is gone. He manages to pull out and watch his cum leak from you before another revelation hits him. One that encourages him to help you step out of your panties before pocketing them and shoving himself back into his shorts.

One that also encourages his next comments along with the pat on the ass he gives you after the words have sunk into your mushy brain. “You don’t need these anymore. Keep cooking, I’ll be back.”

But don’t worry your pretty little head about it!! He won’t be gone for very long. In fact, you’re in the middle of setting the table with dinner when his hands return to your body, folding you in half and grabbing a handful of your hair as he immediately slides himself back into your walls.

The only “reward” you get is his groans of happiness as he fucks your brains out again, making sure not to leave out the comments here and there about how, “You’re such a good fucktoy. Letting me fuck you whenever and wherever I want.”

And he’s not done there, oh nooo. He’s still fuming about those slip ups from earlier. Now, at this point can he remember exactly what mistakes he made? No. Will that stop him from using you as his personal stress reliever? Absolutely not. So you should expect to be fucked into every and any surface.

So when he disappears to clean up after dinner and you’re returned to your TV for entertainment, he’s gonna walk up nonverbal and drop to his knees. Then, your legs will be lifted from the floor and he’s gonna shove his head between your bare legs, eating you out and even fighting back when you push his head away from you in overstimulation.

Oh and when you’re showering later that night and you let your guard down for a split second to wash yourself off, he’s slipping into the shower and forcing you down to your knees. He’ll get his fill from using your mouth, his favorite fleshlight, and walk out completely soaked like nothing happened.

You may or may not be overstimulated and sensitive to touch by the time you’re laying in bed, and you’ll be lucky if that stops him from taking you one final time. You’re also lucky if he’s mad enough to let it sink into the next day. If he is, he’ll go as far as to repeat positions/situations from the previous day.

Oh but don’t be mistaken! All of that isn’t happening until after he’s waking you up with a nice, warm, homemade filling.

[h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3]

your friend isn't always a genius

request

dom! aaron hotchner x brat reader

summary: Aaron's been on a case for to long reader decideds to be a brat but he gets home sooner than expected, turns out aaron got some advice from his friend.

warnings: use of y/n, masturbat!on fem, consensual voyeurism, being a brat, punishments, recording, daddy kink, mentions of spencer reid

it's been almost two weeks since aaron went on a case. it wasn't anything major, but with the towns police hindering the investigation due to a lack of knowledge and experience, he's had to stay longer than planned.

you know you can't blame aaron for being on a case, but having a break in routine always results in you bratting. so honestly, he shouldn't have expected less.

you currently sat on your knees infront of your full body mirror dressed in only a pair of pretty pink lace panties and one of aarons sleep shirts, taking pictures that you knew you'd get in trouble for. it didn't matter tho, you loved aarons punishments. you loved the way his hand felt when he spanked your ass or when you'd go brain dead from him fucking you so good. if you were being honest it was one of your favorite things.

sending the pictures to aaron you sit and wait for him to see it. it's around nine, and he's usually in the hotel by now unless they had a break in the case. you check and seeing that he read the text you pussy dampened and your heart speed up. waiting for a reply you sit there, and sit there, and sit. it's about 5 minutes when you decide to call him.

the phone ringing 3 times before he answers. 'hey sweetheart' he answers like he would normally. 'why didn't you answer my text?' you question, opting out of a greeting. 'because your not supposed to do that' he replys plainly. 'so? what you were just gonna ignore me?' you ask him letting your voice raise.

' I was' aaron says as if it's a normal thing.

' you never ignore me ' you say pouting as if he could see you. ' and you continue to be a brat. ya know spencer and I got the talkin and he said that if someone constantly has the same punishment every time they acted out, it'd become less effective.' he states, making you wonder what in their conversation made them talk about this and why he thought it pertained to you.

because it does.

'and? the fuck does that mean aaron?' you pout feeling the urge to really pass him off now. I mean if he was gonna change up punishments you can change up what your getting punished for.

'watch it' he warns urging you to not play this game. decideding he was beyond wrong and that you'd not only play this game, but win. you hung up the phone, removing your underwear you sat up the camera to where your pussy was on full display. hitting record, you let your fingers travel down your cheest, over your stomach past your clit collecting all of your juices on your fingers. bringing then back up to your clit you make eye contact with your camera as you start to play with your pussy.

moaning at the pleasure, you couldn't deny how good it felt, but you also couldn't deny how much it felt nothing like aaron. bringing your fingers down to your entrance, sliding them in as your eyes roll back and toes curl.

'oh fuck it feels so good' you moan out. you continue to fuck yourself on camera for about five minutes before you realize something. 'fuck I can't cum' you groan out. not knowing why but still wanting to win. so you crop the last bit of the video and send aaron the gold parts.

confused on why it's been five minutes of really good pleasure, and yet you haven't cum yet. you decided to get a toy, recording yourself play with it for a while before groaning and giving up at the same out come.

editing that video and again sending only the good parts you guessed that you must have became camera shy out of nowhere. so you play with your pussy while the camera isn't on. you try everything in the span of 6 hours, reaching for your phone at hour 3 to watch porn because maybe you need a little help.

which lead to realizing aaron once again left you on read.

you genuinely felt as though you could cry now. that's when the realization hits you. you've must of been so hardwired to aaron that it's impossible for you to cum without him now.

feeling angry, not necessarily at aaron, but at the fact that he probably knew you couldn't come without him, that's probably why he was okay with ignoring you.

getting cleaned in the bathroom before going back to the bedroom with a frown on your face, you let out a huff as you plopped on the bed.

☆

waking up the next morning, you check your phone. feeling your heart drop and crawl it's self back in place you read the one message from aaron. sent hours after you went to bed, about 1 a.m., telling you how they had a break in the case and caught the guy in the act. which means he'd be home anytime today.

that'd usually make you ecstatic, but with aarons newfound discovery of ignoring you only God knows what your punishment will be.

☆

you spend the day cleaning the apartment, cooking aaron his favorite meal, even going as far as making brownies. also thinking it was better to clean the whole apartment too just in case.

☆

almost perfectly on time, when you're taking the brownies out, aaron walks through the door. 'hey baby' he greets, walking over to hug you. "at least he's not that mad" you think to yourself. 'hi' you reply shyly, letting your head rest on his chest.

you've missed this, and if kinda makes you feel bad for being a brat. looking around the kitchen, aaron smiles fondly at the food you prepared. then picks you up whole he spins to look at the whole apartment, he knows it's because you didn't expect him home so soon after acting out, but he still loves it.

'enjoy the time you have sugar, cause after we eat your ass is done for' he smiles grabbing a handful of your ass and pecking your lips, before letting you down and making his way to the table.

let let out a groan, but honestly expecting that food and dessert wasn't gonna save you from your punishment.

☆

your weren't that hungry so you finished before aaron. as soon as the last piece was gone from his plate, you shot up to start cleaning the kitchen. 'Ah, that can wait baby' aaron tells you as he gets up from the table and motions for you to follow. 'what? noo, I got it' you answer starting to wash the dishes.

aaron walked behind you, an amused smile on his face. which goes away after he sees that your purposely washing slowly 'the longer you take on the dishes, the more time is added to your punishment' he says, making you drop the fork out of your hands. 'what? that's not fair'. you try to argue only for aaron to turn around and make his way to your shared room.

saying fuck it you decided not to do the dishes and follow him to the room. 'you done?' he asks 'fuck you, yes' you reply. making him laugh while he sat on the edge of the bed.

'get undressed baby' aaron commands you. decideding to choose your battles wisely and not have you outfit ripped apart, knowing aaron is not only good for buying clothes but destroying them, you undressed.

moving over, you sit in the center of the bed like he always tells you. waiting for him to say something you patently wait playing with your fingers.

he gets up from the edge of the bed and turns to you 'had fun without me?' your boyfriend asks you. 'not at all daddy, it was so boring' you answer back. ' so glad your back now' you add smiling up to him.

he lets out a loud laugh at your answer. 'seems to me you had all the fun in the world' aaron says. shacking your head no, while he shakes his head yes 'I know you did baby and it's okay.' he speaks as he makes his way to the chair in your room. 'how many times did you cum?' he ask while getting comfortable.

'don't ask me that daddy' you groan. he chuckles while un doing his tie. 'you don't want to tell me baby?' he questions. Shacking your head no he just smiles at you before speaking 'go ahead nd show me baby'.

confusion feels your body as aaron watches you from across the room. 'what?' you whispered, silently praying that you misheard him.

'baby I want you to play with your pussy while I watch' he admitted as if it was a mundane request. 'show me what you did while I was gone' he told you with a smirk.

shacking your head no, you desperatly thank of anything to get you out of this. 'that's so embarrassing daddy' you tell him as you pout.

your pussy is getting wetter by the second but you didnt know if you'd be able to cum. or even worse if you'd be allowed to.

before you could blink aaron got up and exited the room. you were confused to say the least and once he returned with a lighter that confusion only grew.

that was, until he went into your shared closet.

your jaw hit the floor as you see him walk out with one of your favorite pairs of heels. 'aaron what are yo-' 'shh baby' he cuts you off tossing your heels infront of the bed.

'they're just encouragement' he says as he reclaims his seat, lighter in hand 'but know that you'll be punished one way or another' he says plainly.

letting out a whine 'this isn't fair' you tell him wich in return earns you an eye roll. '10 minutes' he speaks. 'huh?' you question '10 minutes' he repeats.

'10 minutes to cum or you'll have 10 minutes to say goodbye to your shoes. you pick.' he clears up slightly shrugging his shoulders.

expecting your embarrassment you lay back down and prop your knees up. 'is that good?' you ask to which you get no reply. you drag two fingers through your slit and to your entrance. collecting your juices before letting them dip in.

you let out a moan, letting your body relax as you bring your finger out and back in. you cant lie about how good it feels, humiliation and all.

dragging your fingers out you bring them to circle your clit. you look at aaron and notice his intense gaze on your pussy in return you let out a whine and feel your pussy clamp around nothing.

you speed up your fingers and bring your other hand up to grope your breast. surprisingly to you, you can feel your orgasm building up.

adding more pressure to your clit to chase your orgasm it seems to finally click for aaron that your about to cum. to say you could see the disappointed on his face would be an understatement, "ill let her have this tho" , he thought to himself.

your shut your eyes as tight as they could as your feel the coil in your abdomen burst 'oh fuck daddy' you moan out as your orgasm washes through you.

breathing deeply as your legs twitched you finally opened your eyes to see your boyfriend on his phone. 'aaron what the fuck are you doing' you question as you see him typing away.

he barley spears you a glance before going back to typing and saying 'spencer said you wouldn't be able to cum on your own by now'

tag : @jxvipike

a/n☆ this is the 3rd version of this story bc tumblr deleted the other two 😺 not proof read, so mb for any mistakes😻😽 - daisy

[rebelliousmuse]

Little Pet - M.S.

Controversial fanfic.

Based on a dream I had (and a fantasy of mine too).

Summary: in which, Matt hasn’t been paying attention to you that much and you reach your limit, initiating an argument with him. After a few minutes of screams, he leaves frustrated. Hours later, he comes back, finding you still mad at him, and he decides to try a different tactic with you this time.

Warnings: CNC KINK, smut, initial non-consent, unprotected p in v, pet names.

If you’re not into this topic, please keep scrolling and don’t read.

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

You’d been simmering for days, the resentment growing with each passing hour. Matt’s inattentiveness had been a constant thorn in your side. You'd tried to bottle it up, to ignore the gnawing feeling of being overlooked, but it had become too much to bear.

When the final straw came as he ignored you again the entire day, you exploded. Words tumbled out as screams in a torrent of frustration, the pent-up emotions finally finding their release. Matt's response was less than ideal, his indifference only fuelling your anger, making the argument escalate.

Hurt and disappointed, you watched as Matt stormed out frustrated, joining his brothers to record another Friday video. Left alone, the anger simmered in you, overthinking everything, every interaction between the two of you.

When Matt finally returned hours later, his entrance was met with a cold silence. He saw the storm still raging in your eyes, making a familiar irritation twist his features. Instead of attempting to address the issue head-on, he chose a different tactic, hovering over you, pulling up your skirt, and forcefully taking your panties off abruptly, followed by the unzipping of his jeans, and freeing his hard length.

“What the hell, Matthew?!” You speak up, irritated, trying to stop his strong hands. But instead of listening to your complains, you feel him rubbing his tip against your entrance, making you gasp sharply. “Stop it” you said firmly, but even if you tried to squirm away, he holds your hips harshly, leaving the marks of his fingers on your skin. “Shut the fuck up, slut. I’ll teach you a thing or two about respect”.

With a swift, decisive motion, he lines himself up with your entrance and thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. A low groan escapes him as your tightness envelops him, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he grunts, his hips beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “So fucking perfect.”

“Matt” You complain trying to get him off you. Yet, he sets a steady pace, each thrust driving deeper into your body.

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. The slap of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, each impact sending ripples of pleasure coursing through you both. “You like that, don't you?” He taunts, pulling your shirt off you and leaning down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting down gently. “Tell me how much you love it.”

Hearing you whine and still squirming beneath him trying to escape, he speaks up. “What's wrong, babygirl?” He purrs, his hands finding their way to your hips, rolling you over and guiding you to straddle him. He gives your ass a playful squeeze, his fingers digging into the supple flesh as he positions you above his length. “Why don't you ride me?” He suggests, his voice low and seductive. “Show me what a good little slut you can be.”

“I don’t want to! Stop it, Matt” you say wriggling on top of him, using your hands to push him away. Ignoring your feeble protests, he grasps your hips firmly, positioning you above his eager cock. He gives your ass another firm squeeze, his fingers tracing the curves of your cheeks before slipping between them to guide his member towards your slick entrance. With a determined thrust, he sinks back into your welcoming heat, his cock sliding home with ease. Your tightness wraps around him like a velvet glove, each twitch and spasm of your inner walls sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Ride me, babygirl,” he commands, his grip on your hips tightening. “Make yourself cum on my dick.” You don’t listen to him, still angry that he thinks he can just fuck you after all the awful things he said to you hours ago, and not paying attention to you for the past two months, you’re still trying to squirm away.

“Still trying to get away?” he chuckles, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” With a firm hold on your hips, he keeps you grounded atop his lap. He keeps moving his hips, grinding upwards to hit that sweet spot within you. “Fuck, that's it” he encourages.

Your continued struggles only amuse him more, “Looks like someone's having trouble sitting still,” he teases with sarcasm. “But I've got news for you, babygirl. This is where you're staying.” Without warning, he gives your ass a sharp spank. The sting of his hand against your skin is immediately followed by a surge of pleasure as he thrusts upwards, hitting that sweet spot once again.

A fresh wave of anger surges through him, fuelled by your continued defiance. He gives your ass another punishing spank, harder this time, the sound ringing out in the quiet room. But instead of trying to mount him, you wriggle even more. “Damn it!” he curses, his grip on your hips tightening. “Stop fighting me!”

Despite your desperate attempts to free yourself, he maintains his ironclad grip on your hips, keeping you pinned above his throbbing cock. Each movement designed to remind you who's in control here. The slap of skin against skin fills the air as he spanks your ass repeatedly, each strike punctuated by a grunt of satisfaction. “You're going to sit on my cock until I say otherwise.”

One of his hands trails up your sides to grab handfuls of one of your breasts. He pinches and twist your nipple roughly, eliciting yelps of pain that mingle with your ongoing moans of discomfort. “Shut up and take it like a good little slut.” His free hand’s thumb starts rubbing your clit in quick circles.

As you continue to writhe above him, your initial cries of pain gradually morph into breathy moans of reluctant pleasure. Despite your best efforts to resist, your body betrays you, responding to the relentless stimulation of his cock buried deep inside your tight heat, slowly beginning to meet his upward thrusts halfway with your downward bounces. “Look at you,” he taunts, “Fighting it one minute, then riding me like a bitch in heat the next.” He tightens his grip on your hips, guiding your movements as you start to grind down onto his shaft. The change in your demeanor is palpable, your earlier resistance melting away under the onslaught of building ecstasy. “That's it, babygirl,” he purrs. “Let go and enjoy it. We both know you want this.”

As you begin to move atop him with tentative strokes, he can feel your resistance crumbling, replaced by a growing need for release. “Show me how much you love taking my cock.” Your moans grow louder, more desperate, as you start to pick up speed, your hips moving in sync with his. “Don't fight it anymore,” he commands, his voice strained with exertion. “Just let go and fuck yourself on my dick.”

“It hurts” you moan while you bounce on his dick. “Hurts, daddy, please.”

“That's right, babygirl, tell daddy how much it hurts,” he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as you bounce on his cock with increasing urgency. “You love hurting so bad, don't you?” He thrusts up to meet your downward motions, driving himself deeper into your clenching cunt with each stroke, as you nod frantically at his question.

He leans up to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. As you make out passionately, he reaches to fondle your tits, pinching and rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.

Feeling your body finally surrender to the pleasure, your whines of pain transforming into mewls of pure bliss, sends a surge of pride and arousal coursing through his. His cock twitches inside you, threatening to spill its load prematurely. “Look at you, fucking loving every second of it,” he growls, his voice rough with lust. “You're such a dirty little whore for daddy's big cock.” With renewed vigor, he guides your movements, and he thrusts upward, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your back arch and your pussy clench around his length. “That's it, take it all,” he encourages. “Daddy's gonna fill you up so good.”

After a few minutes, your whimpers get louder and louder signalling impending release, Matt flips you over again, laying you on your stomach and he keeps fucking you relentlessly as he watches your plump ass cheeks jiggle with every thrust. “Mmmph need… n-need to cum, daddy.”

Matt snarls possessively at the sound of his nickname falling from your lips, your impending orgasm only serving to heighten his own building pleasure. “Not yet, slut. You don't get to cum until I say so…” He bites down on your shoulder, the sharp sting mingling deliciously with the intense pleasure radiating through your body. “Beg for it. Beg for permission to cum on my cock like the desperate little whore you are…” Matt's hand snakes between your sweat-slicked body and the mattress, finding your aching clit and rubbing merciless circles around the sensitive nub, making your eyes squeeze shut. Using his free hand, he grabs a handful of your hair and yanks it, making you face over your shoulder at him.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at me while you beg to come undone on daddy's cock.” As if obeying an unseen force, your eyelids flutter open, revealing glazed, lust-drunk pupils staring back at him. In that moment, he knows you're completely lost to the pleasure, your mind shattered by the overwhelming sensations he's inflicted upon you.

“Please, Matt… ‘m sorry for screaming at you… sorry, please, please let me… let me cum, please.” A devilish grin appears on his face at your pleading. “Go on then, slut. Cum for me.” Your walls clench deliciously hard against his hard cock, covering it in your juices, making his eyes roll back and his self-control slip. You feel as his dick lets hot spurts of cum fill your pussy and a whimper escapes his lips. Your legs are left shaking from the intense sex you two had and he collapses on top of you while you two are left panting heavily.

After a few moments, he helps you roll over and he watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your tear-streaked face, your puffy lips parted. “You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “All fucked up because of daddy.”

He lays down beside you, bringing you closer against his body. His arms wrapped around you. Your head rested on his chest letting you hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. As he traced gentle circles on your scalp, his fingers seemed to possess a magical ability to melt away all the earlier tension. His hands moved to your hips, kneading them with a gentle pressure that sent a wave of pleasure through your body.

“I think you've earned yourself a reward, babygirl,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. “How about daddy takes you out for a nice dinner tonight? Somewhere fancy where everyone can see what a perfect little pet you are.”

You nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across your face. As you stood up, feeling your legs tremble a bit, you give yourself a second before you start to make your way towards your closet to see what you’ll wear for your date tonight.

He watches as you stumble towards the closet, your legs clearly struggling to support your weight after the intense session you just had. Part of him wants to scoop you up and carry you the rest of the way, but he resists the urge, wanting to see you push through the discomfort.

“There's my brave little pet,” he encourages, his voice filled with admiration as he watches you manage to walk without his help. “You're doing so well, sweetheart.”

Once you reach the closet, he gets up from the bed and steps up behind you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leans down to murmur in your ear. “And don't forget, babygirl,” he purrs, you feel his hot breath against your skin. “No panties tonight. I want easy access to my favorite toy.”

[jessejaredstories]

Walk on the Wild Side

Sergio was a walking gay man’s fantasy. He was tall and muscular as fuck. Beefy could barely even begin to describe him as everything from his biceps, chest, thighs, back, and even ass were massive! He made his living off of flexing his hot body as well as fucking other beefy dudes on camera. Sergio was truly living the life many could only dream of having.

But although Sergio was living the good life, he couldn't deny that something was missing. More specifically, something about his sex life. Sergio loved his very active sex life and was more often than not satisfied after every hookup he had. Yet at the same time, Sergio found himself wanting more. He wanted something new, and he knew exactly who to contact. Kris the Kink Witch.

Sergio reached out to Kris through Twitter DMs. Kris, like Sergio, also made his living off of recording and selling the videos of his gay escapades. He was known to be one incredibly kinky motherfucker online, and he took great pride in it too- as evidenced by his self proclaimed title the Kink Witch. But unlike Sergio, Kris took a much more professional approach to his line of work. For Kris, it wasn't about pleasure, it was about money. He meant business, and he never shied away from demonstrating that fact.

Fortunately, Sergio was also pretty well-known in the online gay community. Kris recognized Sergio and responded back to him within a couple of minutes. Their conversation went as follows...

S: Hey, you're the Kink Witch right? I've got a request in mind.

K: Yo. Yeah that's me. You want to film a collab together?

S: Not at all. I was actually thinking you and I can link up and have some fun. No cameras. 

K: Sorry, I don't do charity work. 

S: Trust me, I don't either. I just need to have some real fun and I know someone like you can help me out with that goal. I'll pay you a good amount too if you're interested.

K: Go on, I'm listening...

Sergio and Kris went on to negotiate the deal. In exchange for a kinky night of fun, Sergio would pay Kris $2500 in cold, hard cash. However, in order to earn that money, Kris needed to get Sergio to cum and to feel real pleasure while doing it too. But before they could seal the deal, Sergio gave Kris a heads-up by saying that he had already done almost everything anyone can think of. If it wasn't something new and exciting like he wanted, then Sergio had no problem calling the deal off. Yet despite his stark warning, Kris accepted the deal without any hesitation. It slightly unnerved Sergio how confident Kris was. He was pretty sure they both had more or less the same amount of experience when it came to sex. Could Kris really know something Sergio didn't?

Regardless of the initial unease Sergio felt, it was too late to back down now. Kris was already on his way to his apartment. Sergio passed the time by doing the usual prep work of cleaning himself out, just as Kris told him to. Yet despite his best efforts to distract himself, Sergio couldn't help but wonder what Kris had in store for him.

Does this twink really think he's gonna satisfy me just by fucking me? Ha! I've already taken on plenty of men, there's nothing new he can do there! 

Sergio chuckled at his own thoughts. His curiosity was making his mind run wild. Luckily it didn't take much longer for Kris to arrive. He showed up at the entrance of the building and Sergio buzzed him in. Sergio then welcomed the young man into his home, and although he was excited to hook up, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in over his head by hiring some 20 something year old dude with messy hair and a dirty hoodie. 

"Alright, you ready?" Kris said as he began to strip down to nothing but his underwear. 

"Yeah, do you wanna go-" 

"Wrong answer," Kris interrupted Sergio. "I'll excuse the first mistake but you'll only address me as Sir, Daddy, or Papi from here on out. Got it?" 

Sergio was thrown off by how to-the-point Kris was but decided to just ignore it. 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good boy, now whip out your cock. Get hard too,"

Sergio did as he was told. Kris did the same. Sergio was impressed with Kris' member. It was long and hairy with some decent girth too. Although his was definitely longer, Sergio's cock was the thicker one. They were both hung, Sergio like a bull and Kris like a horse. Once they were both erect, Kris reached down to his pants. He pulled out two rings out of the back pocket, one gold and one silver. He put the gold ring on, then handed the silver cock ring to Sergio.

"Put this on, then on the count of 3, twist it to the right."

Sergio held the cock ring in his hand. The silver hue of the ring almost seemed to glimmer under the light. He hesitated putting it on. It definitely wasn't the first time he wore a cock ring, but Sergio got an inexplicable feeling telling him that he shouldn't put it on. Kris noticed his hesitation right away.

"C'mon, don't be shy, put it on!" Kris said firmly. Sergio looked up and met his gaze but didn't say anything. A moment of silence passed, then Kris sighed.

"Look man, you paid me to do a job and I plan to deliver. You trust me, right?" 

Kris seemed slightly more empathetic now. It was just enough to make Sergio trust him. Sergio nodded, then proceeded to put on the ring. He placed it on the tip of his dick and slid it down to the base of his rock hard member. 

"Alright, ready? 1... 2... 3!!!"

Sergio and Kris then twisted their cock rings to the right at the same time. The moment they did, a wave of orgasmic sensations hit their bodies, causing them to throw their heads back with pleasure. 

"UURRGGGHHHHH!!!" They both moaned obscenely loudly. 

Sergio's vision blurred as he felt the wave of pleasure overtake him. His body trembled as the ring grew tighter around his cock, making it engorged. Then suddenly, Sergio became extremely lightheaded. He could feel his very soul leaving his body. As his soul stepped out of its vessel, Sergio lost all physical feeling as he became nothing but a mass of light. He looked ahead and saw the same had happened to Kris. Both of their souls had just stepped out of their bodies!

Sergio was mind blown by what he was seeing. But before he could even react, his soul began moving on its own. His soul was floating towards Kris' body. At the same time, Kris was floating towards his body. During the brief moment they passed each other, Sergio could've sworn he saw Kris smirking. His soul continued its march towards Kris' body, and as soon as it made contact, it began sinking into the soulless body. Sergio's soul aligned with its new vessel within seconds. Every single cell of Kris' was invaded by Sergio's soul, and he could feel ecstasy wash over him as his soon-to-be new body surrended itself to his control. Once it was done, Sergio immediately felt the difference as he longer possessed his jacked, beefy body but instead a hairy twink like Kris. 

"Arghh fuckk.. what the fuck..." Sergio said with his new voice. All of the extraordinary sensations he just experienced made him fall to the ground. While he was busy trying to recover, he could see his body moving out of the corner of his eyes. 

"Bro look at these fucking pecs! These are some massive slabs of meat on your chest!!" 

Sergio watched as Kris bounced and groped his pecs with shameless joy. Slowly but surely, while Kris was enjoying himself, Sergio came back to his senses. He sat up, then kneeled down onto his knees. Well, Sergio was mostly back to his senses anyway. The sight of seeing a burly man play his own chest was filling him with lust. The only thing on Sergio's mind was how to best worship and please his master. 

Kris noticed Sergio was basically drooling and smirked.

"What's the matter, you want something?" Kris stripped down naked, then bounced his pecs again. Sergio nodded his head vigorously. "Then ask for it, tell Daddy what you want."

"I want milk Daddy..." Sergio said with bated breath and dilated pupils. "Please, Sir, let me worship your beautiful pecs!" 

"Good boy," Kris put his thumb on Sergio's chin and flicked it down, leaving his mouth hanging open with his tongue out. "Now show your Daddy what you can do with that mouth."

As soon as he heard he got permission, Sergio couldn't contain himself anymore and pounced onto Kris. He immediately planted his mouth on one of Kris' nipples and began suckling away while Kris enjoyed getting serviced. He was smirking all the while. His plan had gone off perfectly; the cock rings switched their bodies! That was the kink Kris had planned for Sergio, and he knew it would be the fun night he could've never predicted. After all, nobody knew how literal his title of Kink Witch was. But while Sergio was aware that they switched bodies, there was one little detail Kris kept to himself. Both rings would allow a body swap, but only the gold one would let the user retain their original personality. Because Sergio used the silver cock ring, his soul was forced to absorb Kris' hidden total sub personality when it took over his body. It might still be Sergio in mind and spirit, but it was now Kris in personality. With Kris possessing Sergio's muscular body with his mind still intact, the conditions were now set for him to complete the request Sergio made. 

"FUCK yeah, just like that!" Kris moaned. He could feel as Sergio alternated between licking, sucking, and flicking his nipple with his tongue. His warm mouth felt amazing against his sensitive nipples. Kris pressed Sergio's face down into his chest. Sergio let out a muffled groan of pleasure as he motorboated Kris. They were both having the time of their lives, filling the room with their sensual moans. 

Kris let Sergio worship his chest for a while longer before moving onto the next phases. Within the span of the next half hour, they made out passionately and intensely. Kris stuck his tongue inside Sergio's mouth as they grinded their bodies together, sharing their body heat together. Kris then began moving his mouth down Sergio's body, covering his neck and torso with hickies as he bit and sucked on his body. All while Kris had his middle finger firmly set inside Sergio's ass, massaging his hole and making him squirm while he claimed him as his sub. 

Then, before the final act, Kris tore Sergio off his body. He had a hand wrapped around his throat, lightly choking the panting young man. Sergio's eyes were lit with an intense lust, begging and desperate for more. Kris smiled internally. He had him right where he wanted him.

"Fuck, Boy!! You really know how to please your Master, I wanna give you a reward... Are you ready? Are you ready for Daddy's present for his favorite sub?" 

Sergio whispered "yes Sir, please Sir." Kris then pulled out a couple more things he brought and gave them to Sergio, who put them on enthusiastically. 

Sergio laid there with his ass perked up. Kris came up from behind and laid his big, strong hands on Sergio's perky cheeks. He massaged him first, letting Sergio's bubble butt jiggle in his hands for a bit. He then spread his cheeks apart and leaned down to stick his tongue deep inside his ass.

"Nghh..." Sergio groaned. He could feel Kris' tongue swirl and flick around inside of him and it. Felt. AMAZING. 

Kris ate Sergio out for a while, making sure his ass was nice, wet, and ready for his girthy cock. Once he had enough of using his tongue, Kris got back up and positioned himself just above Sergio. He let his dick rest in between his cheeks and moved it up and down, making Sergio squirm in anticipation. Then, with a wide grin on his face, Kris stuck his dick inside of Sergio. He let out a silent "fuck..." as he watched his cock head penetrate his bound up sub. He thrusted slowly, letting inch by inch of his fat member disappear into Sergio's hole. Kris was proud of his tight and warm hole, and now he finally got a chance to fuck himself in a very literal way. He waited a bit to let Sergio's wall expand to accommodate his dick, then began pounding away at him. 

Loud obscene moans, guttural groans, and boorish grunts filled the room as the two men fucked. Kris found the perfect rhythm to move his hips, fucking Sergio like he was a jackhammer. Sergio closed his eyes as he took the dicking down like a champ. Somewhere in the back of his head was the vague memory that he and Kris had switched bodies. The thought of getting fucked by his own body made his pleasure increase tenfold. It was his own cock stretching out his hole and rearranging his insides. It was a strange thought, but Sergio didn't care. All he could think about was how he was Daddy's personal fleshlight and how much he was loving servicing a big, strong man like Daddy. 

They fucked for a while longer until Kris couldn't hold his load in any longer. He pulled out, flipped Sergio over, tore off the jockstrap, then stuck his cock back on.

"C'MON! CUM FOR ME! COVER ME WITH YOUR- FUCKKKKK!!!!"

Kris finished mid sentence. He rammed his throbbing dick deep inside Sergio and let out all of his loads inside of him. Hearing Kris' satisfied groaning as he cummed along with the sensation of getting filled with his seed made Sergio shootout ropes of warm jizz all over. Within seconds, they had both become incredibly sweaty, potently musky, and drenched in Sergio's spunk. Sergio got his walk on the wild side and Kris completed his job.

Once they cooled down and cleaned up, Sergio collapsed onto his bed. Aside from the mind blowing sex, he was also exhausted by swapping bodies. He was a first time swapper after all, it was only natural. 

But just before he could drift away into a deep sleep, he noticed Kris was still moving around with his body.

"Hey... what are you doing?"

"Daddy's gonna go have a night out with his bros. Don't worry about it, just go to sleep."

Kris hopped into bed with Sergio. He kissed him on the forehead, snuggled with him, and watched as he fell asleep in his embrace. Sergio was way too tired to question it, and Kris was glad. Kris then hopped out of bed and let Sergio rest inside his body while he went out to complete his next assignment: find a hairy, muscle bear with a big ass. Now it was his turn to bottom, and although Sergio woke up the next morning not knowing where Master was with his body, he had no problem patiently and eagerly waiting until Daddy returned home.

[blvckentropy]

WARNING LONG RANT!

Okay so I've been sitting on Drake so called "diss track" and I still declare it as the biggest CONTRADICTING ASS track ever. Like I get die hard Drake fans gone be like he won regardless but he hasn't because he made several deep holes in his argument. Granted you probably don't give a damn and that's fine. Overall, neither do I but some of you got so blinded and hyped by his one-liners and his flow that you ain't peep what he really said did you? Ngl, had me sitting here like a was crazy for a minute. Now correct me if I'm wrong cause I also had to fact check myself, but these are the lines that got me like now wait wait....

You said, "The ones that you're gettin' your stories from, they all clowns" just to say "We plotted for a week and then we fed you the information".... which one is it? Are you calling yourself a clown or the ppl you sent the info. to? I'm perplexed.

"What about the bones we dug up in that excavation? And why isn't Whitney denyin' all of the allegations? Why is she following Dave Free and not Mr. Morale? You haven't seen the kids in six months, the distance is wild Dave leaving heart emojis underneath pics of the child"

First and for most, what is your obsession with this woman? Also are we in high school? Why we worried about someone follow count and/or who following who? She a grown ass woman like she can't have male friends. Plus, if irl she with Kendrick every day, why does she need to? And if Kendrick aint worried about, why are you? You caught up in finding out if that's her real bd but where are your evidence? If Kendrick has to, you do too. Childish.

BUT THIS IS WHERE IT GOT DISRESPECTFUL!

"This Epstein angle was the shit I expected TikTok videos you collected and dissected Instead of being on some diss-direct shit You rather fucking grab your pen and misdirect shit My mom came over today and I was like, "Mother, I—, mother, I—, mother—" Ah, wait a second, that's that one record where you say you got molested"

"This about to get so depressin' This is trauma from your own confessions This when your father leave you home alone with no protection, so neglected That's why these pedophile raps and shit you so obsessed with, it's so excessive"

"Touch My Body" by Mariah Carey play, you probably start reflectin"

This whole verse was a misinterpretation of Kendrick's song "Mother I Sober" which I had to educate myself with. Long story short, the song is about his mom SA and how she thought he was by his cousin even when he told her "no" and it forms a bigger picture to his overall family trauma as a whole and so on. So not only did you Mr. " You gotta learn to fact check things and be less impatient" if that ain't the biggest pot calling the kettle black idk what is. You got it wrong (Kendrick pretty much explained it) then double down on borderline prob over the line atp disrespecting his mother and all and every victim of SA? We victim shaming now?

I never been with no one underage, but now I understand why this the angle that you really mess with Just for clarity, I feel disgusted, I'm too respected If I was fucking young girls, I promise I'd have been arrested I'm way too famous for this shit you just suggested

*Slow claps* Congratulations you played yourself. What in the fuckery? CURRENTLY....DIDDY DOODLE BOB HAS ALLEGATIONS RIGHT NOW AND HE'S MORE FAMOUS THAN U. And don't get me started on the list....umm...you literally just named one (If you still bumping R. Kelly, you could thank the Savior)

"Only fuckin' with Whitneys, not Millie Bobby Browns, I'd never look twice at no teenager" but you'll look once? Also, someone que up the video with him on stage w/ a 17-year-old. He and I quote "Why you look like that?" "You thick. look at all this" Then kiss her all over her face🤔 Sir a kiss on the cheek or forehead would suffice but I digress.

And correct me if I'm wrong, I believe the only reason Kendrick hasn't even the touch the "beating allegations" is because he covers all that in both Mr. Morale and Mother I sober? If I'm correct, then you basically didn't tell us nothing that hasn't been said on him. Plus you also not fact checking. Where's of your proof? I would think someone with the upper hand would have laid down evidence that you mastermind...oh wait...was Kendrick right along? Now you look like the goofy on defense. Like do Kendrick even have to say anything?

Bruh, but the funniest part on it all. You acting like YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS. YOU DROP A DISS first wanting him to response and now you trying to make it seem like you didn't? My guy, if your actions alone here isn't a manipulation master class. Chileeeeee

[plasticfangtastic]

american royalty. ch. 2

A Homelander x F!reader fanfic.

a/n: will post ch. 3 this week but sadly my other fic will be posted next week, enjoy this slow burn dadlander fic, and thx u to all the readers. prev. chapter:

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you & the lie that tore you two apart. Now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago?

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Two

Red

It had been a very long day, business was booming nowadays and since that influencer had made a couple videos on your pizzeria, you had been more than just busy, you began to run out of ingredients.

 In the last four years, the restaurant had grown, it had been there since 2002 ran by your boss’s father and his brother, who had ran their own pizza shop since the 80’s but as the economy and other events hit, they had decided to relocate and re-brand, now managed by their son– a man you owed so much, had his heart not been filled with kindness you would most likely be in the streets. So you made sure his restaurant was the best, you had accolades, you’ve worked in some of the best restaurants, you were once a very prominent fast rising figure of the New York culinary scene– until Homelander came along.

Your talent revamped the restaurant and now your food was once again on the spotlight, for the first time since you left Vought, you were happy with yourself, even if it was pizza. Cooking made you happy, and this job needed you, you didn’t live in fear of sleeping in your car anymore, you didn’t need to worry that your daughter would sleep on somebody’s couch again, you were able to quit your third job and go casual on your second thanks to this place, right now you didn’t live in the best of places but you were saving up and in a couple months you’d have enough money saved up to move, and send your daughter to a better school, somewhere were her talents wouldn’t be wasted.

So here you were ten minutes before closing, another extra couple hours of overtime for your dream two bedroom apartment, where it would be safe for her, where you could finally feel like your life had moved on from him, that the door opened up and your cashier squealed.

It was a quaint looking restaurant, the wood seating was new and the wall decor had been changed trying to look less cluttered, with Art Deco lighting fixtures as the stand out feature. The place had been remodeled recently it seems, the kitchen and its big brick oven looked clean but ancient to Homelander, he stared at the menu board and metal boxes of accouterments by the counters, taking in that this was in fact a pizza place, that you of all people did in fact work at a pizza place. You who could whip up amazing fare, now made greasy cheap slices, but he had seen people come in and leave endlessly these past few days, people taking selfies, and recording themselves with your food, nothing he understood.

He looked back at the teenager on the counter offering his signature smile as she blubbered her script, then as you took a step closer knowing you couldn’t hide in this open kitchen you finally looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

Your throat collapsed and your whole body became prickly and tight, your heart was beating so fast you thought you might be having a heart attack, you looked at the clock cursing that it wasn’t over, you were almost done packing the kitchen and readying for tomorrow, having a customer at this hour was awful but having him here was about to take you to an early grave.

“What’s your best seller?” Homelander muttered looking straight at you with an aloof stare, then back at the cashier– is pizza night at my house, sorry for coming so late hope that’s not a problem?” he said exceedingly politely.

The teenager blushed and looked back at you as if asking you to pinch her.

“That would be our pepperoni queen– is two types of cheese, extra pepperoni, with our signature house made marinara, with a dash of vodka sauce in our sourdough thin crust… chili oil is optional” You had managed to say trying to ignore those piercing blue eyes, you moved back to your place staring at the few remaining trays of dough balls left– our second best seller is our chicken florentine pie.”

Homelander admittedly detested pizza, it was greasy, gooey and heavy, it was fattening and gross, but there was a familiar aroma in the room, something that was making his mouth water lightly. Looking back at the girl, he ordered both in their smallest size offered, he sat by one of the wooden booths for the ten minutes he was told to wait, and not once did he made a comment, maybe that’s why your heart stung so much, why it felt as if you were about to collapse– that after seven years, he had completely forgotten about you, while only now did you began to feel as if you could heal from all the suffering he’d cause you, how insignificant had you been all along, how you love never registered.

You both had talked of moving in together and buying a home, he wanted to buy you a restaurant, and you wanted to give him your life, you had never loved somebody as much as he made you love him, and now you were just some bum wearing a graphic t-shirt making him dinner.

You packed his food, your boss Kaleem had given him extras on the house, practically begging for Homelander to give them a photo for their socials and you simply stare as he did his superhero thing, you took one of the delivery bags knowing he would lose the food if he flew with them in hand.

After the photoshoot, Kaleem and your cashier had run to the back to show the picture to the only other staffer left at this hour.

You both looked at each other as he took the bag off your hands, you wanted to cry, your eyes welling up but you looked down afraid of him, no doubt he could hear your heartbeat tickling his ear.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?” 

You could’ve collapsed into tears right then and there, it was worse to be remembered.

Growing angry at the sound of his soft voice, and that concerned expression in his face.

“Yes…”

“How you been? Didn’t think I'd ever see you again.”

“Should’ve killed me back then… got fucking close to it tho.” You dropped all pleasantries, hearing him talk and not hearing the word sorry 5 seconds in, had infuriated you. His stupid face, those stupid eyes, and that clown suit was too much for you, maybe it was the poor diet and lack of sleep but right now you wanted to ban him from Lucci’s– hope you enjoy the food.”

You pushed the bag jumping from the kitchen to the front as you headed for the door, holding it open for him.

“I’m doing alright. Now leave!” 

“You don’t even want to know why I'm here?” he was taken aback by your brashness, you had always been sweet to him, tender, barely ever angry before, so why now?

“You got a little kid now, I gather like any other kid, he likes pizza… and good for him because mine is the best!”

“Not really… I actually wanted to see you. I… I just wanted to ask you something–

“Mother!!”

Your daughter emerged from the depths of the kitchen, she carried a kindle in one hand and a giftcard in the other.

“Is it okay if I use my present now? They got some books on sale and you said not to buy more books until I finished… oh…”

In the light and in front of him, your daughter truly looked like your mirror image, copy and pasted into a miniature. Her hair just past her chin, and her bangs indeed covered her eyes, peeking behind those curtains were the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen, there was no unnatural shine to them– just blue. Her lips so thin and her complexion just a tad paler than your own now that he gave it a proper look, she was so small-- too small for her age.

“Is okay honey, is your birthday you can get any books you want” Your tone shifted entirely lowering yourself to take her face and plant a quick peck on her cheek– now go back with uncle Kaleem and let mommy close shop, okay? We’ll go home in a minute.”

“Is it your birthday young lady? Congratulations.”

Homelander threw his best smile, giving the kid a cautious pet, catching the rage in your eyes as his gloved fingers touched your daughter.

“Thanks. Is not a milestone birthday so it is not worthy of congratulations… seems inane to celebrate it” she looked at her mother with a jaded expression– " I'll go get my bag, have a good night, sir.”

Homelander pressed his lip as the most deadpan voice came out of this little girl. Her oversized black sweater and the black tights made her look oddly unhappy, but the kid just stared at him with boredom, no surprise or interest when she stood next to America's favorite son.

He wondered if that was an adult or a seven year old for a second.

He worried if the kid had told his mother about that other night, but looking back at you he went with 'maybe'.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still forcing a smile– "my… you seem like a smart girl getting books for your birthday.”

“Helena.”

The kid couldn’t muster the energy to give him anything but her dead ass voice, she began to walk away not caring for manners, nor Homelander.

“She’s… cute.” he said watching that tiny figure walk away and surviving after her second nsult– great pronunciation for her age, does she even know what she’s saying?”

“Helena is not like other kids.”

“How so?” 

You looked at him more tired than anything, rubbing your temples as you made yourself waste spit to talk to him.

“She’s a Supe… by the time she was two she could speak in full sentences, by three she could read at a first and second grade level, and by five she was teaching herself calculus and piano… she’s a genius; I thought she was a normal genius until… her other powers manifested– none of this matters! Just go!” You shook your head in frustration.

“You gave her V?” He said while staring at Helena.

“... I didn’t know what V was until the news broke out, I thought Helena was chosen by God! That the world blessed her with those powers, but when that story came out I’ve been wanting to ask you– did you give her V? but… if you didn’t… who… are you lying to me, John?”

Homelander looked past the concrete walls looking back at that little girl, he didn’t know what to say or do, before you could utter another word he left.

Ryan nose picked the meal quickly, glad that it was friday and his dad would let him stay up ‘til late, Homelander just dropped the meal on their new table and the kid was quick on his feet, the food was still warm, only now did Homelander noticed the extras, couple of small containers holding chili oil and freshly made ranch, garlic knots and a lemon meringue pie, it was too much but Ryan hadn’t hesitated to dig in, before Homelander could ask him to wash his hands he had ripped a slice of pepperoni.

“This is so good!” He said so cheerfully– gosh I was starving, dad.”

“I sure hope so, bud… let’s leave the pie for tomorrow…” he looked grossed out, Ryan sat opening up the garlic knot’s containers– not gonna eat?”

Homelander sat down to join him, the thought of touching all those greasy surfaces was making his stomach hurl, but he relented, taking a slice. 

He was young again, and you were there coming back with some drinks as he ate your chicken florentine, this was the same recipe, the chicken was so juicy and the cheese wasn’t greasy. Ryan was shocked to see his father sound so happy as he took another bite.

It was the first time they both ate together where they felt completely comfortable with each other, maybe it was seeing Ryan not pick at his food that made Homelander able to just talk, Ryan told him all about his homework, and the videogame he was playing, he really liked Fifa at the moment even if he himself cared not for the sport.

Helena watched as her mother stood silently hovering above the sink, you hadn’t moved much for a couple of minutes, your daughter more annoyed than anything else regarding this display.

“How do you know Homelander?” she asked with a yawn.

“Huh?” you woke up from your trance– you should be in bed, darling.”

“You too. So… How do you know the clown?”

“Honey, don't say that!”

“He walks around wearing a onesie all day… like a clown… like the rest of those super clowns”

Your daughter always spoke with a creepy maturity, her voice didn’t belong to a kid.

“... He used to be my boss… he was a really bad boss…”

“You used to work for Vought?” She softened her stand.

“Honey… I don’t really want to talk about this… it's late and we are going to the museum tomorrow so you should get some sleep, mommy is just tired… hope you had a good birthday.”

“You should rest too, mother.”

Your daughter's eyes glowed momentarily turning th blinkers off before she made her way to bed, you stared at her door, thinking if she could see you.

No mother should think their child was creepy, Helena was just difficult and abrasive, to be a small kid with her brain must be unbearable. You could recall the moment she asked you about V so vividly, she looked angry, but you had no honest answer to give her, you had to lie, god knows if you got the details right about how these people committed these crimes. Helena simply had no ability to relate to people, and without the funds you couldn’t help her meet her potential, not while you were both stuck living in public housing, not while scraping every penny.

Her few friends forced her to dumb down and even they found her uneasy, only the old people seemed to handle her best, she loved to listen, and her teachers always thought of her as  a delight, yet she knew no other Supe beside herself, those pageants were expensive, and networking meetings were hard to get in, talent agencies were costly– having a super-abled kid and trying to make them into a Supe was locked behind a massive paywall, all you could hope was that her genius would let her enter a university early on scholarships.

There was always Godolkin, but god knows if they would let her enter at a young age.

It would be easy if her father was involved, if John was there in her life, she would have the world but he didn’t want her, he had made that clear years ago.

So why did he lie about the V? 

It had been two weeks since you seen Homelander, but he saw you a lot, he'd come back and forth-- watching you and the child with ardent curiosity, seeing you made him reminisce, of those many nights and afternoons, of the way no matter how tired you were, you always made sure to look happy when he showed up, the way you looked so at peace while cooking, of the feel of your skin against his and the taste of your precious lips as you kissed him good morning. 

He followed you, on your only day off as you took Helena around the city, watching you share a slice of overprice cake while taking notes, and ate cheap chinese for lunch, you waited for two hours as Helena played chess and checkers with some oldies at a chess shop, some russian man gave her lessons-- some of these people dressed nicely perhaps pros. Some won over her and some lost but the games were quick, your daughter seemed happier when she loss than when winning.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Homelander.

Somehow he found himself in your apartment, cracking open the window to sneak in while you headed back home– the tiny apartment felt more like a closet than a habitable space, the ceilign was run down, and the appliances ancient but well kept, your bedroom was simple, cooking books and boxes sat on top of your dressers, a single’s bed with plush comforters and pillows stuck against the wall, with a wardrobe in front of it, and a cheap fan tucked in the corner. He left for your daughter’s room just a few feet away divided by the bathroom were most of the clutter and laundry lived, her bedroom was just as plain, but the books didn’t seem fit for a small child, her desk tidy and organized, he picked up a notebook from the pile, seeing math equations that hurt his eyes within seconds. All her stuff were nice and new, she had a decent computer on top of her bed, an old dresser, but there was an absence of toys– compared to Ryan’s bedroom that was filled with anything he wanted and decorated expertly. A clock adorned her walls but not much else, the few things that looked messy was a tiny plastic chess set, the kind with magnets on the bottom, and some DIY stem kits.

He took to the bathroom, it was old and falling apart, mold was growing in the corner much to Homelander’s disgust, trolley held dozens of beauty stuff and shampoos and detergents, a shelf on the wall held towels and toilet rolls. Homelander looked at a sparkly hairbrush, picking a couple strands of lost hair knowing by their lengths and color that they weren’t yours, and cursing himself for doing this as he place them on small plastic bag he had hid in his glove.

[granulesofsand]

Hi, I was wondering if you have resources or examples of what system mapping is/looks like? My therapist mentioned it and I don't really understand what that ... looks like. And also can't find any real resources on it

System mapping refers to a lot of record keeping, more so than most people think of when they hear about it. The most common route for this exercise is a visual aid, often done on blank printer paper or with a computer application that allows for shapes with text in them.

Some goals for system mapping can be seeing how system members

are related (who knows who, how they interact with one another, how they define their connections)

came into the system (who split from who, when they showed up, what happened to get them)

fit into the collective (who’s similar or different, how roles make sense, where triggers chain together)

exist in space (how close to one another they are, where things are in the internal world, how visualized barriers come into play)

are themselves (which labels they use, which things they like and dislike, how they exist as one being and a member of a group)

Here are some examples of maps for each of these things

I did these taking only a few minutes each, and they’re simplified versions of real maps we’ve done in the past. Maps should be thought-provoking, a dumped box of ideas you connect on the page. Sometimes it takes hours (or days, but that’s usually an avoidance problem).

We’re working on one right now that shows when different color codes came into play for us. Our system is huge, so this is a broader project that doesn’t address individual members or subgroups. We took a poster paper and some colorful pens, made some notes at the top, and are drawing a garden with a central tree and some flowers for pieces that don’t make sense as a branching out. We worked on it several hours straight, redid it twice, and it’s still not done.

Our largest system map is a wall of post-its hanging on for dear life, with different color notes and ink for different purposes. We have a whole legend of symbols and would probably be using pins and yarn if we had a cork board. That one is everything; people and places, subgroups and relationships, programming and trauma, all of it.

If you(&)’re looking for resources, I have like two links I know I can find right now. Mostly this is a community topic, and you can watch people make maps on video sites like YouTube or TikTok. You’re less likely to find academic material about system mapping unless you’re looking for discussion about treatment or plain case studies, and I dislike contextualizing the exercise like they do.

I like the first link because they’re creative with it, which is great for visual aids. They also remind you that mapping isn’t for everymany/body, and that it’s okay not to do it or not include everyone.

The second isn’t specific to mapping, but has a bullet list I liked from another site that was more commercial.

A third one I thought about including but didn’t had some good reasons for mapping for integration (helping each other notice they’re connected, that there are reasons the system works like it does), but was more clinical.

Actually, I feel bad explaining it and not showing it, so you(&) choose if that sounds okay to you.

There are many larger articles which include aspects of system mapping, but reading them requires a lot of sifting and determining what is real to you(&) before you can make use of most of what’s written. It can help form opinions, and it will also send some cascading. If you look into the academic side, remember to look into the community side, too. You need both, just maybe not as early as mapping the system for the first time.

Poster paper is system mapping. Sand trays are system mapping. Roll calls are system mapping. Community meetings are system mapping. System mapping is getting to know your(&) system. You can’t really do it wrong, but I hope you got some ideas of where to start.

[omi-papus]

Light The Lamp

Part: 2

Fandom: Subnautica

Pairing: Robin x Al-An

Ao3 link

Content: Age difference, ADHD x Autism, Ableist slur, Ice Hockey AU, Modern era AU, Human Al-An AU, Drug use, Eventual smut

Summary: Rookie ice hockey player Robin Ayou stuns the league with a controversial but impressive debut, catching the eye of popular YouTuber Alan Silvester. Known for his hockey insights. After an awkward first encounter, he begs her to feature in one of his videos. And she after thinking shes found her new babygirl cant help but agree.

Word count: 8.9k

A/N: Hey guys. I managed to get this out at a decent pace I think, this fic is a lot easier to write than some of my other projects so I can balance it with Uni a lot better. Here we have more of the idiots being themselves.

She completed the interview. Robin stood firm even when faced with questions like, “How do you plan to avoid being a hindrance to your team?” No matter what, she wasn't going to cave and walk out.

Now she's wondering if that would have been the less humiliating option.

The second they finished recording, she stormed out, not saying a single word to either of the men in the room, and went straight to the gym. She doesn't know how long she stayed there, but all she could think about was what a waste of time this had all been. The dinner, the recording, the time she had spent planning her answers and all she could say to make the interview good, the time she wasted on him. Because she thought none of it amounted to anything. That the interview footage was unusable and no one in their right mind would have thought it was good enough to be released. That it would all be deleted, and they would pretend they never met. Oh boy, how wrong she was.

“AND WHEN DID I TELL YOU YOU COULD FUCKING DO THAT?!” Coach Maida yelled at the entrance of the arena, not minding for a second who else was there to hear her. Robin knew exactly what she meant the second she started yelling because she had seen it too. She forgot to unsubscribe from that godforsaken channel and saw the thumbnail that very morning. It had her nearly foaming at the mouth, and boy had she considered running up to that office and chewing him out. But she had training that day and did not want that fucker taking up any more of her time and brainpower than he already did. And lo and behold, her coach had caught wind of everything and was currently in the process of tearing her a new one.

“ARE YOU AN ACTUAL TODDLER?!”

“I wasn't expecting him to just insult me like that!”

“Oh no, he had every right to insult your piss poor playing. What you should have done was NOT throw a tantrum on camera!”

“I had to defend myself! I couldn't just sit there and take it and embarrass the team!”

“YOU EMBARRASSED THE TEAM WHEN YOU BROKE YOUR FACE ON LIVE TELEVISION!”

Robin couldn't respond to that and just gritted her teeth, holding onto her stick with enough strength to possibly break it.

“I should have kicked you out when I could…” the woman grumbled. Robin would have been scared if she hadn't made that exact threat multiple times and never followed through. She looked down at the floor. At that point, Coach Maida had stopped talking as well and just stared at her, waiting for a response. It took a minute for Robin to simmer down, to hold back from screaming and crying about what had happened in that interview and why it wasn’t her fault. She had to think about something else.

Her next words were soft, almost achingly resigned, but her eyes had that one last spark of confrontation as she locked eyes with her coach.

“Sam won’t be mad if you do. You know that, right?”

Marguerite’s expression did not change, but she didn’t answer. A cold breeze came in through the open door of the building, and the sounds of the other players whispering among themselves cut through the tension like glass. A grunt could be heard from the coach before Robin winced as she received a quick hit to the back of the head. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the coach walking away from her and into the rink.

“What are all of you staring at?! Get ready and get on the ice in five minutes! You’re doing triple laps today! You can thank Ayou for that!”

Robin could barely process the sounds of her team heckling her as she felt a certain weight in her chest grow heavier

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was the last to leave the locker room, still in her underwear, going through her phone. She had meant to unsubscribe from the YouTube channel but quickly found herself unable to look away from the comment section of the newest video.

"Like all women. Basically children." "She should not be playing if she’s this sensitive." "She just mad nobody wants to fuck a masculine thing like her." "Bro thinks she’s good."

It went on and on. She was trying her hardest not to look at Twitter. She could only imagine what the rhetoric would be there. It made her blood boil.

The Alterra Giants had requested a rematch. It would be in only a few days. She would fucking show them. Every single one of them how great of a player Robin Ayou was.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The puck slid out of her reach far too quickly for her to attempt to redirect it. Then, pathetically slowly, it moved away from her before she was pushed to the side and had to refocus her energy on regaining her balance. She stopped herself from moving too far away, getting back into hot pursuit as quickly as possible. She could feel her pulse in her ears. Her trajectory had changed to herding the action back to the left of the rink. The opposing winger was cutting across center ice, trying to get a clean entry into the zone, but Robin was determined to force her wide, to keep her from getting any closer to the middle of the rink. With a burst of speed, she closed the gap, angling her body to cut off the winger’s path. The opposing player saw her coming and tried to make a quick move to the outside, but Robin was ready. She threw her weight into the check, sending the winger off balance. The puck popped loose.

The game was tight, the score tied 3-3, and her team was down to their last minutes in the final period. Every pass, every shot, every hit mattered. The Alterra Giants seemed to have fixed themselves overnight, always having at least two players specifically countering her.

She had to feel flattered.

The center was in position near the slot. Robin’s eyes flicked to her. This was it. She sent the puck screaming across the ice, a laser pass threading between two defenders. Her teammate caught it cleanly and wound up for a one-timer. Robin held her breath. The faceoff was in the offensive zone now. Robin skated into position. She locked eyes with their captain, who was lining up for the draw. They had a plan, the captain would tie up the opposing center, and Robin would swoop in to pick up the loose puck. If everything worked perfectly, they’d get another shot and a goal.

The puck dropped. The captain did her job, tying up her opponent’s stick. Robin surged forward, her stick darting out to grab the puck. She had it. She snapped a quick shot at the net, low and hard, hoping for a rebound. The goalie blocked it, but the puck bounced out into the slot. Bodies crashed together as everyone scrambled for the loose puck.

The opposing winger, a speedster with a nose for breakaways, found the puck and chipped it past the defense. Robin’s heart sank as she watched her own defensewoman hesitate for a split second. just enough time for the winger to take off. Robin turned and sprinted, legs pumping furiously as she tried to catch up. But it was too late. The winger was already across the blue line, alone on a breakaway. Robin could only watch as the forward closed in on their goalie, faked a shot, and then lifted the puck top shelf. The red light flashed.

She didn’t truly remember what happened after that. “4-3” was her last coherent thought.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is hideous, dear, you really ought to change the way you arrange these.” The woman began taking out plates and placing them loosely on the table. Alan stood at the edge of the kitchen, staring firmly at the ground, knowing that if he dared to look up, his brain would shut down. His entire kitchen was in disarray, every plate, cup, fork, and spoon placed out onto the counters and table, many at risk of falling off the edge.

“I’ve taught you how to organize a million times. You are a grown man. You don’t have excuses to be this messy. The cups should go in the top drawer, not the bottom right one, and the pans need to go closer to the stove.” His mother opened one of the bottom drawers and began pulling out the one pot and pan, and with no more space left on the counter, she put them on the floor. “I want this all reorganized by the end of the day, Alan. I am not letting you live like this.” She finally looked back at him as she pointed to the mess around her, and she was fuming when she noticed him looking at the ground.

She let out a deep sigh and massaged her temple. “You’re lucky I’m so patient. I don’t even want to look at your room. I can’t imagine that it’s organized either.”

“It is organized.”

“Don’t talk to me like that! I’ll go see for myself. You stay here and fix this mess.”

She walked past him, and he shuddered. He finally had to look at what she had done, and when he did, he felt his entire head heat up with stress. He held back from putting everything back where it went, knowing that it would not please his mother. He tried to remember what she had told him. The only "right" way to organize, and began rearranging as much as he could according to her rules. He tried to think of his childhood kitchen and how that was organized. Normally, it would be easy to replicate, but the layout of the kitchen was different from his current home, and he wasn’t sure how to make it equivalent in the "right" way that wouldn’t get him another angered lecture and his kitchen torn apart again. Distantly, he could hear the sound of cloth being thrown from down the hall. No doubt his mother had already begun dismantling his closet. He had moved all his hockey paraphernalia to his office for this exact reason.

Because it wasn’t the first time she had done this. Show up unannounced and invite herself in. Sometimes she was only judgmental of his lack of decor and the general subpar aesthetics of his one-bedroom apartment, commenting on his habits, like how long it took him to shower on the days she arrived before he had to head out, and where he placed his coat when she came at the end of the day. But sometimes she did this. Dug through every drawer and crevice in the house, found something she disliked, and then took out everything and told him to put it all back the "right" way.

It wasn’t that Alan was disorganized. He loved keeping his spaces tidy, clean, and in perfect order. He had created multiple systems of how things should be stacked, folded, and stored and hated when anything was out of its assigned spot. Unfortunately, his mother was never a fan of his ways of doing things and insisted that everything should be done based on how her household, when she was a child, used to run.

This had been a battle they had fought for as long as he could remember. It was an immovable object meets unstoppable force scenario, two equally obsessive people steeped in their own ways and unable to accept anything else. Alan would arrange everything to his mother’s liking, wait for her to leave, which might take multiple hours, and then put it all back, until she showed up again. It was a cycle that periodically would steal up to an entire day from him. Sometimes, he’d have to call off work to Ryley because he had to either entertain his mother or reorganize everything again.

Alan used to think he would be free to have his house the way he liked when he had his own, but his mother’s incessant visits never let him know peace. In half an hour, the kitchen was mostly presentable. He could only hope she wouldn’t undo his work twice. He didn’t have to guessshe had already told him she was angry with him, for missing her call all those weeks ago and for making a scene at that restaurant. He knew from experience that her anger would last at least another month at this rate. And he guessed that Robin’s anger would last forever.

He was smart enough to tell that she was furious. The way she conducted herself in the interview was proof enough. And the way she had left, so quickly and violently, was unnerving. Ryley had suggested, nearly begged, that he not post the video. He didn’t know why Ryley was so adamant, as Ryley had always been pretty detached from anything Alan did outside of what directly affected him. Unfortunately, Alan had promised his viewers an interview with Robin Ayou, and he couldn’t back down from that. But it really was a disaster. She refused to answer multiple questions, and the ones she did, she fought him at every step. She was obviously very upset with what he was asking her.

He had told her to notify him if she had a problem. Why didn’t she? He had given her every question. None of this should have happened like this. At least not on camera. She was clearly surprised by the questions, and it was apparent she hadn’t read the list he gave her, and that made him more upset than anything else. That he had planned everything out perfectly and it was all sabotaged because she just felt like it. Like his way of doing things was stupid and didn’t deserve consideration. Just like his mother was doing now.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud thud followed by what sounded like a crack. Quickly, he put down whatever he was holding and scurried over to his room, where he could see three things.

His mother stood in the corner of the room, looking visibly shaken his bed was filled with now unfolded clothes, thrown half-heartedly around, and his headset was on the floor, the shell on the left speaker broken and detached from the headband, the cushion having detached as well.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry! They just fell out of the closet, I didn’t know they were there! Oh my God, I broke them! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m a terrible mother who breaks my son’s things! I’m so, so sorry, Alan.”

His feelings toward the broken headset were quickly derailed by his need to calm his mom down.

“It’s alright. It was an accident. Go sit down. I can get another one.”

“I didn’t mean to do it, I’m sorry!”

“I know, Mother. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

This went on for a solid twenty minutes. And it was only after two hours that she finally left, and he was faced with the fact that he had to replace the now broken headset.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robin stood still against the bathroom wall, fighting the burning sting of tears yet again. Every time she thought her anger had subsided, it bubbled up again like magma, and she could do nothing but grit her teeth and hold back from punching a wall.

She had told herself she would not look at social media after their loss, but, like with seemingly everything in her life, she failed. Twitter was swarming with comments about not only her team but her specifically. The connections made between her performance and the interview were plentiful. She remembered the scolding Coach Maida had given her, and even that didn’t feel close to the sheer anger she had felt in her bones when she saw that scoreboard.

She pressed her forehead against the stall wall, fists tight and jaw clenched. She was only a month into her professional career, and all of this was happening. She couldn’t help it. The gut punch of regret, coupled with an all-too-familiar helplessness, made the tears threaten to fall again. She had to mentally recite a mantra to herself, reminding herself why she was doing this, why she chose this path.

You're good at this. You're good at this. You. Are. Good. At. This.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose quickly when she heard a knock at the stall door. She had been in there for a good ten minutes, moping. Hastily stepping out, she made her way to the sinks and splashed water on her face. Looking at herself in the mirror for a moment, she wished she were home right now. The only reason she hadn’t hotboxed her room and smoked herself stupid was that she was completely out of groceries and had nothing to eat for either dinner or tomorrow’s breakfast. She was starting to regret not ordering takeout, but her budget was getting stretched thin, and she knew this was the healthier option. The closest grocery store was attached to the main mall in the area, so that's where she was. Stores would be closing soon, so she had to hurry.

It was because she was speed-walking that she only half-registered a white blur move past her. Her instinct, however, was strong enough to tell her to stop and turn around, knowing that properly identifying it would be important.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alan should have, by all means, waited until at least tomorrow to purchase another headset. Or better yet, he should have ordered it online and waited. He had most of the month's videos already recorded and could have honestly just recorded everything on camera with the whiteboard instead. But he hated waiting, and he also just needed to get this situation out of his head before it made his brain explode with rage. Needless to say, he was furious, because of everything. The broken headset had just been the final push between his mother's visit and the recent interview fiasco. He felt like he would lose it if he didn’t fix the one thing he could control in this situation.

He never liked malls very much, few things interested him, bright lights and loud sounds abounded. It wasn't unbearable, but he certainly wasn't fond of it. He was walking around, searching for an electronics store that looked like it sold more than cheap chargers and phone cases, in hopes of getting a half-decent headset to serve as a placeholder while he waited to get another identical to the one he already had. He knew that wasn't the wisest financial decision, but he simply did not care at this point. He walked along with his head facing the ground, just thinking about how much better it would be once all of this was behind him. That was until a very loud noise pierced his ears, and he turned around to recognize a person stomping toward him.

“YOU!”

She had quickly pinned him to the wall, pointing at his face, her finger dangerously close to his chin.

“You motherfucker!”

He was never great at identifying facial expressions, which only made the vibrant anger in her eyes even more noticeable. It took him a whole five seconds of staring before he processed the eye contact, became uncomfortable, and looked away.

“Oh no, you look at me, you piece of shit!”

Her hand was already on the wall to the left of his head, leaning in way too close for comfort. He only took tentative glances at her, slowly shuffling to the side, away from her. He was thankful she didn't outright grab his face.

“I said look at me, dammit. Can you at least treat me like a person?!”

That confused him, his eyes still on the pillar to the side of them.

“I have never indicated I don't see you as a person,” he mumbled unsurely. He nearly felt her huff exasperatedly on his chin.

“Are…” She seemed almost choked for a short second before frowning at him again. “Am I supposed to believe you're just stupid?”

He finally took a step to the side, getting out of her hold. A nearly imperceptible growl escaped her when he did, but she removed herself from the wall and stared him down.

“Am I just expected to believe that you didn’t know how bad all of that would fucking look?! Is that your excuse?!” She spoke loudly but stopped outright yelling.

“I…” He cut himself off, realizing he needed to further think his words through. “I gave you time to contest the questions if you wanted to,” he struggled to say.

“And how did you expect me to react exactly?! I wouldn't have done the interview at all if you were just going to shit on my entire career for thirty minutes straight!”

His hand twitched. “Your career is barely existent. You’ve got one victory under your belt, one that you lost immediately after.”

She visibly fumed. So the shithead had watched that day's game too. Of course, he had. “So then why care about me at all?! If you just think I'm a piece of shit at my job, then what was the point of interviewing me in front of hundreds of people? Do you just get off on humiliating me?!”

They were starting to get looks. Robin noticed this far before Alan did. For a moment, she was self-conscious. She was making a scene so soon after being called emotional and childish for her on-camera outburst. The thought made her so upset that she nearly didn’t care about how those around her might see her. But that underlying shame was still there, that feeling that she was just being dramatic, that she should just suck it up and move on with her life. That she should just train harder and force him to eat his words. But something about looking at him directly set her off. Seeing him there, looking so lost and vaguely afraid, even through the thick facade of his expressionless face, made the barb sink so much deeper into her chest. Betrayed. She felt betrayed. And she felt stupid for it. Because it wasn’t a secret to her that he had quickly endeared himself to her, that she had found him oddly cute and charming. That she had felt that they were friends. She had known him for so little time. She shouldn’t have gotten this attached that quickly. Or shouldn’t have gotten attached at all.

“I thought the phenomenon of how you played was worth investigating,” he said, still facing the wall. Robin had to force herself to sigh. It did not help.

“What? Is my failure just fun to you?! Am I just entertaining because I'm so fucked up at playing hockey that I need to be studied?”

“I think you're taking it personally.”

“It IS personal, Alan! This isn't just my hobby! This is my life!”

“Well maybe play like it, then.” His fists were clenched hard, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. For a moment, Robin was too stunned to clap back. She fumbled with her words for a good few seconds as they kept getting stuck in her throat. The sheer audacity of the statement actually made her return to reality. Him so openly admitting he thought she was shit felt like it put an end to a small fire that had been burning her lungs. It felt like some type of closure.

“I shouldn’t even care. You're nothing but some nobody on the internet. Your own followers are getting tired of you, and you're more preoccupied with shitting on me than getting your mediocre career back on track.”

“You're trying to offend me, and it is not going to work.” He spat at her, looking now at her feet.

“Ryley was right about you. You're nothing but a neurotic freak with an ego up your ass!”

“Listen, I just want to go purchase something. I have nothing to say to you.”

“No wonder nobody likes you. Nothing is ever enough for you.”

That, Robin noticed, lightly changed the look in his eyes. “Listen.” His shoulders tensed, and to her surprise, he turned to face her, still looking at her feet. He took a step toward her, and they were once again toe to toe with each other.

“You have no experience with what being less than enough is like. If you really weren't enough, that coach of yours would have kicked you out a long time ago. I’ve seen her do worse for less. You’ve waved to your loving family at plenty of your games since university.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He should have shut up then, but an unstable cocktail of built-up frustration and anger was making him unreasonable. “Nothing I do is ever enough. Not for my family, not for my audience, not even for my own employee, and clearly not for you.”

Robin only raised an eyebrow, demanding he elaborate. He happily did. “I gave you every single question written out on paper and would have easily sent you a digital copy if you asked. I gave you a week to make the choice, to communicate with me, and yet you said nothing. It was clear you couldn’t even be bothered to read any of them. I would have changed them. I would have called off the interview if it was really that bad. I had everything set up to avoid disaster, but that was not enough. I tell my viewers that I’m going to interview a professional player, but that's not good enough. I lose nearly half of my income to pay my assistant a livable wage by just doing the job he signed up for, and that is not enough. I show my family over and over that I’m managing my life and have found even a little success in what I do, and that is still not enough. It’s never fucking enough.”

Robin blinked, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t what he was saying that surprised her, but how he said it. For all his usual detachment, this was the first time she had seen him genuinely vulnerable. She tried to shake that feeling off. He was the one who had treated her like a lab rat for his personal gain. He didn’t get to turn this around on her now, not after everything.

“That’s your excuse? You’re sad, so you did this to me?” She bristled.

“I am not giving you excuses. I am just simply expressing how I feel since you’re so intent on arguing.”

“What you feel?! What about what I felt?! When you still posted that stupid interview when I was clearly not happy with it?!”

“You didn’t tell me not to post it. You didn’t tell me anything. You just left.”

“And you’re going to tell me you didn’t see I was upset about it? It was obvious, you should have known!”

“Your subpar communication skills are not my responsibility.”

“Oh, we’re talking about communication, how funny. I would have LOVED for you to have communicated that you thought I was a stupid piece of shit instead of schmoozing me up at dinner and texting me like we were best friends!”

He was taken aback by that last statement, finally catching himself staring at her again, this time in sheer disbelief. “What do you mean by that?” he said slowly.

“If you were just going to insult my playing, why did you act so polite, take me out, and… and make me trust you?”

She sounded… hurt by the end of the sentence, her burning ire fading into the background ever so slightly. Alan couldn't decipher it, but he was dumbfounded by the very question.

“Because you’re a person. Even if a messy one, you are still a high-level professional player. And just… because I respect you? I never thought that you were stupid, and I just… Why wouldn’t I?

She was exhausted. She only then realized it. Frustration was starting to burn away at the last of her energy reserves along with her sore arms and bruised calves. She let out a huffy, exasperated noise as she held her head in her hands. It dawned on her what she was doing and how stupid and insane it looked to everyone around her. Was she being childish? She didn't know and only half cared. But she knew then that she wanted this to be over.

“Are you even sorry?” She simply sounded tired now, the tone of her voice significantly higher-pitched than before. Alan was able to sense this, and therefore his own defensiveness lowered, but he still had to take a moment to think about it.

“I do not think it is my fault, but I am sorry it turned out like this,” was all he could say. Robin stayed quiet, looking at him in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable, and he finally had enough.

“Goodbye, Miss Ayou.” It took a lot of strength for him to turn around and walk away, but he finally did, leaving Robin to deal with the stares. The supermarket had already closed.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was going hungry tonight. She refused to spend more money on takeout, and Cal had his parents over, so she couldn't raid his fridge tonight. She was almost tempted to ask Sam for food, but the fear that Coach Maida could be the one to answer the phone was enough to dissuade her.

She should have, by all means, gone to sleep already. Her tired body was screaming at her, and her frayed nerves couldn't handle any more, but she just couldn't feel like it. That was very much like her, procrastinating even when it came to sleep. Fuck, she did not want to go to training tomorrow. If only she could call in sick like any other job, well, at least any job where Coach Maida wasn’t in charge. She tried to think of ways to get out of it while boiling some water. She really needed to get a kettle. Busting out the pot every time she wanted to fill her hot water bottle was getting beyond annoying, especially since these days she had to do it daily. Everything hurt. She looked over to her room and heavily considered rolling one out, but it would go to waste if she was just going to fall asleep five minutes later.

In minutes, she was on the couch, a hot water bottle pressed against her shoulder, her phone at ten percent, bright in the darkness. She scrolled past a group chat with her teammates, a message from her mom asking how she was doing, and a few promotional emails from places she'd never shop at. She was in that mood in which she couldn't stay on a single app for more than a couple of seconds, her attention span wouldn’t sit with her for more than that. She leaned her head back against the couch, trying to force herself to relax. Eventually, she decided to scroll through YouTube Shorts since she hadn’t tried that yet. Pretty quickly, that got boring as well, so she began looking through her YouTube feed. Maybe her favorite ichthyologist YouTuber had posted something new today.

Like a bitter metallic taste suddenly making its way into her mouth, a video showed up on the feed that nearly jump-scared her. She sat upright on her couch and stared at the screen. She thought she had unsubscribed from that stupid channel earlier today. Did she really forget to do it then, too? Fuck, she was stupid.

She collapsed back down again. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” she muttered to herself tiredly. The video still stared her in the face. It made her angry. She felt the urge to report it, but she knew that doing that would actually cross the line into being childish. Currently, she was frozen. Something in her stopped her from scrolling along, unsubscribing, or doing anything about the situation that was bothering her. She placed the phone on her chest. She never did watch any videos from him, maybe if she had, she would have picked up that he was an asshole before she agreed to be part of them. And thinking about it more, she felt like an idiot again. She really did just like the idea of being interviewed like a celebrity, regardless of who did it. She never cared about his channel or whatever greater goal he had in mind. She just wanted to feel good about herself. Was that wrong of her? It felt like it was.

His little speech still bothered her. It wasn’t unimaginable that he had his own bullshit going on. Everyone did. Robin was convinced that everyone thought the world was caving in around them half the time. He wasn’t special. Still, she had to feel bad because it was true, if she had just not lost the paper like a moron, this wouldn’t have happened. He said so himself. And, God, she was never going to live down what Cal told her to do. Just ask for the questions again. She had avoided doing it for such a stupid reason, too. And that's the part that bruised her ego the most.

Because she was attracted to him. That had been apparent from minute one. She had wanted to look cool in front of him. She didn’t want him to know she was an idiot. And what hurt the most was finding out he already did. Seemingly from the start, he knew. And she really was stupid, wasn’t she? Her tooth still stood sharp and broken in her mouth, the image of the scoreboard was still seared into her brain.

Why hadn’t Maida kicked her out yet? If she let a boy get under her skin like a teenager, surely she deserved to be left behind with the college kids like so many of the other girls did. She should have never been drafted. This was a mistake. She was just destined for nothing, like all her school teachers had told her.

She curled up on the couch, burying her face against the cushion. She was spiraling again. She needed a distraction, now. She took out her phone and just mindlessly clicked on the video. Fuck it. Maybe getting angry at Alan again would get her back on track. What the video was even about didn’t matter, as long as it was something other than more loud thoughts of self-hate. Alan was in front of a whiteboard with a projection on it. He wasted no time, beginning to scribble and talk at length. Robin immediately recognized the topic, neutral zone traps, forechecking, and counterattacks. She stared at the screen, watching Alan’s hands move across the whiteboard, the slight tilt of his head as he spoke. She was annoyed that even now, after everything, he could still captivate her attention. Pathetic.

The video droned on about the timing of offensive breakouts and how players should anticipate defensive collapses. But then something in the video caught her ear, a mention of adaptability. Alan was saying something about how great players aren’t just skilled at executing strategies, they’re able to adapt to changing circumstances. The ones who succeed long-term are the ones who can read a situation, make quick decisions, and adjust, even when things go off script. She was good at that, she thought. Robin had always been quick on her feet and would thrust herself at any opportunity that presented itself to strike. Heh, she was so dead set on improvising that she had… broken… her tooth. She instinctively ran her tongue along the jagged edge of it, wincing at the reminder. Improvising was her strength, sure, but sometimes it came with a cost.

Alan’s voice brought her back to the video. He was talking about the importance of balance, knowing when to adapt but also knowing when to stick to the fundamentals. "It’s not just about reacting to the situation," he said, his tone calm but firm. "It’s about controlling how you react.” Robin remembered that incident, how it had happened because she flung herself at a loose puck and accidentally planted the toe picks of her skates on the ground and fell over. She hadn't thought about the consequences, about how her desperate attempts to turn the tide were turning into sloppy mistakes.

Robin gritted her teeth. Control. That word made her stomach churn. It was what Coach Maida had been drilling into her head for months now. Her natural instincts were sharp. She’d fight tooth and nail to force a play, to make something happen, but in doing so, she’d lose sight of the bigger picture and…

Her head was starting to hurt. She got off of YouTube, cutting the video off. She stared at the ceiling for God knows how long. Thankfully, she had the loud sounds of cars honking outside to save her from being submerged in the silence. She hugged the hot water bottle. Well, just like he seemed, Alan was smart. Too smart. Too blunt as well. He hadn’t just made his points by themselves. He had provided examples for every single aspect he was discussing, heavily criticizing a number of players in the process. She let out a deep sigh. Alright, maybe it wasn’t personal. She still found what happened in the interview incredibly rude and insensitive, especially with how little faith people naturally have in female hockey. But she supposed he just didn’t consider that. It was weird, actually, how little he cared about that fact. She looked through his recent videos, and the last seven of them were all about female games, even if she noticed that those had fewer views than the previous male-led ones.

A sudden urge to ask him about it popped into her head. It was just a fleeting notion, but the fact that she had just thought of texting him about why he liked female hockey like that caught her off guard. Like she hadn’t just sworn off ever thinking of him again a few hours prior.

“Uuuuugh, nooooooooo…” she whined lowly. Watching that video had done something for her. She just saw him, so focused and objective, that she finally had to realize that Alan was just some guy. He loved hockey like an obsessive little kid who cared about the game itself so much that people's feelings just slipped his mind. Could she really be that mad at that? He himself had admitted to her that he was autistic, and- no. No, no, no, no. That was NOT an excuse. Never had been, never would be. But what, she just wasn't mad at him anymore? What was she supposed to do with that? She didn't just want to forgive him. But… he wasn’t malicious. He was… blunt, obsessive, maybe even careless, but not cruel. She was almost certain of that now. Maybe she was infantilizing him, but that was better than considering him a shitbag. Robin remembered what he had told her, that although she was messy, she was still a professional. Did he always feel that way about her? How she felt now? So lukewarm and weirdly disturbed by the existence of a grown adult who was so… clumsy. Her with her feet and him with his words.

She briefly considered that her brain might just be looking for excuses to let things go so she could fawn over him again. It was at that moment that she made a choice. If she was going to go anywhere with this relationship, that attraction had to go. He wasn't some irresistible supermodel. Most of what appealed to her was just that he was taller than her, which most men weren't. He was decently polite, but she had gotten a good enough look at his personality to realize that the soft boy sweetheart persona she had built up in her head was far from the truth. She had been into her girlfriends before, and she got over that. Yes, this was the right choice. She could do this.

Now the question was, did she want to continue their relationship? If she even could, he looked pretty pissed at her too. But if they made up, what would become of whatever they had? Well, first of all, any more videos were off the table. But that had been the only reason they even met in the first place. The only reason he approached her, and the only reason she followed along with the weirdo that ran to corner her in the street. She huffed. Well, at least they were even cornering each other in public. The point was, what else did she want from him?

She thought about it while scratching dirt from under her fingernails, and rather easily, she had her answer. She felt bad for him. Not just because she screamed at him in public, but because of everything. Like she said, he wasn't special for having his own emotional baggage, which he had revealed to her seemingly on impulse. But still, even before that, he had such wet dog energy. When they were on good terms, he would text her incessantly, like he had no one else to talk to. She had a suspicion that was the reason he invited her out to dinner instead of just forwarding her the questions via email. And now she knew that he was aware that Ryley, his only work colleague, thought badly of him. Adding that he also briefly mentioned having family issues, something Robin had never been familiar with.

If she wasn't going to be his friend, then no one else would. And something about her hypersocial brain wouldn't let that go. Was she really going to let go of all the humiliation and anger to adopt a thirty yearold man? Fuck, she needed to broaden her hobbies.

She lay down comfortably again and put a pin in that thought. She was being hormonal or something. She had just finished tearing his ear out. She couldn't just call him up and be like, Hey, sorry, let’s be friends. She wasn't a saint.

Looking at her phone with five percent battery left, she decided she had enough of videos and hopped on Twitter. Robin had fought for her life to keep her Twitter hockey-free. She had enough of that shit on the daily. When she had phone time in bed, she would prefer to look at videos of Cuddlefish. Well, until a few days ago, of course. Following Alan had completely thrown off her algorithm, if only because of how much he tweeted. She should have known that she couldn't avoid him here either. There were just old threads of arguing until she got to the top, where she inevitably came across his most recent tweet and…

“Let it be on record that I do not condone the misogynistic and degrading comments made about the athlete Robin Ayou as a result of my video.”

Suddenly, it was quiet even on the street outside. Without thinking, she clicked on the thread and continued reading.

“While I stand by my analysis of her play, it’s important to separate criticism of performance from personal attacks. I respect Robin as a player and as a person, and any comments attacking her have no place in the discussion.”

He hadn’t tagged her in the tweet. Maybe he thought that was him being respectful, but now she wished he had. At least then she could have responded, said her piece, and maybe even defended herself instead of just being some invisible target. She looked at the time it was posted. Ten minutes ago. So after their spat at the mall. Even after all of that…

She buried her face in her hands. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…” she groaned. She stood up, back pain be damned. She stomped over to her room and plugged in her phone, not waiting for the little sound to ring before going into her contacts and searching for a familiar name. Alphabetically, it was the first. She put the phone to her ear as her breath caught in her throat. What was she doing? Whatever it was, she had to do it now before she lost her nerve or her pride swallowed her alive. The phone was already ringing, so there was no going back now.

The sound permeated for an unbearably long time. A small part of her was hoping he wouldn't pick up. That she could tell herself that she tried and that it was him who rejected her.

The ringing stopped.

“A-”

“I will have you know that it is only legal to claim defamation if the statements made are both false and damaging to your reputation. I have extensive proof of all my claims and proof of your consent to-”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! No, no, no, no, no! I never- I don't- what?”

“I would urge you not to allow this to go to court.”

“Alan, I am not trying to sue you!”

“Then what do you want?”

The words suddenly got caught in her throat. For what felt like an eternity, she was unable to say anything out of sheer nervousness.

“Miss Ayou, this is considered harassment.” His voice never wavered once.

“No! Wait! Fuck! I just- I’m sorry!”

“What was that?”

“I- I- I” She sighed harshly. “I’m sorry, Alan.”

“Okay.”

Robin blinked. That's it? Okay? She nearly said that out loud. A short silence followed before she realized it really was on her to make this count. “I did take it personally. Too personally. I know now that you're like that with every player, and I shouldn't have accused you of trying to hurt me.”

“Because I wasn't.”

“I know. Listen, I was being irrational back there at the mall. That wasn't deserved. I shouldn't have made a scene like that.”

“Is that it?”

He was really going to milk her dry, wasn’t he? “Alright, I'm also sorry for the interview. It… it was stupid. I should have done something more productive than just digging my heels in like that.”

“Miss Ayou?”

She wished his voice would soften even a little but knew that even if he was in a good mood, it almost never did.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you read the interview questions?”

She dragged her palm across her face, hunched her shoulders, and held back a groan. He noticed. Of course, he noticed. She had no choice but to rip off the band-aid now.

“I… I lost the paper…”

Where had the cars outside gone? She couldn’t deal with this silence!

“Are you serious?”

“Yyyyyep…”

“You’re not messing with me?”

“Why would I make this up?” She sounded like she wanted to jump off a pier because honestly, she did.

“I just…” That was the first time she had ever heard him lose his words like that. It was honestly intimidating.

“Why???” His pitch heightened in disbelief. She swallowed hard, she couldn't decide if this was going better or worse than she had expected.

“I just put it away and then I couldn't find it.”

“Are you one hundred percent certain?”

“Yes? I know it's the dumbest shit you've ever heard, but that's what happened.”

She could hear fiddling on the other line. He must have started to pace.

“And… why… didn't you ask for a copy??”

She briefly couldn't speak again. Her face was burning, and it was making her dizzy. What did she expect to say here? I had a crush on you, so I didn't want to embarrass myself? Well, yeah, that exactly, but for the sake of her sanity, she would omit some things.

“I didn't… want you to know that I lost it. Because… well, like I said, it's stupid, and I didn't want you to think I was an idiot for losing something so simple.”

It was his turn to struggle to speak for a couple of seconds. “I- Robin, what you did is much dumber than just asking for them again.”

“I know!”

Alan, on his side, had in fact been pacing around his room, eventually, he had to stop and sit back on the bed. He ran a hand through his hair and fiddled with his shirt collar for several seconds before thinking of how to continue. Robin was waiting for a response, as she had fallen silent, save for the occasional short squeal of frustration that would come through.

“So this was all a misunderstanding then.” He didn't sound completely sure.

“Ugh, I mean no. It's mostly my fault. I'll take that, but it's because I wouldn't have done the interview if I had known what the questions were.”

Alan sighed. "So you went into the interview blind. And now you’re apologizing after wanting to kill me four hours ago."

"Yes! I get it, okay? I’m an idiot. I didn’t plan for it to spiral like this."

"That’s an understatement," he muttered. There was a pause.

"You didn’t have to make that interview so brutal," Robin said, more quietly now.

"You expected me to go easy on you?" Alan’s voice was incredulous.

She was going to implode. “Well, when you put it like that, I look like a little bitch.”

“What do you plan to do when criticism like this comes to you again?”

Robin buried her face in her free hand. “I’ve gotten worse, just not in front of a bunch of people, man!”

“You're twenty three, you'll recover.” He attempted to comfort her, but it only agitated her more for reasons unknown to him.

“D-don't treat me like a kid!” Her face was flushed, and her ears got hot.

“I never did. I simply meant to say that you have the rest of your career ahead of you.”

She brought her knees to her chest, her voice coming out much softer than either of them had anticipated. “So what? Do I just have ‘potential’ and nothing else? Is that how you see me?”

This time she could hear him breathe through the phone. “I'm not that important, Robin.”

Her eyes widened momentarily, and she mentally kicked herself for caring so much again. She was taking too long to answer, so he did in her stead. “I don't understand. Are you upset because you found the video defamatory or because you think I dislike you?”

Even through her pinkish-brown skin, the dark red of her blush could show through. That was a good question. The obvious answer was both, but if she looked inside herself, she could find which of the two dug at her ego the hardest.

“It's not like we're even friends.”

And she was not about to be honest about that.

“I suppose not.”

They were both quiet for a long time. It didn't feel right to hang up, but neither could come up with something more substantial to say.

She cleared her throat. “Look, I didn’t call you to- ugh, whatever this is. I just wanted to say sorry for blowing up. I… I get that you were just doing your job, and I need to stop making everything personal.”

“Good,” Alan said flatly.

Robin felt her heart sink just a little, even though she’d expected him to say something like that. What had she been hoping for?

“I just... I don’t want to be on bad terms with you. That’s all.”

“Bad terms? Robin, this wasn’t personal. I don’t go around trying to make enemies of people.”

“Well, you got pretty personal back at the mall with that little spiel about your life.” She said with a certain venom in her voice. This was supposed to be an apology, but she refused to pretend like she was the only emotional one in the situation.

He choked for a second, almost dropping his phone in the process. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded more than a little strained. “That was an oversight.”

“And what? Do mistakes only have consequences when I make them?”

He hesitated for several seconds. “And what consequences am I supposed to suffer then?”

It was Robin's turn to stall. During the span of five seconds, she went through all five stages of grief for her pride and finally settled on what she wanted. “I want you to forgive me.”

He blinked a couple of times. That was a much simpler request than he had expected. “I already did.”

“Forgive me like you mean it.”

“How am I supposed to prove that?” He was utterly perplexed, even if he didn't fully convey it.

“Everything has to go back to normal between you and me. Back to the random blocks of text at 3 PM. Back to asking about our day. No more videos or interviews in mind. Just talk, like normal.”

Alan was close to short circuiting. This took a turn that he never could have expected. “But like you said, we are not friends.”

“Well, fuck you, you’re my friend now.”

“What? Do I get a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.”

“You can't do that.”

“Sure can, white boy.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Talk to you tomorrow, Al. Good night.”

She hung up, leaving him more confused than he had been in his life. What?

[onyxbird]

I Am the Greatest Date-Planner in This Apartment

Summary: Eliot wins date night after he gets a recommendation of a sci-fi movie his “geeky friend” might enjoy and gets carried away with a movie evening complete with a themed meal. Fortunately, despite all Eliot's fears to the contrary, both of his partners are just the type of people to appreciate those elaborate efforts.

AO3 link here.

...

The first time Eliot Spencer really knocked “date night” out of the park, it wasn't even his idea.

The old army buddy he'd helped out a few weekends before had managed to draw out some (carefully vague) information about Eliot's current colleagues, including his geeky “friend” who was always into a new video game or superhero that Eliot knew nothing about, and he'd left Eliot with a suggestion. It took a few weeks to implement, not because the film was hard to obtain, but mostly because Eliot kept second-guessing his choice.

What if Eliot hated it as much as Hardison's comic-book movies? What if Hardison hated it? What if Parker was bored? What if they thought the themed dinner was stupid?

Eliot restlessly double-checked the array of toppings laid out on the counter against his mental list. Baked potatoes were almost done—they'd be ready by the time Parker and Hardison were scheduled to arrive.

Dessert would feature little pouches of freeze-dried ice cream, because Parker would expect it, alongside the main feature: a tiramisu dusted with red cocoa powder and garnished with carefully spaced upright sprigs of mint. A variety of homemade chocolate truffles, formed in silicone molds that were the one thing Eliot had to order for this project, completed the dessert assortment.

He'd been wrestling with himself about the truffles all week. They were important, because he wasn't sure how much his sugar-loving partners would love the tiramisu, but also terrifying, because they were, by far, the most overt theming of the entire meal.

The loaded baked potatoes could be justified as just a good, hearty, simple meal; the tiramisu was classic; the ice cream was a low-effort token to Parker's quirks. But there was no hand-waving the truffles.

He glanced at the clock again. No more than 90 seconds had passed.

At this rate, he might not survive the wait to die of embarrassment.

…

Parker and Hardison arrived at the appointed time, on the dot.

Eliot didn't mention that he'd seen them park Lucille 17 minutes ago, or that he'd watched them emerge 5 minutes ago for the less than 90-second walk up to his apartment.

In the absence of any information except for “dinner and movie night,” Hardison had hedged his bets on formality: Nice jeans, a dark gray sports coat, and a blue button down featuring a subtle pattern of tiny TARDISes. Parker, on the other hand, had simply topped a typical head-to-toe black ensemble with an unbuttoned royal-blue shirt. A very familiar one.

“…Is that my shirt?”

“Yup!” said Parker, cheerfully.

“Parker, I was looking for that!” (Technically, turning his closet inside-out wondering how the evening was already going wrong.)

“Oh.” She considered, tugging absently at the bottom hem. “Do you want to trade?”

“No, I don't want to—! Why do you have my clothes?!”

“We're having a date. I wanted to look nice.”

“Which you both do,” interjected Hardison firmly, pausing to rake his eyes conspicuously over Eliot's own dark-red button down and jeans and lingering on the larger-than-usual collection of bracelets on his left wrist. “So, uh, can we come in, or are we banned on grounds of clothes-stealing? Which, for the record, I have not participated in. I am wearing all my own clothes, which you can probably tell by the fact that they fit my long-ass body and have TARDISes on them.”

Eliot belatedly stepped back to allow them into the apartment.

“These are for you,” said Parker, shoving a bouquet of a half-dozen red roses and as many stalks of orange and yellow snapdragons into his hands.

Eliot's brain stopped functioning for the second time since he'd opened the door.

“Uh…”

Parker frowned at his lack of response and elbowed Hardison sharply in the ribs, eliciting an “ow!”: “You said adding the snapdragons would be fine. Maybe we should have stuck with traditional.”

“I don't think it's the snapdragons, babe. Give him a minute.”

Eliot figured out how to form words again, blinking rapidly. “Thanks, Parker. These are nice.” He stared at the flowers, aware that there had to be a next step he was blanking on.

“You got a vase or something we can put those in for you?” said Hardison, with the very deliberate sincerity characteristic of him either grifting or trying not to laugh. “Don't want to interrupt…” He gestured vaguely at the apartment. “…whatever it is you're preparing for the evening.”

“Right! I, uh…” Eliot moved towards the kitchen on autopilot, trailed by the others. He didn't think he had an actual vase—that wasn't something that generally came up for him—but a quick rummage in the cupboard produced a weizen glass as a passable substitute.

Parker and Hardison eyed the baked potato fixings as Eliot's brain scraped together the remnants of his thoroughly derailed explanation, acutely aware of the heat crawling up his face. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go.

“So, we've got, uh, baked potatoes for dinner that you can fix however you like.”

Why had he thought this was a good idea?

“I thought we could eat while we watch the movie. It's all set up in the living room. There's dessert, too, that I was going to put out in the living room when we're ready so you can help yourselves without having to stop the movie…”

Maybe he could cut his losses and just not pull out the ice cream and the truffles? But then he had nothing as backup if Parker or Hardison didn't like the tiramisu, and just baked potatoes and tiramisu was kind of a skimpy as a date-night dinner—

“Sounds great!” said Hardison, as Parker made concurring noises. “What's the movie?”

“Well… we have options. We can watch whatever you guys want! I got one that sounded like you might like it from what I'd heard, but if you don't like it or have already seen it, that's—”

The others exchanged glances.

“OK,” Parker broke in, “but what is the movie you picked?”

“…It's called The Martian.”

Parker's head tilted quizzically without recognition, but Hardison's eyes widened.

“You got us The Martian to watch?! That's—Wait, is that why we're having potatoes? Did you theme dinner? Oh my god.” Hardison's voice caught. “Oh my god, I can't wait to see dessert. I don't even know what that would be for The Martian.”

“Oh, I, uh…” None of Eliot's planning had accounted for an actual enthusiastic reaction. “I'll get it out, then. Why don't y'all fix your potatoes?”

He'd just finished placing the plate of truffles and the packets of “astronaut ice cream” on either side of the tiramisu when Hardison and Parker emerged with their plates. Parker leaned over to study the spread avidly, nimble fingers scooping up an ice cream packet. “Hmm, not a little-green-man Martian, then?”

“That's—” Hardison eyes were fixed on the red-cocoa-covered tiramisu. “That's the Martian potato field.”

Eliot gave a hesitant nod.

“And—” He took a closer look at the truffles. “Are those Mars rover chocolates?”

Eliot shrugged sheepishly.

“And freeze-dried ice cream. Freeze-dried space ice cream! I would not have dared to bring such an item into your kitchen.”

“If we're gonna watch an astronaut movie, then Parker was gonna want—”

Eliot's explanation was cut off by a tight hug.

“This is amazing, man. I can't believe you did all this.”

Eliot slowly sagged into the embrace, still reeling from the fact that this had actually worked.

After a moment, they were interrupted by a gentle poke to each of their ribcages.

“Hey,” said Parker, “Eliot, go get your food. I want to actually watch the movie so I know what all of this food is about.”

[moviesstoriesandbooks]

What if Chay moves on healthily because no matter the reason , Kim's actions were shitty? Ok how about if Chay goes to therapy to deal with the "murder cat leaving bodies in the bar" incident , and talks and figures out his shit with a mafia approved therapist (I'm looking right at you , the person who wrote the ff) , and she is adamant about boundaries and respect , trust and basic needs in a relationship ??

And Chay , being the good boy that he is , listens. And understands. And actively works towards bettering his mind . He understands what Kim did is wrong on many levels and also that he should never settle for less , that he should never throw himself away , or be sad over other people and their horrible behaviour.

And he rediscovers his passion for music , goes to the very same college , and focuses on his life.

Gets an internship, moves to the US , where they specifically ask him to stay because they'd love to have him full term. And he builds his own life there , Vegas and Arm keep him off the radar , and he lives his life almost normal. No involvement with the mafia on a surface level.

Porsche though , still cursing himself for undermining Chay's safety during the coup , makes him take self defence lessons. Which quickly progress to advanced defensive tatics, much to Porsche's shocked surprise. Porchay has particular penchant for throwing knives . He's been trying with axes these days , more damage and incapacitating, Chay says on facetime to a proud but worried Porsche .

Kim doesn't know about any of these. Any information he craves about Porchay would have to come from Tankhun , Kinn or Porsche , and it's not like he's on speaking terms with any of them . He could visit Tankhun and fish for gossip , but even he seemed very tight lipped about Chay and his US college life .

Had Chay asked them all to keep it quiet? Kim did try to track the transactions and Chay's daily bodyguard tail info. Even that was so heavily underground that the only thing he could be sure about was that Chay was alive . Was Chay ordering it be this way??

Till one day , Kim realises that the ever present tightness in his chest , the heartache when he hears Chay's old studio recordings , videos they filmed together and even the major family cctv footage from before he left , is all Kim has left of his love. Because yes , Kim did love Chay , and he was too much of a coward to say it openly ,to even admit to himself and now he wants to say it out loud to the entire world , but there's no one to hear it.

Meanwhile Chay only ever thinks about Kim in anger and hate over what he did , and pity for Kim's supposed reasons , but also derision at the fear those reasons were trying to hide. Only ever thinks about him when his music is on his mind , but that music no longer making the bridge towards love .

And after two years when he returns , Chay is Porchay Pichaya Kittisawad , a man who has lived content with his friends and lovers , grown into his role as the minor family heir : with eyes that could melt hearts and hands that could stop them.

Kim doesn't even get notified when Chay returns , and the news is unceremoniously dumped on him five minutes before Porchay is walking into the ballroom clad in his pristine navy suit, fluid even in his stillness , joking with Porsche and Kinn , looking every part the heir , that Kim suddenly fell short. He used to be the mysterious heir , who everyone gravitated towards. Noone was looking at him anymore. While the years made him grumpy and unapproachable , the same seemed to have bettered Chay , like the finest of wine.

He even looked different. No more the stumbling shy blushing kid , he stood tall , taller than Porsche , and was making smalltalk with the snakes who Kim had threatened for trying to monopolise the profits last month , with the air of a prince meeting his long lost distant relatives.

The more Kim watched him , the more his confidence shrunk. Maybe he could make himself known after a few guests leave.

Porchay caught his eye at that exact moment , stopped and stared , then smiled at him and raised his glass.

Kim bowed his head slightly and turned away. He had lost track of whatever conversation he was pretending to be a part of.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom to get his bearings and there , the gilded mirror pointed out the unwelcome red dusting his cheeks. His eyes looked overly bright and he looked like he'd run a mile.

Had Porchay forgotten everything?? The silent touches , the night spend cuddling , the days spent making music together , did they mean nothing to him anymore?? Maybe he doesn't want his brothers to notice anything. Of course he definitely hasn't told anyone anything because Kim would've known from Porsche , for sure, if he had.

Maybe Porchay wanted to keep things on the down low. Maybe they'll talk after the guests leave and he'd slip back into the old comfortable familiarity. Right now ,he was anything but familiar. And it didn't feel comfortable when Porchay looked at him so casually.

There was no longer that twinkle in his eyes for Kim , that used to be only reserved for him.

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

Porchay was lounging on the couch by the kitchen , drinking juice straight out of the carton , Porsche sitting with his feet on his lap and torso supported on Kinn's when Kim entered. Tankhun was taking the other couch all to himself while paying strict attention to whatever Porsche was saying. They looked every bit the picture of family , that Kim suddenly felt like *he* was the outsider.

That he was the one who was introduced into this less than 3 years ago , and he was the one who had went away for two of them .

When his entry caught everyone's attention , tankhun patted the seat next to him and offered him a smile , which Kim returned while he lowered himself by his brother's side. He could easily fall into the conversation that resumed, about music , business , gossip they'd missed , bodyguards who joined , vegas, pete and macau and even little Venice.

After they all left tired to their rooms , Kim wondered if Chay would pay him a visit that night. He couldn't sleep till sunrise , but Chay still didn't show up.

[idkaguyorsomething]

Sailor Earth and the Crystal Senshi and Firelord Katara both sound interesting, could you tell me a little about them?

¡Absolutely!

Fire Lord Katara is a slight AU fic where, after the Agni Kai in the finale, Zuko ends up in a coma for a hot minute, leaving something of a succession crisis as to who will take the throne. As it turns out, Katara. Katara takes the throne and becomes Fire Lord because technically she’s the one who defeated Azula in an Agni Kai. What follows is her trying to navigate the royal court, dismantle the bender’s prisons, and pay reparations to other nations without getting overthrown, at least until Zuko’s recovered enough to take back the throne. Iroh, Ty Lee, Mai, Suki, Hama, and maybe Azula are all involved. There’s not actually much romance, mostly just Katara trying to make the best of a tough situation while being her awesome self. A story of politics, trauma, unexpected friendships, Katara badassery, dismantling the prison system, and tea. Technically more of an outline than anything else at the moment.

Sailor Earth and the Crystal Senshi is a Sailor Moon roleswap between the Inner Senshi and Heavenly Kings with a bit of mystery. Mamoru rescues a talking cat one day who discovers that for some reason he is the guardian of the moon, even though by all accounts this shouldn’t be possible. Even more mysteriously, four other teens manifest the power of the other planets despite being boys, and there’s a weird blonde vigilante that keeps shooting top hats at people, plus reports of four young women going missing whose descriptions match up with the generals they’re battling… it takes more inspiration from the old anime than the new one, but it’s not a beat-for-beat retread, and there’s a lot of exploration of gender roles and identity going on in between everyone trying to figure out why all these people have the wrong powers. A story of transgenderism, dysphoria, questioning one's assigned roles, confusing feelings, fabulous crossdressing, mystery, and THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP Also I changed the ages to make it a bit less squicky. Here’s an excerpt:

Masato set his drink down and looked at the binder again. The picture stared up at him, that stoic face inscrutable. He’d reread all the information over and over again, and all he’d gotten out of it was a headache.

“Heeeey!” a shout made him look up. Usagi stood across the street, waving at Masato. Behind her stood Jirou, both of them carrying several brightly colored shopping bags.

“What’s going on?” before long, the duo was seated across from him, setting their bags down in the cafe floor, and Jirou was asking him questions. “Weren’t you supposed to be paying off that shrine today?”

“That’s already done,” Masato waved him off. “Something more important’s come up. Where's Mamoru?”

"He was called in to work today," Jirou shrugged. "Some flash-in-the-pan diva idol showed up at the studio and they needed all hands on deck to record a music video."

"I wanted to come along, but he said no," sighed Usagi. She looked up with a dreamy expression on her face. "Could you imagine being an idol and having all those adoring fans?"

"I don't need to," Jirou grinned haughtily. A bit of his model's grace found its way into his pose. "It's good of you to keep imagining, though. Everyone should have at least a few impossible fantasies."

Usagi smacked him with one of her shopping bags. She turned her attention towards the spread of paper that Masato had laid out over the table. "What's all this?"

"Paperwork for the shrine," answered Masato. "I was reviewing how many people worked there to see how many people to compensate."

"How interesting," said Jirou, rolling his eyes. "I don't suppose you have any of that huge allowance of yours left over to compensate the brave heroes who saved the shrine?"

Masato ignored him and kept talking. "However, I learned that one of the workers there had disappeared a few months ago. The granddaughter of the owner, a young lady who was by all accounts very hard working and dedicated to her job. What's more, she disappeared only a few weeks before the youma attacks began, according to Luna."

Both Usagi and Jirou's expressions grew more serious.

"Hey, what're you implying here?" asked Jirou.

Masato laid down the photo on the table and Usagi immediately snatched it up. Both she and Jirou's eyes widened when they saw who it depicted.

"General Mars?" she gasped. Masato nodded solemnly.

"Wait, but- no, the youma transform their victims all the time, so their leaders-" Jirou curled his hands into fists and let out a cry of frustration. "This is a joke, right?"

"Do you think I'd joke about something like this?" Masato snapped. "We may have been responsible for the death of an innocent girl brainwashed by the Dark Kingdom."

Usagi, looking down, clutched the photo to her chest and asked softly "What do we tell Mamoru?"

"I don't know," he rubbed his fingers against his temples.

"We tell him the truth, obviously," Jirou glared at Masato. "And we ask that stupid cat if she knew about any of this, and if there's a way to turn people back from being generals."

"Yeah, maybe Luna can help!" Usagi said with a sense of renewed hope.

"Maybe," Masato let out a sigh. "But let's just give Mamoru some time before telling him anything, alright? It would be counterproductive to not tell him, but with his work and this new 'General Venus', he already has a lot on his mind. Let's just not put everything on him at once, alright?"

The others agreed that it was already a busy weekend, perhaps they should wait until the end of it to lay this revelation on Mamoru. The stresses of leading a double life were known to all of them. Just focusing on one or the other instead of trying to juggle both was practically a break at this point. A little bit of tedium might have been what all of them needed right now, especially Mamoru.

Elsewhere, Mamoru was being chased by a giant record label youma hurling exploding vinyls at him.

[totowlff]

extra — breaking point

➝ the hardest part of a fight is realizing you're wrong. again.

➝ word count: 3,2k

➝ warnings: none

APRIL, 2017

Toto clenched his jaw, his heart pounding in his chest. He had just sat down in his usual seat on the plane, facing Elisabeth. After what she said to him, though, he didn’t have the courage to look at her. Her voice was dense with rage as she let her true feelings be known.

Toto was fully aware that he had wronged her. He’d found out about Mercedes’ intention to enter the 300 SL into the Mille Miglia in January, when Ola had paid a visit to the factory in Brackley. Toto was enthralled with the idea and offered to drive it immediately. The car was a work of art on wheels and his thoughts became consumed with the idea of driving it in such a storied race. However, as soon as he and Ola returned to Toto’s office, Toto remembered a very important caveat.

He needed to talk to Elisabeth.

He and Elisabeth had a long-standing agreement regarding Toto being invited or volunteering to participate in a race of any kind, he would talk to her first before agreeing to participate. It was a compromise they came to after a long conversation after the first race of the season the previous year, in Australia. 

Both of them were exhausted from jet lag after returning to the UK. Toto brewed himself a cup of chamomile tea and sat down to watch The Godfather — his favorite movie — to try to relax. He checked the time on his phone and realized that he hadn’t seen Elisabeth emerge from her office for a few hours after she told him that she wanted to catch up on some work. He brewed a second cup of tea, hoping he could entice her to put her work down and come relax with him for a while.

As he carried both teacups upstairs, Toto heard a strange sound coming from Elisabeth’s office. He opened the door in a hurry, causing some of the tea to slosh out of the mugs. He saw Elisabeth, her face buried in her hands, sobbing.

He set both mugs down and knelt in front of her. He caught a glance of what was on her computer monitor, finally understanding why she was crying. On the screen was video of his crash on the Nordschleife in 2009. The video was paused at the moment he stood up and got out of the car. 

He didn’t actually remember unfastening his harness, unplugging his radio headset, taking off his gloves, stretching his back, and leaping over the tyre barrier on the side of the road. He’d sustained a heavy concussion, so his memories of that day were spotty, but the sole surviving in-car camera managed to record everything. The circuit’s medic found him passed out behind the barrier, still wearing his helmet and HANS device.

— Why are you watching this, Liesl? — he murmured. He took Elisabeth’s face in his hands and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

— I kept thinking about what happened to Fernando over the weekend — Elisabeth answered — I kept looking at the video of his crash, thinking how much worse it could have been, how he could have died there, right in front of us.

Indeed, a nasty crash between Fernando Alonso and Esteban Gutierrez had happened that weekend. It was ugly, but both had emerged unscathed, and walked away from the incident uninjured. Both were fine. It still didn’t explain why she was watching the video from his own accident.

— They're fine, Liesl, you saw them in the paddock. They both got away without a scratch.

— I started thinking about how dangerous this sport is, Toto. Then I started watching videos of other accidents, seeing what happened with Senna, with Ratzenberger, and then I got to the video of my father’s accident, and then yours — she managed to say, before her voice broke and more tears ran down her face.

He pulled her into a tight hug. Toto was not proud of what had happened on the Nordschleife, quite the opposite. Looking back, he found himself having to agree with what Niki had said to him after he'd told him of his intention to try to do a lap in less than seven minutes in a GT car. Niki had said it was idiotic.

However, his fascination with the track prevented him from seeing the dangers of the endeavor. He was determined to do the ultimate Nordschleife lap, to put his name in the record books and Nurburgring history. However, watching the only record that Mike, the videographer that set up the in-car cameras had recovered of his attempt, Toto was sure what he’d done was mad.

It ended up costing him not only a few thousand Euros to replace the damaged video equipment, but his own health. He had to sleep sitting up for a while afterward, because laying down made him too dizzy. He sustained nerve damage that meant that he couldn’t taste or smell anything for six months. It took him almost a year to recover completely.

— Elisabeth, that was just one time. It was a stupid idea, and I’ll never try something like that again.

— But you like to drive, you like to race. What if something happens somewhere else? I... I can't bear to lose you...

Hearing those words broke his heart.

— You will never lose me, Elisabeth. Not even to my dumbest ideas.

After calming her down, Toto led her into the living room. They snuggled on the sofa and sipped tea, considering his adventures in racing a settled matter, having mutually agreed to have a discussion before he would participate in anything. That was the deal he'd so recklessly ignored by offering to drive in the Mille Miglia, and the catalyst for their current discussion. 

Neither of them spoke to each other for the remainder of the flight, nor did they exchange so much as a glance. Toto gave her tentative glances, but the look on her face — the pursed lips, the furrowed brow — and the way she sighed deeply, made it clear that she was in no mood to talk. The silence between them persisted for the drive between the Oxford airport and their house. Elisabeth drove, and Toto didn’t dare argue about it. After they pulled into their driveway, Toto walked around to the trunk to remove their luggage. It was all fairly bulky; they’d spent two weeks away from home, and neither of them were particularly light travelers.

While he removed his suitcase from the car with ease, Elisabeth seemed to be having some difficulty. It didn't surprise Toto, as she always made a point of taking practically the entire house with her for doubleheaders.

— Need help? — he muttered, as she struggled to lift one of her suitcases over the lip of the trunk. 

— No — Elisabeth replied dryly, before giving one last tug and heaving the luggage to the floor. Still frowning, she carried her suitcase and her purse into the house, her heeled footsteps echoing through the garage. With a sigh, Toto grabbed the handle of his own luggage and carried it inside.

After dropping the suitcases in their bedroom, he passed Elisabeth again, who was still struggling to pull her luggage upstairs. Toto thought about offering to help again or even picking up the bag and taking it to their room, but something told him to not engage. It would only make things worse between them.

Toto walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a few sips. Toto's mind began to wander, remembering the fights he had with Stephanie that culminated in the end of their marriage. They were almost all about his constant absence, about how he was missing important moments in the children's lives and about how much he was missed at home.

In a way, it was like watching the same movie again, even though Toto was much more present in Elisabeth's life than he had been in Stephanie's, especially in the later years of their marriage. In his reflection, he spotted a constant factor in both relationships.

He was terrible at communication.

Toto sighed and took another sip of water before heading upstairs.

In the bedroom, he found Elisabeth dropping her bags in the closet, her head down. The sight made his chest tighten.

— Are you going to shower now? — he asked, attempting to break the ice.

— You can if you want — she replied quietly — I'm going to take a shower in the other bathroom.

Toto blinked.

— Why?

Elisabeth looked up at him, her blue eyes icy cold.

— As far as I remember, Torger, we don't owe each other satisfaction — she said. Her voice was biting as she took a pair of panties from her dresser drawer and left the room, leaving Toto frozen to his spot. He thought about going after her, admitting he was wrong and apologizing for what he had said, even though he still didn’t feel like he was completely in the wrong. 

However, there was something inside him that prevented him from leaving the room. Without thought, he dropped the water bottle on his bedside table and headed into the bathroom for a shower, got dressed, and collapsed onto his cold, empty mattress.

It felt wrong for Elisabeth to be sleeping in another room, like a violation of some law of nature. Toto couldn't bear the thought of sleeping away from her, even when he was traveling alone. The knowledge that she was so close, but so distant, made him remember the days when he thought that what he felt for Elisabeth was just an earnest friendship. It was torture seeing her, hearing her voice, catching the heady scent of the sweet perfume she wore, and not being able to do anything about it. He fell asleep with a dull ache in his chest.

The next morning, Toto woke up and stretched his hand toward Elisabeth's side of the bed, seeking her warmth in the sheets. He didn’t find it. Opening his eyes slowly, his fingers closed with a fistful of fabric between them, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He was hit with a surge of determination as he jumped to his feet. Things couldn’t stay this way.

After brushing his teeth and changing into sweatpants and a T-shirt, Toto went down to the kitchen, thinking about what he could make Elisabeth for breakfast. However, he was surprised to find her already awake, dressed, and choosing a coffee capsule to put in the coffee machine.

“I guess we’re skipping breakfast”, he thought, as he approached.

— Good morning, Liesl — Toto said, trying to disguise the nerves in his voice. She looked over her shoulder, before going back to analyzing the capsules. She didn’t say a word — Did you sleep well?

She made a sound that sounded affirmative.

— Are you going to the factory this morning?

— Yes — Elisabeth said, as she selected a capsule and closed the cabinet.

— I thought you'd go this afternoon with me — he murmured, leaning against the kitchen island.

— I changed my mind — she replied, as she fetched a mug to put her coffee in. Toto raised his eyebrows.

— You never go to the factory in the morning after the races.

Elisabeth didn't say anything as she found the mug she was looking for. Her silence was enough to make Toto angry. He furrowed his brow as he felt annoyance prickle across the back of his scalp. 

— You could be a little more mature and talk to me, Elisabeth — he snapped.

— And you could take your own advice, Torger — she murmured, as she abruptly closed the lid of the espresso machine, mashing the “Start” button. After making a few noises, coffee began to drip into the mug.

— Elisabeth — Toto sighed.

— As far as I know, the entire conundrum we’re in started because you decided to not talk to me.

— How many times do I have to tell you that I forgot, and it was wrong of me? — he asked.

Elisabeth turned and advanced toward him, trying to get in his face. He was leaning against the kitchen island with his arms crossed.

— You forgot to tell your partner that you’re going to Italy to race an old car? Do you really think I'm going to believe that?

— It's not an old car, Elisabeth, it's a Mercedes-Benz 300SL.

— From 1952. That’s a pretty old car, Torger

— Stop calling me Torger — he growled.

— That’s your name, isn’t it?

— But I don't like the way you're pronouncing it.

Elisabeth gave a wry laugh.

— Now is there a way to pronounce your name, Torger? — she asked, putting emphasis on each syllable — Should I put more emphasis on the O or the E?

— You should stop acting like a child and talk to me seriously, Elisabeth — he spat, emphasizing each syllable of her name. He couldn’t help but take her bait, it seemed.

— And how can you be serious when you ask me to believe that you forgot to tell me that you're going to be away for who knows how long taking part in a race?

— That’s exactly what happened, Elisabeth, and I’m being serious! — Toto exclaimed, gesturing with his hands.

Elisabeth shook her head and turned back to the counter, where the last few drops of her coffee were falling into the mug. She picked it up and sipped the hot liquid.

— Liesl — he said softly, almost pleading.

— Do whatever you want — Elisabeth murmured, without turning around again to look at him— We don't owe each other satisfaction anyway.

Toto felt a rush of feelings as he stared at her back. He felt guilty, he felt frustrated, he also felt hurt. He was trying, he wanted to patch things up with Elisabeth, he wanted to be a better partner with Elisabeth than he had been with Stephanie. He didn't want to fail again, least of all with her.

However, Toto's will alone wasn't enough, especially when Elisabeth wouldn't even look him in the face. She had to give in too, at least a little. But she didn’t — not later that day, not even for the rest of the week. “I just had to fall in love with the most headstrong woman in Austria”, he thought, staring at her empty pillow for the fifth night in a row.

Then, the door opened.

The sight of Elisabeth entering the room was like seeing the sun after weeks of rain. Her expression remained stony and serious, her eyes focused on the floor. The warmth of hope rekindled itself in Toto's chest. Perhaps she had reconsidered the silence, the anger, the disappointment. Maybe she was willing to at least talk to him. Maybe his stomach would stop dropping every time he asked her a question and was met with silence.

Elisabeth went into the bathroom and closed the door. After a few minutes, came back out into the bedroom and sat on her side of the mattress, looking at her phone for a few minutes before setting it on her bedside table. Then, she laid down and sighed, but her back was still turned to him. 

— Liesl?

She did not answer.

— Liesl — Toto repeated, his voice in a sad tone — Please…

He saw her shoulders move, as if she had taken a long breath.

— I know I messed up. I know I should have talked to you. I know I said harsh things. But — he hesitated for a few seconds, searching for the right thing to say — I want to make it up to you. Let me fix things, Liesl. Please.

Elisabeth remained silent and motionless. The pain in his chest grew, as did the tightness in his throat. Toto wanted to cry with anger at himself, for having hurt the love of his life, the woman he trusted the most and with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

— Good night — he whispered — I love you.

His monologue seemed to have softened Elisabeth’s heart, at least a little. The following day, she began to answer questions that were not related to work. However, there was still very little physical interaction. Usually they would kiss or hug frequently and at random, but they hadn’t touched each other since their fight started.

Until that night.

As they were going to bed, as soon as Toto turned the lights off, he heard something sliding across the sheet, and the warmth of a hand against his back. He rolled over and his lips found hers, soft and warm in the darkness, longing and desire guiding their blind exploration.

— Let me turn on the light...

— No — she whispered — Don't… Please…

He blinked, confused, before Elisabeth went back to kissing him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt, pulling it up to remove it. Then she shed her nightgown, then his pajama bottoms. She climbed on top of Toto and he allowed her to take control, feeling her lips run over his neck gently as her hips moved against his cock, like she was teasing him.

It didn't take long for her labored breathing to turn into low, almost strangled moans, as the darkness of the room was filled with the sounds of her wetness and bodies bumping into each other. It was like having Elisabeth back again.

Almost, at least, because the reality was completely different.

After they climaxed, Toto felt her body collapse onto his. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and remained silent, trying to absorb what had just happened, his body begging for more after days without attention. The idea of coming inside Elisabeth again made him stiffen again inside her. He felt a primitive desire to mark her, to make it clear that he was hers and no one else's, to show the world that the only woman who would ever have him, body and soul, was Elisabeth. 

However, Toto felt her body stiffen suddenly. Then, she got off him and went back to lie next to him on the bed, her breathing a little strange.

— Elisabeth?

— Let me sleep, Torger — she murmured, her voice sounding a little choked.

That was the last time they exchanged any kind of caress until that Tuesday in May.

With his bags packed and waiting for him in the entrance hall, Toto went upstairs to do the most difficult part of his trip to Italy, which was to say goodbye to Elisabeth. He hesitated in front of her office door for a few seconds before knocking. After waiting a moment, he opened it silently and walked into the room. 

Elisabeth's office wasn't large, but it was elegantly decorated. The table where her notebook was was decorated with a potted plant, a lamp and a framed picture of the two of them with Benedict and Rosi. Beside it was a bookcase filled with books, arranged by color.

— Is there a problem, Toto? — she asked, looking over her shoulder.

— No, Elisabeth. I just came to say goodbye.

The room was deadly silent as she turned to face him.

— Well, see you later — Elisabeth said, forcing a smile.

It was clearly not what Toto had expected to hear.

— Is that all you have to tell me?

— Have a nice trip, I hope you have fun with Aldo and your old car in Italy — she added in a monotone voice.

Toto sighed, swallowing his defeat. However, instead of leaving the office, Toto approached her in slow steps. Then, he leaned over and landed a kiss on her cheek.

— See you on Monday — he muttered, turning away and leaving the office and his heart behind.

[skaruresonic]

actually that fic was the only time I attempted to write Eggman in first-person POV outside of the visual novel, that was a lot of fun

---

Unfortunately, my heels hit the wrong key combination. And that's when the screen freezes. All the data I've mined flickers, wavering like a paused video feed.

Before I can make heads or tails of it, another window opens: a command prompt. An ancient one I would never in a hundred years be caught dead using. The words spell themselves out, snowy white on velvet black, one painstaking letter at a time.

I h a ve de s

ig ne d

its mi nd per fect

p u r e

I shoot up in my chair, straight as a rod. The cursor blinks as if to test me. What is this? Someone's idea of a practical joke? To compound my bewilderment, my primary monitor crashes and the damned thing starts to whine an ear-splitting shriek. I clap my hands to my ears to block it out; as bad as Amy's squealing over Sonic.

Neither text nor noise respond to the usual methods of circumvention. I batter the keys in the hopes something, anything, will unstick it and restore my hearing: "No! No, no, no!" My foot crashes into the overheating CPU with a resounding bang. "Don't pull this on me now, you steaming hunk of junk!"

Despite the crash, the words continue their slow onward march. How is this possible? What branch of GUN is messing around with my systems—

Disc. Get it on a disc. I have the feeling the message will erase itself if allowed to run unchecked, so I vandalize my disc drawer and cram a blank into the whirring writer. Hopefully I can use the copy to track this idiot's location and—

"What in the blue blazes is going on here?"

The fragmented message vanishes before my eyes, taking all my precious data with it. Apparently it was the plug in the dam; new messages flood in faster than I can track them, filling my screens with utter nonsense.

Jagged words flash surreal neon warnings: BIOLIZARD ECLIPSE CHAOS ULTIMATE LIFE REDIRECT MEMORY SUBPROGRAM DEBUG CANNON ASTRONOMERS ARE CONCLUDING MONSTROUS BLACKS. Maps unfurl, revealing twisted machinery. Statistics streak past in bits and pieces, most notably a timestamp of twenty-seven minutes and fifty-three seconds—is that how much time GUN has left before I hammer my fist through their IT department? It might as well be. The whine shrills its mocking laughter, slamming my blood through my temples as I pound at the keys in vain.

Then it stops. Stops dead. I wait for the other shoe to drop, my tattered breath scraping the air.

One last window emerges.

"Oh, what now?" I growl, dragging a hand down my mouth. "What is this? What… "

Slowly, I peel myself from my chair to lean in closer.

It's a diary.

My grandfather's. I scour every word, my blood running ice before fire. An attachment arrives, one which opens without my input once I reach the end of the journal. Classified document. A medical record for G. Robotnik.

According to the front page, it was a psych evaluation conducted by GUN officials. Other than a bit of sleep deprivation slowing his psychomotor responses, he seemed to be in tip-top shape.

For a moment I stand frozen, bathing in the glow of my overworked monitors. This is all… very sudden, for lack of a better phrase. Calculated, but I don't believe in that kind of synchronicity. If someone intended to grab my attention, they certainly have it now. As far as I knew, Grandfather passed the year before I was born. Of old age, my father said.

Liar. Later he changed his story and claimed the government had involuntarily committed him toward the end of his life. Naturally, this made a much younger me curious. What for? An accident. Always an accident, no more and no less. He remained tight-lipped on the nature of said accident, much to my supreme irritation, but his evasive silences seemed to imply my grandfather had brought it on himself.

Of course, you never knew what was truth and what was fiction with that blustering fool. He'd tell you one thing today and claim you heard him wrong tomorrow. He was always trying to frighten me with that skeleton shoved in the back of our closet: You don't want to copy Gerald someday, drooling mad, crushed by the weight of your own brilliance, do you? Behave, Ivo, or else you'll wind up just like your looney-bin grandfather, wasting away in some padded cell.

Bah, what did he know? I'm still a free man, my mind sharper than a steel trap. They haven't gotten me yet. And if this record is any proof to the contrary, they hadn't gotten Gerald, either.

Shadow …

I have designed its mind to be perfect, pure. I will leave everything to it.

If you wish to fill the world with destruction… Release, and awaken it.

The screen darkens.

I fold my arms over my chest with a satisfied smirk. Fill the world with destruction, eh? Well, well. Perhaps my self-righteous father was wrong, and the apple of genius doesn't fall so very far from the tree.

I eject the finished disc and wave it once in the air to cool it off, then shove it into my pocket and stride down the corridor toward the weapons room. I'm going to be needing it where I'm headed, and if you ask me? Our little friend Shadow's slept past its alarm.

[robinruns]

My thoughts on Taylor, as of late

In my opinion, people don't need to speak on every single thing someone else in their life is saying or doing. The issue I have, though, is the fact that she started hanging out with Matty, and has continued to do so, long after his racist and gross comments came to light. When she found out she could have cut him off, but she chose to stay around him.

My friend made the comment the other day that this might be a contractual PR relationship. If that's the case, Taylor needs to fire whoever thought this would be a good idea. I know those sorts of things happen WAAAAAY more often than you'd think, but still. Taylor, look at how frustrated, disgusted, mad, sad your fans are! And maybe more importantly to you, look at how this reflects on you.

And that's the thing, with the announcement of Midnights version 29173, we know she sees what people are saying because she went back in to re-record Snow At The Beach with Lana! Yes I'm sure the new version of Karma (the irony) with Ice Spice was recorded a while back, but again, the fucking optics of it all. It would make a lot more of an impact if Taylor took this moment to let us know that she doesn't tolerate racists and that Matty was out of her life. But he's not so...

And I know the swifties who come for every single person who dares critique Taylor, love to scream about people just making it about her relationships, so I won't. I have PLENTY of critiques about her business dealings too.

I'm not gonna criticize someone, especially a woman, wanting to achieve high levels of success. I've got no problem with a singer branching out into other forms of media. But her recent attempts toward getting recognition in the movie world, and potentially an EGOT if that's her goal, is getting... hamfisted feels like the wrong word here (but it is like 4:45 am right now so forgive me if this isn't my most concise take ever). Carolina wasn't that good of a song, and the movie it was for wasn't it either. Trying to get an Oscar nom for 10 Minute All Too Well? I mean it doesn't hurt to try, but do you really need to do that? Do you really think it was Oscar worthy? It was a good, emotional music video. But if those are the qualifications, I demand a retroactive nomination for The Ghost of You by MCR. That made me feel more in a lot less time. Just saying.

Then we get to the cluster fuck that has been the Midnights era. My list of grievances is long. To start, the fact that no lead single was released ahead of the album is really presumptuous. I know it was a move to say "look how much I can sell without even releasing anything!" But it's frustrating as a fan. Give us something!

And then allllll the different versions. Good lord. So first she announces the album, pre-sales go up. Then a week later "oh yea, here are three more variants!" Two weeks later "Did you get all 4 versions? Because they make a clock!!" Girl we get it, it's called Midnights, this is clearly just a ploy to sell more records to people YOU KNOW will buy multiple copies of the same thing!! Two weeks later "Want a signed version? Now you can order those too!" Then somewhere in there she announces a Target exclusive version with an exclusive song (and two alternate versions of songs on the album). Seriously? So now there are FIVE different variants people can buy and the difference is there is 1 extra song on 1 version.

This is exploiting fans. She knows that people will buy all four and make that dumb clock because she sold kits to put it up on your wall and make it a literal clock! Stringing out the announcements like that is only artificially driving up the sales too so she can say "look how much I sold!"

Then! This one really pissed me off, The 3 AM edition. So after all those versions trickled out, the album drops and "SURPRISE here's ANOTHER version of the album for you to download with all these songs that aren't on ANY of the 5 albums you already bought! And no, they won't be available outside the US."

Come on.

And that's not getting into the 10000 different remixes she has been releasing for all the singles, again doing nothing but driving up numbers. There's making art and earning a living, and then there's exploiting a dedicated fanbase that will spend everything they have just to show support.

And that's what they did when the Eras Tour was announced. Yes I know Ticketmaster was very much to blame for this. Yes Ticketmaster is a disgusting monopoly and needs to be taken down, but that doesn't change she was at the center of it. That doesn't change that she chose to leave dynamic pricing in place, driving up the cost of seats. Not that they were cheap to begin with! But since my friends and I would have to travel at least a few hours, get a hotel, etc, I quickly lost interest in it all. Yes an artist, as they reach the pinnacle of their career, will have more and more expensive tickets, it's expected, but from my perspective, it feels more like watching a dragon sit on its hoard of gold. The only thought given toward the fan seems to be "Well they'll buy it, so I'll sell it!"

And lastly, we know that Taylor knows how to stay out of the spotlight. She did it from 2016 through the majority of 2017. She made an album at that time, she came and went from her homes in that time. But now she can't move without there being a massive pack of fans. We get it, you want to be seen now, so don't cry to us over a lack of privacy at this point. If you really liked Matty you could hide the relationship away instead of flaunting it for the world (Joe) to see. You want us to see you with that edgelord. So do you really care about what your fans feel? Or do you just care how much they'll spend? Because no amount of good songwriting is going to top that.

[darkmaga-returns]

On this episode of The Silent War: 

New Batch Of Patriot Front Records Reveals More Evidence Of FBI Infiltration.

Israel Launches 'Limited' Ground Invasion Of Lebanon, US Confirms.

Jew And Shabbos Goy Coming For Your Children – Expand Male “Transgender” Access Into North Carolina’s Girls’ Locker Rooms.

Tennessee National Guard Task Force deploying to Middle East.

Today Marks Jeremy Brown’s 4th Birthday Behind Bars Since His Arrest After He Released Video of FBI Agents Requesting He Work as an Undercover Agent on Jan. 6 – Jeremy Brown Did Nothing Wrong.

One million Lebanese displaced as war fears spike.

A fire at a bio-lab lab what could possibly go wrong. Cohencidences.

BREAKING: A major fire at BioLab in Conyers, Georgia has sent a massive plume of smoke into the sky. I-20 has been closed, and residents are being advised to evacuate.

Devastating Footage Emerges From US South Amid Severe Flooding & Potential Dam Failures.

John Kerry Says The Quiet Part Out Loud: "First Amendment Stands As Major Block" To "Govern".

General Flynn shows where he stands. They are all pushing the war for Israel is ok narrative and it’s disgusting.

Approximately 30% to 40% of Lebanon's population is Christian.

US Tax Payers To Fund Israel’s Genocide Campaign – Secures $8.7 billion weapons package from US.

TROJAN Trump will DEAL WITH Antisemites in January! COMING SOON, THE Next Betrayal (SHAME ON MAGA).

BREAKING: THE UN JUST PASSED EVERYTHING IN LESS THAN 5 MINUTES. PACT FOR THE FUTURE, DECLARACTION (Curse) ON FUTURE GENERATIONS, DIGITAL COMPACT, EVERY LINE ITEM. Make Ready for what's to come.