#top ten moments in television ever

[helioooss]

midnight rain

synopsis: sana and y/n used to be the top celebrity couple in the entertainment industry. over a decade after a nasty break up, they meet again at a jimmy kimmel show

w/c: 5.2k

warnings: mentions of drug use and overdose, read at your own risk, angst with a happy ending

a/n: first story in ten years, creative brain’s a bit rough these days, haven’t been on tumblr since its golden days. also not proofread. hope ur all well and enjoy this one :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your heart was beating out of your chest, each thump pushing you further you into a downward spiral as your clammy palms tapped against your bouncing knee. Leaning against the chair, you refused to make eye contact with anyone — the worried look on your face was enough to push them away, anyway. In a situation like this, it would be strange to not feel anxious.

After all, it had been over ten years since you let the love of your life go and agreeing to see her on live television was a decision that you have been regretting since the day you said yes.

Two minutes, you blew a breath out as you stared up at the monitor in front of you.

"Welcome to the Tonight Show!" Jimmy trailed off with a smile, the audience in front of him clapping as they yelled in excitement. "Thank you for being here, tonight we have two very special guests —"

A staff member tapped your shoulder, pulling you out of your messy thoughts with his apologetic face. "Y/N, it's time."

Uncrossing your legs, you nodded your head with a shy smile. The fact that you could hear your own heartbeat amongst all the noise made you uneasy, so you stood there for a moment longer; wondering what Minatozaki Sana looked like in person.

You haven't been this nervous since the world found out about your relationship with her.

Taking a deep breath, you walked out with your heart in your throat. You bowed your head at Jimmy and waved your hand at the audience members, screaming can be heard from the other end; your name being chanted, their anticipation shining through from seeing you on television again after what seemed like an eternal hiatus.

It would be a lie to say it didn't feel good to relive what was once your life like, but you don't regret disappearing from the spotlight.

You were happier now, away from all the awards and glory, you think.

As if you were in a movie, time suddenly stopped as she emerged from the other side in the black Yves Saint Laurent dress you bought her all those years ago — brown hair flowing freely past her shoulders as she mirrored your gestures towards the crowd. Watching her fondly, you were reminded of the moonlight that illuminated the surface of the endless ocean; truly God's masterpiece in its purest form. You were frozen in your spot as you stared at her with the utmost adoration and respect.

Then, she finally settled on your eyes and suddenly you felt like a kid again.

"Hello stranger," she said with a sly smile, taking the seat next to yours with the crowd going wild at your first interaction. "Hi Jimmy, thank you for having me."

"Yeah, I'm gonna pretend that you didn't acknowledge Y/N first," he teased, making her and everyone else chuckle. "Anyway, wow, you look wonderful. And so do you, Y/N!”

You grinned, nodding as you try to remember the rough script on how the conversations would go in your head. "Thank you for having me back here, Jimmy, I appreciate it."

"It's the both of you this time," he raised his eyebrow suggestively. "Which is amazing, the world hasn't seen you together in twelve years. Am I right?"

"Yes," she looked at you, heaving out a breath as she laughed. "Sorry, it just feels so weird to see you again."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Suddenly, you were pulled back into past; during the last time you ever saw her in the alleyway behind Stanley's; your favourite getaway restaurant during midnights. Every now and then, you remembered it; the pain from losing her always came back like it just happened and you wonder if you've really moved on.

"We can't keep doing this," she said with tears welling in her eyes. "It's so hard, Y/N, and as much as I love you, our relationship is mentally breaking me."

You shook your head in desperation, cupping her cheeks with both of your hands. "That's what they want, you know that, our fans want us to break up. You don't have to do this, baby, I'm sure there's another way. We can talk to both of our managements —"

She sighed, pulling away from you. Both physically and emotionally. "I've spoken to mine and they respect my decision.

You paused, repeating the words in your head to make sure you heard her right. It felt like she just stabbed you in the back as you gawked at her with defeat in your eyes, shoulders slumping while piecing everything together. "The last time you spoke to them about our relationship was over a month ago, and you're only talking to me about this now? Is that how you've been feeling this whole time?"

Her tears rolled down her face, understanding the betrayal you felt. "It's not just the fans, Y/N, it's literally everything. I barely get to talk to you and see you. How can we both work it out when we can't even create time for each other?"

"I'll do anything for you, my love, just say the word and I will cancel everything - you know that! Every project, every interview, every shoot, literally anything —"

"No, I stand by my decision," she said firmly. "Perhaps, when you and I have achieved all our dreams...then we can work it out. This isn't the right time for us —"

"Four fucking years, Sana," you bellowed angrily, fists clenching. There was pain written on her face from hearing you call her by her name. "From the very beginning, we have been there for each other. What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?"

"Let me go — we'll both be happier without each other."

"No," you shook your head, tugging her closer towards you. However, she resisted. "Please, please don't do this. Don't leave me like this. What happened to forever?"

Her tears rolled down her cheek at the sound of your defeated voice. As much as it hurt her, she had to make up a lie on the spot. "I don't love you anymore. I — there's someone else."

Just like that, all of your hopes and dreams for the future shattered. Without her, the life you built meant nothing.

She really wanted you out of her life and there was nothing you could do about it. Shoulders slumping, you looked down - the thunderous roar of the oncoming storm startled her whilst it had no effect on you. "Okay, I see what you're doing. It's going to start raining, you should go."

She doesn't know whether it was the coldness in your voice or the wind, nonetheless, she shivered. "Y/N -"

"Leave, that's what you wanted, right?" you looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't understand what I've done to you to justify what you're doing. I know I don't deserve any of this. If you're going to leave, leave now and never come back. And when I say never, I mean it, Minatozaki Sana."

She nodded her head, turning on her heel with a sob. Tiny specks of rain began to pour down on you, the rest of your world going down with it. You watched her walk away from you as if it were the easiest thing - did she ever really love you?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"I can't pinpoint whether that's a good thing or not, but considering I'm your ex, I'd say that's a bad thing," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully.

She laughed once more, shaking her head at you. You swear that sound never failed to put you on a pedestal. "It's just surreal, I haven't seen you in so long. You look younger than I can remember."

"You never reply to any of my messages," you put your hands up at her as Jimmy bursted into another set of laughter. You didn't know where the confidence was coming from, but you were relieved you were feeling something else other than being constantly nervous. "I'm joking, I don't have her number. I'm sure you don't mind giving it to me after the show, right?"

"God, get a room," Jimmy whined, turning you into a blushing mess. "Before you both propose to each other, Sana, let's talk about the dress you're wearing tonight. Somebody may or may have not told me that you're wearing something very special."

"We'll talk about my number after the show," Sana turned to you, winking; making the heat rise on your face. "Yes Jimmy, this dress is probably my favourite one out of everything - I don't wear it very often, obviously, but this beautiful Yves Saint Laurent piece was a gift from Y/N thirteen years ago."

You stared at her in awe, the way she spoke with so much grace never failed to impress you. The years had done her a favour - life always seemed easier on her than it was on you.

She left you behind, after all.

"Look, I'm just glad you kept it because this archival piece cost me a lot back then," you admitted with the biggest grin on your face as you looked at anyone but her. You couldn't place what it was about her that struck you so forcefully, but you simply couldn't take your eyes off her and you somewhat needed to feel in control of your emotions. "It was our first anniversary, I had just gotten a pretty decent check from Little Women and I wanted to give her something special."

"You got a big check in twenty-nineteen and the first thing you thought of was a dress for your girlfriend instead of a Lamborghini to flaunt on Instagram?" Jimmy scoffed as you and Sana giggled at him. "Get out of here!"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your anniversary was coming up and frankly, you wanted to give her the world. You were panicking inside; with the amount of things you've gotten her, none of them felt special. You hummed as you sat in Chou Tzuyu's kitchen, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge you.

"You know, if you weren't my friend, I'd have you sent out of my house already," she grumbled in a playful way. "Seriously, I'm telling you that she will love that Saint Laurent dress by Tom Ford."

You sighed, shaking your head. "It's our anniversary though, it's special. Do you think giving her a dress and taking her to Hawaii are good enough?"

"Jesus Y/N, that woman looks at you with stars in her eyes — she will love anything you get her. If you ask her to marry you right now, I believe she will say yes in less than a heartbeat."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The show was going very well, you felt relieved as time went by, and you were actually enjoying the things you found out about Sana after you had broken up.

She went on to become a successful solo artist and fashion model after Twice's disbandment, and you couldn't be any prouder. It had always been her dream and you always knew she was made to be a superstar - you prayed for her to achieve it, even if it meant she would be harder to reach.

You were able to open up about your past; the dark hole you fell into after the breakup — all the women, the legal troubles and the projects that failed because of your behaviour; it wasn't easy to talk about, but somehow, the way she intensely listened made all the fear go away. It would be an understatement to say you haven't felt this comfortable in years — just watching her talk about her passions put you in awe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You were barely conscious in a suite at The Ritz in Paris, an unlit cigarette resting on your mouth as you scrambled to find the lighter in your pocket. The only thing illuminating the room was that stupid lamp on the office table. And you hated it, you really did, because it was the same model she broke the last time you were here with her.

You felt so warm - breathing heaved and beads of sweat forming on your forehead. And you laughed to yourself because it was pathetic, really. You were all alone in the city of love because the love of your life decided she wanted to move on from you.

And suddenly, the door opened with Jongin appearing from behind it.  "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Kai..." you could barely mutter his name as the world spun around you. "You're here!"

He knelt in front of you, forcing you to sit up. He tapped both of your cheeks worriedly. "Look at me, open your fucking eyes!"

You cupped his face back with a chuckle, everything seemingly softer around the edges. "Eyes open."

"I need you to tell me how much of these pills you had and when," he dangled the two bags in front of you but all you could think of was her face; the way her eyes lit up whenever you told her you loved her and that smile of hers that never failed to put you in a spiral. "Momo, I need you to stop freaking out and call an ambulance right now."

You were lying against Jongin's chest, your vision blacking in and out.

"We're at the Windsor suite at The Ritz, we have called the hotel medic and they're coming," you heard someone frantically say. "Y/N looks really unwell. Please hurry, please!"

There was buzzing all around you, and you smiled to yourself before giving in and closing your eyes. "Happy 27th birthday to me."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"But how are you doing now?" Jimmy asked with a sympathetic look in his face.

"I..." you looked down, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I don't think I know who I am anymore after everything. I regret everything that I've done - all the fame and the money, I don't think it was worth losing myself over the superficial things. Then again, rehab and lots of therapy helped me a lot, you know, I always thought I wouldn't make it past 27...but here I am. All thanks to everyone who held me together."

Everyone began clapping in the audience, your cheeks reddening at all the attention. Despite being a nervous wreck, you managed to let out a small smile. You could feel her eyes on you, yet you refused to look again.

"Would you change what happened in the past?"

Deep down, you were aware of the answer to his question. It'll always be a yes. Everything that you have now wasn't worth more than her.  As ridiculous as it sounded, you would've given it all up for her; without her in your life, it always felt like you achieved it for nothing.

It was supposed to be her and you against the world. As much as it sounded wrong, your love for her will always be greater than your dreams.

"Yes, I would've," you pursed your lips, looking down at your roughed up running sneakers. Compared to her look, yours was too casual. If you were younger, you would've been on the same level as her. You didn't belong to each other now, what else was different about her these days? "For most of you who didn't know, the world hated that her and I were together. Everyone criticised each move we did. We were young...really young, it felt suffocating to hear the same things from the public but god, I loved her so much. To this day, I'm firm on my decision that I would've given up on my dreams for her if it meant I could keep her."

You were truly not over what you had, but with everything that has happened after that, you don't think you could let her in again. Not now.

Not when you were still a mess.

She placed her hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it. "If I knew that letting the world find us would ruin what we had, I would've kept you a secret," she paused, looking at you with pure adoration plastered on her face. "For as long as I could have."

Jimmy nodded his head, satisfied with your answers. "Well, that's it for tonight's show everyone. Please give a huge round of applause to our dear Y/N and Sana!"

You stood up, stepping closer towards Jimmy as you wrapped his arms around him, whispering. "Thanks heaps for having us tonight, never thought we'd cross paths again."

He was smiling as if he understood how it felt. "Anytime, Y/N, my wife and I were big fans back in the day."

You didn't respond, eyes following her instead. There was a sudden sharp ache in your chest as you watched her walk away from you, not bothering to look back.

Jimmy noticed the change in your emotions, squeezing your arm in comfort. "Hey, she'll be backstage for another half an hour. Don't let this chance slip away."

You heaved out a sigh, a defeated look on your face. Perhaps, her actions were all for the show, but god, her face said it all — she missed you as much as you missed her. "I can't, Jimmy. I'm a mess. I think I'll always be a mess. Do you think I could leave without her seeing me or knowing about it?"

There was surprise written on his face at your question. "I thought you guys did great out there, don't you wanna rekindle it?"

"No," you frowned. "I still love her...but its been over a decade and a lot has changed. She rejected me the last time I saw her. She seems happier - I'm still working on myself. I can't risk it."

"I understand," he smiled at you with sympathy. "Come, I'll get one of my producers to show you out."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Sana is here with her rumoured girlfriend," Lisa rasped out, closing the door behind her as she leaned against it - eyes wide and all that. "How are we gonna hide her from Y/N? She's literally sitting outside."

Jennie had horror written all over her face as soon as her eyes landed on your messy face - wonton soup smeared all over your mouth. "Actually...Y/N is here."

Lisa gasped at the sight of you. "I thought you went to order more drinks at the bar!"

You shook your head, standing up. "No, I ordered it through a QR code like I said I would. Where is she?"

"Y/N," Jennie held your hand to stop you. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine, Nini," you smiled reassuringly, rubbing your thumb against her skin. "I just wanna see what she looks like now."

"It's been seven years, Y/N," Lisa deadpanned, arms crossed and still blocking the door out of the private dining area. "She has moved on and so have you."

"We all know that's a lie."

With a mask of disappointment in her eyes, she took a step ahead to get out of your way, her shoulders slumped as she shook her head disappointingly. "This is going to pull you back a hundred times worst."

And it did. You wished you had listened to Lisa because as soon as Sana's eyes landed on yours, her smile faltered and turned into a worried frown. "Not now, Y/N, talk to me when you're sober. And in private."

"I am sober, Sana," you whispered frozen in place, a pang of pain rushing through every nerve end in your body. “Can we talk, please?”

She wouldn’t even look at you. “If you have anything important to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

You felt sick, stomach twisting in more ways than one and a sudden onset of frustration washed over you. “How could you be so cruel?”

She was once the constellations you admired, now the moon weeps at how she dimmed the brightness within you.

“We’re in public!”

“Nobody fucking knows us here,” your frail attempt at choking up your anger was visibly failing. “You know what? Fuck this, whatever. Have a nice life.”

“Y/N, wait,” she seemed taken aback at your outburst, quickly standing up to trail behind you.

“Fuck you, Sana.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The days that followed after your first public appearance became a blur. You were all over the news again, this time, they were all positive things about you (according to your publicists). Many old friends from the industry have been trying to reach out, some wanted to meet up for their own good - however, most were just glad to see you alive and well.

Since your hiatus, you have been away from the public eye; all of your social media accounts remained stagnant. Even the sleaziest paparazzi companies couldn't figure out where you were.

After all, you were and still are one of the biggest names on the industry.

"Here goes nothing," you said as you tapped on the 'share' button. It was a selfie of you in your bedroom - your bookshelf and art collection on the background. The caption was a simple 'this is 34'.

You closed your eyes as you inhaled a deep breath; it was your first post in nearly three years and you feel absolutely terrified. They were definitely going to judge the way you've aged, the books you read and a lot more other things that you should be prepared for and be used to - but you weren't.

Not long after, your phone rang; interrupting (thankfully) you from your dilemma. It was your mum on the other end. "Hey ma," you greet with a grin.

"Your dad, siblings and I wish you the happiest birthday today, my darling. Will you come and see us this year?" she asked with hope in her voice.

"Ma, I was just there last week," you playfully rolled your eyes. "Besides, if I come now, they will figure out where our family home is. And eventually, the public will find out where I live too."

"I know, I know," she hummed. "But you've been celebrating your birthday alone for years now. Why can't you invite your old friends? I'm sure Jongin and Momo and Lisa and Jennie and Jisoo and Jimin and Jungkook and —"

"Okay, okay," you chuckled. "I'm sure they all miss me too but I don't think I'm ready to let people in again. They're all living very busy lives. I enjoy my solitude right now and —" the sound of ringing from your front door cut you off, startled, you moved the phone away from your ear to make sure you weren't hearing things (again). "Uh, there's someone at the front. Must be one of my book deliveries — well, I hope."

"Aren't you gonna open the door?"

"No, why would I? Then they'll find out I live here." However, the doorbell rang once more. "Oh god, what if I accidentally put my location on my Instagram? Ma, I'll call you back."

"Y/N, it's —"

"Bye, I love you!"

You quickly hung up and turned your phone off before padding across your camera room to see who the person on the other side of the door was.

Your breath hitches at the sight of your ex-girlfriend patiently standing outside with a birthday cake on her hand. After a month of not seeing her, your shoulders slumped into a more relaxed state as you take another deep breath; pressing the red button.

"Sana?" you said with hesitation through the speaker. "You have red hair?"

"Hi Y/N," she waved at the camera. Damn that smile. "Happy birthday, please let me in before anyone sees. And yes, I had to dye it for a shoot."

You cleared your throat. "Uh, I'm coming," you walked towards the front door with your lips tucked behind your upper teeth. You pull the wooden door open, revealing the fiery-haired beauty on the other side. Your heart hammers against your chest and your fingers visibly shake as you step away to let her in. "It suits you."

"Thank you," she smiled shyly, looking around your place. "This is a lovely home, Y/N."

"Come," you took the cake off her hands as you walk towards the open kitchen with a view of the forest surrounding your house. "Pretty bold of you to assume caramel is still my favourite."

She frowned. "Is it not?"

You laughed. "No, no, it still is." As soon as you set the cake on the counter, you looked up to meet her gaze. "How did you find me?"

"Your parents," she quickly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, awkwardly wrapping her arms around her loose cardigan. "I called to see how they were doing."

"And why's that?" you curiously raised an eyebrow, attempting to kill the assumption that she missed you in your head.

She took a step closer towards the counter — the only thing separating you away from her. "Because I wanted to find you," she paused, biting her lip. "After the interview, you disappeared. Just like that. No goodbye, no nothing. Why?"

"Why not?" your tone made her flinch, reminding her of the same coldness you showed her in that alleyway.

"We were doing so well...the interview, I thought you would maybe want to catch up —"

"I did, then I remembered how you broke my heart and then many other thoughts came along after that. Remember when you told me there was someone —"

"An obvious lie, Y/N, there was only you."

A sigh escaped your lips as you avoid her eyes. "For years, I made myself believe that it was true just so I could hate you. And not even a year later, Sana, not even a year, you began dating someone else. A fucking CEO out of all people — a guy who was probably busier than most of us combined; that was such a massive slap in the face considering you told me it wasn't working because of our schedules."

"It was —"

You raised a finger, stopping her. "No, I told you to leave and never come back. I told you that, do you remember?"

"I do," she tilted her head carefully, gaze holding that same familiar hurt all those years ago. "I do, and that's the sole reason I refused to knock on your door again for a decade - no matter how much I begged myself to. I couldn't bring myself to, anyway, not after I hurt you."

"So why are you here?" you asked, voice strained.

"Because I'm still deeply in love with you after all these years, because I believe you're the love of my life and I still want to grow old with you. And I want to love you again if you'll let me, Y/N, please. I love you, that's why I'm here.”

You looked up to find tears pooling in Sana's eyes, she turned away before wiping them away with her fingers. All you could hear was the drumming coming from your chest, your head all over the place once again.

You remembered it so vividly, the moment you wanted to marry her...the cherry red box that was sitting untouched in your safe after all these years. And it hurt.

"Say something, please," she sniffled, pleading you with her eyes as she placed her hand on top of yours - her cold skin against yours now lingering for a moment too long.

"Look at me, Sana," you exasperated, arms flinging wide open. "Look at the mess I am. I've been to rehab more than I can count my fingers. I ruined my own reputation and I hurt so many people along the way. There were days where I could barely breathe, days where I wanted it all to stop. And those days still come every now and then. I have pushed everyone away - even my own family. There's a barrier between me and all of the people I love, the gap will always remain because of the things I've done. And you say you want me?"

"I want you, chaos and all. I have loved you all these years...what's so different about now?"

"Do you know how long has it been since our break up?" you scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the tears from coming. "You are in love with the idea of me, not who I am."

"Then let me unravel you once more, Y/N, this is all I'm asking for. I know I walked away when you needed me the most and I'm so fucking sorry, I live with that guilty everyday - god, I was so worried. I didn't sleep for a year when we were 27 because I didn't want to wake up to find out you were dead like everyone else would say. I should've reached out then because I knew that I couldn't live this lifetime without you. I didn't want to, not if you weren't in it. I ask myself why I didn't, but I can never find the right answer. All I know is I'm here now, and I'm never gonna let you slip away ever again."

Your walls began to crumble at her intimate confession. This time, you took both of her hands under yours, unable to stop yourself now. "I was going to marry you but you didn't stick long enough for me to do that."

"W-what?" she stammered, her voice breaking. "You were?"

It felt as if there was a knot wrapping your heart and your chest together, squeezing in a way that it almost hurt to breathe. There were so many thoughts flying through your mind, a million of what would've, could've and should've beens.

She unexpectedly collided her body against yours, making you stumble in your feet. Your hands luckily gripped the edge of the counter, balancing her and you together. Her arms snaked around your waist, engulfing you in a tight embrace as she whispered a million apologies.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, pushing you away with her hands. "Oh my god, how did I fuck this up so bad? I love you so much, why?"

"We both were fuck ups, weren't we?" you chuckled through the tears flowing down your cheeks. "Too young to know how cruel the world was."

"Will you please let me in again, Y/N? Let me fix this. I want you and I want us again. I don't care what they all think.”

"I don't deserve you, Sana, I think I'll only end up hurting you. I've been alone for so long now that if you asked me what love was like, I would only be able to mutter your name and remember what ours was like."

"Like the way I hurt you?" she croaked out, intertwining her fingers with yours - thumb rubbing gentle circles against your cold skin. "We'll work through it, together. I know what I'm walking into, I'm not as naive as I used to be. It won't be easy, but I love you. And I can't let this go - I'll never love again if it's not you."

You braced your hands on her hips, pulling her again. You welcomed her in, arms wrapped around her body - never wanting to let go. You stayed like this for a while; the comfortable silence filling all the missing puzzle pieces in your life. "I'm scared."

"I know," she sighed, rubbing your back with her palms. "I'm here now."

For years, you were lost. But not anymore. She was here now and you were home. Again.

[cuntdevil]

★ ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES.

you've made your way up the rankings and retired pro-hero, dynamite aka bakugo katsuki, couldn't be more proud.

( fic demographics. ) boku no hero academia, bakugo katsuki, sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 7370 words.

╰┈➤ retired pro-hero!bakugo katsuki, sidekick turned pro-hero!reader (she/they), age gap (bakugo in his early to mid fifties/reader in their early thirties), alcoholic consumption, standing sixty-nine, playful banter, some bratty behavior, rough sex, unprotected sex (creampie), multiple orgasm, mating press, cum swallowing, slight slapping, dirty talk, etc.

( author's note. ) i realized that im a basic bitch and usually stick to the same kinks and positions in my smut and decided to change it up slightly. ended up having so much fun that im now currently in a bakugo rut and want him to do some very nasty shit to me.

Bakugo doesn’t quite remember when he started feeling so old. When did his hearing become so sensitive? Was it from the multiple times he had was an inch away from his own end— a ringing in his ear that was damn-near deafening? Or is it simply because he’s halfway to his sixties? When had his appetite become so bland? How come he can’t drink as much as he wants now that he’s retired from being a pro-hero? 

He thought the moment he finally received an actual break, things would get better, but he’s wishing to go back. Is there a type of quirk that’ll de-age him? It doesn’t have to last forever, just long enough where he can bask and reminisce in the feeling of being young and in his prime. Now he’s in his mid-fifties and he can’t move as freely as he wants to anymore. He was once a high-ranking hero working his ass off to be at the top and giving himself little time to enjoy it. Not that he could, danger was always a millisecond away. He got everything he ever wanted. He should be proud of it, and he is. He truly is, but God damn, sometimes does he have regrets. 

He’s still nursing this glass of whiskey that the bartender served him for ten minutes, sitting at the bar of a pristine place only open to pro-heros and sidekicks, active or retired. It’s a Thursday evening, a quiet night unlike its usual business. Bakugo’s always here on a Thursday, so much so that the moment he walks in, the bartender Akiri already has his drink waiting for him. Always cold and fresh, like it was served right in front of him. She has a weird quirk— everlasting ice— but it proves to be great in her line of business. 

The television is on and despite the music playing, he can hear the current news report. 

“This just in on Pro-Hero ranking, Spiderweb continues to climb the charts, their venomous webs seemingly seeping a new poison that makes every fall in love with her. Rumor has it that she’ll be the number one hero within the next month—”

Bakugo doesn’t hear your arrival, not hearing the jingle of the overhead bells the moment you walk in. He doesn’t even hear the moment you slide out the chair, its legs scraping against the tiled ground. You frown as his focus remains on the television, watching you when the real deal is right there. He really is getting rusty.

“You're losing your touch, Dynamite,” you slide on the stool, grabbing his drink right out of his hand the moment he falls out of his trance. “A villain could've walked right in and you would've been—” you snap your fingers. “—done for.”

He ignores your comment because he knows you're right. Can't argue that he still had the skills. He had some, but some wouldn't be enough. Instead he takes you, drinking you with his eyes. You're still in your hero suit that closely resembles everyday clothing to the regular eye, but Bakugo knows how you designed your hero fit, he helps you improve it after all. 

An ashy purple top that sucked you in, holding you in place. It had a dark gem-like pattern on it that people could mistake for rhinestones, but you were intricate with the design, using the same fluid you use to take down villains to help create the spider web pattern that runs down the top. Around your wrists, are smaller and more stylistic versions of his gauntlets, resembling bangles to help you store sweat. Similar to his quirk, you form the webs through your build up of yours with further additions. He remembered you explaining just exactly how your quirk works, but started to check out once it became too biological. 

Your black pants were baggy, helping with your own comfort as you had a fanny pack around your waist, holding them up. The boots you wore were another storage for your sweat, your clothes being a tool to absorb your bodily fluids, where you were able to experiment with yourself and further prove your usefulness. It definitely contrasted with your old sidekick uniform— a skimpy piece that you paid someone to have designed for you and you didn't have the heart to tell that you didn't like it. Considering that you're climbing the rankings now, he figures you've finally grown that backbone you used to lack when he first got you. 

“Well, if it isn't Spiderweb,” he turns in his seat to face you. It's apparent that he still works out, arms still bulging out, though he's gaining some chub in some places. But that scar on his face and his facial expression doesn't have you fooled, he's still rough around the edges. “I still prefer Deadly Spider, by the way.”

You roll your eyes with the tilt of your head as you scoff out sarcastically, “Of course, you do, Explosion Murder God— whatever it is.”

“Haha,” he feigns laughter, subconsciously scooting closer to you. “What're you doing here? Shouldn't you still be on patrol?”

“I'm not rumored to become number one for nothing,” you wink. I finished up early. Bakugo snorts. Finishing up early doesn't exist, and you know that. Hearing his snort, you stop the joking and become a little more serious. You technically weren't lying when you said you finished up early. “I was on a case for a while. I should still be out there, but I managed to crack shit down and I decided I needed to reward myself after a long day.”

He nods, bringing his glass to his lips finally. “You've gotten good,” he gestures to the screen.

“I had a good mentor,” you smile. He chuckles at that, “Damn right, ya did.”

You can't help but giggle as you slump in the chair. You can see him looking at you from the corner of his eyes, those vermillion eyes that used to always be set in a scowl now seem to be brighter. He lets out a breath as he downs the whiskey in one go. “‘m proud of ya, (Y/N). You're not disappointing me after all.”

“Have I ever?” You expect the answer to be yes. That there must've been times where you've disappointed him, especially in your early days of being a sidekick. A few UA graduates that had your tail between your legs and didn't know how you survived the lot of it. You made stupid mistakes and were chastised for it. Surely those were the moments where he was obviously disappointed in you, right? 

There's a long pause before he's shaking his head, beckoning the bartender over and asking for two more glasses. The bartender is quick, placing one in front of you and Bakugo. You're not a drinker, but you take a few sips from it. “Nah. Always knew I passed the torch to the right person.”

You snort, calling his blasphemy. “You're lying to me to make me feel good. What about that time I dropped that serum?”

“It was your first big case with me as a fresh graduate,” he remembered that day vividly. It was a month in of you being his sidekick. You were used to being by his side during patrols and smaller cases. He didn't expect to have you thrown in something like that so soon. He wanted to leave you behind, but others thought otherwise and in a rare moment, he didn't follow his intuition. “You were bound to fuck up after being thrown in with the wolves.”

Your eyes widen at his nonchalance, but they become serious in an effort to prove him wrong. Why would you want to? Bakugo can't understand as you start relaying moments where you messed up, whether it was a small accident or a huge fuckup. Stubborn as an ass, Bakugo still upholds his position. “Quit it, won'tcha? If I thought y’er a disappointment, you'd’ve been fired a long time ago.”

“Well,” you start to tear up. “That's refreshing to hear after all.”

“Now, don't make me change my mind!” He knows you all too well, seeing how the corner of your eyes start to water. “Here I thought ya finally grew a backbone, but y’still cry like a baby.”

“What?” You exclaim, not denying his claims. “I've never cried in front of you. How'd you even know?”

“Y’always were on the verge of tears, honey,” he smirks. “It wasn't hard to miss.”

The way honey fell from his lips with ease. His raspy voice sent something straight through you that it was hard to keep your composure. You're starting to remember your younger years where you'd ogle him, all while trying to not cry from him yelling at you. Despite how rough he seemed back then, you had developed a crush that you thought you grew out of. But, here you are, falling back into old ways. 

If Bakugo notices a shift, he doesn't mention it. Instead, swiveling back around to stare at God knows what. You clear your throat, taking a huge gulp of the whiskey. Your throat burns as you quickly question why Bakugo seems to like it so much. “I'm getting better though. At hiding my tears, and I do have a backbone, by the way. Just took me a while to find it, but it's all intact.”

“Good to know,” Bakugo says, dismissively, the atmosphere changing. You try to say something else, but you can't find anything to talk about anymore, despite your mind running with lots of stuff. You remembered a month into Bakugo's retirement that he started coming to Sakura's Blossom— the bar you're in now. A popular place for heroes to relax, somewhere Bakugo used to always avoid as a hero, becoming a favorite for him. When he pushed you to become a hero, your early days were close in its vicinity. You'd always see him walk in, but he's never seen you. It became a regular for him to come in on Thursdays, making it easy for you to find him.

You've always wanted to run after him, tell him how much you're grateful for his endorsement and that you'll make him proud. Because in the midst of it all, you had forgotten to and it was slowly eating at you. You had been raised to always give gratitude and you couldn't even thank the man that put you where you are today. But now, your throat is dry and you still can't. 

You can. You. Can. You can—

Bakugo pushes out against the chair, standing up as he pays for the bill— for both yours and his drinks. He nods towards the bartender before looking down at a speechless you. “Good night, Spiderweb.”

You should've said it then, but you don't. “Good night, Dynamite.”

—

You managed to change your schedule, so that you have Thursday nights free, managing to find another hero willing to switch with you. You start making regular appearances when Bakugo's there, and when he asks, you always lie. Though, you know that he knows you're lying. However, he never says your word. Simply just enjoying your company. 

You missed him, missed having him around. And he realizes that he's missed you. When he first became a pro-hero and as he grew comfortable in this dangerous career, he flew solo. Did everything on his own and didn't want a shadow that wasn't his own following him around. However, as he grew in age and realized that a second hand wouldn't hurt, he hired you to help make things easier for him. 

At first, you were a mere pain in the ass. Like you had said, you had messed up countless times and God, was he close to firing you at plenty of points in time. But, something was hindering him from doing so. He just couldn't do it. So, he kept you and trained you to be who you needed to be— helped shape yourself into someone he was proud of, as well as yourself. Sometimes when you'd seek his advice, your voice would get soft and he’d be reminded of that young woman you once were, but you've grown so much. You still might not believe him, but damn is he proud of you.

“Breaking News! Spiderweb has found themself in a web of her own. An elaborate plan on her part turned against her as a villain gives her a taste of her own medicine. Luckily, other pro-heros within her vicinity were able to help rescue them, but she was gravely injured and was brought to the hospital. Reporters have yet to hear about their condition—

Bakugo doesn't think twice before he's springing from his seat, dropping some cash and heading in your direction. He should've known from the moment that you were ten minutes late than when you usually drop in to chat that something was up. “Fuck,” he curses, climbing into his vehicle and speeding in your direction. If he's got it right, he knows exactly where you've been taken. 

You've been in and out of consciousness the moment an IV has been shoved in your veins from the joint of your arms and biceps. You were in an immense amount of pain, nearly every part of your body aching. When you squint your eyes open, you're greeted with white and you know you're in the hospital. It should be a relief, you're alive, but you feel the tears building up. You've failed. And you have before, but this time it's different. 

In the midst of finding your groove and truly feeling like yourself, you've been forced flat on your back and lost the upper hand, having to depend on others to rescue you instead of doing the rescuing. You were careless, wreckless, a disappoint—

“Where is she?” You recognize that voice. That gruff and raspy voice. It doesn't help soothe the pain, only making it worse as you begin to sob. The machine you're hooked up to starts beeping erratically. 

“Sir, we need you to calm down. She's just starting to become stable. She's in good hands—”

“Then why won't you let me see her?” Bakugo slams his fist into the desk. “She's not in surgery, is she?”

“No, but…” It goes silent from there, hearing a slew of voices and footsteps rushing towards you before Bakugo follows. “That's her! Let me see—”

“Sir, if you do not calm down, we won't have a choice in having you removed!”

You don't remember much from that point on, knowing that Bakugo didn't go down without a fight and probably finding some sort of loophole into seeing you again. When you open your eyes once more, you're more stable and not in and out of sleep. You're still in pain, but feeling slightly better. 

“Yer up,” a deep voice booms, filled with exhaustion as a huge yawn leaves Bakugo's mouth. “‘Bout damn time.”

You should be happy that he stayed to make sure you're in a stable condition and that he cares for you, but you aren't. Only reminded of your mistake. “You—you should go.”

You end up croaking and stammering on your words, but he makes out what you say and scoffs. “What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout? Didn't come rushin’ here and fight off a guard just to be told to leave.” 

“Dynamite—”

“Bakugo—”

“Dynamite,” you pause, expecting him to rebuttal, but he doesn't. “Please, I don't have the strength. And, I don't want you seeing me like this.”

“Seeing you like how?”

“Vulnerable.”

He snorts, crossing his arms as he stands over you by the bed. His big arms bulge as he doesn't take you seriously for a second. “Don't give me that shit. I'm stayin’.”

You don't even know why you tried arguing with a stubborn ass like him. You should've known it was pointless. He always seems to get his way, so instead. You do what you do best. Cry. 

And it's worse than he can ever imagine. You're in full-blown tears, sobbing heavily that your eyes will be bloodshot red by the end of it. He doesn't know what to do or what to say to get you to stop, leaving him speechless as he can do nothing but stand there. Why don't you want him there so bad?

“I… I failed you,” you finally sob out, clenching your fists as they crack. Your nails dig into your skin as you force your body to turn away from him.

“What are you talking about?” Bakugo asks, incredulous. “Failed me, how?”

“I got too ahead of myself,” you further explain. “Thought I could take that villain on my own, only to get a taste of my own medicine.”

Is this what this is about? Why you were in such a haste to kick him out of your hospital room? 

His uncontrollable laughter catches you off guard, having you spinning your head to look at him so hard that it hurts. “W-why are you laughing? It's not funny!” 

“Oh, honey.” There he goes, calling you honey in your horrible predicament. “But it is!”

His laughter dies down not too shortly after, a hand instinctively reaching to caress you, pushing away your braids that nurses lazily put in a ponytail. “It was bound to happen. You climb up the ranks, get a little cocky and then God strikes ya down. Happens to us all.”

“You make my near-death experience sound like it's normal,” you mumble.

“It is,” he points out. “For people like us. It's what we signed up for— it's what you signed up. Be grateful you're alive. From what I'm hearing, you'll make a great recovery. If Recovery Girl was working here, you'd have been out of here quicker than this.”

“I thought you were going to chastise me,” you admit. “It's what I wanted— what I needed.”

“If ya wanted it so much, you wouldn't’ve tried kicking me out.”

“Mmm, maybe you're right,” you give up. “You should still, though.”

His eyes grow dark in a teasing fashion, looking down at you. “And give ya what you want so easily? Not a fat chance.”

—

As Bakugo had said you would, you make a speedy recovery, getting back on your toes in no time. You take his advice, taking it easy and to not make the mistakes he made earlier on in going solo. Your ranking has dropped a few, having to live with the next month or so with people ridiculing and noting how you got full of yourself. They were right, you did, and you'll learn to be better— to accept help and ask for it. Being a pro-hero isn't a one-man gig, after all. 

You still have your Thursday nights free to spend them with Bakugo. Your accident seems to bring the two of you incredibly closer, and to the few onlooking pros that saunter inside, it's too close. You scrunch up your nose in laughter. You slap at his chest in your fit of giggles as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist and pull you closer, your head falling to his chest. You're laughing so hard that it's hard to breathe and you're nearly choking. “Woah there, honey. ‘M not that funny.”

You stop laughing, expression turning serious in a millisecond that it's nearly concerning until your voice is barely above a whisper, “Stop calling me honey. I don't think you're aware of what it does to me.”

For a moment, Bakugo’s eyes widen at your openness before they share the same darkness that yours have been growing. “I wasn't, but now that I am, I think I'll just abuse that little info.”

— 

Maybe Bakugo’s alright with this period in his life after all. Being able to say that he's an experienced man, where despite his long days of pro-hero work, he's managed to keep his dick wet through it all. It means he knows how to please someone of your caliber. 

He's a big man, despite the pudge that's grown on him. He can't workout as much as he used to, but picking you up? You're light as a feather. 

The moment he got you through his front door, he couldn't wait any longer. He needed you in a way he's never felt with any other woman. The taste of your lips don't compare to the plenty of one night stands he's had. He's got you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you against the door. The tent in his pants continues to form, rubbing against you as slick sticks to the crotch of your panties. 

“Fuck,” he curses deliriously, pulling away from the kiss with a hiss. His eyes are low and hazy, filled with wanton lust. “Bet ya taste so good. Been wanting to try ya for a while.”

“Oh really?” You giggle, eyes sparkling in interest. You buck your hips into him, feeling his cock against your core. He's pulling at the hem of your shirt, helping you out of this damned hero costume. “Since when?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs with a pant. With the top of your suit gone, you do him the favor of kicking off your pants. Leaving you nearly bare and for him ogle. His eyes are glued to your chest, getting rid of your bra next to play with your dark and pert nipples. Your breasts are perky, ready to be sucked on. He takes a nipple in his mouth before remembering what else he wanted to say. “Since ya started stalking me at the bar.”

“Wait,” despite the sexual situation you find yourself in, your eyes widen at the sheer fear that he knew that you had watched him. That he had known the small fact that you had memorized his scheduled visits to Sakura's Blossom. You push against his chest, pulling him away from your breasts. “You knew that I knew all this time?” 

“Feel like we're no longer on the same page here,” he furrowed his eyebrows to clarify, fingers trailing to pinch at your nipples. “But since ya started yer regular visits.”

“Oh,” your breath of relief turns into a whine when he twists rather harshly. 

“Y’were watching me from before?” His gaze becomes stern in a teasing manner, moreso like he's bemused by the fact. 

“Used to patrol right next to Sakura's,” you shamelessly admit, gnawing on your bottom lip as you start to grind against his cock. It has him remembering why you're here, what he wants to do to you. “A hot spot for pro-heros— a villain's bound to hit some day.”

“Oh, shut up already,” he finally huffs out. 

“You're the one asking the—” You squeal as Bakugo flips you upside down, feeling his nose press into your mound. He takes a deep inhale that you can feel. His hold on you gets tight, a visceral grip that will have your sides aching by the morning. “Oh, gosh! Dynamite!”

Your damn dedication to calling him his hero name pisses him off, especially in a position like this. “Don't call me Dynamite when I'm tryna eat yer pussy.” The slap to your ass echos the room, you swallowing a breath of air in your shock. “It's Bakugo or Katsuki from this point on, got it?”

He slaps your ass again at your silence. “Ya got it?”

“Fuck,” you finally mewl out. “Yes, Bakugo.”

His cock twitches, loving the way you say his last name. He smirks. “I'll make sure that I have it engraved in your head when I'm done with you.”

“Didn't you tell me to shut up alr— oh…” 

You feel his tongue against your covered mound, pressing into the fabric before the sound of sucking. He can taste you through it. He can taste your juices through the cotton of your panties with no shame at all. His eyes flutter shut as he feels your hands reach for his hips and dig your nails into him. They go through his shirt and into his skin as you can't help but roll your pelvis into him. 

You can feel the blood rush to your head, but fuck are you enjoying this. His desperation to taste you at his front door, not bothering to get you down on a bed. More juices pool from you as you gain more stability in this position, bucking your hips up to his mouth as you feel his teeth graze your skin, catching the hem of your panties and tugging it to the side. The cold conditioned air that breathes down on your core is brutal and in the darkness, Bakugo can see your pussy shine in its wetness. “Shit, I’ve gotcha all to myself, don't I? You're just mine for the taking.”

Your hands traverse to his bottoms, unzipping it as you nod. “‘m all yours, Bakugo.”

You pull down his pants as best as you can, palming his cock through his underwear and hearing a slew of curse words fall from his lips. “Yer gonna be the death of me.”

Finally do you reach in his pants, pulling out his cock. He's been losing a lot of things due to age lately, and he's grateful that an erection isn't on the list yet. Hard and prominent and all for you, he can only see so much, trying to get a good look at your face from the position, but it's hopeless, he can only feel how good you are. With one hand, he uses it to wrap around your waist tightly before using the other to rub two fingers between your folds, hissing when he feels your tongue against his tip. He spreads your slick down your pussy, making your lips all messy of yourself while he tries to remain steady as you take him in.

You can't help but moan, feeling yourself pulsate at the idea of sucking Bakugo off. How the sheer thought of it makes your pussy pool with heat. Legs wrapped around his head, you yearn for more than just his fingers as they dance around your entrance, his middle and index digits a mess. Your heart races as your tongue swirls around his tip, tasting his precum against your lips. You salivate, letting your spit lubricate his cock as you use a hand to hold it up. You shuffle to get your tongue at the base, the tip of it touching the juncture of where his cock and balls meet. You feel a vein just right there and it seems to be a sensitive spot for dear old Bakugo, causing him to shudder the moment you touch it. 

“Keep doing that n’ I'm gonna cum like a little boy,” he warns you. And you were going to keep at it and play the part of a dirty little vixen until you feel his wet muscle at the center of your nectarine. Lips around your clit, Bakugo groans around it, tasting you from the fruit itself. It surely keeps you occupied as you momentarily lose focus. You grip around his base, squeezing it and causing his fingers to dig deep into you. Whimpering at the pain, it jolts you out of your haze as you bring his cock to your lips. It's a ravenous torture between the two of you, trying to bask in your pleasure while trying to grant the other some as well. 

Still, you mewl and moan around his length, eyes sparkling in delight as you swallow his shaft. Cheeks hollowing as his pink, cut top rests on your tastebuds. Pre continues to leak from him, a translucent mess that slides down with ease. He feels so good inside your mouth, and you can feel his legs flexing and contracting at what you're administrating. A true, dirty vixen you are.

But, Bakugo's no better to you. Lapping at your pussy like a starved man, both of you are so eager to give to each other. He tastes the intricacies of your pussy, mapping it out with his tongue as his grip around your waist tightens and his free hand is back to join the party. A thumb pressing down on your clit, building up pressure and has your legs tightening around his head. Around his length, your moans become more high-pitched at the overstimulation, feeling your legs tense then untense. 

Your face is a mess, saliva dripping down to your forehead due to this upside down state. Your head beginning to hurt but you don't have the heart to tell Bakugo to stop because you don't want to. It's bound for him to change positions soon, but gosh, you want to delve in this a little longer. You continue to bob your head, the wet sounds mixing with your slurps further sounding the room. You become daring, letting go of your other hand around him and putting all of your faith into Bakugo. Your upper body dangling upside down as your other free hand travels to cup his balls, shortly remembering that spot he oh-so warned you about. 

You fondle them, greeted back to that jerk of his leg as his waist’s now pressed to the door. He momentarily pulls off of you to curse, “Shit.”

However, he never corrected you or tried to get you to stop, simply speeding up his attack on your clit to receive a close response as well. It works, but you remain focus as your mouth is off him for a second as you stroke his length, finally taking in just how big he is and how you truly weren't able to fit all of him in. All this time, working with an aged cock that could destroy you. It has you whimpering out to yourself at the anticipation of your pussy being stretched out by him. His cock glistens even with such a lack of light, your spit being the work of that. Your strokes are quick and languid, mirroring his reign on your clit, causing your hips to jerk and twitch every so often. 

Your actions falter every once in a while, but you're so determined. You're always so determined, that's what Bakugo adores about you. Even as a sidekick that often fucked up, you had your own way of showing it. You were just like him in a way, stubborn as a mule to get what you want. You just needed to learn how not to give in to people when they bite harder. And here he is, gently nibbling down on your folds, but you refuse to back down, determined to make him come undone. 

You fondle his balls, adjusting his cock up, going to that dangerous place that he warned about. A chaste kiss before your lips are fully around it and you're suckling on one of his sacs. In this position, you can truly get a good whiff of him. There's a musk, but don't be mistaken, he's sure to clean himself. It's not overpowering as you can still smell the minty hint of whatever brand of bar soap he's using. The combination has your senses going to overdrive as your legs tighten immensely around him for a moment. 

That typical clench of your stomach goes ignored as you're determined to make Bakugo release. You're unforgiving and relentless, stroking his cock as mouth tries to fit his second sac of balls in. Your moan has become a melody to his ears as his head hits the door and he tries to remain focused on your pussy. She's so damn close, he grunts to himself. Don't give into her just yet. However, it's easier said than done when he feels his cock twitching in your hold and he moans. Sending vibrations straight to your core, your achievement and his response is enough for that band in your stomach to finally snap as he lets go. 

You both gift each other your essence. You, you're the forbidden nectar in the garden of Eden, your juices so natural that it tastes sweet. There's a tang to it that has him quickly intoxicated as he finds himself addicted. Him, he's like a refreshing taste of cold water on a hot summer day. You're feeling nothing but delight when his white cum shoots down your throat and you have no choice but to swallow everything— you wouldn't dare spit anything out. 

You both need a breather to come back to the present. You're still stuck in this now painful position as your head comes to throb and you have to croak out Bakugo's name to remind him. Slowly but surely does he get you back on the right side up before finally taking a step away from the door. His legs work like muscle memory as his lips plant on yours, swallowing away the pain as he makes a beeline for his bedroom. Pushing open the door and not bothering to have it shut, he hurries to put you down on the bed. He still has you in his arms when he does, grinding his still hardened length against your pussy. All traces of your release disappeared on his tongue, but you can still taste the remnants of yourself, as you both can taste each other. 

Now that you're on a bed, you feel yourself slowly checking out as the pain is slowly alleviated by your comfort. Bakugo mutters some stuff that you couldn't care less about, only mewling and nodding in agreement until you feel his hand grab your face, squeezing your cheeks. It's hard to focus on him, to stare right back into his eyes. 

“Awww,” he coos. “Is it all too much for my baby?” He noticed your disorientation immediately, planting a chaste kiss on your lips as his eyebrows knit with concern. “She doesn't want to stop, does she?”

Immediately comprehending that, you shake your head. “Mmm, no,” you squeak out. However, Bakugo's lips drop to your ears, whispering out, “are ya sure? We can always—”

“Yes— yes, I'm sure,” you persist. “I need you, Bakugo. Would you not help a woman in need?”

He doesn't like the way you stammered out that yes, still peering down at you. However, your eyes have significantly steadied now and that same brand of determination is back on your face to finally convince him. He finally caves with a barely audible ‘okay.’ He dives down to meet you for another kiss, hands roaming to grip your legs. So focused on the kiss, you're taken aback when he hikes on leg up, your knee touching your shoulder. His cock is perfectly slotted in between your folds before he does the same with your other leg. 

“Bakugo,” you groan at this change of position. He claims that you'll be the death of him, but you beg to differ. Your soiled panties are still on you, which Bakugo is sure to get rid of in a hurried haste, pulling so hard at it that it rips. You gasp, calling out his name once more, but he dismisses your complaint. “You'll be fine.”

You feel so exposed with your body pressed like this, in the dark with Bakugo looming over you. His cock slides in between your folds, wet sounds running through the air. You don't know what he's waiting for, so you do the work for him, wanting him to ravish you just as much as he does. That familiar grip returns to his cock and before you can press his head to your entrance, he slaps your hand away. You whine in protest, but he pushes you. “Have some patience, honey. Good things take time.”

The return of that damn nickname he's given you. Once used sarcastically, now one that he's going to use to his advantage because of you— all because you couldn’t keep in your attraction for him anymore. You should be grateful for it. It's landed up in this position, but now he always has the upperhand over you, knowing just how to make you cave. 

You clench around nothing, feeling his shaft go in a back and forth rhythm as it barely presses down on your clit how you want it to. You whine nonetheless, hoping that Bakugo will pity your desperation and give in. “Bakugo, please… I need you in me. Need to know how you feel.”

One hand comes to grab your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips pucker up. “Oh, is that right? You need to know how I feel inside you? Or what, hm?” He challenges. “Ya gonna die without knowing.”

You nod, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “I just might.”

He can't help but chuckle at that. “Yer cryin’, again? Yer tears don't work on me anymore, honey. They just egg me on. Love to see ‘em now. Know that I've got ya all desperate for me.”

“Don't care,” you mewl. “I want you inside me.”

He keeps up at it, gliding his cock between your folds and letting his shaft collect your juices. You're so fucking wet for him that all he wants to do is bury himself deep inside you and finish, but he practices what he preaches and holds himself back. “Is this how you are with all the men you sleep with? Such a whiny baby. Rumored to be the next number one hero, a crybaby for cock?”

He taunts and teases you, pushing out his bottom lip as he tuts. “It's almost cute.”

From all your whining and desperate begging, you don't realize that Bakugo’s now slotted the tip of his cock at your entrance. It's not until his head is inside and he's deep inside you that you fully register his intrusion, a loud sob coming from your lips as he stretches you out. But just as quick as you were shocked, moans slip easily from your mouth as you drag out just how you're feeling. 

Watching you—watching how your eyes are blazed with a fire that's filled with wanton lust. He's never seen it with everyone else and he quickly realized that you've gotten him under your spell and he's so deep in it that he doesn't want to retract. It's as though you're a succubus, a demon that feeds off of lust, with the way the corner of your lips turn upwards in a smile. Your hands come to wrap around his neck and Bakugo puts all his weight on you, causing him to go deeper in you. 

You feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix, pain mixing in with pleasure. Your back’s barely able to arch against the bed under Bakugo’s heavy weight, but your nails digging into the nape of his neck is enough to communicate just how you feel. As do your words.

“Ba— Katsuki, you feel so good,” that sudden shift from his last to his first name nearly has him cumming inside you too early. The creaking of the bed halts for a moment as his crimson red eyes look deep into yours. With his stillness, it makes you focus on the length that's against your walls, stretching you out. “Yeah, I think I prefer you calling me Katsuki better. Be a good girl and keep at it, will ya?”

It sounds like a request, but in this position, you know it’s a command. You don’t have a chance to respond, not that you were going to. He’s thrusting into you once more, but this pace is more brutal than before as he sits up and drills into your pussy without any remorse. He pushes down on your legs, making them ache as they press against your breast, making them more accentuated. Your moans become more high-pitched as you cry out his name— his first name. 

“That’s it,” he grins, maniacally. “Call my name out like the dirty little slut you are. Let my neighbors know who’s making you feel this good.”

One of your hands drag to cling to his bicep, making marks in a matter of seconds as your juices spill out of you. You’ve never had anyone else make you feel the way that Bakugo does. How he easily takes control and dominates you. With him, he lets you know that while you run the streets of Tokyo, Japan, you’ll always be underneath him. The stinging pain that runs through your lower body is delicious and while you know you’ll bear the consequences in the morning, you bask in the pleasure it secretes now. 

In this moment, you become delirious as your imagination becomes active as you can see a future with Bakugo, but is that what he wants? Hands back on his neck, you tug him down to you. “Katsuki… need you.”

“You’ve already got me, honey,” Bakugo kisses the corner of your lips, pace slowing by a pinch. “What more do you need?”

“Kiss me,” you whisper, eyes becoming glossy with wanton need. Something snaps within the both of you, a sudden shift that changes the trajectory of your relationship with him forever. Time stops for a moment before his lips are on you— lust turning into something more, something fatal. No longer is he pistoning inside you to oblivion, but holding you with more care. Precise thrusts that still get the work done to having you call out his name without a care in the world. 

He’s hitting that special spot inside of you, memorizing the sounds you make just for him. That familiar coil comes back and you bring Bakugo closer to you. “G’nna cum. Please make me cum, Katsuki.”

“Anything for you, honey.” He helps you ride out your orgasm, slowing down as he brings your legs to finally lay on the bed. Not too long after does he empty himself inside you, painting your insides white before pulling out completely. He makes eye contact with you. This. This is the perfect time, your mind tells you. 

Getting your breath steady, you peer up at him. “I never did thank you, y’know.”

“For what?” he grunts, sitting up on the bed, completely towering over you as you stay in place. Climbing over you, he’s reaching for something. Shortly after, he tosses you a water bottle that you catch with ease. 

“Just…” you sigh. “For everything.” 

—

FIVE MONTHS LATER 

"Spiderweb has had such a spectacular come up. From working under retired pro-hero, Dynamite, as a sidekick to being endorsed into a hero. She’s climbed the roster faster than anyone else has and while she had her stumbling moments, she came back to kick butt and prove to Japan that she is the hero they need!"

"We’ve managed to get a video with the pro-hero themself about the announcement of her current hero ranking—" Shortly, they pull up separate footage of a next reporter before it shows you.

“Spiderweb, please tell us how it feels to currently be the number one hero of Japan!”

The camera pans to you, your eyes lighting up in delight. You’re panting heavily standing outside in the hot sun, evidently just finishing a case. You have to catch your breath before your attention is fully turned to the camera. “It feels… It feels unbelievable, y’know? I mean, I’ve heard the rumors about it, but for it to actually come true? It’s only been a couple years into becoming a pro-hero and it feels like it’s something I don’t deserve, but I know for sure that I’ve worked my ass off— sorry for the language, kids!

“I’m just really grateful,” you continue your rambling. “I’m really grateful for everyone who believed in me and put their faith in me, especially my old mentor, the man that endorsed me himself. Dynamite, if you’re watching this! I know I’ve already told you this already, but thank you! I couldn’t have gotten here without you. I love— I mean, I’m forever in your favor.”

It’s a Thursday night and he’s not at the bar this time. Instead, he’s at his place, getting ready to head to yours. He’s lucky he kept the television on to hear you say that. He’ll certainly tease you later for it, but now, a sense of pride washes over him.  “That’s my girl.”

( author's note. ) this was only supposed to be 5k words, but gosh i had so much fun writing this. you guys have no clue.

[ayyy-pee]

𝔼ℙ𝕀𝕊𝕆𝔻𝔼 𝟚 - 𝕀ℕ𝕋ℝ𝕆𝔻𝕌ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊 ℙ𝕋. 𝕋𝕎𝕆

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Last Episode - Masterlist

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: Introductions continue! Which one of these contestants will be the first to make an impression on your heart?

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219, maron.jp Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: sorry for the wait yall! i'd give you an excuse but i know yall don't care LMFAO. enjoy!!!

The ground is actually shaking as the King of Curses approaches you step by step. Suddenly, you feel a lot like the chauffeur from just a few moments before. Terrified, trembling and sweaty. He was smart, now that you think about it. Hell, you’d have run too if you could! Sukuna’s aura is so heavy, so scary, so damn intense you feel like you may vomit. You’re hoping the camera doesn’t catch the sweat that you can feel beginning to seep from your pores. Every step closer to you, you swear shaves half a year off of your life. And when he’s right in front of you, his four eyes landing on you, so full of disinterest and maybe a little disdain, you pray you don’t piss yourself on live television.

It’s only then that you begin to realize how incredibly massive this man…curse…is. You have to crane your neck, struggling to peer up at his enormous form. He folds his (again…FOUR?!) arms over his chest and frowns, deep and unsatisfied.

“They should teach you some manners, woman,” he grunts. His deep and gravelly voice sends a chill traveling straight up your spine, and you straighten up, causing Sukuna’s lips to curl down in further dissatisfaction. “You hold your head too high,” he speaks.

You raise a brow, and it must be the adrenaline coursing through your veins, because like an absolute idiot, you open your mouth and dumbly mutter, “How? You’re like ten feet tall.”

You could hear a pin drop, hear the way every single crew member inhales and doesn’t dare exhale that breath. You know the cameramen should probably pan over to catch what’s next, but they have more sense than you clearly, because they don’t deign to move an inch. It’s complete silence in the driveway as Sukuna’s gaze pierces yours.

This may be the end for you. And honestly? You’d be okay with that. Sad, sure, but you’ve lived a decent life. Aside from this very brief experience, it was nothing special. But it was comfortable, full of good times. If it’s meant to end here, you don’t think you’d be too upset about it. You just hope that they’ll do you the favor of censoring your probably gory and untimely demise.

Sukuna lifts an arm (one out of four…oh my God, will you ever get over that?), and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.

‘Here it comes’, you think. The finishing blow. One shot from him and you’ll be wiped from this earth, a smudge on this world’s history. You’ll be forgotten shortly after your end and the world will move on without you.

You blame Utahime for this, because again, if you hadn’t listened to her drunk ass you would be sitting behind a desk doing paperwork. Not on the verge of death before the most powerful being of all time.

But after several seconds, you realize you’ve felt no pain, heard no screams or cries. But instead, a sound of something akin to a chuckle. You open one eye, peeking up to see Sukuna’s large hand come down to pat the top of your head. Gently, at that.

“Funny. I suppose I won’t kill you and your entourage.”

His eyes roam the landscape behind you and the confusion is clear on his face. You suppose it would be rather confusing for an ancient curse to see all the lights, large buildings and technology of today.

“What is this–” he waves a hand in the air. “This place? Why did you all bring me here?”

Now you’re confused. Didn’t he sign up for the show himself?

Satoru throws his head back, cackles hysterically. “I just thought it’d be fun!” A wide grin sits on his features as he leans back in his seat casually, as relaxed as ever. “Just imagine the strongest modern day Sorcerer alive and the strongest curse in history competing for love of all things.” He sighs, wiping at his eyes as he comes down from his laughter. “Fucking hilarious.”

He’s quiet for a second, then he doubles over, arms wrapping around his core as he succumbs to another fit of giggles. Suddenly, his laughter dies, then he’s throwing his head back in a groan this time. “Dammit. If he goes on a killing rampage, then I’ll have to work!” 

BACK OUTSIDE…

“It’s…The Bachelorette,” you answer Sukuna’s question, your fear slowly dissipating as your casual conversation continues on. Which may be a stupid move on your end. You should keep your guard up. This is the King of Curses in front of you, after all. From what you know, he loves to make someone feel safe only to literally crush them a moment later. 

But also, this is the damn King of Curses in front of you. If he deems it so, your death is already guaranteed. You couldn’t do shit if you had to face a normal curse let alone the strongest among them. 

The cameraman has finally panned around to capture your interaction and Sukuna doesn’t seem the least bit impressed. His expression is flat, very obviously bored. “The what?”

“The Bachelorette,” you repeat and when he fixes you with a deadpan stare, you elaborate further for some reason. “It’s a dating show. Jujutsu Sorcerers compete for the heart of one Bachelorette –” you point to yourself. “Me,” Sukuna frowns further and you match his expression with a frown of your own. “And– alright, don’t look so upset about it.”

‘The nerve of this guy!’

“Why would anyone waste time on this? Finding…love.” Sukuna spits the word out like it’s bitter before he laughs.

“A pointless venture,” Sukuna grumbles, picking at the paint on one of his many nails. Unfortunately, Sukuna’s size was severely underestimated, which is why the camera is only able to fit his torso into the screen. 

Behind the lens, the director asks shakily, “You don’t believe in love?”

“How would love benefit me? It’s for the weak.” He pauses, his scowl deepening as he folds his arms together. “I should actually kill you for asking me such an imbecilic question.”

BACK OUTSIDE…

“I won’t kill you since this pathetic endeavor you’re on for love will likely be punishment enough for someone like you.” He grins, the venom in his words clear as he speaks. He’s referring to you being a Window — weak, useless, undeserving of love and probably life to someone like him. Sukuna strokes his chin in amusement, eyes roaming along your form. “It will surely be entertaining to watch.”

He looks you over once more, and the fear that returns, rushing through your body makes you dizzy. You feel like you’re on the menu. One wrong move and Sukuna will be having you for dinner…and not in a sexy way.

But instead of acting on whatever temptation he may have, Sukuna simply…vanishes. Though you’re sure he took off and is just way too damn fast for your weak Window eyes to see. Either way, when you’re sure Sukuna is gone, you - and the entire crew - breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Should we bring in the next contestant?” One of the staff asks nervously and you stare straight into the camera.

“I think I need a break,” you squeak.

Because you’re about ten seconds from shitting yourself.

- - - - - -

The next contestant pulls up shortly after returning from commercial break. You’re back in position at the end of the long red carpet as you wait for him. He exits his limousine quickly, like he’s got somewhere more important to be. And you’re not sure if this show is the important matter at hand.

He’s incredibly handsome, dressed in a nice suit that he adjusts as he makes his way towards you, face set in a serious expression. His deep brown eyes gaze down lifelessly past his large nose as he approaches and you suddenly feel as if you’re under a microscope, just waiting to be picked apart. There’s something unsettling about this man, something that’s putting you on edge. 

Is it normal to feel like someone is taking note of every small movement you make, every involuntary facial tic, even the look in your eyes and filing it away to use against you later? That’s what you feel this man is doing. Just collecting little things about you to throw into your face somewhere down the line.

His glossy black shoes seem to glide along the red carpet and the cameramen must also notice, because the lenses point right to his feet as he goes. He moves so quickly, you hardly have time to breathe before he’s standing before you. And now, you feel your nerves ignite. Suddenly, you feel you should watch what you say, because you can’t help but feel as though you’re on trial for something. And it makes sense because he opens his pretty lips to speak and his words immediately catch you off guard.

“Have you ever been convicted of a misdemeanor or a felony?”

“Um…” Your eyes dart to the camera, brows pulling together in confusion as you chuckle nervously. “No?”

But it’s clear he’s not joking, not a trace of humor in his face as the question hangs between the two of you. The man narrows his eyes, his tiny pupils becoming even smaller if at all possible. “And you’re telling the truth?”

You chuckle awkwardly, your mind screaming “what the actual fuck” on loop. “Ah– What happened to hello? How are you? My name is…”

“I know your name,” he cuts you off. Then he spends the next minute listing off facts about you. He says your name aloud, the sound of it on his tongue sending chills racing up your spine. He lists off your age, occupation, even your friends and their occupations. It’s all a matter of fact, because they are fact. He doesn’t get a single thing wrong.

You think this man is abrasive. Maybe a little scary. And definitely weird.

Weirdly sexy?

Something is so very off with this man, that much is apparent by the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he fidgets with his fingers even while they’re confined in his pockets. But something may be so very off with you as well because you’re finding this mini interrogation of his oddly arousing.

‘Oh my God, can you focus?!’

“And what’s your name?” You finally counter, blinking your filthy thoughts away.

“Higuruma Hiromi,” he states without a beat. His tone is clipped, his eyes assessing you curiously.

“I suppose I will take your word for it.” He nods, and you fix him with a look of confusion. He waves his hand in the air. “Your criminal record. I’ll accept you saying you’re not a convict of some sort.”

“Ah,” you nod. “Well, glad you decided to trust me,” you smile shyly, and Higuruma frowns.

“I didn’t. Judgeman did.” He gestures behind him, and your eyes follow the path to where an enormous, terrifying blob floats in the air. You’re not sure how you missed that. 

‘Probably because you were too busy undressing Hiromi with your eyes?’

You clear your throat, glancing up at Higuruma. The stitch-eyed curse behind him simply sits there, staring into space. “Seeing as there’s no cursed technique for me to confiscate from you, it’s safe to assume you’re of no actual threat here. And also unlikely that you’ve committed gross atrocities given you are currently starring in this television dating show. I would imagine they would complete a thorough background check on you.” 

Now you frown. “Are you saying that I’m boring?”

Higuruma shakes his head, the tiniest of smirks sitting at the corners of his mouth. “On the contrary. The fact that you’re so normal…it actually makes you all the more endearing.” Your heart rate picks up, his honesty and compliment(?) making you the slightest bit flustered.

He sighs, tilting his head back to look up to the night sky. Like he’s reminiscing about something. “I only recently came to be a part of this world, the Jujutsu world, and I miss my old shitty life sometimes.”

The sudden deep confession surprises you. You expected this way later down the road given how closed off he was just moments before. It seems a flip has switched now that he knows you’re not some crook out to commit heinous crimes. You’re grateful for it, as well.

You can relate to Hiromi a bit. You also had no reason to be a part of the Jujutsu world, and yet you’ve found yourself smack dab in the middle of it as you chase after love with some of the most powerful Sorcerers you’ve ever laid eyes on. These are men you would have never crossed paths with in your daily life. And now, they will be fighting (hopefully not literally) each other to have you in the end. 

“Well, I know this experience is so far from normal, but I appreciate you coming, anyway.” You bow slightly in his curse’s direction. “And thank you, Judgeman, for proving to Hiromi that I’m not a convicted felon,” you tack on jokingly.

This is apparently what was needed to break just the tiniest bit through Higuruma’s walls because the corners of his lips curl up just a bit more as he peers down at you. He mutters your name once more, reaching a hand out to take yours. “I’m beginning to think it wasn’t a mistake to come here. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

He takes his leave shortly after, and the director calls for another commercial break. You take this time to head to your trailer offset for a quick touchup on your makeup. As you sit in your makeup chair, you wonder how the guys are doing…

INSIDE THE MANSION

Satoru groans obnoxiously from his side of the couch, beside Nanami. “Is anyone else going to show up? I’m so bored!”

“You could always leave and go back to your actual job,” Nanami quips. “I’m sure The Strongest is needed literally anywhere else but here.”

Satoru puts a hand to his chest dramatically, mouth falling open with a gasp. “You are so mean to me, Nanami.” He grins, nudging Nanami with his shoulder. “You trying to get rid of the competition already?”

He’s met with silence from the blonde, who simply folds his arms and closes his eyes, choosing to ignore his senior.

“You’re hardly any competition,” Suguru snorts on the other side of Nanami.

“I’m the only competition here. Be serious,” Satoru argues, standing from his seat. “Who wouldn’t want to be with The Strongest?”

“Me, or really anyone who loves themselves,” Suguru deadpans.

Satoru rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “You’re an anomaly. Besides, you both know I’m right. No offense, but Nanami is frugal, stiff and kinda boring. You’re a wanted mass murderer with strange looking people as followers, and I haven’t met any of the other guys to know what they’re like, but I can bet–”

The door to the mansion swings open and in walks Higuruma. His wide eyes roam across the room, landing first on Suguru who assesses him with vague interest. Then Nanami, who only glances over to him briefly before resuming his position. Then Satoru, who stands with his hands in the air, obviously in the middle of making a point before Higuruma had arrived.

“Who the hell are you?” Satoru scoffs, unimpressed.

“Satoru–”

“Satoru–”

Suguru and Nanami chide in unison.

“Must you always be so crass?” Suguru questions, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s been so long since he’d been in the presence of his former best friend, he’d forgotten how annoying he could be. 

“Higuruma Hiromi,” the newer man states as he moves across the room, not caring in the least about Satoru’s tone. He takes a seat on the sofa opposite of the three men, observing his surroundings.

“Nanami Kento,” Nanami introduces himself when the other two fail to speak up. He offers a seated bow, to which Higuruma returns.

“Geto Suguru,” Suguru’s soft voice floats across the room, though he doesn’t offer a polite bow the same way Nanami does. Perhaps if he were the old Suguru he may have, but he’s long past bowing to others. If anything, others should bow to him.

“Gojo Satoru,” the white haired man mutters, rolling his eyes.

Higuruma nods, eyes landing at the buffet in the corner of the large space, staring. “...And who is he?”

All heads turn to the buffet where a massive man stands with a plate of food. His face has stray grains of rice littered around his lips, which is stuffed with tonight’s dinner. He scoops a large spoonful into his mouth, nodding to the other men as he chews.

He’s tall, so tall that his height rivals Satoru’s. Shaggy, black hair covers the most beautiful green eyes. And when he grins, his pretty lips spread wide, the scar running through both his top and bottom lips accenting his features.

This man is gorgeous, they’re all thinking it.

Not to mention, he’s fucking ripped. A skintight black shirt hardly does much to cover every hard muscle of his body. His wide shoulders and thick arms look as though he could crush them all without much thought. And he could. He has.

“Zenin…” Satoru and Suguru speak through gritted teeth.

“Fushiguro,” the man corrects them, taking another bite of his food.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Suguru questions, standing from his seat. His eyes narrow, hands clenched into fists at his side. It’s been a decade since he laid eyes on the man who altered his entire world, and he’s not someone he wanted to see again. He’s lucky Satoru let him off with his life after their last encounter.

“Placing bets on who the broad out there ends up with,” the man laughs loudly with a full mouth. “Bet it’s none of you, though.”

At this, Satoru bursts into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard he doubles over. “I’ll take you up on that bet. Seeing as you’ve never won one in your life, should be easy for me.”

Toji only grins, taking another bite of his food.

“Please don’t tell me you’re also participating for her heart,” Suguru sighs, feeling a headache coming on.

Toji shrugs. “Does it matter?”

At this, Satoru groans, flopping back down on the couch with Nanami. “Who invited the damn geezer to the show? Thought this was for real Sorcerers.”

Nanami inhales deeply. “She’s not a Sorcerer, either,” he states.

“That’s different,” Satoru doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s a Window, so she’s in our world at least.”

It’s true. In Satoru’s eyes, you’re weak, but at least you have enough cursed energy to see the atrocities around you. You won’t see a curse only when you’re on death’s door, you’ll see one before they strike. And sure, you can’t do anything about it, but that’s what he’s for. He doesn’t mind playing protector to someone who at least resides on his side of the fence. It’s what he’s always done anyway. Why not do it for someone he could potentially love?

It also helps that you’re easy on the eyes.

“Hardly, but I do see your point,” Suguru agrees. He takes the spot next to Higuruma on the other sofa. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here for one reason, and it’s her.”

An obnoxious yawn comes from the other side of the room, Toji now leaning against the wall. “When does she show up, anyway?”

The other four look absolutely bewildered, eyes wide and brows pulled together. 

“What…” Suguru asks. “You didn’t go meet her?”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Yes!” Satoru yells from his seat. “How the hell did you even get in here? Past all the cameras?!”

Toji purses his lips together, scratching his head while he racks his memory. Then he shrugs, like he came up short. “Guess I followed the smell of the food.”

BACK OUTSIDE…

You fidget with your fingers as you watch as another limousine pulls up. You’re exhausted, and honestly ready for this whole introduction ordeal to be done. It’s so late, definitely after 9pm, and even after all this, you still have to head inside of the mansion to mingle with the men. You would really rather go to sleep, finally crawl into bed after such a long and tiring day. But there are several eligible bachelors eagerly awaiting your arrival.

And here comes another one.

The door to the vehicle swings open, and a very nice Prada combat boot hits the floor. Out steps the one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in your life. Tall, muscular, and so damn pretty, you’re almost jealous. Even with the distance between you two, you can see how perfect his face is.

Already, he’s made an impression because he’s not dressed to the nines in a suit and tie like the other men you’ve met tonight. Instead, he wears casual clothing, with a loose sleeveless shirt and black jeans. His hair is messy, tied up into two high ponytails that sit atop his head. And even then, he looks just as good as the others.

Something about him looks familiar to you, though you can’t quite place where you could’ve seen him before all of this.

As the man approaches, the lights from the camera crew illuminate his face. You can make out deep purple bags that sit beneath his eyes. He looks as tired as Hiromi, more even. There’s a thick black stripe that runs along his face. A tattoo, maybe? He’s pale, the moonlight casting an almost ethereal glow over him.

‘Why the hell are all these Sorcerers so fucking hot?’

You try to keep it in your pants, focusing on the sound of the chains of this man’s boots jingling softly with each step until he’s standing in front of you. His deep brown eyes rake over your body before they find your eyes. His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s not disingenuous any sort of way. More like he’s very nervous and trying very hard to not come off that way.

“Hi,” you throw him a lifeline, the camera capturing the way you smile encouragingly.

“Hi.” 

You offer him your name, trying to loosen him up because he looks like he feels so out of place. There’s something off about him that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m Choso.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Choso. Tell me about yourself.”

Your question breathes life into the man, his face brightening up as he proceeds to tell you all about his brothers. He’s the oldest of four, you find out. And he’s very doting and loving to all three of his younger brothers. You find it adorable, the way he raves about each of them and their special talents that they have. Unfortunately, you don’t have too much time to let him continue.

“You’re very beautiful,” he compliments you suddenly, and you can’t stop the shy smile now spreading along your features that matches the one sitting on Choso’s. 

“Thank you. You are so handsome.” 

Choso beams, and then he does something that surprises you. He wraps his arms around your form, enveloping you in his warmth. He smells incredible, and expensive. You return the gesture, and for some reason, all the stressful buildup of tonight seems to just melt away.

When he releases you, you see the soft smile sitting on his lips and you just know you can’t wait to see more of it. This man is an absolute sweetheart.

“Can’t wait to get to talk with you more tonight,” he says softly, and you don’t miss the light dusting of pink coloring his cheeks now.

“Me too.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, nibbling at the soft flesh as Choso takes your hand and squeezes gently. What began as an awkward encounter ended up being a sweet meeting between you and the man now heading into the mansion. You’re so excited to–

Wait. You think you know why he looks so familiar!

You spin on your heel, turning to call after him. He turns to face you, a questioning look at his face. “Um…have you ever skateboarded before?” You yell across the courtyard.

At this, Choso’s brows pull together, head tilting to the side. He’s so obviously confused. “Skateboarding? No, why?”

You shake your head, chuckling with embarrassment. “No reason…you just…looked kind of familiar.”

- - - - - -

Jesse appears again once the cameras are set back up after another commercial break. He’s all poised as he grins at you. You haven’t seen him since you both first arrived on set, but he lets you know that he will be seeing you more often now that the introductions are complete.

“So, you’ve met all of the men,” he begins, the camera moving back to catch you both in frame. 

“Oh, that was everyone?” You could have sworn there was one more person who was supposed to show up.

“How are you feeling about them so far? Any you’re looking forward to spending more time with?”

Your mind goes through every man who has appeared so far, building a list of what appealed to you most about them. And you really like them all. There’s no way you could choose right now, not when there’s still so much to learn about each of them. You can’t wait to get some alone time. You tell Jesse as much, his response an amused shake of his head. “Looks. like you’ve got your work cut out for you, then.”

“Oh, absolutely. They’re all incredible. I could definitely see my husband being one of these men.”

And it’s a crazy thing to think, that at the end of all of this, you’ll likely be engaged and ready to marry someone.

“But—,” Jesse interjects. “You are down one contestant. Sukuna has chosen to leave the show…”

The camera moves closer to catch the nod of your head. Your brief stint with the King of Curses is not one you think you’ll forget any time soon, if ever. He could have ended this journey for you before it even began. He spared you, mainly for his own entertainment, but still. You came face to face with the King of Curses, and you of all people, lived. Not many can say that. Especially non-Sorcerers.

Jesse tells you that it’s time to get some one on one time with the guys and leads you to the mansion where they all wait. Your heart races in your chest as you approach the enormous doors, stopping just outside of them. You can hear the loud chatter inside, the men laughing raucously as they discuss whatever has them behaving so lively. You’re excited to finally be moving into this next phase of the process. You want to get to know each of them as soon as possible.

“You ready?” Jesse questions, his smile giving you a boost of confidence. “You’ve got this. Go in with an open mind, and an open heart. The man of your dreams awaits you inside.”

You laugh, and it’s all nerves, because that may be the scariest and most exciting part of this entire journey. “I don’t know how you did this, Jesse,” you chuckle dyly, to which Jesse lightly places a hand on your shoulder where he squeezes gently.

“Hey, you’re a smart girl. You’ll be able to find who you’re looking for. Remember…open mind, open heart. Can’t go wrong there.”

You swear you hear some of the staff swoon behind the camera, the crew sure to catch this interaction between you and your host, and it makes you grin. You can see why Jesse’s season of The Bachelor was so popular, and why he’s now the host of both franchises. So you nod, letting Jesse know that you’re ready to head inside to spend time with your men.

He pulls the double doors open for you and you head inside, straight through the doorway and into the living room where the men await. Jesse moves swiftly ahead of you, signaling for you to wait for a moment just outside of the living room, in the hall while he heads down the steps into the main room. 

”Gentlemen,” he announces his presence, and they all stand when they see the host. There’s an eruption of noise, the men greeting Jesse eagerly. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, knowing that in just a few moments, you’ll be seeing them all again. You can’t wait. 

“I know you’re all ready to see ___,” Jesse continues. “How are you feeling about her so far?” Jesse’s eyes land on the blonde man standing quietly, his hands hidden in his pockets to hide the way he fidgets nervously. “Nanami,” Jesse calls. “What’s your first impression?”

Nanami purses his lips together, carefully gathering his thoughts before he speaks. He’s unsure if there is a word that’s strong enough to describe how he felt about you upon first meeting. And he’s not sure if he’s capable of expressing how he felt upon laying eyes on you. Even still, he means it when he says, “An absolute beauty.”

The other men nod in agreement. “Definitely a sight to behold,” Choso adds. “Very sweet, too.” He says it with certainty, like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’re a kind person. He’d like to think that he’s pretty good at reading people. He’s been studying humans for quite some time, after all. You are one of the good ones, he’s sure of it. Your energy makes him feel comfortable, and he tells Jesse this as well.

Jesse beams, impressed with how the men already seem to be taken by you. “That’s great to hear. Now, I do have some unfortunate news or maybe it’s fortunate depending on how you see it.”

There’s a brief pause, which the camera crew uses to capture each contestant's face, making sure they capture any nerves on their features.

“One contestant has chosen not to continue participating in the competition.”

At this, Satoru snorts, garnering the attention of several others, but he lets Jesse continue.

“Sukuna has opted out of the competition.”

“Good,” Suguru interjects. “One less body.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit if someone left,” he yawns, leaning back against the confessional room’s sofa. “Send the rest of them home, too.” 

He’s aware he sounds like a dick, too confident in himself, but why shouldn’t he be? He’s got so much to offer you, so much that the others can’t provide. He’s confident that with one person gone, he’ll be able to get that much closer to you. He picks at his nails in boredom before he asks. “Who even invited him, anyway?” 

The wheels turn in his head until he puts 2 and 2 together, chuckling quietly to himself. 

“It was Satoru, wasn’t it?”

BACK INSIDE…

“Can we please circle back to the bit about Sukuna?” Nanami speaks up this time. “You just casually had the King of Curses outside to compete for…” He clears his throat, as though the term itself makes him uncomfortable. “Love”. His eyes land on Satoru, because he’s positive it couldn’t have been anyone else who could have thrown this together but him.

The man in question shrugs mischievously, poking his tongue out when his gaze meets Nanami’s. He tries not to smile too hard at the scowl he receives from his colleague in return.

“How on earth were we meant to survive that?” Higuruma chimes in now. His eyes are round with disbelief. “Wait…did ___ meet with him?” 

Jesse nods. “Yes, and they actually had a pretty pleasant conversation. Though Sukuna wasn’t interested in moving forward.” The camera pans over to Higuruma who now seems lost in thought, no longer paying the host much mind. Jesse takes this beat of silence as his cue to continue forward. “Well, our lady of the hour is waiting patiently to have some much needed one on one time with you. Let's get her in here.”

Now, that’s your cue.

You enter the space, feeling the tension rise between the guys immediately, even as they all applaud upon your arrival. Your eyes take in each and every familiar face. It’s nice to see all of the men you’ve had the pleasure of speaking with for a few brief moments. You can’t wait to get alone time with each —

Hold on a minute.

Your eyes land on one man who sticks out like a sore thumb. From across the room, right next to the buffet, a pair of emerald eyes bore into your own, and you feel your heart rate pick up. You’ve never seen this man before. At least you don’t think you have. You have met quite a few people tonight and it’s all been a bit overwhelming. It’s perfectly possible that he slipped your mind after meeting. Though as you drink in the way his eyes shimmer even in the dim lighting, his chiseled features and the deep scar through both his lips, you highly doubt you’d be able to forget a face like that. 

Perhaps he’s another staff member, hired to man the buffet table. If so, he’s doing a piss poor job at it seeing as he’s holding a plate of half eaten food in his hands. He has to be a contestant, right? How could he have gotten past you? Even with your embarrassingly small amount of cursed energy, you feel like you would have picked up on his presence.

The camera swings around, cutting off your vision of the man, and in the blink of an eye he's gone. There’s a pang of disappointment, and a bit of confusion. You feel as if you imagined him. But you don’t have time to dwell on the mystery man your mind conjured up, because you need to focus on the men who are actually here. You turn your attention back to the ones you do know… only to be met again with the face of the stranger from just seconds ago as he stands right before you.

You almost piss yourself from the shock.

His gaze now roams your form, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. He’s incredibly obvious in the way that he assesses you. And even more obvious in the way he seems to be enjoying what he sees. He slips his hands into his pockets, eyes once again staring straight into yours as he backs away to stand with the other men. “Well,” he hums, not breaking eye contact. “I was gonna snag some food and head out, but I think I’ll stick around…to observe.”

“Sorry,” Jesse interrupts. “But this show is only for those who signed up to participate.”

The mystery man rolls his eyes. “I’m already on the list.”

Jesse shakes his head. “We didn’t see you outside. There’s a proper process to follow here. You’re supposed to meet our Bachelorette,” he motions to you, and you smile awkwardly. “Why didn’t you come through the front door?”

“I’m meeting her now, aren’t I?” He questions, and Jesse nods, because technically he’s not wrong.

“Well, yes, but you should have come through the front,” Jesse argues weakly. 

Toji snorts. “Front door,back door, doesn’t really make a difference to me.” He says this shamelessly as he looks right at you, and you can’t help it! Your mouth drops open, just enough to get a reaction out of the man. The camera quickly captures the grin that spreads on his face when he sees your expression. “Unless it matters to you, sweetheart,” he teases.

You pick your jaw up off the floor, the camera moving around to get your response. You can’t possibly let him one up you on your own show. So you match his smirk, teasingly responding, “I mean…let's wait until we get to know each other a little better to find out.”

It’s the best response you can give in the moment, in front of a room full of men patiently (and hungrily) waiting to get even a smidge of your attention. And clearly it was a good rebuttal. The man’s smirk only widens. You can hear the staff muttering quietly behind you, clearly speaking into the earpiece that you know Jesse wears. You watch as the cameras move to capture the tension between this man and Jesse, who is now pursing his lips together in displeasure. “Are you a…Sorcerer then?” 

He stares Jesse down, and you don’t miss the way his jaw ticks just barely before he grits out a low and gravelly, “sure”. But Jesse doesn’t seem to notice. He simply nods, asking his name.

“Toji Fushiguro.”

Jesse sighs, his friendly host mask slipping just a for a second before he recovers. He claps his hands together, turning towards you with a grin that you’re certain is not genuine in the least. 

“Looks like we’ve got another man vying for your heart, ___. How are you feeling about it?”

You tear your gaze away from Toji, nodding to Jesse. “Hey, the fun of the Bachelorette are the surprises, right? I’m definitely looking forward to getting to know Toji a little more.”

Jesse throws his head back with a laugh. “Glad to see you being a good sport about it! Speaking of surprises, we have just one more.”

The doors to the mansion swing open suddenly, cutting Jesse’s monologue off. The sounds of light footsteps fill the space, and you watch the way Toji crosses his arms, how Satoru rolls his eyes, and how Suguru’s nostrils flare. Clearly, whoever is entering the building isn’t welcome. 

Jesse continues his speech. “I know you were looking forward to having time to get to know each of these men one on one, and you will get that chance, I promise. But…”

The cameraman hurries to catch the sight of shoes, slowly walking down the same steps you took into the living space and you spin around to follow the view. As the camera slowly coasts up the form entering the room, so do your eyes, trailing over the tall, well dressed young man who appears before you.

“You’ve gotten a brief moment to talk to each man, have gotten a good feel for who you want to move forward with, I’m sure.”

It’s not really a question. Jesse states this as though it’s a fact, and as far as this show is concerned, it is. Even if you don’t feel as if you’ve gotten enough time with the men, they feel that you have. And all you feel is a tight knot forming in the pit of your stomach, because you’re sure whatever’s coming is bad news.

“You’ll still get your one on one time with each guy, don’t worry, but at the end of it all,” Jesse turns to face all of the men. “___ will be giving out a rose to each man she thinks should continue forward on this journey with her. However, only one of you will be leaving here without a rose.”

“And him?” Choso questions, staring down the man standing behind you.

“Ah, right. Everyone, meet Sukuna’s replacement.”

The man moves ahead of you, taking your hand in his and pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. He’s as beautiful as the rest of the men, and you wonder again how it’s possible for every damn person in the Sorcerer world to be so damn good looking. 

The man has a smile that reminds you a bit of Toji’s, but that’s the only resemblance he shares with the older man. The eyeliner around his eyes looks better than your own, accentuating the color of his eyes, and his hair that goes from blonde to brown at the tips hangs loosely in his face, giving him an edgy look. The multiple black earrings decorating his ears adds to his style, and your heart flutters when he leans forward boldly and presses another kiss to your cheek.

He stands back, letting himself fully appreciate the view. He strokes his chin lazily, nodding seemingly in approval before he mutters, “Not bad.”

Your brows knit together, head tilting to the side as you reply with a quiet thanks. You introduce yourself, gently pulling your hand from his grip. “It’s nice to meet you…”

The man shakes his head, a cocky grin on his face as he speaks. “I’m sure it’s very nice for someone of your…” He looks you up and down, almost amused at what he sees. “...standing to meet someone like me.” It’s all he says, turning on his heel and moving across the room to stand with the other men without another word.

‘Okay, kind of an asshole,’ you think. ‘A hot asshole, but–’

“I didn’t get your name,” you call after him, trying to reel your thoughts in.

He cards a hand through his hair smoothly. “Zenin Naoya.”

Jesse takes over, explaining that while the rose ceremony will still take place, Naoya will be immune as he is taking Sukuna’s place at the last minute. 

As your eyes roam across the room, taking in the sight of all of the men here competing for a chance at love with you, of all people, you can’t help but feel guilty that shortly, you’ll be having one on one time with each of them only to end up sending one home. They each have made your heart race, each have left an impression on you, each have made you feel something. You’re not sure if you could imagine sending any of these amazing men home.

The camera swings towards your face, capturing every bit of tension in your features as your mind reels with the idea of making such a difficult decision.

Your 1 on 1 time begins now,” Jesse announces. “And ___?”

“Yes, Jesse?” You respond, being pulled out of your thoughts.

Jesse offers you a tiny smile, this time it’s genuine. It’s a smile that understands exactly what you’re experiencing, what you’re feeling. He gently pats your shoulder as he moves towards the exit. “Good luck.”

It's Voting Time!!!

Follow the link below to vote for the Sorcerer you think should NOT receive a rose and move on to the next round!

COMING UP ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF BACHELORETTE KAISEN:

The guys get one on one time with you, and one man will be sent home without a rose! (Remember that Naoya is immune!)

CLICK HERE TO VOTE - Voting closes in ONE WEEK on 10/1!

[vivwritesfics]

Pancakes - CL16

Charles Leclerc loves his girlfriend. He loves her enough to make her pancakes while half asleep to make her happy.

A/N: It's nearly 11PM and I want to make myself pancakes. Somebody tell me to pls

Requests Open

Masterlist

Do you ever get those nights where you just can't sleep? Like, you've had a full, busy day and you can't wait to be tucked up in bed in your warmest pyjamas with your love holding you close but, when you get into bed, you just can't sleep?

That was the position Y/N was in. She laid awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn't coming easy - sleep wasn't coming at all.

Her boyfriend laid beside her, snoring lightly. Y/N should have been enjoying these moments together, the few times they got to sleep in the same bed while the Formula One season was ongoing.

Charles rolled onto his side, throwing his arm over Y/N. His body was warm against hers, breath fanning over her shoulder.

Y/N's stomach growled.

It was oh so incredibly loud, it was a miracle Charles didn't wake up.

With no other choice, Y/N moved her boyfriends arm and slipped out of bed. She made sure he was still asleep, pushed his hair away from his forehead and kissed him quickly.

Charles woke up around ten minutes after Y/N left the bed. He was alone, which was weird, and her side of the bed was still warm. She couldn't have gone far. Charles sat there for a moment or two, waiting for his girlfriend to return.

When she didn't, he got up and explored. and

Charles found Y/N in the kitchen, whisking at some batter in a pink bowl. She let out a yawn as she did so, tiredness suddenly settling in. "My love?" Called Charles as he walked over to her. "What are you doing?"

"Making pancakes," she muttered and walked over to the pan. She poured some of the batter in and stared at it, waiting for the pancakes to start cooking.

They didn't.

Charles was almost too asleep to notice. It was only when Y/N yarned once, and then again, that he checked. "My love, the stove isn't on," he said walked over to her.

Placing his hand on her hip, Charles took charge of the pancakes. He turned on the stove, watching and waiting to flip them. When they were ready, he plated up most for his girlfriend (giving himself one), put on the toppings (maple syrup, sugar and lemon juice) that Y/N requested, and passed them to her.

"Thank you, baby," she muttered as they walked back to the bedroom. Neither one of them had yet touched their pancakes, waiting until they got back into bed. Charles pulled back the duvet and put on a sitcom to watch while they ate.

With full bellies and the television playing, Y/N finally fell asleep. Charles took her plate and placed it on her bedside table. He pulled the covers over her body and pulled her close, falling asleep as he held her.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#42: The Fuel (1.04)

gif cred: @kimwexlersponytail

Even when everything crashes down around them, Richonne's love always prevails. 🥹

And now that they’ve recentered on what truly fuels them, Richonne then gets every type of fuel they need to finally go home. So we gotta close out this masterpiece of an episode with the breakdown of ep 4's final glorious moments. 👌🏽😇

The fact that we were really spoiled from literally minute one to the final seconds of Episode 4 - I have to thank Danai one million times for writing this thoughtful Richonne love letter episode and forever thank Andy & Danai for performing every part impeccably 🙏🏽💐...

After deciding to go home together in such a well-earned way—which, that's another thing - the fact that Danai didn’t even need an extended episode to convincingly craft an arc where Richonne could start off more at odds than they’ve ever been, and then not just beautifully, but also believably and organically, bring them back together by the end, leaving them feeling more bonded than ever before. She’s an illustrious talent. 🤩

So now Richonne is ready to head out because this building is on its last legs. And as they walk, Rick is finally out of the CRM gear and in casual apparel for the first time with Michonne. And I loved seeing that. The hold the CRM had on him is finally removed. 😌

The temp controller announces another malfunction and says the elevator only has ten minutes of reserve power left. Which hearing that...it’s wild Rick and Michonne still used that elevator…even tho I’m glad they did. 😏

As they make their way to the door, they stop for a moment and I love the way it’s filmed with us being able to see them between the panels. Rick gets his blade ready and then he looks at the real source of his strength Michonne.

And then you already know I absolutely adore that Rick leans in for them to share a kiss before they head out of this place. It’s the sweetest thing. 🥰And it immediately lets you know Richonne really is back.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

That kiss is pure gold and highly ranked for me, y'all. Like as quick as this moment is, it’s still so special and romantic. I appreciate any and every reminder that Rick and Michonne are each other's baby and that kiss was definitely giving that.

Also, I just have to reiterate that Danai wrote such a quality episode of television. I love how at the top of the ep we see Michonne first exit the apartment alone and in pain, and then later Rick exits the apartment alone and panicked, and then at the end they show Richonne leaving the apartment together and healed because they’re finally operating like the honest unit they’re meant to be.

And again, it’s impressive how earned it all feels with Richonne starting the ep more at odds than ever and then truly being on one accord and one being again by the end of the hour.

It's sweet that as they’re about to re-enter the walker-infested world they want this reassuring and comforting moment of connection as this kiss just communicates that they’re in it together no matter what they face outside these walls.

Then he whispers ready and she nods and Rick opens the door for Michonne to go through first. Bye, Apartment 👋🏽, you were very very good to us, chile. But now it’s time for Richonne to go home. Won’t He do it. 🙌🏽

So then once they enter the hall they have one of my favorite action sequences. I love the way it's choreographed for them to be so in sync through this whole thing. This action sequence said let us remind you who are the two baddest to ever do it. 😌

gif cred: @kimwexlersponytail

I love the way it really is like they’re killing these walkers as one in the way they’re tag-teaming. Michonne steps out the hall first but then Rick is ready to get the first one and then they just take them down like only they can and it’s a great sight.

And Rick loves the sight of Richonne in action too the way he takes a moment to look at Michonne as they walk forward. I love that it's always clear Rick is invigorated by the fact that he and Michonne are a power couple. And again, the merging of the red and blue light as it comes together to make purple is great and gives TOWL a fresh different vibe than TWD. Seeing Richonne walk in the purple light just feels like they too have blended back into one again. 😌

gif cred: @nerd4music

And then that elevator...😏

Y’all, let me express some gratitude for this elevator right here. It gave us some absolute gold, honey. 😇

gif cred: @nerd4music

They approach the elevator and work together to get a walker out of the way. And then once they enter, Rick kicks the walker's arm, and Michonne, serving with her stance, realizes hey we have some time while this elevator goes down so naturally she looks over at Rick with that 'my man, my man, my man' look.

Then Michonne grabs the strap of Rick's backpack and pulls her into him and we can see him rushing into her just as the blood-stained elevator doors close. I love it. 😋 Look at frisky Michonne wanting a piece of her man right now lol. 🤭 Who can blame her?

gif cred: @msanonships

And when I first watched I thought that was gonna be it. Like they were just going to imply that they make out in the elevator. But no being a Richonne stan means being hella spoiled and so we actually get to see this all play out. 😊

They cut to Richonne making out inside the elevator and it’s just so good.❤️‍🔥 Also, it's funny how you’d never guess that Michonne was the one who initiated this the way Rick so quickly matches the energy and throws her against that wall. Rick can't quite be outhungered when it comes to Richonne kisses lol.

Like Michonne's always on the same page with that intense immense love but Rick's always going to be the more extra one by a little bit. Here for it. 😋

gif cred: @nerd4music

They were real into it in that elevator and had themselves another moanversation. I love that they are always on the same timing and both crazy enough to be so unconcerned with the fact that this building is about to come toppling down. Like they are just passionately present in this hot moment and it’s great. 👌🏽😋

Richonne are really and truly irresistible to each other and I love how their desire is always on display. And you can just tell Michonne loves Rick’s assertive affection as he practically consumes her and she slides her finger down his face. And as for Rick...he's addicted to his wife in the best way. 😊

gif cred: @kimwexlersponytail

Also, I always like seeing that “Failure is never an option” sign because I be needing that reminder in life and also it just feels like a thesis statement or something as to why Richonne is always able to win. When they refuse to fantasize about failing they always come out on top together. 👌🏽

So they manage to pull themselves off each other enough to run and kill more walkers and make it out of the building as they make a run for the vehicle. I remember in 2023 there were those set pics from this outdoor running moment and it felt so nice to now get to see what that all was from. Little did we know it was filmed for the greatest Richonne episode of all time. 🤩

gif cred: @nerd4music

With Richonne outside we continue to get insight into the destruction going on inside the apartment, including the death of the temp controller I believe. RIP, to the narrator of Richonne's ep 4 journey. 

And then Richonne make it to that yellow truck and let me tell you Richonne + cars is undefeated. 👌🏽 It’s always going to make for a golden moment and this one here of course is no exception. 😏

They run into the car and I adore the detail of Rick holding that book that Michonne said Judith would love. A whole FATHER. 😭🙌🏽 And this just goes to show that everything Michonne said to Rick when he had those walls up at the top of the ep was absolutely resonating with him even if he wasn’t fully letting on at first.

I mean, Rick always hangs on Michonne’s every word so of course everything she said stuck, especially about their children. (Also, it just hit me that that’s likely part of why Rick was thinking about getting a gift for RJ in the next episode since he knew they’re bringing the book as a gift for their daughter. 🥲)

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

So they get in the car but then Rick realizes there’s a slight complication as he tells Michonne it’s a “Stick shift.” I love the way Michonne looks at him and smiles when she realizes that means her little amputee cutie won't be able to drive this particular vehicle.

And y’all, since she has to drive that means Rick and Michonne have to switch seats. 😏 It's great how even a car being a stick shift can lead to Richonne gold, because this next moment is top tier. 🤩 Richonne stans, we ate good with TOWL, honey. 😇 Practically every second in this miniseries is rooted in Richonne’s romance. 🙌🏽

Also, I heard it was the episode's director Michael Slovis who had the idea for this next golden part, and I gotta take a moment to give Slovis his tens too. He did an outstanding job directing this Richonne love letter episode. 👏🏽💐

gif cred: @taiturner

So Rick and Michonne have to switch seats and they’re not gonna just get out of the car and do that - no, instead they attempt to just quickly climb over each other but, I’ve said it once I’ll say it 1000 times…Richonne are magnets. 🧲 So of course they couldn’t be that close to each other and not just start going to town again and making out. I love our hungry little couple that stays starving for each other. 😋

gif cred: @nat111love

When Michonne is on top of him you can see the determination on Rick’s face to turn this into something lol. And of course she’s on the same timing as they start making out. Like this building is really going to fall in mere seconds and they don’t give a damn. 🤭

They’re so happily distracted by their love and I’m here for it. They said that whole ‘love on each other as hard as we can while we can thing’ starts effective immediately. Also, only Richonne could make switching seats hot lol. 🔥

gif cred: @taiturner

Then it’s sweet to see the Roomba still going til it can’t go anymore. It’s resilient like Richonne. 

Also, it was really smart to put a sort of timer in the episode, and a high stakes timer at that, with the fact that the ep took place in a building on the verge of collapse. It's symbolic of how Richonne had to come the closest they’ve ever come to wondering if perhaps their relationship is on the verge of collapse as well. But of course like the Roomba that just won’t quit, they emerge from the building together and stronger. Richonne isn't the building, they’re the Roomba.

gif cred: @worldbeyondz

And then y’all. Y’ALL. You already know what I’m about to address. It is now wonderfully canon to know 🗣 MICHONNE CALLS RICK 'BABY.'

gif cred: @nat111love

I know I was previously in the camp that heard Michonne call Rick 'baby' earlier in the bedroom scene but that one I didn't hear on my first watch. This 'baby' right here in this blessed yellow truck tho - undeniably clear. And so great. 🤩

They cut to the two still making out like it’s the only thing on the agenda, but then Michonne knows that it actually is coming down to the wire with the building about to fall. So she whispers to Rick, “Baby, I gotta drive.” 🫠🤩🫠🤩🫠🤩

From “You want to drive?” to “Baby, I gotta drive.” What a journey. 😭🎁

I didn’t know how much I needed to hear Michonne call Rick 'baby' but when I heard it I was like oh I’ve needed to hear this all my life lol.

So y’all, can I happy dance one time? Because hearing Michonne call Rick 'baby' makes me ridiculously happy. 😋

Now whenever I see any pre-canon TWD moments between Rick and Michonne I just stop and think wow one day she’ll call that man her baby. 😭 Like that’ll just be their norm because the way she says it and the way he responds, it’s clear he’s used to that. It’s so sweet and fitting. 🥰

I know we often like to wonder about Richonne pet names and I think it’s so cute that she calls Rick baby because really that is her baby. When I first heard this, y'all, I rewound it so much to make sure I didn't just imagine it lol. It was perfect. 😇

(Also since this kissing moment wasn't scripted and it was something Slovis suggested they do while filming, I'm assuming that would mean the 'baby, i gotta drive' was improvised as well. If so, I love that these talented creatives know just what to do and say with these characters 🙌🏽😊)

And I love that Michonne has to remind him that she has to drive because if she didn’t Rick would have been down to make RJ #2 up in that car. Like he’s lost in her yet again while their making out and of course, the moaning has returned. The man can’t help it. 😊

This whole lovely kissing moment further proves that for Rick the world can wait when he’s with Michonne. And the way Michonne says the line you can tell that the only reason she’s stopping is cuz they literally need to go. If they didn’t have to book it out of here right now…she’d be down for whatever too. You already know. 😋

gif cred: @worldbeyondz

I love how Richonne’s favorite thing is kissing each other breathlessly and how they prove time and time again that the magnet thing might as well be literal. Also, the fact that they kiss during every phase of this exit - at the apartment door, in the elevator, and in the car. Real lovers are back. 😍

And they are never beating the adrenaline kink allegations, y’all. But I love how they, like us, are very cognizant of the fact that Richonne in fight mode is a sexy thing. 

And then I love that after she tells him 'Baby I gotta drive' they both laugh a little knowing how easily they get caught up. And then Rick is so refreshingly looser and more himself as he says, “Right. They made a stick shift electric car” and then he looks back and sees they left tanks of ethanol in the backseat.

gif cred: @taiturner

Let me repeat - The universe is a Richonner. 😋 The second Richonne got it together the universe was like here we’ll provide the fuel (and the food 🍜😉) and all the logistics.

I love how they both get excited learning the car is a hybrid. It reminds me when they were excited about those MREs in Say Yes. 

So then Michonne notes how they have to thank the innovators for the hybrid and how those people clearly thought they could do anything and Rick says, “Yep but we can. ‘We can make this whole world ours if we want to.’” Do you know how much of a loverboy you have to be to quote your wife’s words from a DREAM? 🫠 Most swoon-worthy thing ever and I’m so here for it. 🙌🏽

gif cred: @machonnes

I love that Rick is back to believing in Richonne. 🥰 Also I always laugh when I think back to when I first watched this because I remember just being like 'Aw he’s quoting her from the proposal dream ☺️' and then I gasped and was like 'oh that is a clear sign that he’s going to give her a ring in TOWL 🫢.' Like Rick quoting Dream Michonne in this car made me know for sure a wedding ring was coming cuz he's thinking about that particular '5 Pizzas & a Wedding Ring' dream. 👌🏽

I love seeing playful Rick again and Michonne brings that out of him so often and so naturally. And Michonne’s reaction is great when she looks at him like 'I agree but also...what??' I love that she affirms it tho saying, “Yes we can. That sounds like something I’d say.”

gif cred: @machonnes

And then Rick all contently says, “It is.” Y'all, i'm crying. 🥹 What a touching, lighthearted, and meaningful way to close out this episode's dialogue. 👏🏽

I love that Michonne knows she’d say that phrase and that Rick knows it full well too. He’s like baby, my dreams of you are extremely accurate, trust me. And the way he studies that woman of course they are. 😊

It’s just so special that those dreams at one point were all Rick really had of her and now here he gets to refer to them with the woman herself after she’s loved him back to life.

gif cred: @taiturner

As they get the car going there’s a little jump scare when a walker hits Rick’s window, and seeing them both jump and then be like okay let’s go - if they got any cuter my heart would not be able to take it lol. And the fact that Andy improvised that jumpscare reaction. Love it.

Rick and Michonne were just so back. Like they’re back to being the Richonne that’s playful, and flirty, and fully connected. A clear weight has been lifted off them and they're so in tune with each other again and it fills my heart with joy. 🥰

They drive and then it feels very poetic to see the building finally fall. I love the way Danai described the building as a cocoon that would determine if Richonne really can come out butterflies. And they soared out beautifully. 😭🦋

It also feels very symbolic of the way the walls Richonne had up around their hearts at the start of the episode have also officially fallen as they're back to being one in every way.

So having served its purpose of helping Richonne reconnect and bloom, the building could now come down. It’s almost like all the hard things they expressed and went through get to tumble down with the building as they head into a brighter horizon.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Having made it out just in time, Michonne watches the building fall from the rearview mirror and just smiles knowing she and Rick are finally back on track and on their way home like she's long been wanting.

gif cred: @machonnes

Then as Michonne smiles she has this loving look over to Rick and of course he’s already looking her way. 🥰 I love how his look over at her was such a loud and clear 'I love you.'

You just know that as he looks at her he knows he’s gonna be getting down on one knee with a ring the second he has a chance.

gif cred: @machonnes

And then the way he looks down with a smile. 😭 At this moment I really think ‘I’m so in love with her’ is the direct quote from his mind. That and “How’d I get so lucky finding you again.” 

gif cred: @machonnes

And Michonne can feel the love as she has her own 'I love you' smile at Rick and looks forward. That's the smile of a woman who knows good things can happen when you and your husband take a plunge out of a helicopter. 👌🏽

That’s also the smile of a writer who just knocked it all the way out of the park writing this brilliant episode. 🔥👏🏽

gif cred: @machonnes

And a surefire way to make me happy is to see Richonne happy, so I absolutely adore that this stunning episode ends with Richonne’s smiles. They’re together. They’re happy. They’re in love. All is well. 😌

As they drive off, I adore the Asibe Happy song they use. I love that it feels like a homage to Danai to have it be music from the motherland. And just the lyrics are so fitting saying We're happy/We're in love/They tried to come between us but they failed. The vibe is so different from TWD in a really cool way and it’s just a great choice. 👌🏽

It’s funny tho because my extra self had this song stuck in my head for a few days after the episode aired and despite it having a positive vibe I could not stop getting choked up when hearing it. 🥲 Like now for me the song represents Richonne overcoming and driving off into the sunset and it’s so beautiful and feels so much like a happily ever after ending that the music was constantly making me want to shed tears. 

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

But while it could have easily felt like this was the end of the story and Richonne was driving off into the sunset for good as this masterful episode faded to black…we still weren’t done yet. 😌

TOWL still had two more episodes of Richonne gold to give us with some very wonderful developments in their relationship. 👌🏽

But before we head into the final two episodes of TOWL, let me just conclude the 'What We' posts by saying Wow. This is how you do a moving, meaningful, and masterful episode of television.

What Danai so thoughtfully created with this episode exceeded expectations and truly shined the brightest light on why Richonne is so very special. Why it’s my Roman Empire. Why it’s my favorite depiction of love of all time. 😍

Never have I written so much about one TV episode, but I knew I’d have to go all out for Episode 4 because it’s what this important experience deserves. Every emotion, every scene, every choice, was pure excellence. 👏🏽

Andy and Danai have some of their greatest performances ever and I love that this episode was so packed with riveting dialogue and so focused solely on the two fascinating characters of Rick and Michonne and their extremely compelling relationship. It really gave Andy and Danai the space to again solidify why they're the best in the business and why Richonne is the greatest TV couple of all. 👑

I’m so grateful to them for giving their all as the people who bring Richonne to life and to Danai for writing something so inspiring and exceptional. 🔥

I’ll thank her 1000 times for lovingly and diligently crafting a Richonne episode that is food for the soul and delves into love, pain, trauma, and triumph with such honesty, creativity, and care.

This franchise and fandom are so fortunate to have such an astronomically gifted actress and writer share her gifts this way. 💯

Episode 4 was immensely heartfelt, hot, humurous, healing and profoundly human. It'll stick with me forever. It's embedded in my heart and I wouldn’t have it any other way.🥹

It's not every day you get to see your favorite thing reach its peak of perfection but that's what this episode was for me - capturing the mesmerizing depth and beauty of Richonne at its absolute best. So I'll cherish this shining treasure of an episode always.👌🏽😌

[callmebrycelee]

9-1-1 REACTION

It's a new week which means a new episode of 9-1-1. So, let's talk about it! This reaction is for the season 8, fourth episode "No Place Like Home" which originally aired October 17. 2024. The episode was written by Lyndsey Beaulieu and directed by Marita Grabiak. Spoilers ahead!

I want to start off by saying I love this show. I love the characters. I love the emergencies. I love the big disasters. I have been thoroughly entertained by this show since episode one. There have been many amazing episodes over the last eight years. "Buck Begins", "The Searchers" and "Fight or Flight" come to mind. If I were to make a list of my Top Ten or Top Twenty Episodes of the series, tonight's episode would be a strong contender for either list. Yes, you read that correctly. Tonight's episode has everything I like in an episode of 9-1-1. We have two brutal emergencies. We have some comedic moments as well as some heartwarming ones as well. We also have one of the best villains I've seen on primetime television in a long time. Olivia Ortiz is part mafia boss, part Captain Planet villain and I loved hating her this episode. I have a feeling this will not be the last time we see her. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start off by talking about the best plot.

Best plot?

There are a few strong contenders for best plot of the episode. I really enjoyed Eddie's side quest to reunite the cheerleader Weston (played by Trent Mason) with his father Mike (played by DaJuan Johnson). The plot really endeared me to Eddie and his situation. I haven't been the biggest Eddie fan since he blew up his life last season but I'm starting to see glimmers of what his character was like back when he was first introduced. I hope they don't carry on the 'Christopher is mad at Eddie' storyline too much longer. I need Gavin McHugh back on my screen again and not via a FaceTime call. 

I did also love the stuff involving Bobby and Athena. I totally get where both of them are coming from. Athena wants something familiar and Bobby wants something new. I'm honestly surprised they lasted as long as they did living in Athena and Michael's home especially after Michael ended up in her bed that time. Perhaps Athena didn't want to uproot her children from their childhood home. Maybe her thought process was that it didn't matter if her family looked different (divorcing Michael and marrying Bobby( as long as the environment she was in stayed the same. I'm glad that Athena really acknowledged Bobby's feelings. Listening and taking into account each other's feelings has been an obstacle for them to overcome. I really think the cruise saved their marriage. They seem to be so in tune with each other. I can't wait to see where they end up living.

While I enjoyed the two aforementioned plots, the best plot of the episode, in my humblest of opinion, was Hen and Karen's fight to get Mara back. First off, shout-out to Veronica Falcón. Councilwoman Olivia Ortiz is hands down the best villain we have ever gotten on this show. Psycho firefighter Jonah Greenway (played by Bryce Durfee) and serial rapist Jeffrey Hudson (played by Noah Bean) or even Vincent Gerrard (played by Brian Thompson) can't hold a candle to this ruthless person. In the scene where Hen goes to Olivia's campaign office, I actually thought that she'd finally gotten through to the councilwoman. Boy was I wrong. No one holds a grudge quite like Olivia Ortiz. The woman is pure evil and I don't even think she cares as much about her son as she would like us to believe. The only thing she cares about is having power and maintaining it.

My heart broke for Hen and Karen when they were told they could no longer be around Mara. It never occurred to me there could be something wrong with Maddie and Chimney fostering Mara as a way of having Hen and Karen around. At least they didn't remove Mara from the home. I think that would've broken Hen and Karen. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, we learn via Gerrard that the ultimate goal is to not only break up Hen's family at home but her work family as well. The woman is diabolical I tell you! In the most surprising move on the episode, not only do we get a conclusion to the Mara/Olivia Ortiz storyline, we get a twist! Turns out, Gerrard is still a steaming pile of horse shit but he is capable of doing something really good - even if there's something in it for him. 

Who knew that Chekov's bodycam would be the thing that brought Olivia down. I just knew that when we saw Gerrard go to Ortiz's office that things were about to go left. Turns out, Bobby does manage to get through to Gerrard during his visit to the firefighter show set and he uses his own bodycam to expose Olivia's nefarious plans to close the 118. We get to see that footage played during the hearing at the end of the episode and just like that, ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead and that's not even the best part. Gerrard ends up taking over Bobby's job at the studio and Bobby is reinstated as the rightful captain of the 118. It's a win-win situation although something tells me we haven't seen the last of Olivia Ortiz.

Best emergency sequence?

One of the major complaints about last season is the lack of emergencies we got to see the 118 respond to. The first three episodes of the 10-episode season were dedicated to the cruise ship disaster. We had an episode devoted to Maddie and Chimney's wedding. The last two episodes were all about Bobby. Thankfully we're back to the kooky emergencies that really put this show on the map. As far as what's the best emergency sequence of this episode - that's a hard one. Out options this week is Death Becomes Cheerleader and Tiger King. The emergency involving the tiger in the high-rise building was especially fun because we got to see Chimney be a total bad-ass with a tranq gun. My pick for best emergency sequence is our totally twisted cheerleader. Not only does it involve body horror and toxic masculinity, this emergency also feeds into Eddie's storyline. It did make me a tad bit nervous when we got the establishing shot of a football field and cheerleaders performing a routine. The last time we had cheerleaders in the show, it ended in tragedy. Weston does manage to survive his injury thanks to Eddie and his superior paramedic skills. I do wish they would play up his paramedic side a bit more on the show but that's sort of hard to do when you already have Hen and Chimney there.

We learn that Weston has a strained relationship with his father who isn't exactly thrilled about having a cheerleader for a son. I've always found the whole 'cheerleaders aren't real athletes' sentiment to be baffling because one could argue that cheerleader requires a lot more athleticism than playing football does. Yes, I know that football players are putting their bodies on the line for the sake of winning a game but cheerleaders are flipping and being tossed in the air all without wearing pads and there's a strong chance they may fall on their head or in the case of this Weston, get their entire body twisted around. Unfortunately, Weston's father Mike doesn't see cheerleading that way. He thinks cheerleading is for girls and deems his son as less masculine for being a cheerleader. Eddie decides to talk to Mike about his treatment of Weston which leads me to my award.

Episode MVP?

The MVP of this episode is Eddie Diaz! Yes, you read that correctly. I really liked the scenes we got with Eddie. Minus the awful mustache, it really felt like we got old Eddie this episode. I was totally on board with the advice he gave to Weston's dad. At first I thought it was a bold move for Eddie to seek out Mike and talk to him. No offense but Eddie is hardly the person to be doling out parental advice at the moment. I did like his approach to talking to Mike. Eddie was very honest about his own fraught relationship with Christopher. I truly felt for Eddie during this conversation because things have not improved between him and Christopher and he doesn't want things to get so bad that he becomes Mike and Christopher becomes Weston. Eddie does manage to get through to Mike and we see father and son reunited at the end of the episode. Even if Eddie isn't able to repair his own father/son relationship, at least he can facilitate reconciliation between Weston and Mike. Hopefully we get to see more of his journey towards forgiveness and reconciliation in the next episodes. I miss Christopher and I can't wait until he's back in Los Angeles where he belongs.Hey writers! More of this Eddie please. Oh, and please, please, pretty please with sugar on top get rid of that creepy mustache! Ryan Guzman is a gorgeous man and it's diminishing his sexiness. 

BuckTommy Corner

There's no BuckTommy in this episode. For our third episode straight, Tommy Kinard is nowhere to be found. But I'm not too upset about it. Lou Ferrigno Jr. did shout-out the episode on Twitter so I am quite confident we will be seeing him soon. The man stays booked and busy so the show has to work around his schedule. I do think this is a sign that he is meant to stay for the long haul because I'm sure they could find another actor who is more available. I get the sense that Tim and the gang really love Lou and what he brings to the show so they are more than willing to take what they can get.

Something I found amusing that is BuckTommy is adjacent to Gerrard's nickname for Buck in this episode. He calls our dear sweet Evan 'tight-end' which is a reference to his position when he played football back in high school. I did wonder if Gerrard's usage of the name is more about Buck's sexuality than it is about a football position. Also, I never really figured out if Gerrard knew about Buck and Tommy. I'm sure he knows about Tommy but does he know  they are dating? I guess that's all moot because Gerrard is gone and Bobby is back. Poor Buck has been so miserable as of late. Hopefully Bobby being back will mellow him out a bit. 

Overall, I really enjoyed this episode. It felt like classic 9-1-1. I've said it once and it bears repeating - the move to ABC continues to be one of the best things that has happened to the show. The network truly cares about 9-1-1 and is throwing all the money at the show. I do wish they could have rescued 9-1-1: Lone Star as well. Maybe Sierra McClain would still be on the show if the spin-off made it over to ABC as well. I have heard some scuttlebutt about there being another 9-1-1 sequel that will air in conjunction with the OG series but nothing definite. I do wonder which city they would pick if we do get another show. My vote is for New Orleans or Atlanta. But hey, we're talking about 9-1-1.

I am curious as to what's in store for everyone now that everything's been reset. Bobby is back at the 118 and Hen and Karen got Mara back. I hope we get to see more of Buck and Tommy. I am curious about the journey Eddie's about to embark on. The B*ddie shippers seem to think we're about to see Eddie wrestle with his latent homosexuality but I think the man has bigger fish to fry. Eddie needs to deal with his religious trauma. I think he also needs to reckon with his feelings about Shannon. He also needs to get Christopher back. Our boy has a lot of work to do and playing kissy face with his best friend and coworker is not even remotely a priority. Another thing I think we're going to focus on is Maddie and Chimney's first year of being married. Maddie's last marriage was a total nightmare and old habits die hard. I wonder if we will see her struggle with own personal demons as she navigates a marriage with Chimney. I can't wait to see Bobby and Athena move into a new home and deal with being empty-nesters. I do wonder what they have in store for Hen and Karen. Hopefully they're good for now and maybe all we need is the occasional scene of domestic bliss. I guess we'll have to wait to see what happens next. Until next time ...

[brucebocchi]

Winter 2024 anime roundup, Pt. 1: Ongoing/returning shows and the trash heap

hey y'all, this is also up on my ko-fi! it's free to read both here and there, but i'm struggling financially rn so i could appreciate if you'd throw a few bucks my way if you liked it!

I wasn't expecting to watch nearly this much anime in just the past three months, but life completely failed at getting in the way. So here's everything I either watched or tried​ to watch for the Winter 2024 season, and a short review for each.

I'm not going to bother with trying to rank them, so instead they're sorted by category, as follows:

Continuing series from Fall 2023

Returning series

What I dropped

Mixed reactions

On hold

New series that are actually good

With this first entry, I'll be covering the first three, with the back half arriving in another couple of days. As with the 2023 rankings, the OP for each show is linked in the corresponding title.

Here we go.

Ongoing shows:

The Apothecary Diaries

Looking back at my 2023 rankings, I think my placement of The Apothecary Diaries’ first cour at #11 may have belied how much I love this show and believe it to truly be one of last year’s greats. If anything, it was hampered by its status as an ongoing show making it incomplete by nature, and I worried myself over the possibility of recency bias taking over my top ten (Frieren is in the same boat, so its top overall ranking should really highlight how damn good it is). Make no mistake, though: The Apothecary Diaries fucking rocks, and it continues to fucking rock. 

It’s largely more of the same, and that’s what you would want from another cour of this show. At the same time, though, more and more is uncovered about Maomao’s background and Jinshi’s status as the proverbial camera continues to pull back and the mysteries adorning the edges of the frame become clearer. I got a sense at the end of the Fall 2023 cour that the show was moving on from its episodic nature into something more serial and plot-driven, and I was mostly right: While several episodes of the Winter cour still revolve around various mysteries of the week, they all start to converge before you even realize it. It’s the same flywheel-effect approach to plot development that Kaguya-sama did so well: While so many of the events seem like one-off curiosities in the moment, these almost-imperceptible movements eventually barrel forward into an unexpected but perfectly logical momentum. The show teases out several plot threads that may not seem relevant at first, and it trusts you to be patient enough to see them play out.

I’m not at all exaggerating when I say that, along with the next entry on this list, The Apothecary Diaries is one of the best anime of the past five years. I had a feeling that this could end up being the case as 2023 came to a close, but I’m sure of it now. Watch this show.

Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End

Last year’s best anime continues apace into 2024 as we get an honest-to-goodness story arc: Frieren, who has been around too long to bother taking any magical governing bodies seriously, needs a certified mage in her party order to continue on the journey north. She decides to take the necessary exam to be certified as a First-Class Mage, a rarefied status in this world, and has Fern tag along to do the same in order to double their chances. 

And it’s still incredible! Great action, brilliant animation, wonderful character moments, and a beautiful score. It is still the top-rated anime ever on MyAnimeList, and by a significant margin. I’m not sure I agree, necessarily, but I can say with all sincerity that this has been a perfect season of television and my Fridays now feel empty without it. 

That’s all I’ve got on this one. What else do you want from me? I’ve already written nearly 2000 words about this show alone since it premiered. You’re asking me for more? I’ll kill you.

Shangri-La Frontier

If the low placement on my 2023 list was any indication, I was pretty fed up with Shangri-La Frontier by the end of its first cour, and the first couple episodes of 2024 being little more than plot set-up had me teetering on the edge of dropping it entirely. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t reel me back in once shit actually started happening and the plot really began to move forward.

Well, for a bit, at least. The height of the series so far has been the Wethermon arc, in which Sunraku teams up with his fellow shit-gamers, Pencilgon and Katzo, as they vie to be the first to take down a notoriously difficult unique boss. As the fight plays out, we get to see the feeling-out process of a tough action-RPG boss, rife with attack pattern memorization, skill timing, and buff stacking as the margin for error grows ever thinner. As always, the animation is on point, the soundtrack rules, and the action sequences are exhilarating.

But my major gripe with the series remains: There’s hardly any actual story here, even after 25 episodes. There are broad gestures towards a larger plot (“the truth of this world,” as the NPCs call it), but they are too vague to even resemble anything enticing. Everything in between the major fights is just set dressing, and there’s a lot of in between. There’s decent stuff in there, to be fair; the adorable rabbit NPCs are always a delight, and I love the commitment to depicting our top-level gamers as smug, preening shitheels. These are long walks for short drinks of water, though, and much of the main cast isn’t likable enough to make the downtime tolerable, to the point where watching the many set-up episodes feels like more of a grind than the actual grinding in the show. Even in the best fight sequences I still had moments where I found myself yelling “STOP TALKING ALREADY” at the screen. Internal monologues are a constant in battle shonen, I know, but if there’s any demographic whose internal monologues I want to hear the least, it’s gamers.

I kept watching this show despite myself, and six months later I’m still not sure how much I actually enjoy it. I haven’t seen any of the lousy VRMMO anime that people favorably compare it to, so at least it isn’t Sword Art Online. Yay, I guess? Yet here I am, still plugging away at a show I can’t strongly recommend to a lot of people. Shangri-La Frontier has turned me into a Steam reviewer.

Undead Unluck

The stakes continue to rise exponentially in one of last year’s more underrated shonen hits (or it would’ve been a hit if Disney gave a fuck about marketing the anime on its own platforms). The Union neutralizes a threat, gains a new Roundtable member, and then shit hits the fan.

The scope of this series goes into absolutely buckwild directions, and all I will say is that “Kimi no Todoke predicting the future” was not a piece of worldbuilding I would have ever expected. But at the same time, it never loses focus on the human element, which only gets more poignant as it goes on. There’s a really beautiful message in the last arc about how people can live on through the memories of others, well past their bodies dying, which hits nice and hard considering this season aired at the same time as Frieren.

This is a show that I tended to watch sporadically (because I just plain forget to open Hulu just to watch one show every week), and I would say that it was the ideal way to watch it, except the pacing issues from the first cour only got worse during a monumentally consequential sequence in the middle of the second. There was an episode that had, I shit you not, 90 seconds of new content in the first seven minutes of runtime, and at the exact point in the series where you’re salivating for something, anything new. In a season where so much goes on in just 24 episodes, I’m baffled that they felt the need to pad the runtime so much.

That’s the worst of it, though, and the momentum fortunately builds up from there and barrels downhill until the end. The story becomes incredibly meta, which was a very ballsy move for a Shonen Jump series that was still relatively early into its run. The gamble pays off, though, and the debut season ends on several incredibly strong episodes, and now I want more. I’ll be hopping on the manga soon.

It also struck me towards the end of the season just how goddamn cute everyone looks. For all of the spraying blood and grim marching towards Armageddon, it says a lot that I still wanna pinch everyone’s fat little cheeks.

Returning shows:

The Dangers in My Heart, season 2

The first season was absent in my 2023 rankings but I decided to pick it up while the second was still airing, and I’m so glad I did: The Dangers in My Heart is an almost-too-precious middle school romance that is endlessly endearing and bluntly honest (if a little exploitative) about what middle schoolers are actually like, warts and all. Insecurities are amplified, they struggle to figure out their identities, and mental and physical development run on different schedules from one kid to the next. And amidst all this raging hormonal nonsense, we have ourselves a lovely little romance story.

Kyotaro has (mostly) kicked his chuuni tendencies and realized that he’s madly in love with the beautiful, cheery Anna. He’s as aware as anyone of what a mismatched couple they’d be, though, and continues to self-sabotage any progress in the name of maintaining her good social standing. To pile onto his loner’s perspective of middle school politics, Kyotaro also gets a front-row seat to Anna’s part-time work as a model-slash-actress and he wonders if an underdeveloped shrimp like him should be seen anywhere near someone so obviously more mature. At the same time, though, he’s a growing boy, and we see lovely moments of progress as Kyotaro takes initiative both for her sake and to achieve what he wants. To both ameliorate and complicate these situations, Anna reciprocates his feelings towards her, and we creep ever closer towards what we want to see, in increasingly awkward and precious fashion.

So much of this anime is just gorgeous. Even setting aside the visuals and music (which are on point at all times), there are really lovely themes in here about insecurity, teenage perceptions of maturity, and self acceptance. On top of all of that, though, this is just a delightful slice-of-life romance story. You can probably guess where we’ve ended up by the end of the second season, but it’s the getting there that makes it all worth it. The manga is still running (and I plan to pick it up), so there’s clearly plenty more of the story to tell, but if this is where the anime ends, it ended perfectly.

Holy shit, though, did the first season really air at the same time as Skip and Loafer and Insomniacs After School? Dentists must have made a mint that season because every single one of these shows is so unrelentingly sweet that my teeth start to itch. Not that I’m complaining.

Mashle: Magic and Muscles, season 2

I honestly think I might’ve been too hard on Mashle in my 2023 rankings. I gave up on it a few episodes in when it’d initially aired, but I eventually came back to finish out the season and ended up having a pretty good time. I’ll cop to having forgotten that latter part when I mapped out those rankings, but that enjoyment quickly came back to me when I picked up season 2... even if the season begins with a ton of table setting.

Plenty of battle shonen take time to find their voice, both in manga and anime, and Mashle really seemed to hit its stride fairly quickly into the second season. Mash Burnedead’s lack of magical quality is no longer a secret, and now magical society has to find a way to deal with it, so the series’ initial stakes are raised and Mash HAS to become a top-level sorcerer lest he lose his life. Also, the bad guys are back. Unfortunately, just as I started to genuinely appreciate the ensemble cast, most of Mash’s friends took a backseat to the larger plot (Lemon is nowhere to be seen almost all season) as the villains raise the stakes with increasingly JoJo-esque magic abilities. There’s still plenty to like, though, and some of the new characters help. Props for having an openly nonbinary character play a major role.

The music is a real highlight here; a surprising amount of hip-hop paints the backdrops during dialogue, and any show with an OP by Creepy Nuts will immediately grab my attention. "Bling-Bang-Bang-Born" actually turned into a bona fide hit single, much like Oshi no Ko's "Idol" and Jujutsu Kaisen's "SPECIALZ," and I'd say it's well earned (seriously, it fucks, please click the link above). The animation has also started to really pick up where it felt like it kept falling short in the first season as well, and I found myself looking forward to action sequences more as the season went on.

And hey, it might’ve taken 21 episodes to get there, but I finally laughed at a cream puff gag!

Urusei Yatsura (2022), season 2

I really don’t have much to say other than it’s more Urusei Yatsura, and that’s just swell. We continue the modern adaptation of the classic gag manga as the OG anime babe and her piece-of-shit “darling” get caught up in yet more bizarre hijinks. Despite the 48-episode run being touted as an “Urusei Yatsura all-stars” cherry-pick from Rumiko Takahashi’s 34-volume opus, not all of the segments hit on the same level, but the stories that last entire or even multiple episodes have been killer. Lum and Ataru, despite their myriad flaws, genuinely do care for one another, and this series is at its best when those feelings get to shine through. Takahashi remains a legend for her expert balancing of comedy and heart, and while this particular adaptation doesn’t have the built-in benefit of 300+ chapters of familiarity, those moments still feel earned.

It’s Urusei Yatsura. It’s a classic for a reason. Watch it.

Dropped:

Gushing Over Magical Girls (dropped after one episode)

For the TL;DR version, consult the image above.

All I’d heard about this show going in was that the manga it’s based on was good and that there would be boobs. I wish I’d known more than that before watching, though, because if I’d known that said boobs would belong to middle schoolers, I wouldn’t have bothered with even the one episode I did end up watching.

I was drawn in by the initial premise, too: The protagonist, the conspicuously-named Utena (who looks enough like Bernadetta from Fire Emblem that I was immediately endeared to her), is an enormous fan of the magical girls who keep her city safe, so when an adorable maho shoujo mascot approaches her with an offer, she immediately takes him up on it. As her sinister-looking (and unnecessarily revealing) costume suggests, though, Utena doesn’t get to live out her magical girl dreams; she actually got roped into—and blackmailed into keeping—a role as a villainess. The magical girl team she idolizes quickly finds her, and to stave off their assault, Utena is forced to summon a monster to bind them. As they continue to struggle and squeal, Utena goes further with it by ripping their clothes and spanking their bare bottoms red, because it turns out that she’s actually into this stuff, sexually. The title, it turns out, is a double entendre.

Credit where it’s due for a clever concept: On paper, this is really goddamn funny! My issue is with the execution: I don’t really care to see someone’s sexual awakening if it involves repeated violations of consent, and much less so if I have to see nudity of ostensible middle schoolers (Japanese middle schools are the equivalent of seventh through ninth grade, meaning these girls are 15 at most). After 100 Girlfriends, I thought I could handle whatever trashy bullshit any anime could throw my way, but the longer I chewed on Gushing’s premiere, the worse it sat with me. I have no intentions of playing morality police here, but I can’t bring myself to watch any more of this than I already have. 

Early teenage sexuality is a very difficult subject matter to handle delicately, especially in a comedy milieu, and I can levy plenty of criticisms on that matter towards series I otherwise enjoyed, like Call of the Night and the aforementioned Dangers in My Heart. And although there appear to be some coming-of-age elements here, Gushing doesn’t seem interested in handling it without being exploitative. Maybe it gets better, but I don’t plan to find out for myself. 

I just feel like it’s a shame that in a season with some actual halfway decent LGBT representation, the breakout yuri hit is about middle schoolers performing dubiously-consensual BDSM on each other. And maybe that speaks to something for some sapphic viewers, and I have no intention of speaking over them, but I do know that this isn’t for me. I would’ve gone fucking feral over this show when I was like 13, but I haven’t been a 13-year-old boy for a long, long time. 

I may not have a leg to stand on here as someone who watches Mushoku Tensei (and frankly, that one’s on strike two with me), but I have to put my foot down somewhere. For me, that “somewhere” is borderline pornography involving 13-15 year olds. I try to meet media where it is, even the squicky stuff, but I cannot put myself at the level Gushing Over Magical Girls sets for itself. 

Sasaki and Peeps (dropped after eight episodes)

This show is frustrating to even process postmortem. After a mildly intriguing hour-long premiere that introduced a whole lot of concurrent concepts, Sasaki and Peeps somehow managed to not only continue heaping new ideas onto the pile, but also fumble every single one of them in a way that wasn’t even entertaining to watch.

Sasaki, a lonely 40-something salaryman of modest means, decides that instead of living vicariously through adorable animal photos on social media, he should pull the trigger and get a pet of his own. He settles on a reasonably-priced and suitably adorable fat little Java sparrow, who as it turns out speaks human language and is actually named Piercarlo the Starsage (Sasaki settles on calling him Pii-chan, or Peeps in English). The bird was reincarnated from another world, where he is able to take Sasaki at will, and the man realizes he can use the other world’s relative dearth of technology to his advantage and sets up an interdimensional trade full time so he can make coin on his own watch and help Peeps try the delicious beef he heard is the best food in Sasaki’s world. To the latter end, he also invests in a restaurant. Peeps also helps teach him magic, which Sasaki is forced to use in a pinch in the real world. He is quickly found out and gets roped into a secret government bureau of psychics, because the agent who caught him using ice magic decides he’d be a perfect complement to her water powers (think Kanne and Lawine from Frieren, but stupider). Sasaki now has to balance these multiple lives, which hardly ever interact with one another, as the stakes rise in Peeps’ world in the form of palace intrigue and in Sasaki’s world in the form of a growing threat of evil psychics or something. Also, there’s magical girls, because why the fuck not at this point.

If you actually managed to process all that and went “wow, that’s a lot, I wonder how they can tie all that together,” it brings me no pleasure to report that Sasaki and Peeps completely fails at that task. This is a work of fiction with entirely too many ideas, to the point where it feels like it has no ideas. There’s a saying in football that a team with two quarterbacks is a team with no quarterback, and Sasaki and Peeps has, like, six on its depth chart. You ever hear a band that managed to cram multiple genres in the same song and you get whiplash every time it switches up? Those are bands with a lot of influences, but no identity or vision to call their own, and that is Sasaki and Peeps to me: It is the Twenty One Pilots of anime. A lot of shit got thrown at the wall, and none of it stuck: This show, conceptually, is shit-stained drywall with a pile of turds adorning the moulding. 

For a show about a 40-year-old man, it gave me serious pause that there was not a single named adult woman in any of the episodes I watched, and I grew even more frustrated waiting for one to show up. Sasaki’s partner, Hoshizaki, seems to be a driven, professional young woman, but it turns out she’s a 16 year old high school student, for some reason. The daughter of the viscount doing business with Sasaki is a young girl who likes to tag along with him, and Sasaki’s neighbor is a latchkey high school girl who may or may not have a yandere-ish fixation on him. The magical girl we meet is also definitely a kid. The female psychics they face off against don’t appear to be older than teenagers, though the one who appears to grow fond of him turns out to be several hundred years old, which especially gave me pause because we all know that unfortunate trope and the type of person who hides behind it. Before progressing any further, I found out that the light novel series upon which this show is based was written by someone with the pen name “Buncololi,” which told me the rest of what I needed to know.

That part made me increasingly uncomfortable, and I became less and less convinced that this show was capable of sticking the landing as it continued to pile on new, contrived ideas. This was a waste of an excellent voice cast, but more than that, a waste of time.

Tales of Wedding Rings (dropped after nine episodes)

I can’t believe how much goddamn isekai I ended up watching this season. That Tales of Wedding Rings wasn’t the worst one (see above) was a minor miracle, because boy howdy was this one a dud.

Satou is just a normal high school boy, blah blah blah, his childhood friend he’s in love with is actually a princess from another world and she has to go back to fulfill a political marriage, he follows her into the portal to pull a Benjamin Braddock. But then, gasp, the palace is under attack, so the princess (her native name is Krystal, but growing up in Japan she was known as Hime, which means… princess) instead decides to marry Satou, bestowing upon him her kingdom’s ring, which gives him powers that he uses to fight back the demons. It turns out that her ring enables him to use one elemental affinity out of five, so of course now Satou has to collect the rings held by the other four kingdoms in order to become the Ring King and save the world, and to do so he has to also marry each corresponding princess.

This is basically Tolkien’s Rings of Power but as a harem isekai with bonus nudity. What I saw of the season was basically a MacGuffin hunt that had waifus of various fantasy races attached. Fine character designs for each, to be fair, but it wasn’t enough to keep me interested.  It’s funny on paper that (to paraphrase Geoff Thew) our protagonist’s power level scales with the size of his harem, but Tales didn’t do enough to make me actually care what was happening. And I wanted to! There were elf titties and I didn’t care. That’s criminal.

What makes Tales especially difficult to watch is that this show is fuck ugly. The color palette is muddy and unappealing, everyone looks uncannily shiny, and there’s a smudgy Vaseline filter over everything. The action sequences are uninspiring, the animation is lousy, and every character looks terribly off-model unless they’re naked. Watch the OP I linked if you don't believe me; that's the best of it. The aural element isn’t much better; ecchi scenes are punctuated by a Cinemax-caliber smooth jazz score that I pray was chosen ironically, and most of the show’s humor consists of “an old guy is screeching.” And if you’re wasting Shigeru Chiba’s talents on that one lousy joke, you’ve fucked up catastrophically.

What completely pushed me out of wanting to see any more of this show, though, was how hard it doubled down on the worst elements of harem anime by having Protag-kun be a wishy-washy little ninny even though he’s openly declared his love for and is literally married to Hime/Krystal. And I wanted to care about her; the narrative made me want to care about her, and her jealousy of the other princesses is warranted, but alas, the harem demands bodies. To his credit, Satou recognizes her mixed emotions and makes extra time for her to make it clear that she’s forever number one in his heart, but every single time their shared romance and emotions actually push them towards consummating their (all caps for emphasis) MARRIAGE, the show goes Rent-a-Girlfriend on us and finds a cheap excuse to ruin the moment. No thanks, I’m out. Nothing else about this show is good enough to make me wade through that shit.

Honestly, the only thing that had me coming back after my Persona 3-induced hiatus was that I wanted to see the dragon girl, and that alone was almost worth it, but there really isn’t much of a draw otherwise. There were better isekai, better romances, better fantasy settings, and even better uncensored harem shenanigans this season. I might pick this back up as the second season approaches, but I’m not in any hurry.

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

Who? - Ineffable Husband watch Doctor Who - crack, fluff

"Mr Bond, you're truly a hero." the blond, bespectacled women said to him. It had been quite a victory, that much was true. The girl clutched Bond's arm, blushing up at him. "Mr Bond, it was ever so brave of scramoush scaramoush will you do the fandango.......

"Crowley, is that you?"

Crowley groaned. Blinking into awareness, Crowley pressed the phone to his ear. He really should change his ringtone. Leave your phone in the Bentley once and it thinks it has the right. "Yes, yes, hello Aziraphale."

"Oh dear," the angel paused for a moment, and Crowley pulled himself out of his covers and sat up. "Were you asleep? I'm so sorry for interrupting you. I'll let you get back to it."

"No, no." Crowley cleared his throat. The angel, to his credit, sounded genuinely distressed by the prospect of accidentally waking Crowley from his sleep. Crowley grimaced. "I was just getting up. What's the matter?"

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. The static buzzing of a tea kettle, knowing him, transferring through his end was all that could be heard.

"I'm afraid it's rather silly." That got Crowley's attention. He performed a quick miracle and he was dressed. Black sweater, black sweatpants (even demon's had lazy days, and he planned on gardening) and combat boots (to make up for the sweatpants). Aziraphale made a noise over the phone. "It's really not important. There was just something I wanted to show you, if... if you're not busy."

Crowley, of course, had nothing on. But Aziraphale wanted to see him so he was obviously free. Even if he had something on, he'd try and get... okay, no, that line of inquiry is well worn. He just wanted to see Aziraphale. He was bored yada yada.

"I'll be there." Crowley said into the microphone.

"Oh, good." Aziraphale's sigh transmitted through, and Crowley really had no clue then what it was Aziraphale wanted to see him for, and the angel wasn't telling him. "I'll see you soon. Safe driving."

"Never," Crowley responded, as usual. Aziraphale hung up the phone and Crowley sprung up and grabbed his keys.

Aziraphale was pacing.

Perhaps he shouldn't have called Crowley. It was ridiculous, this whole thing. But he couldn't, in good conscious, not tell the demon. It would be simply unfair not to. And Aziraphale was an angel, so he should be the one to tell him.

The bell at the door chimed. Crowley stepped inside, miracling his clothing dry. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief.

"Crowley," he approached his friend, smiling as the demon propped himself a bookshelf. "You look cozy. How was the drive?"

The demon tilted his head and put a hand on his hip. "Uhh, fine." he finally spoke. That was good. That was very good. "So do you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Ah, yes." Aziraphale shifted, adjusting his cardigan, "Well, I stumbled across something that might be rather interesting to you. On..." Aziraphale paused, but Crowley, who knew Aziraphale's mannerisms as well as his own, waited. "the television."

Crowley smiled.

"Aziraphale..."

"Crowley."

And the demon laughed as Aziraphale led him upstairs.

It was unexpected.

They were in the small sitting room in the flat at the top of Aziraphale's bookshop. Crowley had only been up here on occasion. The room was like the rest of the space. There was a small, brown couch with a blanket and several homemade cushions; an antique coffee table covered with books, a newspaper, two tea cups and a half finished plate of biscuits; and a slim and small TV on the bureau. The curtains were drawn.

"This is cozy." Crowley said as Aziraphale sat on the couch and reached for the remote. Crowley took that as invitation to join him. And waited.

The theme of Doctor Who began to play, and at this, Crowley looked over at the angel. Aziraphale was watching the screen, adjusting his cardigan again. Several names flashed across the screen, then, the title, The Christmas Invasion.

The episode started to play. Ten minutes in, Aziraphale paused it, and slowly turned his head to face Crowley. Crowley was already looking at Aziraphale.

"That." was all Crowley said.

"I know." Aziraphale flinched. "I was just as surprised as you."

"David Tennant?"

Aziraphale shifted. "I was meaning to catch up on the series, before it got too far away from me." he tried to explain. "And, well, there's this." he gestured towards the screen, where a still image of David Tennant's sleeping face. The resemblance to the demon at his right was uncanny.

"And you thought this was my doing?"

"Well," Aziraphale shrugged. "I didn't know what to think, but you seem just as surprised by this information."

Crowley leaned back into the couch, pondering this for a moment. Then he shrugged, and got up.

"Wait, where are you going? You can't hurt him!"

Crowley spun around on his feet. The expression on his face was incredulous.

"Aziraphale." he said in a measured tone. "That is a human man. You want to watch Doctor Who, and so do I. I'm grabbing wine." then he turned away again, and walked out of the room.

Several hours later...

Aziraphale turned the TV off. They stared at the black screen.

"That was..."

A noise broke through the silence. Aziraphale turned his head, and Crowley turned his away.

"Crowley." he said gently. "Are you... crying?"

Crowley sneered at this and turned back to face Aziraphale. His face was dry, miraculously, and Aziraphale felt a wave of tenderness wash through him.

"Well," Aziraphale's hand itched to reach out and comfort the demon. On the screen, the Doctor walked away from the wall dividing him and Rose. Well, the wall that was actually a gap in the void. The theme swelled, and Aziraphale's heart clenched. He paused the episode.

"Next one?" Crowley said gently, and Aziraphale obliged.

Later, Crowley would deny ever crying at that episode. It was not brought up again.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

[nintendonut1]

Hasty

so i

wrote ship fic of my OCs

if you guys are into that sorta thing LOL

Swee/Willow slowburn fic, where they discuss Swee's favorite television program growing up. Includes swearing, small injury, and telenovela-esque drama (thanks to LassDaisy for double-checking my Spanish!)

“What the—dude. What is this lady’s problem??”

Swee freezes mid-slice, the carrot on his cutting board half-diced, and takes a moment to find his center. Were it anyone else, any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw someone who’d dare slander his girl right out of his kitchen. Shutting his eyes, he, oddly enough, finds inner peace in her shrieking voice blaring at full volume from the mounted television.

It’s okay. He dropped in at the season finale of a show that’s in a language he cannot understand. He has no knowledge of her struggles. Go easy on him.

Without a word, he lifts the remote and pauses the DVD, turning to face his guest with his hands clasped in front of his face. “...okay. Do you want the whole list, or just the top ten?”

Willow gives proper pause, blinking, a cracker drenched in cheese sauce hovering just near his open mouth in mid-bite. After the pause, he pops it in, growing nervous.

…oops.

Swee puffs out a sigh. “Sorry. I get melodramatic about my shows sometimes.” He saunters away from the counter and plops into a chair, joining Willow at the kitchen island and dipping his own cracker in the sauce. He needed a break from dinner prep anyways.

“I can, uh. See why,” Willow ventures with an uneasy grin, one that Swee wants to make go away and turn more genuine as soon as he can. 

“Yeah, heh. This one especially gets me bad. But I can’t help but feel for her, y’know?”

“Swee, she just pulled a gun on these two.” Willow points a chip at her frozen close-up of righteous fury, said gun pointed in front of her. “Like, is she dating one of them? Is that why?” (oh stars, he doesn’t know how painfully heterosexual this show is, that’s so cute holy shit) “Still seems like an overreaction, I dunno.”

“I mean…fair. But,” Swee turns to fully face him, swallowing a cracker. “This is the finale of season ten. There’s been a shitton of build-up to this.”

“So, tell me about it.”

Swee looks straight into those crooked eyes, fresh green and glittering, and finds nothing but sincerity in them.

So, he does.

It’s a bit of a long-winded summary of Hayce T. con Amor, a show near and dear to his heart. He followed its initial airing alongside his mom, and as he traveled around he’d spend hours on the phone with her sharing their impressions of the latest episode, up to its dramatic ending years ago. It follows the tumultuous journey of Hayce T., in her constant pursuit of true love in a sea of liars and cheaters. The first episode opens on her finding her high-school boyfriend making out with another girl under the bleachers, and her luck never, ever seems to lift up from there. The theme was that she’d always throw everything she had into a new relationship, naively hoping that this would be the one, and the boyfriend of the week would always find something wrong with that, each reason more outlandish than the last.

“Hell, last season, Pet T. tried to spin it in a way where she was ‘gaslighting and manipulating’ him by putting on some front?? Bess T., that’s her friend, remember, talked some sense into her, but like, damn, man?”

Willow is absorbing this, taking a thoughtful bite of a small stack of crackers as he considers it all. “So, like.” Oh he’s gonna say it, isn’t he. “When are Hayce and Bess gonna kiss?” 

There it is. Oh god Willow you beautiful soul. I could kiss you right now.

Swee doesn’t, and swallows a blush this time, taking a moment to recalibrate at that interruption to his whole spiel. “...okay, well, I’m not gonna spoil anything later on, just lemme get to right now—”

The star-doll looks almost smug as he chomps another stack. “Hellllll yeah they kiss later, don’t they.”

“Shoosh-shush. Yer throwin’ me off.” Swee shakes himself back on track as Willow chuckles. “So that guy, the one she’s pointing the gun at? That’s Gill T. He treated her like a queen, said he’d never do all the crap she went through, it looked like this was it, ‘tu eres mi unico amor,’ y’know?”

Willow nods, leaning in with interest. He doesn’t even point out how little Spanish he knows this time. “Uh-huh? But then she found him with that other lady anyways?”

“Worse than that, dude. That other lady was sent by him to kill her.”

“WHAT.”

“Right??”

He slumps back. Poor thing looks defeated, as if he was beginning to understand and it was all thrown off kilter. “Swee. Swee, what.”

“Look, just—I’ll go back to the beginning of the season,” the toad scrambles back to the counter, fiddling with the DVD menu. “And I’ll hit the subtitles, just. I can’t just tell you everything, you gotta watch it unfold, it’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“Aaaallright, okay.” Willow acquiesces, watching the opening credits play out as Swee frantically returns to his prep work, oops, oops, oops—

“...Swee?”

“Yeah?” Chop chop chop.

“You said you feel for Hayce T., yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“...are you looking for true love, too?”

CHOP. “—AAGGHH. FUCK.”

“Swee???”

In a whirling blur, the toad chef is back at the kitchen island, his hand nestled in a bloodied cloth. Spanish voices fade into the background as he watches Willow tend to the lengthy cut along the top, releasing a sappy healing salve from a digit in his finger and dragging it along the wound. 

Swee’s head is positively buzzing. He almost misses when Willow sighs, “There. Geez. Not as bad as it looked, but still.”

“Thanks. Ugh.”

Aw hell. Now Willow looks away, ashamed, like this whole thing was his fault. Because of course he thinks that. “...Sorry.”

“Shush.” Swee clears his throat, and answers his question. “...yeah, kinda. I mean, I’ve been looking.”

Willow pensively watches him as he continues, “I thought I found it, a few times. A relationship here, a fling or two there…or five.” He cringes at himself. “...when you’re traveling a lot, there’s not any time for much else.”

He feels the gaze of the resplendent star in front of him, and he laughs mirthlessly. “Guess I’ve got that Hayce T. run of luck.”

The silence that follows is thick as molasses, and Swee wants to sink into the earth and vanish— “Well…” Willow’s voice, weedy with nerves, cuts through that spiraling thought, and Swee is greeted with a lopsided grin. “If anyone sends their assassin affair partner to kill you, you at least got me to protect you?”

Oh my god. Willow ventures a small shrug. Oh my god.

A thousand emotions crash into Swee and smash through his walls, and he breaks down laughing. Willow joins him shortly, and they both slump on the table in actual mirth as the telenovela plays above them, the tormented lovers onscreen ignorant of the actual goddamn romance happening here in Swee’s goddamn kitchen.

“Then my luck’s already better.”

[comphy-and-cozy]

unforgettable - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 3.1K

Author's Note: This is fully the most self-indulgent and personal fic I have ever and will ever write, so if no one likes it I'm still not gonna be sorry. This is wildly contrived and barely passable as realistic. It is quite literally Y/N's Story (C's Version). You'll know what I mean when you read it. Thanks to @smileysvech for listening to me be unhinged about this for like two months straight - you a real one. And in case you are wondering, this is the fic in question.

Warnings: Suggestive/adult content (18+ recommended), discussions about sex/sexual implications, alcohol use/consumption, full insanity. Like a medium burn/banter that's basically foreplay but no actual sexy times.

series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 2

November 2021

Meeting a personal idol is always a special experience, full of excitement, nerves, anticipation; hopefully making a connection to tell them how much you admire them or what they mean to you. Even if it’s the intention, it feels a little embarrassing to be at a fan event put on by the team, like you’re too old to be at a function for the sole purpose of meeting professional hockey players, and the concept of being perceived is, frankly, almost overwhelming.

But then they turn out to be kind, funny, and courteous; not at all what you expected. They smile at you, ask you your name, thank you for coming, engage with you like you’re a regular human being. Like they’re a regular human being. (They are, of course, but it’s difficult to comprehend that when you’re used to them being little men on your television screen with ice knives strapped to their feet.)

When you get to your favorite TV Ice Man, he’s beautiful, and it takes you a moment to get rid of the shakiness in your voice when you hear him say your name for the first time. The warmth of his hand on your back when you pose for a photo together lingers long after he pulls away, smiling at you as he says, “Tag me in that on Instagram.”

It’s exhilarating, enough to have you bouncing from cloud to cloud as you leave, heart soaring. Still, after walking out on shaky legs with the most precious memories and photos tucked safely into your phone, you’re in need of a drink to settle the nerves that have been floating in your belly since the night began. 

As soon as it touches your tongue, the drink helps to calm you down, and you’re in a dreamland as you reflect on the evening behind you. A real conversation with JT Compher, the man you’ve had a crush on for years—and he talked to you! He is aware you exist! And though you’re sure it’s a figment of your imagination, you’ll remember the warmth in his eyes when they connected with yours for the rest of your life.

Luck is on your side, it seems, when you catch a group of tall, muscular men walking in out of the corner of your eye; the aura of the room instantly changes in their presence, like the room automatically got ten degrees hotter. In the middle of the pack is the unmistakable red hair, styled meticulously, only now he’s lost his tie in favor of unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. He looks good, dressed down in a way that makes him look even more delicious than before.

His aura is different now that the event is over, like he’s able to remove the mask he put on for the public at a work event; now, he’s just a normal guy out on a Friday night with his friends. Other than the Gucci belt and Tom Ford suit, one would have no idea that he’s got an extra digit at the end of his paycheck, and he loves that.

Until he sees you. You, who knows exactly who he is, who is fully aware he’s unwinding from a long and tiring fan event with his friends. He’d have to be an idiot to forget your face, the one that made him pause when you told him your name, his breath hitching in his throat just for a moment.

When he sidles up next to you at the bar, the last thing you expect is for him to greet you, let alone remember your name. You look at him in surprise when he offers to buy your drink, gaping for a little too long until you’re nodding shyly. 

“Have fun at the event?” he asks after sliding his card across the bar to open a tab, leaning up against the ornate marble as he faces you. 

“It was incredible,” you reply with a blissful smile. “They—you guys—are always so nice.”

The corners of his lips curl upward, just slightly, pleased at your positive review. “I’m glad to hear that. The fans are so important to us, so I—we—like to be able to give back when we can.”

“It doesn’t get exhausting? Talking to all those people?”

Something shifts in his eyes, and briefly you wonder if he’s toying with the line of talking to a fan versus just a stranger, contemplating if he should drop a layer of his public persona. Eyeing the extra sliver of creamy skin peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, you’d say he’s already halfway there.

“It can be a lot,” he admits. “But it really is fun. And very humbling.”

Your drink is placed on the bar in front of you, and the bartender nods at JT when he asks to keep the tab open. Your heart does a flip, but you remind yourself he’s here with friends.

“How long have you been a fan?”

“I’ve been watching hockey since I was a kid,” you say, and he nods in understanding. You tell him of the photos of you as a toddler, standing in your neon windbreaker next to the Stanley Cup; you note the way his eyes glitter when you mention it, like he’s wistfully envisioning the day he’ll lift the trophy himself. You note the way you like it.

“Let me guess. Your favorite player was Joe Sakic.”

“Actually, you might hate this, but my favorite player was Steve Yzerman.”

JT’s eyebrows raise as he shrugs. “Hard to argue with that, even if he did beat the Avs. Are you a Wings fan?”

“I went to U of M, so I went to a lot of games when I lived in Ann Arbor. So I think I am by default.”

You can see his eyes shift at the mention of his alma mater, like something’s permanently altered in the dynamic between you. He doesn’t need to tell you that he went there, too, but he does anyway. “Go Blue.”

With a smirk, you raise your glass and clink the base against his as you say it back. Your eyes flick to the group he arrived with, upstairs in the VIP area, surrounded by pretty girls in tight skirts.

“Do you need to get back to them?”

JT takes a sip of his own drink, an Old Fashioned, then licks his lips again like he knows it’ll catch your attention. Then he shrugs, nonchalant. “Would rather stay here with you. Have to make sure the drink I paid for doesn’t go to waste.”

He’s too smooth, you think, warning yourself to keep an eye on him or you’d be swooning at his feet. Not that you aren’t already ready to, your own willpower barely holding up under his gaze and your Amaretto Sour weaving its way into your senses. 

“What’s a Wings fan doing in Denver?”

It’s a simple question, the logical one, but you’re still surprised that he asks, that he wants to know more about the one of many fans he met tonight. Still, you answer, explain that you’re visiting friends who are big Avs fans. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’ve had a crush on him for years, that you timed your visit to coincide with the event. That you’re having an internal meltdown just existing in his presence and trying desperately hard to remain cool and composed. 

And you can’t tell if he’s flirting with you, or if he’s just being nice, which makes you panic even more, gulping down the remainder of your drink in an attempt to calm your nerves. Do his eyes keep shifting down to your cleavage, or is that your imagination? Is he letting his cheek brush against yours when he speaks into your ear, or is it just an accident? 

Another round of drinks later, and he’s still here, and now you’re sure he’s at least some kind of interested. His friends are upstairs, loud, rambunctious, and he hasn’t even given them so much as a glance, instead focused on you and making you shiver under his attention.

The conversation has been steady, making its way through hockey, past childhood, and college, and jobs, and now you’re onto hobbies. And you may have accidentally let it slip that you like to write. 

It’s against your own will that your mouth announces, out loud, to a professional athlete, that you write hockey fanfiction. Or, wrote. Have written. Either way, it’s the alcohol’s fault, and you’re tempted to dump the remaining contents of your glass on the ground to avoid saying anything else.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, a grin breaking out onto his face. “Oh, now you have to tell me more.”

You’re shaking your head no, face sweltering hot when you realize what you’ve just admitted. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I just said that. I think this conversation is done.”

“Aww, come on, tell me,” he prods, nudging your knee with his. “Was it about someone I know?”

You draw your lips tight, shaking your head to tell him your lips are sealed. 

“It was!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “I bet it was about Gabe. Wasn’t it? All the girls love Gabe. He’s a dreamboat.”

Covering your mouth with your hand, you shake your head at him again. This cannot be fucking happening right now.

“No Gabe? Hm…” he looks around, as if he’s searching for the subject in front of him. “Oh! Josty. He’s got a whole following of fangirls.”

Part of you wants to laugh, and the other part of you wants to die immediately on the spot, buried beneath the ground without another word. He isn’t wrong, but he is dangerously close to discovering the truth.

He sees your reaction, inferring that no, it wasn’t Josty, and he takes another sip of his drink as he racks his brain. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, mulling over the options like he’s mentally running through an encyclopedia of NHL players. Then, his eyes shift, a glitter returning to them before they’re landing back on you, and suddenly you feel hot all over, sensing the end of your life hurtling rapidly towards you.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

Face scorching hot, you can’t help the defeated smile on your face as you cast your eyes away, mortified beyond belief. Why did you have to say anything? Things were going so well, and now you’re preparing for him to make a quick exit and dash upstairs to laugh at you with his teammates, a story that would surely make the rounds through the league. You’re contemplating which path to the door is quickest, which will get you out of there fast enough to avoid dying of embarrassment on the spot.

But instead of making a run for it, he just laughs, a surprised expression on his face. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m just gonna go now—”

“No, no,” he’s quick to say, waving his hand to show he isn’t bothered, and maybe an air of, please, stay. “I’m flattered, honestly. I didn’t think anyone liked me like that.”

Oh, they do, you think, but your semblance of self-control has taken over again, covering your mouth before the thought can verbalize; at least you can shut the fuck up sometimes. Instead, you shrug playfully, then take another sip, thinking that at the very least, you can drown out your humiliation with more alcohol.

“You gonna tell me what it was about, or you playing hard to get?”

His question is subtle but clearly twofold in meaning, and you nearly choke on your drink again. Is this real? This has to be a dream. 

Forcing yourself to get your wits together, you say, “I’m gonna need another drink if you want to even remotely convince me to share that.”

“I can do that,” he grins. “Say no more.”

It’s only after he returns with another drink in hand that you notice the flush in his cheeks, the way the warm mahogany of his eyes have turned a little more molten. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe—unlikely—it’s you. Probably the former. Surely the former.

He keeps the conversation light, allowing you to ask about life as an NHL star, about his favorite part about Denver, about who his funniest teammate is. He’s surprised, though, when you ask what he misses the most about life before the NHL; what he wishes he could have amidst the fanfare of being a professional athlete.

Mulling over your question, he takes another sip of his cocktail, and you seize the opportunity to admire his face, up close. The neat landscaping of his beard, the perfectly styled coiff of his hair, the deep mauvey-pink shade of his lips. God, he’s handsome.

His laugh pulls you out of your daydream, and he raises his glass toward you. “Thank you.”

You’re confused for a moment, until you realize that your thought wasn’t an internal commentary at all, but something that slipped out of your mouth by accident. You have quite literally turned into a stuttering, bumbling fool in his presence. He doesn’t seem bothered, though, swiftly moving past the moment to answer: “Honestly, I think what I miss most are conversations like this. Where I don’t have to be ‘on,’ where I can just be a normal guy with a pretty girl at a bar.”

“A girl telling you she wrote smutty fanfiction about you is ‘normal’?”

JT’s face shifts, and all at once you realize the additional descriptor you used, immediately groaning at the accidental admission. Why do you keep doing this? Why does it have to be him?

“Smutty? Like, it’s spicy?”

“No,” you lie, but the speed of your reply is a dead giveaway, and suddenly he’s grinning.

“You wrote—” he drops his voice to a whisper, “—sexy times about me?”

Your non-answer is an answer in itself, and the smile on his face is so wide, he might as well have won the Stanley Cup. Your face burns, could probably fry an egg on your cheeks, ready to slink into a hole and never come out.

“Oh, come on, now you have to tell me!” he says. “I won’t judge. I swear.”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. It’s firmly secured under lock, key, and shark-infested waters with lasers attached to their heads.”

“Okay, fine, I can play this game,” he grins, pretending to crack his knuckles. “Was there… a blowjob?”

“Jesus, JT. Coming in hot, are you?” Then, “No.”

“That hurts, but I understand,” he places his hand over his heart. “What about… cunnlingus?”

“I am shocked that you know what that word means.”

“I have an elite education. You should know.”

“The leaders and best,” you say with a raised glass.

“Stop deflecting. Did I eat you out or not?”

The intimacy and bluntness of the phrasing makes your heart flutter, along with the area in question. The devil on your shoulder is whispering, fuck around and find out. So, with an internal shrug, you do. “You may have.”

JT beams. “Excellent.”

He rapid fires off more categories—spanking, handcuffs, edging, foot fetish?—all of which make your cheeks burn the more he inquires, as casual as asking you about what you do for a living.

“Threesome?”

“No.”

He hums. “Good. I didn’t want to share.”

The admission catches you off-guard, and judging by the way he eyes you for your reaction, he said it intentionally to rile you up. You hope he can’t see the rapid way your heart beats in your throat, the idea that this professional athlete would ever be possessive over a fan with a crush.

His last question pulls you from your thoughts and also makes you nearly snort your drink out of your nose. “Anal?”

“Jim Tim, I’m really gonna need you to cool it with topics I’m wildly unprepared to discuss.”

“That sounds like you’ll be ready at some point, though.”

“Maybe if you call me in about 100 years, I will be.”

He hums, then swirls the ice left in his glass. “What about the time it takes me to cash out and Uber back to mine?”

Your brain completely shuts down at the invitation, the proposition striking you in the face. He couldn’t have seriously been flirting with you this entire time, could he? Surely, he was just being silly with a girl—a fan—who he’ll never see again?

But he’s looking at you, and it feels like the time has long since passed if he was going to announce that it’s all been a joke. He’s waiting for your reply, for a confirmation that all of his hard work and perfect banter has not gone to waste.

So you nod, letting out a loud sigh as soon as his red hair disappears back into the crowd to pay his tab. Your hands are shaking, your heart threatening to leap out of your throat, and you glance around like everyone is going to start laughing at you for believing that JT Compher would want to take you home.

-

JT’s skin tingles as he signs his check, nodding a ‘thank you’ at the bartender before pocketing his wallet. This wasn’t what he expected when he prepped himself for the event tonight; he anticipated photos, nervous fans, hand aching from signing so many hats and jerseys—and afterward, decompressing at the bar with the guys, having a few drinks, guffawing along as Bo surely makes a fool of himself. Instead, he feels like he’s been smacked in the face, in awe of the girl he met and promptly learned he can’t get enough of. It’s only been a few hours, but he’s hooked on her smile, on her quick wit, on the way she makes his cock twitch in his pants when she laughs. 

He yearns to be with her, now, to try his chances at feeling her pretty lips on his, to get a better glimpse at the jeans she painted on over the tempting curve of her hips. Though he’s confident—she wrote fanfiction about him for Christ’s sake—it’s far from a slam-dunk, but he’s eager to embrace the challenge ahead, and equally content to just spend more time basking in her presence. 

But when he returns to the spot he left her at, she’s nowhere to be found. He scans the crowd, searching for the eyes that have captivated him so deeply. A tinge of nerves blaze through him, the thought of being ghosted flitting through his brain, but then he remembers the way she looked at him, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in close to her. 

So, he searches for her, sure she’s just stepped away for a moment. He checks the bar, the restroom, the front door, the back door—nothing. And then he finally accepts the truth: She’s gone, disappeared without a word, far too good to be true.

JT Ubers home alone, left to quell the burning in his gut in the somber solidarity of his bedroom, wistfully wondering if your paths will cross again someday.

SIMILAR CONTENT: Already Ready to Go* A Night in Paris* Adore You

Tagging: @somuchf4rstardust @laurenairay @senditcolton @fallinallincurls

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Noah Berlatsky at Everything Is Horrible:

In the Anglophone world, the intertwined issues of Jewish identity and antisemitism are connected in public memory obsessively, and almost solely, to the Holocaust. Occasionally, perhaps, people also mention the blood libels of the Middle Ages, or the pogroms of Eastern Europe.

The Dreyfus Affair, however, is almost entirely forgotten. It is not a moment revisited in movies or television shows. Politicians do not reference it; there are no public museums in its memory; it is not a part of school curriculum. Even Jewish people hardly discuss it. I doubt one in ten Americans, of any ethnicity or religion, could even tell you vaguely who Alfred Dreyfus was. The disappearance of Dreyfus memory is a real loss. That’s not because we need to remember antisemitism. We do, as I’ve mentioned, remember the Holocaust. The Dreyfus Affair, though, was a victory over antisemitism, and a victory particularly for the diaspora, in a way that World War II was not. The Holocaust has largely been interpreted as an object lesson in the untenability of the diaspora, and the necessity of a Zionist Jewish ethnonationalism. The outcome of Dreyfus’ story is considerably more ambivalent. As such, it is worth revisiting at a moment when Zionism is busily and horrifically delegitimizing itself.

The Affair

Since, the outlines of the Dreyfus Affair are probably little known to readers, it’s worth covering them briefly. My discussion here, and throughout the essay, is mostly based on Maurice Samuels new excellent biography/history, Alfred Dreyfus: The Man At the Center of the Affair, part of the Jewish Lives series. During the French Revolution, France put into practice its new ideals of liberty and equality by, among other things, making Jewish people full citizens of the republic. After legislation in 1791, Jews were suddenly—for the first time in any European country—able to live where they wished, attend the best schools, and work in every profession. The results were immediate and dramatic. Jews made rapid gains in political and economic life; some became quite wealthy and influential.

Among those wealthy Jews was the Dreyfus family. Alfred Dreyfus, born 1859, grew up, like most French Jews, with a passionate commitment to the French nation and to the principles of equality which had liberated them. Determined to serve his country, Dreyfus attended the French military academy. He excelled and became arguably the first Jewish officer ever on the General Staff. His future seemed bright. And then, it all fell apart. In 1894, the French army discovered that there was a traitor on the General Staff who had been passing top secret information to the Germans. Dreyfus was accused of treason. The evidence against him was weak to nonexistent; his handwriting was said to match that on the recovered documents, even though it obviously did not. Nonetheless, he was arrested, tried in a sham military trial, and sentenced to life imprisonment. He was sent to the horrific penal colony on Devil’s Island in French Guiana. He endured tortures almost certainly intended to kill him. His wife, contrary to law, was not allowed to accompany him.   Dreyfus was singled out because he was Jewish. The generals, once they had begun down the path of antisemitism, decided they could not turn back without undermining respect for the military. They forged more evidence, and stonewalled investigations as long as possible.

The Affair polarized sentiment in France, both on Dreyfus and on the place of Jews in French society. Liberal intellectuals like Émile Zola who believed in the Republic and a forward-looking, cosmopolitan, free and equal France sided with Dreyfus and demanded a new trial. The Catholic Church, the military, antisemites, and proto-Vichyites insisted that Dreyfus was guilty and should be punished—or, really, insisted that as a Jew he should be punished whether he was guilty or not. The hatred of Jews erupted into antisemitic riots throughout the country; Jews were beaten, their homes burned, their businesses destroyed. Several Jewish people were killed in Algiers, where there were violence against Jews occurred almost daily in 1898.   Dreyfus was brought back for a new trial in 1899; he was convicted again despite overwhelming evidence in his favor, and eventually exonerated completely in 1906. He was restored to the rank of Major, and served with distinction in World War I. He died in 1935. Jewish people in France still leave stones on his grave.

[...] It wasn’t just Dreyfus and Jewish people who fought for Dreyfus though. The Affair energized every corner of the left, calling them almost uniformly to their best selves. Zola, for example, believed in a number of antisemitic stereotypes at the beginning of the Affair; his first article on the case argued that Jewish people had an innate talent for making money. From that inauspicious beginning he quickly became one of the most passionate gentile opponents of antisemitism in history; his famous 1898 pamphlet J’accuse was a devastating denunciation of the military coverup intended to force a number of generals to sue for libel. They did, and Zola was forced to flee the country—but not before opening the case again and ensuring Dreyfus’ retrial.

The political left in France was also, initially, wary of standing with Dreyfus because of antisemitism. For many socialists, Jewish people symbolized the banking industry and the upper class. Dreyfus, a wealthy Jew serving in the military, seemed the wrong man to rally working class parties. But eventually Socialist leader Jean Jaurès, and others in his party, recognized that Dreyfus had become the man, and the issue, on which Catholic monarchist and capitalist forces had decided to fight for France’s soul. In 1898 Jaurès gave a speech in which he denounced antisemitism as a threat to France; shortly thereafter he published a book defending Dreyfus and presenting the Affair as a matter of socialist solidarity. Some on the left refused to join Jaurès, and the Socialists split. But as Samuels’ biography of Dreyfus notes, “Jaurès helped ensure that a large part of the political left in France would align itself with republican values and against antisemitism for decades to come.”

Noah Berlatsky wrote in his Everything Is Horrible Substack about how the Dreyfus Affair served as a victory against fascism and antisemitism, and how it gave the left a tool to fight back against oppression.

[separatist-apologist]

The Death Of Peace Of Mind

When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Summary: Eris Vanserra is a man who is used to feeling nothing.

All that is about to change.

For day 5 of romance week (but maybe we're not gonna tag this one): Feelings Realization

Read on AO3 | Part 1

“What would you do if you found out the guy you were kind of seeing is a psychopath?” Arina asked, jogging across a sidewalk before a car could come barreling through.

“Are you talking about Eris?” Elain replied through the phone. “I know he can be intense, but underneath it all, he’s really decent.”Arina almost laughed. She was talking about Eris, who wished her a good morning each day and asked her how things were going when she got off work. He’d sent flowers to her doorstep.

And at night he climbed through her window, tied her up with rope, and ate her pussy like it was the finest meal he’d ever had. He was also planning his next murder, which Arina was struggling with. Not because he was doing it…but because she found she just didn’t care. 

What did it say about her that she was anxious for all three of them to be dead? That what she really wanted was for him to take off that stupid mask, tell her the truth, and let her merge these two men into one complete picture. 

“We have a date tomorrow night,” Arina told Elain, making her way to Eris’s office. He’d made this appointment for her, the controlling bastard. It hadn’t stopped her from making her way across the city to see him or from putting on a clingy dress and make-up, knowing full well he was going to have to unzip the top if he wanted to see her ribs. 

No bra, of course. 

It was ridiculous, but nothing he hadn’t seen before at this point. Arina had stopped wearing clothes to bed given Eris would just slice them right off her body. One ruined pajama set was fine. Five of them was too much. Besides, she rather liked being woken to the feel of the soft blindfold sliding over her eyes. He’d found more gentle rope after the first night left burns on her skin, and tied her so there were no lingering welts.

For a murderer—and a stalker—he was surprisingly thoughtful. 

“I hope it goes well,” Elain offered cheerfully. “And not just because I think it would be fun to date brothers. Eris could use someone in his life. He seems lonely.”Arina wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole. 

“Maybe,” she agreed, though she suspected there was more to it than that. Arina was at the office and needed to end this conversation before she saw the man in question. “Let me call you back.”

Arina slid her phone into her bag and entered the clinical office. She filled out the required paperwork and handed over her insurance and ID before she was directed to sit on a rather nice leather choice facing a television. A woman with a small child weaving around her legs bounced her foot as she glanced toward the door at the other end of the room. Magazines were spread over a chipped coffee table while different posters warning people not to smoke, drink, or have unprotected sex were hung against beige walls.

“Ms. Novak?” 

A nurse in cheerful lavender scrubs called Arina back. She wondered if Eris let her jump the line, or if this woman was waiting to see a different doctor. Arina was weighed, her blood pressure taken, and a patient history given before she was left alone behind a closed door, sitting atop an exam table that had a model of a human heart sitting on the little gray counter. She was tempted to fidget with it, to pull apart the different ventricles and see if she could piece it back together.

A knock on the door tempered that impulse. A moment later, Eris Vanserra poked his head through the crack before stepping in entirely. Arina’s heart took off at a gallop when she saw him, dressed in a white button down tucked into a pair of charcoal slacks. He looked incredible with his styled hair pushed off his elegant, handsome face. Closing the door, Eris turned a truly sultry smile on her.

“You came.”

“I’m sure you saw me on the sheet,” she replied, suddenly embarrassed by this obvious attempt to seduce him. Surely this man wasn’t creeping through her bedroom window each night. He didn’t seem capable of such a thing. 

“That doesn’t mean you’d show up,” he replied, sitting easily on a swivelling stool to pull up her chart. “How are you feeling?”

Raw from your fingers and mouth and rope. “Better,” she replied. He nodded, scanning whatever he saw on the screen.

“Sleeping well? Eating?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Any pain?”

She shook her head, forcing him to glance up at her. “Good,” he murmured, typing quickly. He stood, looking her over. With gentle, warm fingers, Eris turned her face toward his own and brushed his thumb over the bruise still healing on her cheekbone. 

Which one?

She almost shivered. 

Eris dropped his hand to step around the table for a stethoscope. “Deep breaths. Just like before,” he murmured, sliding the little notches into his ears. He was close enough she could smell the familiar crisp, spicy scent of his cologne. Her whole body reacted on instinct, flooding her with heat like she did every night. Eris didn’t seem to notice, or was too professional to acknowledge it. He merely replaced the little piece of metal against her back to listen to her lungs. 

He slid it around his neck, blinking as if he’d just realized what she was wearing. “I want to see your ribs. I’ll step out—”

“No,” she said, far too breathlessly as she swept her long hair over to one shoulder. “You can stay.”

She reached around the back of her dress for the zipper but Eris very gently replaced her hand with his own. He tugged the little piece of metal down over her spine before oh so gently pushing the straps off her shoulders. Arina held the front against her breasts, only because they were in his place of work and getting half naked seemed wildly inappropriate. 

His eyes darkened and she wondered if that was how he looked when he crawled between her legs each night. Eris skimmed his fingers over her ribs, pressing lightly. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” she whispered. He swallowed, exhaling a soft breath through his lips before reaching over her to push against her other set.

“And this?”

Arina turned her head to look at him, well aware they were mere inches from each other. They had a date tomorrow night. She ought to leave well enough alone.

His eyes slid to her lips. “It doesn’t hurt,” she breathed, palm pressed against his chest.

He groaned softly, taking that hand and tangling it in her hair for a brutal, yet familiar kiss. Did he really think she couldn’t tell the difference between his persona and real life? That a mask was enough to hide how utterly obvious he was being? Did he think she didn’t notice how he bit her lip, how his tongue was so demanding or how his fingers pushed at the fabric of her dress so he could tease her breasts? All of it was edged in pain.

Exactly the way she liked it.

Arina wondered how Eris liked it. He never let her touch him, even when she’d suggested he keep her blindfolded and fuck her. She was here, now. There was nothing stopping her from taking that hand on his chest and cupping him through his pants.

Eris moaned. “I want—”

“Me, first,” she interrupted, well aware of what he wanted. He did it every night until she was shaking and exhausted. It was her turn, she told herself. Her turn to slide off that exam table and onto the cold, white linoleum beneath her. She tugged at his belt while Eris watched, his eyes wild and dark. 

“Arina—”

“You need to be quiet,” she said, holding his gaze while undoing the button on his slacks. She could see the bulge in his pants and wondered how he’d been taking care of himself. Had he? Had he been using his hand, or was he all pent up? What would he taste like?

“You still have to take me out tomorrow,” she warned him, using the heel of her hand to rub him through his black boxer briefs.

“Whatever you want,” he told her, threading long fingers through her hair. “It’s all planned, but I can fuck—” he exhaled, throwing his head back when she pulled the long, thick length of him from his underwear and, without teasing or preamble, took the blunt, heavy head into her mouth. How much time did she have before a nurse came looking for him? 

This was payback for the nights in her bedroom when he refused to let her touch him. She was well aware Eris could have straddled her chest and shoved his cock into her mouth—she wanted him to. 

She couldn’t fit all of him, though it was clear Eris wanted her to try. Maybe if they were in her bedroom she would have. Tied to her headboard, unable to escape him, Eris could have pushed her nose to his abdomen and made her take all of them. No one would have heard her gag, her protests. 

Here, though, Eris was forced to yield when she pressed her palms against the tops of his thighs and slapped, forcing him to release his grip on her hair. Using one hand to make up the difference and her other to tease and toy with his balls, Arina threw herself into swallowing as much of him as she could silently. The scent of his cologne mingled with the clean taste of his skin and the near silent moans coming from the man above her. He’d braced his body against the counter behind him, though one hand was still using her hair to half fuck her face. 

He was too loud when she tightened her grip on him, teeth gently scraping against his skin. Of course he liked this rough. Of course he liked a little pain. Arina wasn’t gentle, then, nor was she polite. Saliva dragged from each pass of her mouth, her wrist twisting roughly each time she came back up.

Eris was shaking, reaching for her head with his other hand. Their eyes met in a silent question, to which Arina answered by hollowing her cheeks. 

Do it.

He snapped, hips pumping his cock furiously into her throat with just enough restraint to keep him from suffocating her. She wondered if today would mark a new development in their evenings together.

Was it fucked up that she hoped so? 

Eris grunted, pushing further into her throat to finish. Arina widened her jaw to suck down air, eyes closed for the first time to focus on swallowing without choking. He was panting, practically begging, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure overtook him.

Good.

She felt like the score was better settled between them. 

Breathing as if he’d run a marathon, Eris gripped Arina by the tops of her arms and pulled her off him for a vicious, messy kiss. 

“Spend the night tomorrow,” Eris whispered, thumbs stroking her cheek.

“Why? So you can—”

“Fuck you? Yes, exactly,” he interrupted, eyes flashing. “Nice and slow, all night…no interruptions, nothing keeping me from doing everything I’ve been imagining all week…”

“Does this mean dinner is off?” she asked nervously. She didn’t want to be just a hookup.

He shook his head, kissing her again. “Date is still on.”

“We’ll see how I feel, I guess.”

“And if I insist?” he responded, allowing her to step back and slid the straps of her sundress back over her arms. 

Arina felt mischievous. “Then you’ll have to sneak into my bedroom window and have your wicked way with me, I suppose.”

He betrayed nothing. “Say you will. My place, my bed. I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning. And lunch, too—dinner, even, if you want.”

“You sound desperate,” she teased, her heart racing.

Eris only shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight oclock.”

She smiled. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

ERIS: 

Eris had no fucking idea how he managed to get through the rest of his day. He typed clinical notes and saw patients. He drove home and had dinner and talked to his mother on the phone. And the entire time, all he thought about was Arina on her knees, peering up at him through dark lashes as she choked down his cock. It was all he could feel, that wet, warm mouth, her pillowy tongue, her soft throat. He wanted to do it again. Wanted to wrap his hand around her neck and make her take every last inch of him, until her lips were blue and her eyes were glazed.

He thought she wanted that, too. 

He intended to go to her just as soon as he crossed a name off his list. Josh O’Neil was the second roommate who’d helped hold Arina down. Who’d been promised he could take a turn—and who therefore needed to die. 

He’d had a hell of a time tracking Josh down. The police presence had lingered, which was enough to keep Eris away. Something about that place bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it—but Josh and Jack were careful. Like they knew it was no self strangulation that had killed their friend, despite how Eris had looped that belt around his neck and left him with his pants around his ankles. 

He was curious. Curious enough to leave Arina to her bed and head out into the night. Back to that apartment where he knew Josh would be. Unlike Arina, who lived in the heart of a good neighborhood filled with people who didn’t pay close enough attention to her, Jack and Josh lived in a rougher neighborhood. A place where people intentionally looked the other way. It had made it easy to slip through a broken lobby door and into the apartment Arina had forced her way out of.

If Eris was young and lacked capital, it was the kind of place he might have chosen, too. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he approached. 

“Truce,” called a voice from an alleyway. Eris turned his head, his vision half obscured by his mask. He could hear shoes crunching on glass, dragging shadows from the dark. There was no streetlight to illuminate them, and when they appeared, Eris supposed he should have guessed.

That was Arina’s luck, to slip from one killer to another.

“How’d you get in?” Jack asked, pushing sandy brown hair off his face. He looked like every other douche bag Eris knew, minus the fresh, still damp blood soaking his shirt. Beside him, Josh stood just a little taller, grinning with amusement. Eris had his knife just behind his back and a gun tucked under his shirt, just in case. 

Eris didn’t respond, cocking his head as he tried to figure out how to best cut Josh’s throat and leave the corpse for Jack to deal with.

“Did we overstep?” Josh added. They didn’t know, then. They were young, still, and likely green. He wondered whose blood they were coated in or why they didn’t care. Sloppy, was what it was.

“Are we on your turf, fucking your whores?”

Eris remained silent.

“Look, we don’t need a war. We brought you a gift,” Jack said, gesturing to the alley behind them. There was no fucking way Eris was stupid enough to go back there. Josh laughed, turning his back without an ounce of fear to march back into the dark. It was the only opportunity Eris was going to get. Lunging, Eris pulled that curved blade from his pocket, and in one easy, fluid motion, brought it screaming across Josh’s neck.

He hit his knees with a loud thud, gasping into the dark. Eyes wild as he turned for his friend, who merely watched with a clinical, almost bored expression on his face. Neither of them moved, though Josh reached for them both, dragging himself against the pavement as if that would save him.

Only when he was still did Jack  turn to Eris. “You’ve done me a favor. They’re sloppy—messy. I’m going to leave your present in the ally so you understand that whatever score you think is between ought to be settled. I would hate for anyone else to get hurt. You understand.” Jack reached into the waistband of his jeans and as casually as he might have pulled out car keys, pulled out a gun. He didn’t point it at Eris—there was no need. He merely stepped over his friend's body, whistling to himself as he made his way home in the dark. Eris watched, hidden in the shadows, until Jack was far out of sight. 

Only then did he dare to creep into the alley.

He was nearly sick. They knew. A woman he didn’t recognize, far older than Arina, lay dead against a brick wall. She’d likely died hours before, though Eris couldn’t tell. He couldn’t stop looking at all that blood stained, blonde hair. A piece of paper was curled in her lifeless fingers—a message clearly written to him.

Eris pried it out, well aware he needed to get the fuck away from all those dead bodies. Clutching it in his fist, he took off, not daring to look back and careful where he stepped. The neighborhood was dangerous—it would look like Josh had left his lover to die in an alleyway, only to meet a coward's fate. 

Eris drove around for an hour, weaving around the city in random, unpredictable patterns in an effort to confuse anyone who might have followed. He never took off his mask—not until he was sure he was alone. Only then, parked in a gas station, did he dare unfurl that blood splattered note.

I always had a thing for blondes. 

Eris exploded in rage. Everything was so fucked. If Jack thought Eris was coming after him, he’d turn around and go right back after Arina. And even if Eris didn’t, Jack still might. The threat would loom for the rest of her life, unaware of the threat that surrounded her.

He willed himself not to care. To walk away from her, to drive back home and not give a fuck if Jack was plotting to end her life. He could go home, eat dinner, and call anyone in his phone to suck his cock. Just like he’d always done. Sh was a distraction.

She was the death of his peace of mind.

Eris took a breath. And then another.

Eyes closed, he reclined in his seat.

She’s nothing. She’s worthless.

She was everything.

He turned the ignition back on, well aware he could not go back to before. That life was over for him—he’d known it the moment he saw her. He needed to see her, to make sure she was okay. He’d wasted too much time tying her up and eating her out when he should have been teaching her how to disembowel someone. 

He couldn’t watch her all day, every day. Though Eris was about to try. He went home, well aware he’d crossed psychopath territory days ago. Who gave a shit at this point if there were cameras in her house? Who cared if he tracked her every fucking movement until Jack was floating in the river? One day she’d be grateful for all this, ideally when he had her sleeping in his bed every single night, but until then, this would suffice.

After all, he wasn’t trying to stop her from going anywhere. Or, that was how Eris rationalized all this. Stalking was usually reserved for prey, and it was short-lived. Eris was in this for the long haul, for better or worse, which meant she could not die. He was unwilling to discover what grief felt like. Arina would live, or they would both die, and those were the only options he was willing to entertain. 

Eris crept into her bedroom like he always did, relieved to find her alive and asleep. She was tucked beneath her blanket, one hand curled beneath her chin. He wanted to go to her, to brush bare knuckles over her still healing cheekbones, and tell her everything was going to be fine.

Instead, Eris set his cameras up to face every point of entry in her apartment, concealing them so she wouldn’t notice—not immediately, anyway. Maybe one day if she ever deep cleaned, which Eris doubted. He’d picked up the night before and again as he moved through her place, replacing her shoes by the door and putting her dirty laundry in the hamper. 

He was tempted to do her dishes, too—maybe another night. This night couldn’t be soft. He needed to make her sharp, at least around the edges. Tomorrow she’d be in his bed, and the next night, too, if he could get away with it. Eris had no idea what sort of timeline people who typically dated adhered to, but he knew his brother and Elain still weren’t living together and they’d been dating for a solid year.

Eris needed things to move a little faster. A degenerate like Jack wouldn’t be able to get past his doorman.

A month? 

He was still chewing that thought when he went to her in her bedroom. Eris pulled the blankets from her body, forgetting she’d been sleeping naked to keep him from cutting apart anymore pajamas. She was so absurdly pretty, with a body that made him irrational. He’d nearly thrown away a medical career that very afternoon when she’d gotten on her knees to suck his cock and he’d had to fight every urge in his body not to fuck her up against the door. 

She stirred, peaking open an eye. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Arina hadn’t been afraid since that first night, because Arina was strong. Because she was like him, even if she didn’t realize it. 

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten,” she whispered.

“There’s no forgetting you,” he replied, staring at that little strip of blonde hair over her pussy. He wanted to fuck her so badly it was making him stupid.

Tomorrow. You’ll be inside her tomorrow.

“Get dressed,” he added, forcing himself to look away.

“Why?”

“Where is your knife?”

There was a pause. “Why?”

He sighed, irritated that she still thought there was any possibility he was going to harm her. “You need to know how to use it.”

“Oh.”

“Do you really think—” he cut himself off when he realized she was standing, holding a little blue top between slim fingers. Those fucking legs. Even the mask couldn’t hide his reaction given he immediately looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to keep himself from falling to his knees. 

Had he ever been good at this? He was starting to think he hadn’t. Eris had to turn to keep himself from leaping on her, his cock roaring to life. He hadn’t forgotten that blowjob, after all. “I’m not going to kill you,” he ground out, willing himself to calm the fuck down. He counted to ten, assuming that was enough time for her to dress before he turned back around. She was bent over her pillow, fishing out that knife and Eris was aching and hot all over again. 

“Ready?” she asked innocently.

Not in a million fucking years.

“Let's begin.”

ARINA:

Arina rubbed her eyes, crossing her legs again. Eris had kept her up most of the night running her through drills without telling her why it was suddenly so important she learn how to stab. She much preferred the night he went down on her. Arina was in her living room, dressed in a red slip dress and heels. The time shone 7:59 on the stove which made Arina antsy. He wasn’t coming. 

She didn’t know why she thought that—only that it was still possible she was wrong about him and blowing him in his office had scared him off. Arina had to be careful when it came to men—give them what they wanted too early and they stopped trying.

Not soon enough and they didn’t try at all.

The clock shifted to eight and a soft knock graced the door. Arina exhaled a breath. Arina went to him, drinking in the rich, familiar scent of his cologne. Eris looked incredible, tall and muscular in inky black trousers and a matching black shirt. He reached for her, arm around her back to pull her into him for a soft, passionate kiss.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not looking sorry at all. Arina decided not to mention her lipstick had smeared over his mouth. It looked…well, it looked a little like blood. What did it say that she sort of liked that? 

“Missed you, too,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad you came.”

“This is all I’ve thought about,” he admitted, looking past her at the overnight bag she’d packed. “All ready to go?”

Eris was smooth, swapping their positions so she stood on the porch and he was striding into her apartment for the bag. Arina tried so hard to smother the smile on her face—failing when he slung the floral straps over his shoulders with a sultry expression. 

Arina nodded before asking, “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Dinner,” he said, closing the door behind her. “And something else I think you’ll like—not my cock, don’t look at me like that—ice cream after, if you want. Or my cock, if—”

Arina smacked him lightly on the arm. “It was one blow job, Eris.”

He yanked open the passenger side for her, clearly working for the sex he expected to happen later that evening. “Forgive me for wanting many, many more.”

“Is that all it takes?” she all but laughed, folding herself into the familiar leather interior. Eris snapped the door shut, tossed her bag in the trunk, and joined her in the car. 

Eris glanced over, smug and pleased in equal measure. “It doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

Arina was grinning the entire way to the expensive restaurant Eris had picked out. There was no lull in the conversation and though it was easily the nicest place Arina had ever eaten in, Eris didn’t make it weird. He didn’t do that thing where, when pulling out his card to pay, he looked over at her so she knew it had been expensive and he expected to be repaid in some way.

Arina was doubting herself by the time they reached the theater. Eris was so pleased with himself to have secured ballet tickets on such short notice. He was witty, he was well-dressed and elegant and charming.

Was he also the kind of man who could strangle someone to death? 

She’d snoop, she decided once they were seated in the dark. He had to sleep eventually, and once he did, she’d go through his things and prove he was the man creeping through her window each night.

Arina prayed he was, at any rate, because she didn’t think Ghost was going to be cool with another man. And if she was being perfectly honest, she much preferred Eris, who’d put his hand on her thigh and was rubbing lazy circles over her skin while he watched the show. She’d take the doctor if his hobby’s skewed toward vigilante justice.

But no one else.

That was a dangerous thought, given she just barely knew Eris to begin with. It was too soon to say she liked him enough to excuse a multitude of felonies and yet standing in the elevator of his building, his fingers brushing the back of her hand while Arina explained all the things she was sure he’d missed, she didn’t care. She hadn’t cared last night when he’d been barking orders at her through that stupid Halloween mask and she didn’t care when he led her into his absurdly large penthouse, swaggering like a man with a big dick he knew was going to be wet soon enough.

Eris took her bag straight to his bedroom. “Just in case you think I’m the sort of gentleman who’d offer you a guest room,” he told her, eyes flashing. Eris’s bedroom was immaculate, with a wall of glass overlooking the city. His bed was large and draped in black silks and cream cotton, the headboard framed by the glass. She imagined he woke up each morning bathed in golden light and found herself jealous of such a small opulence.

Two nightstands on either side of his bed held little lamps, a book…and a knife. “Afraid of being attacked in your sleep?” she teased, walking toward it. Eris didn’t stop her, fingertips pressed into the wood at the top of the door frame as he leaned his large, tall body against it.

“You never know,” he murmured, his easy expression slipping into something more intense. Arina unsheathed it from the leather, inhaling a sharp breath. Was he even trying to hide it, then? It was an identical match to her own blade, curved and impossibly sharp.

Eris’s smile was edged, eyes watching her with open amusement. Did he want her to guess? Or was this part of the fun? Arina slid it back into the holster, mind racing.

“I suppose a doctor would be good with a knife,” she said lightly.

“Very good,” he all but purred, pushing off the frame to come to her. “Though, I think I’m more skilled with my hands.”

She shivered—not from fear, but want. He was prowling toward her, every inch of him wholly focused on her. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he murmured, taking the handle from her fingers and tossing it with a clunk back to the bedside table. “Or anything but me.”

“I should be worried about you?” she whispered, looking up into his amber eyes. They seemed to burn, were all but living flame.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted as one hand cupped the back of her head. He pulled her closer, eyes slipping to her mouth.

“And if I’m not?” she replied. 

He smiled slightly. “Even better for me.”

Kissing him was just as good as she remembered. Better, even, with that mask partially pulled back. Eris wasn’t pretending, though he wasn’t openly admitting what he was, either. Arina reached for him, twining her arms around his neck to drag him closer. She’d meant to force him to watch a movie, to work for the right to unzip her dress.

Eris backed her toward the bed, tongue invading her mouth like having her was his mandate, a directive from the gods themselves. He groaned softly, pressing them both into the mattress. 

“What’s your rush—” She tried to slow him down, but Eris was a man possessed. He swallowed the rest of her words, reaching for her thigh to hitch around his waist. Grinding himself against her ended Arina’s weak protests. She’d forgotten the size of him, forgotten how it had felt to have him in her mouth, her hand. 

She wanted to know what it would feel like to have him in her body, bad enough that she arched into him, tugging at his perfect hair until she’d thoroughly unmade him. She had the sense that Eris’s sleek, unbothered exterior was merely another mask for whatever writhing creature lay just beneath the surface. How many people got to see him like this? How many had he let in?

Eris reared up, thighs bracketing her body as he began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday,” he told her, his chest rising and falling. “About your mouth—fuck—” She’d propped herself up on her elbows to watch him undress. Tall, lean, and still well-muscled, Eris Vanserra was a fucking dream. Exactly her type, she thought as he shoved that nice shirt off his frame and tossed it to the floor. Not so tidy after all, she thought with a smile.

“What’s that for?” he asked gruffly, eyes searching her face. His cheeks had warmed, highlighting the smattering of freckles dusting his nose.

“You,” she breathed, running her palm over his stomach. “You’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing. Arina was given no opportunity to insist she was right or even offer up another compliment. Eris was back on her, kissing her like a desperate, wild man. This was what had been missing from their nights together, she thought. Eris was rough and yet kind, his hands palming her through her dress to edge the pleasure he offered with the sweetest touch of pain.

She could meet him. Arina ranked her nails down his bare back, sharp enough to all but draw blood. Eris groaned, grinding his cock against her body. 

“Is that what you like, Eris?” she whispered, hooking her leg against his waist. He responded with a nip to her bottom lip. Arina wanted to see all of him. Reaching for his belt, she meant to fully undress him so she could take him back into her mouth before she rode him into oblivion. She wasn’t tied up this time, and to Arina, that meant she had control.

He had to do what she said, what she wanted. 

Eris was quicker, flipping her to her stomach so he could unzip her dress and push it off her body. Eris wrapped the long strands of her hair around his wrist and pulled, arching her back up off the bed.

“There she is,” he whispered, letting Arina shove the dress down to her knees. No bra, which he must have realized in the theater given how cold she was. She had worn a lacy red thong, which Eris snapped like a thirteen year old boy, chuckling to himself when her head snapped to look over her shoulder. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you in my brother's apartment,” he whispered, rubbing his hand over her ass cheek. “I wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you so hard the whole building complained.”

“Eris,” she whispered, wiggling her hips while he maneuvered the scrap of lace off her body. She was utterly naked, pushed up on her knees and elbows. Eris’s eyes were glazed over, drinking in the sight of her. In any other circumstances, Arina would have felt self-conscious about being so on display.

Eris made her seem like something sexy, something he’d been waiting on his entire life. She knew he’d seen her naked before, but this was different. Arina pulled her hair from his grasp, yanking the strands from her scalp. She knew what he wanted—to fuck her from behind, until she was all but suffocating into a pillow.

She wanted control. This first time, Arina wanted to decide when and how he came. 

“On your knees, Eris,” she whispered, holding his haze. He cocked his head, sitting on his haunches, and for a moment she thought he’d say no. 

“I’m putting my face in that pussy,” he informed her, a lazy smile on his face.

“Then you’ll do it on your back,” she declared, anticipation building in her chest. He didn’t stop her as she trailed her fingers down his chest or when she reached for his belt buckle. In fact, Eris remained still until both his pants and his underwear were down by his knees, waiting to join her clothes on the floor.

“Is this what you want, then?” he asked, his thick, long cock jutting from between her legs. Arina scooted closer until the tip of him was bruised against her stomach.

“Maybe I’d like to tie you up,” she whispered, holding his gaze. Eris’s eyes flashed—not with fear, but excitement. Grabbing her by the back of her neck, Eris kissed her roughly, teasing her breasts with his other hand. Was she being obvious enough?

I know and I don’t care.

Pulling her hair to arch her neck, Eris pressed a sucking kiss to the hollow of her neck. “Do whatever you like with me.”

She was quick, pushing him to the bed before he could change his mind. “How does it feel?” she asked him, raking her nails up and down his bare chest as she swung her leg over his body. Eris’s eyes were wholly dark, watching her with interest. 

He responded by grabbing her by the hips and yanking her up to his face. “Feels fucking fantastic,” he replied, kissing one thigh, and then the other. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would still get what he wanted even if she was on top.

Not until he pulled her against his face so it was him suffocating. Arina pitched forward, gripping the dark wood headboard to keep herself from falling off him. With her eyes shut, she was practically back in her bedroom. He wasn’t even trying to hide who he was. The only difference was this time, Arina could ride him the way she often wanted and was prevented by his hands. Eris was forever holding her still so he could lick the way he wanted, keeping her just at the edge for as long as he deemed appropriate—sending her flying over the edge when he tired of teasing. 

Not that Eris didn’t try. There would be bruises on her hips from how tight he held her, trying to still her so he could prolong fucking her with his tongue. Anytime Arina got too loud or traded her hold on the headboard for his hair, Eris would move his tongue down her body, denying her the release she wanted so badly.

It was driving her insane. He was driving her insane.

“You can end this, pretty girl,” he panted, stopping entirely when Arina let out a frustrated growl. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Eris,” she replied, pushing his face back into her. He chuckled darkly, sucking her clit between his lips as she began to ride his face again. He was clever, his tongue gliding over her in just the perfect rhythm, building her up just until she was right there—and then he moved, jerking his head to deny her what she wanted. No matter how vicious she was with his hair, Eris always managed to evade her.

He was going to make her beg.

Arina was dying, throbbing from unmet need. Every inch of her was wound tighter than a bow string.

“Eris,” she gasped, hating how his tongue slowed, tracing lazy circles around her clit. He hummed out a response. Arina whined, hips jerking desperately. “Please.”

His tongue was no faster. Waiting.

“Please let me come.”

He groaned, gripping her by the thighs again. Arina rolled her hips, his tongue rising to meet her. This. This was what she needed. Eris sucked and licked as excitement built through Arina, gathering like molten heat just at the base of her spine. This time, when she hung over that edge, Eris kept going until she came. He let her ride his face like she was a wild, desperate animal, his arms shaking with the effort it took to keep himself flat on his back. Arina couldn’t breathe, was hot and tight and alive for maybe the first time in her life. 

She knew what he would try and do next. Arina was quick and Eris was needy. She swung off his face, pulling herself roughly from his grasp.

“Not this time,” she breathed, grabbing him by the chin for a kiss. Eris groaned again, arching into her hand when she reached for that thick cock. She stroked and kissed, chasing the taste of her release until she’d come down just enough. She wanted him to feel the aftershocks, to know what was waiting for him if he let go. 

Eris reached for her and Arina swatted, still holding his cock as she straddled his hips. “First time belongs to me,” she said, rising up on her knees to tease the thick head of him over her soaked pussy. 

“And the next time?” he grunted, neck arching with pleasure. 

“I’ll do whatever you say,” she whispered, sinking herself down on him. Eris was loud, which surprised her, groaning as she took each bruising inch of him. His hips bucked, driving himself deeper and drawing a loud gasp from Arina who was trying so hard to adjust to the stretch of him.

Eris watched her, eyes half lidded. He was struck dumb for the moment but if he realized she was struggling to accommodate him, he’d take over. Arina rocked herself against him, squeezed so tight she could barely breathe.

“Fuck, sunshine,” he panted, merging his two personas without meaning to. Digging her nails into his chest, Arina kept going, if only to hear him make more of those sounds. Moaning and heaving, all the while watching her. Eris’s legs parted behind her, as if spreading them wider somehow heightened his pleasure. 

Arina wanted to see him come apart. It took her a moment to figure out a rhythm that didn’t immediately exhaust her, using his body for leverage as she began to slide herself up and down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking tight, I can’t—” Eris reached for her nipples, teasing him in his fingers until Arina was whining. Release built all over again, too fast too uncontrolled. She wanted to drag them both out. She swore she’d come again, that she’d slow down to really enjoy him. Arina came with a soft scream, flattening against him to rub herself along the length of his body. Eris was wild beneath her, meeting her thrust for thrust as he grunted indiscriminate curses into her ear. 

Arina sunk her teeth hard into his shoulder, biting down the scream that rose in her body. That was, apparently, the magic button to set off Eris. He came like a bomb, flipping her over with his thighs so he could grab her by the throat in one hand, her wrists pinned above her head.

He was vicious, riding out both his and her orgasm with punishing thrusts. There was no finesse to it—it was as if he merely needed to drive himself as far into her as he could. 

Eris was covered in a slick sheen of sweat when he finally stopped, wild-eyed and burning. He released her throat, but didn’t pull himself out of her.

“Again,” he whispered, kissing just behind her ear. “Right now.”

“Right now,” she agreed, still tight around him. 

“You’re mine,” he added, as if there was ever any doubt.

Arina merely kissed him in response. 

ERIS:

Eris knew he was better served spending his night between Arina’s thighs. He knew better than to roam the streets at night when she was asleep, and consoled himself with the knowledge that she was in his bed, at least.  He’d had her two months as of that day–which Eris had celebrated by keeping her naked and on her back for the majority of the day.

And yet the lingering problem of Jack kept him up at night. He didn’t trust that the man wouldn’t get curious about the woman who’d thwarted him and come looking. That he, too, would become enamored with whatever charm Arina possessed that kept Eris so thoroughly enraptured. And when he realized Arina wanted Eris, what then? 

He needed to die. 

Eris couldn’t lay his feelings at Arina’s feet knowing there was another predator out there. And he was too chicken shit to admit he was the man in the mask, even if he was mostly sure she’d pieced that one together, too. 

She’d be back in her apartment tomorrow, and Eris had an overnight scheduled in the emergency room. He needed to know she was safe. That thought drove him back into the shitty part of the city, back down those unlit streets and the sidewalk where he could see the faint smear of blood from his kill two months before. 

He was quick, slipping into Jack’s apartment without being detected. He could hear Jack moving around the back, unaware death was coming for him. Anticipation warmed Eris, pushing him down the hall toward that door—where Jack was waiting.

“Dumb mother fucker,” Jack snarled, shoving open the door just as Eris unsheathed his knife. Eris lunged, knocking Jack to the floor while still gripping his knife. “Now I’m gonna fucking kill her—and I’m gonna let you watch.”

Eris snarled, messy and stupid. He wasn’t thinking straight, had forgotten how to best incapacitate someone who was struggling. He was too blinded by his emotions, which gave Jack an edge. Eris felt white hot pain lance through his side and realized he’d been stabbed. 

His own blade came up over Jack’s face, slicing over the man’s rather plain face before he rolled to the side. Both them were bleeding, staring at the other like wounded animals.

“You come near her,” Eris breathed, panting through his mask as he stepped back toward the door. “And I’ll have your head.”

“You’re gonna watch her die,” Jack breathed. The wound was deep—he’d need stitches. Eris would be working in the hospital tomorrow, which he imagined would be about the time Jack would need to hobble in for help.

Accidents happened every day. Who would miss a fucking lowlife loser? He could make it look like infection, like sepsis had worked its way into his bloodstream and then quietly kill him. A long, drawn out, painful death.

“We’ll see,” Eris replied before staggering out. Laughter followed him down the hall and out into the cool, near wintry air. He couldn’t go home to her—not bleeding like this. She was safe he told himself, loping down the sidewalk toward his car hidden a couple blocks away.

Stupid—he was so fucking stupid. He was too scared, too caught up in Arina that he wasn’t thinking logically. He’d gotten hurt. She’d see the wound the next time he undressed in front of her and then what? What would he tell her?

“I was jumped.”

He said it with a rueful smile when he made his way into his own emergency room, shirt lifted to show the clean cut. 

“You’re lucky,” Rhysand murmured, cocking his head to the side as he assessed Eris. Eris had left his mask, his gloves, and his vest in the car so it seemed like he’d merely been out, dressed in black. “A little further and they’d have nicked a kidney.”

Eris only sighed. Lucky. 

He didn’t feel fucking lucky with only a local anesthetic and Rhysand’s clumsy movements. Eris was a terrible patient, like all doctors, annoyed that Rhys didn’t do things how he would and at the orders to keep still—to wait, when Rhys was done, for worthless observation. He knew the signs of infection, and the signs of lightheadedness, too. 

“If a guy with a cut down his face comes in,” Eris began, drawing his thumb over his eye to illustrate where the wound would be, “can you call me?”

Rhysand chuckled. “Are you thinking about payback?”

He had no idea. “I’d like to see the look on his face when I walk in to treat him,” Eris replied with a savage grin. 

“That’s fucked,” Rhys replied with a smile. “And so fucking funny. Yeah, if I see a guy with a cut down his face, I’ll give you a call.”

And that was that. Eris was sent home with a little pain medication he didn’t bother filling and a sense of unease. He’d have to just tell her. Tell Arina how he’d fucked it all up, that he’d put her right back in danger.

He’d have to tell her who he was. There was no way around it anymore. No more waiting. Eris’s stomach churned the whole drive back to his apartment. He couldn’t stop himself from playing out every worst case scenario. Couldn’t stop imagining Arina demanding he let her go.

Breaking up with him.

How he’d have to tie her to the bed with those burning eyes once so filled with want, now filled with hate. Keep her there until she softened, until she understood that he loved her.

Eris groaned, head against the seat after parking in the garage. He was so fucking stupid.

He was in love with her.

Sighing, he made his way toward the elevator that would take him to the lobby. Unease pricked at the back of his neck. Eris swore he was being watched. He turned his head, but nothing was out of place. He was extra paranoid, or that was what he told himself. Eris moved quickly, stepping into the lobby as dread flooded through him.

If he were Jack, how much would he have tried to learn about another killer in the same city? Eris knew everything there was to know about Jack—divorced parents, shitty state school he flunked out of, car salesman to pay the bills. It hadn’t been hard to track down an address, grades, hell even a fucking credit score. 

And as he stepped into his apartment, he considered what Jack might have learned about him. A dead father and a mother living on the west coast. A brother in law while Eris was…a doctor. Someone who could step into an emergency room to be stitched up in a place that, even with connections, still liked to waste time.

Every light in the apartment was off. He couldn’t recall if he’d done that himself, though Arina hated it. She’d sleep in total darkness if he was there, but when he was gone he turned on a lamp. And he swore, as he opened the closed door to his bedroom, that he’d done that for her. 

Rage was building in his chest as he flipped on the light. The sheets to his bed were tangled around the end of the bed, half dragged to the floor. Blood dotted his sheets. Not enough to speak of death, but enough to make his hands shake.

There had been a fight. He could see it in the overturned chair, the lamp broken against a wall. Several pairs of his shoes were scattered about the floor and a picture frame on the wall hung askew. He could track her movement—she’d run to the bathroom and tried to lock herself in. Clever thing, he thought, pulling back the pillow Arina always slept on. The one she still kept her knife beneath.

Just in case.

It was missing. A burst of affection slammed through him. She wasn’t unarmed, then. Eris turned for his closet, where he kept an array of tools. A gun, which he loathed. He much preferred to be up close and personal when he killed. For whatever it said about him—and he wasn’t willing to examine it—-he liked seeing the light leave a person’s eyes. 

A note lay just at his feet. Jack's calling card, he knew as he picked it up with trembling fingers. Blood, smudged in the shape of a fingerprint covered the words.

Do blondes have more fun? 

Eris was going to kill him. He was going to fucking kill him. Flexing his fingers around the piece of metal, Eris turned back to look at the blood. Little drops—like she’d been struck unaware. Likely when she was sleeping, as if one blow was enough to knock a person out. Jack was stupid, and real life wasn’t like the movies. It would take a hell of a lot more to bring Arina down.

And still Eris counted them up quickly. He’d punish Jack for each one. Each little hurt. 

As he made his way back into the inky night, he reminded himself that she’d already bested him once. 

She would do it again.

ARINA:

All the things she’d ever learned about being kidnapped were lies. Tied up in the back of a trunk with a bruised, throbbing head, she’d managed to kick out the taillight with her barefoot. It cut up her skin in the process, and ultimately did nothing given no one stopped. No one called the police. Jack kept driving, slamming the breaks just often enough to slam her around.

She needed to focus. She had Eris’s knife tucked into the waistband of her shorts and would have to be careful to keep Jack from noticing. This, she understood, was only partly about her. She’d escaped and had the sense that he was angry about it, but beyond that, he was baiting Eris.

The fresh cut on his face, inflamed and swollen, told her why.

No matter what Jack said about Eris bleeding out in an alley, she knew if he was alive, he was on his way. That, for whatever flaws he had, he would come if only to keep someone else from touching her.

Though, she had been certain that night when she’d fallen asleep wrapped around him, that he was in love with her. 

And more certain that she was in love with him.

Stalking murderer and all. 

All she had to do was keep her wits about her. Jack wasn’t particularly smart, she reasoned. She’d escaped him once before. He thought little of her. This fight was clearly between him and Eris. So Arina settled and waited for the car to stop. Her hands were bound in front of her which she used to hold the knife still when he opened the lid and yanked her out. 

She limped over broken pavement, inhaling the rotting stench of fish. He’d taken her to the docks which didn’t bode well for her. If he threw her into the water bound, there was a decent chance she’d drown in the river. Not that he was thinking that far ahead—yet. 

“What happened to your face?” Arina asked as they made their way toward one of the corrugated metal buildings. She knew exactly what had happened, but wanted to get him talking. Wanted to focus him on his actual objective before he looked at her too closely and decided she’d be fun to play with in the interim. 

He exhaled noisily. Overhead, a street lamp flickered on and off, giving the area a truly sinister vibe. It was too cold to be out in the thin shirt and shorts she wore, and Arina was grateful she’d put anything on that night. She typically slept naked in Eris’s bed, especially after he fucked her into the mattress. She’d woken a little before Jack arrived to find him gone and had dressed so she could go to the bathroom. 

Jack pushed her through a swinging, heavy door, shoving so hard she nearly toppled to the ground.

“Sit,” he barked, nodding toward a beam in the middle of the space. There were no rooms, no enclosed spaces save for one bathroom that hardly looked sturdy. Rust ate at the concrete below her bruised, cut feet and a window on the side overlooking the river had been blown out by a storm. 

Storage containers and old tools lay scattered along a wobbly table, long abandoned by whoever had once worked here. Arina carefully folded herself to the ground, resting the back of her head against the steel support holding up a tin roof. 

Jack paced back and forth, his white sneaker splattered with blood. One side of his face was viciously swollen and, Arina supposed, had to hurt badly. Eris had cut him deeply. She wondered if it was better to continue to play stupid—to pretend this was all a continuation of those two bad dates.

“Please,” she began, her throat coated in sand. “I won’t tell anyone—”

“Shut up,” he barked, head turning toward the door. He pulled a gun from his loose fitting jeans, cagey and nervous. “You’ll do whatever I say if you want a clean death.”

Her hands out of sight, Arina carefully edged the hidden blade to her back. Jack wasn’t watching her, didn’t think anything of her. Heart pounding, Arina managed to get the knife into her tied hands without him realizing anything was amiss. She looked, she though, merely like she was struggling.

Would Eris be proud she wasn’t crying? That she was being rational, level-headed? 

Where was he? 

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, stilling when he turned to look at her. Jack assessed her with new eyes before turning back to his watch. Arina didn’t let herself relax, never dropping her guard even as she began to saw at the roughly tied rope. 

“It’s not personal,” Jack finally ground out. “You were merely convenient.”

She had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. No crying, no vomiting, she told herself. All of that would happen in the aftermath. 

“I told him to stay away,” Jack added. “Warned him what I’d do if he didn’t let it go. He can’t, though. He’s like me. It’s the thrill of the chase, of hunting. I knew he’d come looking. Dr. Vanserra.”

And there it was. Confirmation, just like she’d always known. 

While Jack continued his vigil, Arina managed to make headway on her bindings. 

“Why you?” he asked, glancing toward her for a moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. “Eris is a doctor, he works long hours.”

“He’s a killer,” Jack said with a relish, baring his teeth. “So noble, Dr. Vanserra. He prefers the wealthy, the elite. Men,” Jack added with a wolfish grin. “I’m sure he styles himself as the protector of the innocent, but deep down he’s no better than me.”

With one final pull of the knife, Arina’s bindings came undone. She gripped them in her hand too keep him from hearing the thud of the rope. 

“How long,” Jack had turned his back to the door as he faced that dark bathroom, “before he learns what we all figure out?”

“What's that?” she whispered, wondering how she was going to escape. The knife in her hand felt damning, weighty. 

“You are nothing but a novelty. Something fun until you’re not—until the hunger is too overwhelming and your presence too inconvenient? Men like us don’t love. We only consume.”

The sound of boots echoed around them. Crunching glass, a skittering rock—a warning. Jack was grinning like Christmas had come early but Arina was shallow breathing.

A door somewhere out of sight kicked open and then there he was. In the mask, in all black, swinging a heavy, metal baseball bat and whistling a children’s tune. 

How had he found her? Scratch that, she decided. She didn’t care. She only cared he was here, radiating dangerous, violent energy. It also took all the attention from her. Jack stepped forward, his back fully to her though Arina sensed Eris was watching only her. 

“Aw, take off the mask, doctor,” Jack sneered. Arina had turned, pulling her hands apart carefully so Eris could see. He cocked his head toward the door, a silent order to get out.

She shook her head no.

I’m not leaving you. 

“Show her who you really are.”

Arina watched that gloved hand reach for the mask—and the other for the gun in his back pocket. He dropped the bat with a clatter to the floor, quick as a flash. Eris was fast, pulling the trigger, but Jack was prepared. He laughed as the bullet grazed him, firing his own shot that hit Eris in the thigh. Eris groaned, slamming to his knees while Arina screamed. 

“Still?!” Jack demanded, striding to Eris. “After everything, you still won’t speak? Explain her to me, doctor! Explain your fascination!”

Jack ripped off the mask, revealing a furious Eris burning with hatred. Panting from the pain, looking at her with nothing but steel. Waiting, she realized. 

Jack was going to kill Eris. It prompted Arina to her feet, to walk toward the pair of them even as Eris’s expression shifted, silently pleading for her to go. 

“I was going to make you watch her die,” Jack said, fingers threaded roughly in Eris’s hair. “But there’s poetry in dying knowing I’m going to fuck your girl. I’m going to fuck every hole right next to your—”

“Don’t,” Eris begged. Jack laughed before the sound choked in his lungs. Arina had driven her knife into his side, twisting enough that Jack groaned in pain. Ripping the blade from his flesh, she thought it was all so odd. Like sliding a knife into a cooked turkey, cutting through tendon and hitting bone.

Jack brought his gun to Arina’s chest and with an inhuman roar, Eris lunged himself at Jack. This was personal, not just to Eris, but to Arina, too. She followed them both to the floor, kneeling over Jack’s head while Eris kept him pinned.

“Tell me what to do,” she demanded, looking at Eris.”How do I end this.”

It was like Jack wasn’t there, as Eris reached for her hand.

“Right here,” he said, pressing the tip of Arina’s knife against Jack’s neck. “Push, sunshine. Perfect.”

The blade slid like butter through his skin, drawing a fountain of blood that sprayed her in the face. Jack’s eyes were wide as saucers and filled with fear, just as she must have once been. He’d enjoyed that—would have killed her, had she not escaped.

“How do you like it?” she asked him, watching the panic on his expression. 

“Arina,” Eris murmured, pulling her back. Neither of them moved, sitting on that filthy floor silently. Witnesses to Jack’s final moments, of his gasping, wet breaths and the rattling groan before silence filled the air. 

“I would have…” Eris tried, taking her face in his hands so she had to look at her. “I didn’t…This wasn’t how you were supposed to find out.”

“I’ve known,” she replied. “Since you tied me up.”

He licked his lips nervously. “Oh.”

“I don’t care,” she added, catching the relief that flooded through him. “I love you.”

He pulled her closer, wincing in obvious pain. They needed to leave before they were caught beside a dead body. “I am not a good man,” he told her, silencing her with a look when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll never be a good man. This is who I’ll always be. But, fuck, Arina, I swear I’ll be good to you. Good for you.”

“I know,” she agreed, pressing a bloody kiss to his mouth. “I know you will.”

“I do love you,” he added, threading his fingers through her hair to kiss her deeper. Chasing the taste of copper and salt on her lips, on his own desperation. Arina let him before helping him to his feet. There were practical concerns—how had she become this creature? While Eris limped to the sidewalk, Arina went back inside with a can of gasoline she’d pulled out of a nearby warehouse. Arina felt nothing at all, pouring gas over the pools of Eris’s blood, Jack’s body, and every other surface she could find. She merely wanted to hide their presence—she didn’t care about anything else. 

Eris was in the car when she returned, the flames of her former life illuminating her back. “Ready?” he murmured, wincing as he held his leg. He’d need to see someone about that injury.

Sitting in his driver seat, Arina leaned over and placed a kiss to his jaw.

“Ready.”

Eris:

One year later:

“My brother says he fell in love with Arina the moment he saw her.”

Lucien’s words lingered in Eris’s mind as he tugged at his tie. As far as speeches went, Lucien had done a perfect job hitting all the emotional notes Eris had always struggled with. Elain had been even better, bringing his new wife to weepy tears as she listened to the heartfelt words spoken to their family and friends. 

The same wife with her head on his shoulder, eyes closed after a long day of smiling and dancing and generally being on. That was her talent, he thought. Making him seem more charming by comparison, smoothing out his sharper edges, his tendencies to stare a little too long, to speak a little too dryly. If people liked him, that was Arina’s influence. 

Eris leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Did I wear you out?” he asked, catching the way those pink lips curved into a smile.

“Just preparing myself for what's coming.”

“A nap is what’s coming,” Eris joked, though there was truth to those words. He’d had a little too much to drink and was drained from all the time spent socializing. “And then some fucking….at three am.”

Arina reached for his thigh, rubbing high enough to excite him. “Three am?”

It was already one in the morning. 

“Maybe four,” he conceded, well aware he was likely to get stabbed if he woke her too early.

“And our flight?” she pressed as the car they were in slowed to a stop.

 Door opened just as Eris said, “There’s always time.”

“Maybe in the bathroom?”

As if Eris wouldn’t have the whole plane to himself. She didn’t understand that, was still getting used to spending his money however she liked. “Especially in the bathroom,” he said instead, sliding an arm around her waist. They were ushered up into the suite he’d booked for the night. He’d had different, filthier plans when he’d first seen it—of fucking her on every possible surface. Until she was bowlegged as she made her way through the airport. 

Now, standing in the spacious bedroom, Eris chugged a cold bottle of water while Arina flopped onto a white duvet scattered with rose petals.

It looked rather like blood. 

“Well, Mr Vanserra,” she began, holding up her hand to look at both the diamond cut ruby and matching band on her ring fingers. “Have you finally gotten what you wanted?”

He ran his thumb over the cool, matching metal on his own finger. “It worked out better than I imagined,” he admitted. That was true. Arina had never participated in another of his kills, though she also was more than willing to bandage up any scrapes or bruises he had—and to lovingly remove the bloodstains from his clothes. 

“Oh? How so?”

“I didn’t have to tie you to my bed until you fell in love with both me and my cock,” he said, prowling toward her. Arina shot up, still in that ivory gown he was so fond of, and dragged him to the bed. She was giggling as he fell beside her, pulling him close until his head was pillowed against her breasts. Little beads bit into his cheek, though he didn’t care. Eris buried his nose in her skin, drinking in the soft smell of her. 

“You’re a silly man, Eris Vanserra.”

“Only for you,” he murmured, lacing his fingers through her own before pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“I don’t care about anyone else,” she admitted.

Eris grinned. “As you shouldn’t. I belong wholly to you.”

[danglovely]

Ranking Taskmaster Series

15. Series One

Even the worst series of Taskmaster is really good. The show hadn't figured out how to maximize the in-studio dynamic yet, so it comes off a little awkward. Tim Key constantly trying to cheat and Romesh Ranganathan obliterating a watermelon is still good television.

Best Task: Eat as much watermelon as possible.

14. Series Three

Alex and Greg are always consistent, so series quality becomes highly dependent on how memorable the tasks are and how how good the cast is. This series was a bit forgettable on both counts, but I'll never forget Rob Beckett's surprise for Alex.

Best Task: Communicate to your teammates the names of these films, books or TV programs.

13. Series Six

Iffy cast chemistry and tepid task designs. The standout moment comes because Lisa Tarbuck thinks showing love means making someone sit in a cake. Long live Team Funk (Alice never agreed to that name).

Best Task: Get the highest score in darts.

12. Series Four

This is definitely an unpopular opinion. This series has so much going for it with Hugh Dennis trying to find a loophole in every task and Mel Giedroyc naturally being the victim of three solo tasks due to relentless optimism. While the moments are good, I'm not sure the whole amounted to more than the sum of its parts.

Best Task: Put as many different things in the bathtub/Seal the top of this bathtub with cling film/Fill the bathtub with water.

11. Series Two

A shorter series and one where the show was still finding its footing. It probably would be lower if not for Joe Wilkinson. The first contestant to realize very early on that he wasn't going to win brought us Potatogate, a lovely scramble platter, and the knowledge that there's strength in arches.

Best Task: Place these three exercise balls on the yoga mat on the top of that hill.

10. Series Seven

Another unpopular opinion, it really speaks to the quality of the show that I have potentially its most popular season so low. James Acaster refusing to acknowledge Alex, Jessica Knappett falling off the stage, Phil Wang's pendulum. What brings this series down for me is twofold: (1) Kerry Godliman's constant indignant anger at perceived unfairness and (2) Rhod Gilbert's abuse of Alex and Greg -- funny at first, wore a little thin after awhile. Rhod still managed to steal the series with the finest workaround on the show.

Best Task: Tie yourself up as securely as possible.

9. Series Fifteen

Fifteen seasons in, it feels like show doesn't benefit from the contestants having watched so much Taskmaster. Mae Martin knew every trick coming in, and they built a lead that was as expert as it was uninteresting to watch.

Best Task: First to complete a line or four corners wins.

8. Series Nine

A lot of intriguing stuff going on here. This is a cast that just genuinely likes each other, but it also brings some of the most contrasting energies to the table. Ed and Jo are polar opposites in scale of competitive energy while David can always be counted on to find the worst way to approach a situation. The only reason this series isn't higher is the lack of standout task design.

Best Task: Put the most gold rings on this drumstick.

7. Series Thirteen

This is the first series I ever saw and it's a gem. Every contestant almost feels understated in how brilliant and hilarious they are. Judi Love is the best last-place of all time; Bridget Christie is the wild card we never knew we needed in our lives.

Best Task: Get the most ducks in Alex's basket.

6. Series Fourteen

I always seem to prefer the contestants that come in last over those that come in first. John and Fern were so fun and Dara was so weirdly intense. This would normally make for a mixed series if they hadn't completely exploited that dynamic by putting them all on a team with each other.

Best Task: With your hands on those hips at all times, put the most sand in the shopping trolley.

5. Series Ten

Johnny Vegas and Daisy Mae Cooper are top tier Taskmaster contestants, but I really love this series for the location tasks. Printworks is just a dark and amazing setting. Plus, Mawaan tried to fill an egg with helium in hopes that it would float.

Best Task: Complete the most tasks. There is one task behind each door.

4. Series Twelve

Couldn't this series let everybody win? We have an Alan Davies Wow Monster, Desiree pulling off the worst task performance of all time while always looking collected. Victoria learned how to ride a bike on national television and Morgana showed why being chaotic is a strength. I welcome any number of new revelations from Guz in the lab.

Best Task: Pop the balloon.

3. Series Eleven

Mike Wozniak elevates the series by himself. Lee was a big get for the show, Jamali's antagonistic relationship with Greg is fun, Sarah and Charlotte are delights. However, Mike is a unique pleasure and any series with him in it is bound to be one of the best.

Best Task: Say the word "metronome" between every tick of this metronome.

2. Series Five

This is what many believe to be the best series of the lot and they're not wrong in doing so. Bob Mortimer and Sally Phillips are legends for obvious reasons. Mark and Nish pleasantly bond over the underdog roles (despite Mark almost winning). Aisling brings her own level of unhinged energy. The tasks are on point and this cast just jives. It's a tragedy it didn't get ten episodes.

Best Task: Eat one item, throw one item, balance one item. 1. Series Eight

My favorite series is one of the least popular for one reason: Iain Stirling's competitive rage. This doesn't bring me down though -- The show has a hypercompetitive contestant almost every season (you could argue Lou Sanders was even more so) and everyone there seemed to genuinely like Iain (He and Lou are friends and Paul said he received an unfavorable edit on the podcast).

But mostly it just can't overcome all the good. It is a unique delight to watch Joe Thomas constantly be baffled by his own existence; the trainyard is the best location task setting the show has ever done; Paul Sinha in a phone booth. Throw in some unique Japanese theming and some peak task design -- at least for me, Series Eight reigns above.

Best Task: Get as close as you can to Alex without him noticing you.

[esther-dot]

'Why are Aria stans so obsessed with her becoming QITN and write increasingly deranged metas about that happening?'

So, ok, as someone that watched this shit unfold in realtime back in 2019 let me jump in. Aria fans are now fixated on QITN being her endgame because it was Sansa's endgame. Her stans are like toddlers. You know when a toddler hates apples but then sees a fellow toddler at the playground eating apples so now they want an apple too? Yeah, this is literally what is happening. Trust me if Sansa never became QITN and instead become Lady of the Vale or something Aria stans would want that for her endgame too. I'm sorry but Aria was a literal book fan and show fan fave and there would be weekly viral tweets with tens of thousands of likes praising how BaDaSs she was for 8 years and her fans think that GRRM told D and D Aria became QITN in this triumphant moment and they were like '.....Nah, we're going to give that to Sansa who half the fanbase spent close to a decade hating on....thanks for the input tho George.' Like, really? Really?

This is how I know all those endgames came from Martin. Fan fave Jon gets exiled North and White Soccer Mom Feminist icon KhAlEesI goes dark, carpet bombs a city, and gets killed by another fan fave and people think this shit came from D and D? It killllls me how half the fanbase is still committed to this fiction that D and D just totally pulled those endings out of their ass. It makes no sense.

D and D knew all they had to do to stick the landing on GOT for it to be hailed as one of the best shows ever on television was to give Jon and/or Dani some triumphant coronation after defeating the Evil Queen Cersei and that shit would have been praised by every normie that watched GOT for a decade and their legacies as good, or at least competent, showrunners would have been secured. But they had to stick with those endgames to make GOT still seem like an adaptation of Martin's vision. I would have loved to be in on the meeting where Martin told D and D 'So, yeah it's King Bran, Dani goes dark and Jon kills her, Jon then goes back beyond the wall, and Aria goes off columbusing into the new world....btw, I'm not finishing the last two books so even I don't know how to get to those endpoints. Have fun!!' D and D knew they were fucked in that moment lmao.

(about this ask)

Lmaoooo. Can you imagine? So funny.

Someone said shortly after GoT ended that D&D should have just taken the story in their own direction because their interpretation of the characters and the plot points were so misaligned by the end that even if you accept the endgames as Martin's (which I do), you just can't wrap your mind around them in GoT-verse. And I think if they had, they would not have had Jon or Dany on the throne, so the possibility amuses me. They probably would have had Cersei kill them and stay queen or something😂 I think they're personally too into shock value to have ever been down for a HEA for anyone except a Lannister!

Everyone I knew who watched GoT loved Arya (I did too!), but I have seen comments about her being underappreciated by the fandom which baffled me. I guess it's because her endgame wasn't in political power, so the theory is she didn't get what Martin intended for her because D&D were doing fanservice, but that makes no sense. Sansa was hated, Bran had no fanbase to speak of, Dany would have ended up on top if that was the only factor. Oh well. I think most people reject part, if not most, of the endgame, so I guess I can't act shocked. Jon's ending hurts me a lot, so his is where I allow myself to dabble in a little delusion. My poor boy.

[pleasecallmeeds]

my top ten favorite television shows

did anyone ask? no! do i care? no! 

(I actually found this post in my drafts a few days ago and decided to update it and actually finish it. Most times you can tell when 2021/2022 Madison is writing because it’s all in lowercase. I mainly just moved things around and then changed a few of the standings. I also included gifs for the ships that I love the most. I hope you enjoy!) 

10. The Sandman

I wasn’t expecting to love The Sandman as much as I did, but I did. I’m also grateful that this is my first dive into Neil Gaiman’s writing, which led me to watching Good Omens, which I also enjoyed. I personally prefer The Sandman’s mythology and the strange way the season is formatted; it has a plotline running through but each episode feels like it’s in an anthology--almost like this was based on a comic series or something. Also, major props to The Sandman for being one of the gayest shows on television. I’ve never seen a show be comprised of probably 95% queer people. It was a marvel. Don’t love that Morpheus hasn’t had any queer relationships yet--doesn’t mean he’s not queer, but so far, hasn’t said anything regarding this. I’d like it if the main character was queer and not just all of the side characters, but I’ll take what I can get. 

favorite quote: “What power would Hell have if those imprisoned here were not able to dream of Heaven?”

favorite character: the Corinthian is so fucking cool. Dream is hot too.

favorite episode: “Sleep of the Just,” “24/7,” & “The Sound of Her Wings.” I love them all. 

favorite ship: dream/morpheus x hob

9. What We Do in the Shadows

On the topic of “the gayest shows in television,” this one is included. Literally all of these vampires are queer and fucking each other. It’s groundbreaking! It’s also one of the most hilarious things I’ve ever seen. I wish that I had stronger, more genuine bonds of friendship between this group, but they’re vampires that have lived for hundreds of years. Outwardly showing love toward your friends is overrated, I guess. 

favorite quote: “Trust me. Gay is in. Gay is hot. I want some gay. Gay it’s gonna be.” 

favorite character: laszlo cravensworth, my beloved

favorite episode: “The Wellness Center” (season 3, episode 8)

favorite ship: look, i’d love to ship Nandor and Guillermo but their dynamic is pretty toxic. besides, we all know that they’re all just living in a polycule. 

8. That 70′s Show

That 70′s Show is nostalgic for me. My aunt is nine years older than me, so she was a teenager when I was in elementary school. She would watch this show on the television at my grandparents’ house and I’d watch the camera circle around a group of kids getting high in Eric Foreman’s basement and I was invested. I love the group dynamics, the sarcasm, the humor, and the rare emotional moments, too. 

favorite quote: “Damn, Jackie, I can’t control the weather!”

favorite character(s): Kitty & Red Foreman (people who don’t like Kitty Foreman need to grow up fr)

favorite episode(s): “Eric’s Buddy” (Season 1, Episode 11), “Grandma’s Dead” (Season 1, Episode 23), and “Garage Sale” (Season 2, Episode 1)

favorite ship(s): hyde x jackie, eric x buddy

7. Stranger Things

If it weren’t for the last two seasons of Stranger Things, this could easily be at the top of the list. But my perception of Stranger Things has changed so much through these last couple of seasons. I still really enjoyed the fourth season, which is why it has remained in my top 10. There’s things to like about season 3 and 4, but they don’t compare to seasons 1 and 2. The mystery, the character development, and the strong relationships between characters made me fall in love with the show. Unfortunately, I feel like this has declined over time, but nonetheless it’s still a fun time, even if the actors will be grown adults playing children by the time season 5 comes out. Also, I’m just begging on my knees for queer characters and relationships in the forefront. Robin is the only openly gay one (so far, we know that Will is canonically gay) and her relationship isn’t a main focus and she isn’t actively in any relationships yet.

favorite quote: “Harrington’s got her, don’t ya, big boy?” & “Do you wanna be normal? Do you wanna be just like everyone else? Being a freak is the best. I'm a freak.”

favorite character(s): steve harrington. eddie munson. robin. my beloveds

favorite episode: “Chapter Four: The Body” (Season 1, episode 4) had me genuinely freaked the fuck out. that’s what got me hooked on this show. 

favorite ship: steve x eddie, mike x will (but will deserves better)

6. Freaks and Geeks

It’s actually criminal that Freaks and Geeks was cancelled after one season. I think it is one of the most realistic depictions of high school I’ve ever seen. I felt seen in both Sam and Lindsay Weir. I related to Sam’s awkwardness and finding comfort in a few close friends, but I also related to Lindsay’s desire to fit in and try new things but not exactly finding the right friends. I loved the dynamic, the humor, the references, and the relationships. Overall, it is one of my favorite comfort shows. 

favorite quote: “I’ve seen God...he plays drums in Led Zeppelin.”

favorite character: Bill Haverchuck, you comedy genius 

favorite episode: “Chokin’ and Tokin’” (episode 13)

favorite ship: look, I would have loved if Lindsay actually liked Nick, because i thought they were really cute together. I don’t get why everyone’s obsessed with Daniel. James Franco is gross on so many levels. 

5. Criminal Minds

When I went to college, all of my classmates were studying forensic science because of this show. They all told me to watch it, because literally my whole class was obsessed with it. So I did what they said, and it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Wow, is this show fun. I haven’t even finished it because I don’t want it to end. This is one of the strongest casts of characters I’ve ever seen. I genuinely love and care about each character. If any of them died, I’d be heartbroken. The cases are compelling and thrilling to watch (well, not all of them, but most of them), and I love watching the BAU figure it out together and take care of each other. 

favorite quote: ‘You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you’ve really stopped to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”

favorite character: obviously the Dr. Spencer Reid. but Penelope Garcia is a VERY close second. 

favorite episode: “Amplification” (season 4, episode 24)

favorite ship: reid x morgan (i present evidence A, your honor: “pretty boy”), morgan x garcia (i present evidence A, your honor: every episode of CM), garcia x every woman

4. The X-Files

I recently got into The X-Files because of my friend @midwestmothman and I will forever be in their debt. I haven’t even finished more than two seasons of this show and I’m in love with it. I don’t want to watch it too fast because then it’ll be over, and what do I do then? (I know they have this exact same dilemma.) Mulder and Scully are one of the foundations of so much of our current ship/fandom culture and it’s obvious why. I love the mystery & sci-fi of it all but we all know that it is the chemistry between the two leads that keep us invested even if the episodes aren’t as strong as usual. It’s one of those shows that I could turn on and watch all day. 

favorite quote: “Mulder, sometimes I think the world is going to hell and we’re the only two people who can save it.”

favorite character: I can’t pick. They’re both iconic.

favorite episode:  “Ice” (season 1, episode 8)

favorite ship: mulder x scully ofc

3. Seinfeld

ok, sorry (not sorry?) but Seinfeld is hilarious.

i absolutely love it. it is partly a nostaliga thing, but when i got old enough to actually give a damn about what i watch i decided i would watch it on my own instead of reruns on my grandfather’s television and i decided on my own that it is one of the most hilarious things i have ever seen.

i am a piece of each of these characters. they’re all complex characters with deep flaws but just as deep character and depth. they’re not meant to be praised; they know they are selfish people but the whole point of the show is that we can laugh at the terrible things that they say that we’re too afraid to joke about (as in like little rude things not hateful things).

this show is iconic. there are so many sayings, so many scenes, so many quotes that are iconic. Kramer--iconic. Seinfeld’s apartment--iconic. they’re all iconic.

obviously i do not care for the actual namesake of the show but every other character has an incredibly special place in my heart.

favorite quote: “You’re a nice guy, but I actually only have three friends. I can’t really handle any more.”

favorite character: the man, the myth, the legend Cosmo Kramer

favorite episode: “the red dot” (season 3, episode 12) & “the voice” (season 9, episode 2)

2. Fleabag

Fleabag has a special place in my heart. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a genius and this show is a testament to that. I thought season one was a great examination of what it’s like to be a woman that feels like she’s being a woman wrong. That she wants to say things and feel things that she’s not supposed to. She also doesn’t know how to handle her grief or to handle love. Then season 2 is a full-blown love story (admitted by Fleabag herself) and I LOVE it. It is so tragic, it is so beautiful, it is so comforting. It is upsetting that Fleabag finally finds someone who gets her but they have a barrier that they can’t overcome. It is one of the most heartbreaking moments of TV for me recently. “I love you.” “It’ll pass.” ARE YOU JOKING. 

favorite quote: “I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, and who to love, and how to tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I’ve been getting it wrong.”

favorite character: fleabag, duh. but obviously the hot priest, too. 

favorite episode: series 2, episode 1

favorite ship: fleabag x the hot priest, it truly breaks my heart

1. Succession

Succession is one of the best meshes of comedy and drama that I’ve ever seen. Endlessly quote-able, at times nauseating, at times hysterical, at times the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen. A story of cycles and power and prisons. A tragedy. Witnessing these ups and downs over the past few years have been one of my favorite television experiences. It was like a new Game of Thrones for me. In a similar vein I think both shows ended the way the story demands but weren’t very satisfying in nature. (Spoilers) No one will admit it but Tom being the successor is like Bran being the King at the end for me. I loved it, though. Every minute. (I was secretly rooting for Ken but we don’t need to talk about that.)

favorite quote: all of the best quotes are between Greg and Tom. Tom’s “Are we talking to each other on the deck of a majestic schooner? Is the salty brine stinging my weather-beaten face? No? Then why the fuck are you are wearing a pair of deck shoes man?" always gets a laugh and Greg’s “It’s not like they pre-poop them” response regarding the dog poop bags. Also of course “You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Gregs.”

favorite character: roman roy you weird fuck 

favorite episode: “This Is Not For Tears” (season 2, episode 10) - probably my favorite episode of television ever

favorite ship: tom x greg, ken x nate somehow?? like can we go back to the line “Man, I forgot how eager you were to get laid at a party”??? also ken x stewy -- once again going back to the line “You like pancakes and waffles and you kiss guys on molly”??? kendall roy & his relationships with men will forever remain one of life’s greatest mysteries

HONORABLE MENTIONS 

House

favorite quote: "It's one of the great tragedies of life — something always changes."

favorite character: Dr. James Wilson my BELOVED !!!!!!!!

favorite episode(s): tough because i love “three stories” (season 1, episode 21) but “wilson’s heart” (season 4, episode 16) absolutely destroyed me. 

favorite ship: wilson x house ofc 

The Great British Bake Off

favorite quote: James Acaster’s “Started making it, had a breakdown.”

favorite contestant: GBBO 2020′s winner PETER (noel’s not a contestant but he’s my favorite) are you kidding me he’s so cute

favorite season: 2020 season 

Full House

look, it’s peak nostalgia. I’ve been getting back into it lately. 

favorite quote: Stephanie’s “How rude!” and Michelle’s “You’ve got it, dude!”

favorite character: Uncle Jesse. He’s easy on the eyes.

favorite episode(s): “Secret Admirer,” (season 4, episode 5) & “Silence is Not Golden” (season 6, episode 17)

favorite ship: danny x joey x jesse. don’t act like you don’t see it, too!!

Game of Thrones

Game of Thrones used to be my favorite show of all time. It was one of the only shows that kept me in anticipation every week for the next episode. It takes a lot for a TV show to do that. And I loved every minute of this show, even the last season and its ridiculousness. I’ve always felt this, but I feel like that now that we’re a few years out from the finale I think maybe if some people looked back on the last season they wouldn’t think it’s so bad. I thought the ending made sense. It was disappointing, but it made sense. I’m more upset about the character arcs reverting, ending in disappointing ways, or progressing too fast (I’m looking at you, Daenerys.) However, even when it was bad, it was still good. Just not good enough to break my top 10. Close though! That’s why I’m giving it a little speech. 

favorite quote: “Our fathers were evil men. All of us here. They left the world worse than they found it. We're not going to do that. We're going to leave the world better than we found it.” (Oh, Daenerys. You had such potential.)

favorite character: jon fucking snow 

favorite episode: “The Winds of Winter” (Season 6, episode 10)

favorite ship: jaime x brienne (we almost had it all), jon x ygritte 

Thanks for reading. What are your top ten favorite television shows?