#understand everything has no thought behind it

[faeyun]

ˋ 🗯️ ⨾ I’M YOUR SECRETARY

𝖎𝗻 𝖜𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𓈓 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹.

❛ 박성훈 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ ╱ 𝖒. list 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋!𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗒!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✴︎ 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 / 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘺), 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦��𝘬 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰 𓈒𓈒 16OO

( 𝖓 )。 this is directly inspired by the secretary (2002) movie because i am still not over it lmaoo.. hehe thank you my lilypad, @prkhaven, for sending this thought eeeee!!! clearly by the word count i got a little carried away with it… and a special little tag for my love @bambiihee because i can freak out with her about the movie and young james spader now (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)♡

You had to try and hide how giddy you were for this moment—how your body tingled with excitement and how no matter how hard you tried, your hands wouldn’t lay perfectly flat on the mahogany desk.

It took everything in you to look forward, your bottom lip between your teeth and just begging to draw blood. You could feel him behind you, the heat sweltering between your two bodies, and how he faintly trailed his hand along your hip. The excitement that coursed through you was so great that you didn’t even think to hold your breath and wait for it.

“How long has it been now?” Sunghoon asked you, his voice almost monotone, but you could still hear the anger swirling underneath it.

“Weeks, sir,” you replied.

“Weeks,” Sunghoon repeated, “and I’m still finding all these typos on my documents. Do you not understand how this makes me look? Do you expect me to send documents with red circles all over them?”

The typos were on purpose, but you wouldn’t tell Sunghoon that. It was the only way you could get the two of you to this moment—you bent over ninety degrees on his desk while your nose practically touched the paper and him standing behind you, a hand itching to raise in the air. You awaited the spanking—you were desperate for it. So much so that you had to stop yourself from wiggling your ass back towards him.

“No, si—” Smack.

You lurched forward, a half-gasp and half-moan spilling from your already parted lips. The corners of your mouth raised. Inhaling deeply, you repeated yourself. “No, I'm sorry. I’ll do—”

Smack.

Lurching forward again, the sound that escaped you was definitely a moan this time. Your head fell towards the desk as you tried to catch your breath. Sunghoon ran his hand along the fabric of your skirt, fondling your ass right before stopping right where you would be soaking through if it hadn’t been for the layers you were wearing. You bit your lip to try and muffle the groan.

“I’ll do better,” you said, your voice wispy. Sunghoon’s cupped your ass again, before you felt his hand leave and the sound of it hitting fabric reverberated through the quiet office.

Another moan escaped you and you had to lean more on the desk to hold yourself up. Still, you didn’t dare to look back at him and break the unspoken rules that he had placed for you; but you so desperately wanted to. Your knees felt weak and the heels you were wearing didn’t make stabilization any easier for you. You were grateful for the momentary pause that let you both seemingly catch your breath.

“Lift up your skirt,” Sunghoon cuts through the thickness in the air. You pause, unsure if you heard him correctly, and you look back at him.

He sports the same blank face, but you can see how he unravels at the edges around it. You notice the wrinkles in his suit and the way his tie is skewed to the side. His dark hair is in his darker eyes as he stands back and waits for you to obey his command. It almost looks as if he let the words slip from his mouth and it’s too late now to take them back. Like he inadvertently exposed his deepest desire to you by accident. “W-What?” you ask in a small voice, nervous that it’s all in your head, that the excitement has carried you away.

Sunghoon repeats himself, only this time, he adds to what he said. “Lift up your skirt and pull down your stockings and panties.” 

You open your mouth again to ask if that’s what he really meant, but he speaks again before you can. “I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says.

A little disappointed, you inhale sharply at his words. “At least, not in the way you want—though I should after your behavior. You can’t even take a simple punishment without moaning like a damn whore.”

Sunghoon looks you up and down, but you can’t quite read his gaze. He’s too stonefaced. You hesitate, but you face forward again and lift your arms from the table to reach behind you. Slowly, you pull up your long skirt with shaky fingers, and after you pull down your stockings and panties until you’re completely exposed for his eyes to see.

You hear him inhale, but you don’t turn around again. The tips of his fingers trail along the skin he just repeatedly smacked, and the burning you feel there intensifies. A small whimper emits from you that you quickly try to swallow, but Sunghoon’s fingers pause anyway.

This time you feel the wind from his hand before you hear the echo of his palm slapping your ass. Unashamed now, you let your loud moan out freely. Smaller ones follow as you readjust yourself, ready for his next action. The thought that Sunghoon could see how soaked through your panties and stockings were didn’t even cross your mind until it was too late, but your back arched from the thought nonetheless.

Sunghoon’s hand caresses along the bruising skin, and his thumb gently rubs circles into the flesh. Then, his hand moves down, further and further. “Your behavior has been unacceptable. You know I value professionalism above all else, and you are a direct reflection of everything my firm stands for when they walk through that front door. Yet, you parade around, playing with your hair and cutting squares out of your skirts.”

His other hand yanks your skirt further up your back as if it was a nuisance and in his way. At the same time, his fingers delve into your wetness, at the arousal sliding down your inner thighs and coating your waiting pussy. You gasp.

“Are you trying to spite me? Do you want me to treat you like the fuck toy you’re acting like? Because I have no problem doing so.” Sunghoon’s fingers plunge into your entrance and another loud moan is ripped from you, your body lurching forward again as you immediately clench around his slender fingers. His fingers move without hesitation and curl inside of you each time they can’t be pushed in any farther.

Your mouth hangs open and your airy moans fall freely throughout the room. Sunghoon leans down so his face is hovering near yours, and you turn your head ever so slightly to the side so you can see him. His hand doesn’t stop, and neither does the sound from your lips. You can feel the boner through his pants as he leans against you more so you’re almost eye to eye.

Just the sight of his stare through his pretty lashes almost makes you cum. His hand slams down onto the table next to yours and you take the risk to put your pinky over one of his fingers. Sunghoon holds onto that action like it’s his lifeline. In a low voice he says, “I respect you as an employee too much to treat you like a slut. But—just for this moment—I’ll lower my standards for you, slut.”

His fingers move faster, and you feel like all the build-up to this moment was a mistake that you were now feeling the consequences of. You were seconds from breaking completely—and Sunghoon was front row center for the show. Mewling, you bit down hard on your bottom lip and tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to look away from his stare.

You refused to turn away from how heavy his eyes got at each and every single one of your moans. Like he wanted to close his eyes and enjoy the sound, but wanted to witness the face you made as well. Or how his mouth was open and his jaw slack. You especially didn’t want to miss the quiet moans he occasionally voiced, the sound too busy being drowned out by the sounds that you made.

It was all so glorious that your body took over and made the decision for you. Your eyes rolled back as your body went limp. Sunghoon cursed under his breath at the way your pussy held him in a vice grip and refused to let go as you broke around him, covering his hand in a pearly white.

The two of you stood there for a moment, clinging to each other as you struggled to let the oxygen reach your starved lungs. You leaned your head against his, and Sunghoon nuzzled into you before ripping himself away completely.

He pulled his fingers out from inside you, still glistening with your arousal and coated in your cum, and stumbled a couple steps back from you. You turned to look at him, and for a brief second the two of you stared at each other.

Sunghoon then rounded the corner of his desk before falling heavily into his chair, his face mere inches from yours. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“A coffee, please,” Sunghoon said thickly. His eyes fluttered open to look directly at you. You hesitantly stood straighter, confusion written all over your face. Sunghoon plucked the papers off his desk with the hand that had just given you so much pleasure that it was currently dripping down your thighs and puddling in your panties right now like it was nothing. “And this time… add more sugar,” he continued.

Awkwardly, you hiked up your panties and stockings and pulled down your skirt. You grabbed the stack of files that you sat on his desk before standing in front of it for another awkward moment.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stuttered before rushing out of his office. Sunghoon didn’t spare you another glance.

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

✉️   ⦂   godddd i need young james spader so desperately it’s not even funny anymore… anyway are we fw the hard thoughts layout?

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @ghstzzn @heechwe @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @bambiihee @fangel @xylatox @izzyy-stuff @hyukascampfire @sunoosgfv @whosserina @jellymochii @sumsumtingz @riribelle @minaateez @everythingvirgoes @lvrs-street2mmorrow @beomieeeeeeeeeeees

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[anarchistmemecollective]

We are being led to our slaughter. This has been theorized in a thousand ways, described in environmental, social, and political terms, it has been prophesied, abstracted, and narrated in real time, and still we are unsure of what to do with it. The underlying point is that the progress of society has nothing to offer us and everything to take away. Often it feels like we are giving it away without a fight: when we sell our time for money, allow our passions to be commodified, invest ourselves in the betterment of society, or sustain ourselves on the spoils of ecological destruction, we openly (though not consensually) participate in our own destruction.

The question hangs in an ethereal and ghastly voice: Why do you let yourselves be led to the slaughter like sheep? As Hermann Langbein addresses in Against All Hope: Resistance in the Nazi Concentration Camps, the survivors of those most explicit of human slaughter houses have been plagued by that question for decades, to which some have simply replied: we didn’t.

What can stories of resistance inside of the Nazi concentration camps teach us about our own situations? How can we relate to the resistance of those immersed in “the most frightful and hopeless struggle the world has ever witnessed?”

Underneath the ubiquitous sheep-to-the-slaughter metaphor is buried a profound historical possibility: wherever the Nazis sought to impose domination and violence, people resisted. Behind the images of people wearing armbands, boarding trains, and walking placidly into gas chambers, lies a rich history of recalcitrance’ and insurrection. Inside of the Nazi concentration camps, places meticulously designed to subjugate and exterminate human beings, people organized, conspired, sabotaged, and reflexively fought back against their oppressors. Though there are certainly lessons to be taken from World War II about the potential for whole populations to be rendered docile, there are also lessons about what it means to defy pacification in extraordinarily bleak circumstances. When we forget these kinds of stories, we forget about our own capacities for resistance. This text is about telling those stories and letting them become part of our own struggles.

A different approach: We have already been led to our slaughter — it is all around us. The world in which we exist is a protracted death, a sort of economically-sustained limbo in which hearts are permitted to beat only to the extent that they can facilitate the upward stream of capital. The plague of domestication has reached into every wild space, and the lines of colonization have crossed us more times than we can count. Every unproductive aspect of the biosphere has been flagged for eradication, from the “beam-trawled ocean floors” to the “dynamited reefs” to the “hollowed-out mountains,”’ the highest calibers of technology are locked into a perpetual killing spree chugging along in a “monotonous rhythm of death.” We who still have air in our lungs are the living dead, and struggle daily to remember what it feels like to be alive, holding tightly to the “desire for wildness that the misery of a paycheck cannot allay.” We roam the desolate architecture of our slaughter houses (“the prison of civilization we live in”) like ghosts who feel but cannot quite understand the vapidity of our existence. To borrow some apt phrases from the Conspiracy of Cells of Fire (CCF): we have become thoroughly integrated into “a system that crushes us on a daily basis”, that “controls our thoughts and our desires through screens” and “teaches us how to be happy slaves” while letting us “consider ourselves free because we can vote and consume”, and all the while, “we, like cheerful Sisyphus, are still carrying our slavery stone and think this is life.” As an American Iraq war veteran-turned-strategy consultant wrote in the New York Times in 2013: “The biggest problem we face is a philosophical one: understanding that this civilization is already dead.” The extent to which we have internalized the rhythms, values, and stories of this civilization “ties our future to [this] undead and all-devouring system.”

Then perhaps a better question might be: Why are we continuously being led to our slaughter like sheep?, to which many of us simply reply: We aren’t.

A nihilist is a person who does not bow down to any authority, who does not accept any principle on faith, however much that principle may be revered. —Ivan Turgenev

The anarcho-nihilist position is essentially that we are fucked. That the current manifestation of human society (civilization, leviathan, industrial society, global capitalism, whatever) is beyond salvation, and so our response to it should be one of unmitigated hostility. There are no demands to be made, no utopic visions to be upheld, no political programs to be followed — the path of resistance is one of pure negation. In short, “that conditions in the social organization are so bad as to make destruction desirable for its own sake independent of any constructive program or possibility.”

[cvnt4him]

You’ve given me bunny Izuku brain rot 🙏🙏

I was thinking maybe he starts doing rabbit courtship behaviors, which rabbits don’t have a lot of, but bucks do chase and circle does. Which would be pretty funny— Izuku trying to get Reader to run, and then when that doesn’t work he sprints away hoping she’d follow, and then when THAT doesn’t work the poor little guy tries circling and binky-ing around Reader. Meanwhile she’s just like WTF? 😭

Male rabbits don’t nest, but maybe he would as a desperate, ‘look! Look! Look how good I can be for you!! I can do this!! I would be such a good mate!!’ (he’s been pushed to his last straw, guys)

Also I have a feeling the brat would scent EVERYTHING, including reader lmao

I mean surely at some point Reader would realize Izuku has human-level intelligence, even if he has more instincts than a normal human. Maybe it would be, in teary desperation after he’s been rejected every single time, he does research on Reader’s laptop. (over human courting rituals ofc lmao)

Anyways, feel free to take whatever brainrotting you want from above as writing prompts! I’d love to see it!!

HAHSURUEUE THIS IS DELICIOUS.

mating season rolled up on izuku a lot quicker than he expected. He thought he could try to resist it at first but, his urges grew too strong. He needed to mate; to breed, and not just anyone but you.

Izuku couldn't help trying to get your attention, he figured if you realized what he was doing that what he was doing normally rooted with bunny courting methods and stuff you'd understand and help him! But that wasn't the case....at all in fact.

Truth be told you hadn't exactly learned how to take care of a hybrid. You thought it'd be as easy as taking care of a child, or maybe a cat. Something you've done before, you've babysat and even owed animals once upon a time.

You weren't exactly sure what izuku was doing but it sure was adorable....at first. He'd started getting more clingy and all in your face, staring at you , following you around and whining at you. When you'd look down at him he'd get this eager and excited look on his face, his ears standing at attention and his eyes widening.

His nose twitched faster than you recalled and his tail wagged behind him he slightly turned his head to the side, but instead of investigating you simply chuckled and patted him head. Now of course, your touch was all izuku wanted. But that was so brief and so bare, he wanted more.

Izuku whined to himself getting slightly grumpy, he wouldn't give up not just yet. You noticed he'd started following you around a whole lot more. So much so that it got annoying. He was always present and those once adorable eyes grew a little creepy with growing time.

You finally humored him and tried to figure out what he wanted. Izuku was nervous about telling you what he wanted, he was anxious and couldn't get it out to you in words with his nerves so he did his best to express it the best he could. His natural instincts, once again he was under the impression you knew what you were doing getting involved with a hybrid and keeping it.

You started to follow izuku asking him what he wanted and he was quick to run away his eyes still staring back as he zoomed across the hall sliding on his feet and soon sitting in his hands and feet to keep him steady. He tilted his head and you couldn't help but to giggle at the cuteness, be was so fast and so adorable you weren't sure what to do

“ oh, izuku, you're too cute!”

You walk away ultimately breaking izukus heart. No matter, he wouldn't give up just yet!!

His antics just grew more and more hectic, once again you didn't know too much about bunnies or even hybrids. You knew with him being half hybrid he had ears of a bunny, instincts for the most part, and even grew tons of body hair and hair period. Haircut days were the worst..

Izuku was more silent than usual but his eyes were always on you. He always had to be close to you, but never too close unless you asked him to. There was something with him,he refused to get too close unless he heard you ask or seen you motion for him to come.

He'd started circling around more, laying on top of you and more. Hed start running away from you like he was trying to get you to chase him, you understood that the more it happened and whenever you'd pretend like you would you'd see him jump high into the air, especially if you were outside.

You'd only I giggle and laugh at his antics and kiss him everywhere, silly thing. However he'd move himself from your grasp, visibly upset. You didn't quiet understand what he was doing, izuku didn't hop as much as he probably should and used to. He was formerly a wild hybrid before you kept him as your own so only God knows how high he can really jump. You only seen him hoo whenever he's extremely excited or when youre playing so whenever he jumped as high as he did you were more proud and shocked than anything.

Izuku didnt know what else to do... He felt like he was being clear with his hints why hadn't you made a move! Hes been so good and has been doing his best to get your attention but nothing worked! He was growing more desperate by the day, and desperate times calls for even more desperate measures..

You came back from work, you weren't overly tired like normal. You still had a bit of energy to maybe cook instead of eating left overs then climbing in bed with your recently mire energetic bunny. That sounded like heaven. You announced to izuku that you were home, not that he hadn't already heard the door open and shut plus the sound of your foot footsteps and shuffling.

You walk into your room to see izuku sitting on the floor and your covers were made into an odd .... shape? You couldn't exactly describe what it was but it looked like he'd put all of your covers and sheets and even pillows into a little circle in a sort almost like a birds nest. Honestly it seemed extremely comfortable, it was rather big and spacious. And boy was he adorable.

His eyes were wide and his ears were down a small frown on his face as his nose twitched fastly, you seen him sniff the air almost smelling your new scent that traced the air. He loved the smell of you, now especially that you smelled exactly like him.

He'd been rubbing up against you more, his chin all over your face and even rubbing his body all over yours the best he could at night. Sometimes his constant shuffling would upset your sleep especially because you work early when you're not working from home, so you had nothing better than to do besides push him off of be bed

Luckily for him, scenting you already worked! You hadn't noticed but with zuku growing even more desperate this was another sign of him being territorial. If this worked then that would make you involuntarily his!, even more than you already are, of course. Izuku is extremely territorial alot more than you'd think, you had to quickly instill it in his brain to NOT use your entire house as a toilet when he first moved in.

Then he was covered in hair like a damn fur ball and his eyes were always blown wide, since then hes calmed a bit and has definitely been tamed....for be most part. He would often leave whatever of his he could around to signify another way of him marking his own territory. Something slight that you wouldn't pick up on. And of course, you never did.

You cooed at izuku moving closer and rubbing his head against your lower tummy, scratching behind his ear the way he likes and emitting a low groan in return, you hear a small "miss you", leave his mouth as he rubs his head against your body.

The next day you went back to work izuku was quick to grab your laptop and do what little research he could. Of course he had no fucking clue what he should search up. Just typing in whatever he could, like "how to mate with humans" he ends up watching a 20 minute long video about sex education and honestly he feels up to speed.

He reads on google and other platforms that normally women like to be wooed while others like straight forward "rituals" izuku knew well enough you probably wouldn't like if he just pushed you down onto the bed and took what he wanted. But then again there was a part of him that got excited at the thought of it ..you finally understanding and letting him have it, finally letting him take you the way he needs.

His poor little mind fogging at the thought, his ears dropping as he stomped his feet in the bed at his own frustration. What was he to do when you didn't understand! He was too flustered and nervous to speak, for a hybrid that talks with any chance he gets unless he's upset, he has been really silent for the past weeks. There's no way you haven't noticed!

Tonight was the night. Izuku absolutely refused to let this moment slow away from him, he felt like he was going to explode everywhere. You came home a bit tired, you didn't have it in you to cook. All you wanted was to hold your furball to bed.

“ hey izuku, m’ home baby.”

He hears your grumble out with a sigh. Izuku was under your covers lying down in a burrito, he was facing the headboard as you could see the out print of his tail wagging at the sound of your voice. You giggle and crawl in bed with your work clothes still on you pull the cover back from his head to see him turn his head away from you

You heard a little sniffle leave his body and a wave of concern washed over you.

“ awh, zuku what's wrong baby?”.

You brushed his hair out of his face before you turn his face towards you to see tears welling in his eyes. He whined and seen the way you absolutely melted at the sight of him.

Izuku nuzzled his face into your neck, you could hear little hiccups leave him as struggled to whisper out to you.

“ ...want you.. s’bad..”

You pull back from him you hand still in his hair as you stroke it, he looks at you with his eyes blown wide like they used to be. You place small kisses to his freckled cheeks and see the way his saddened look is replaced with something else. His breathing changes and he moves closer to you, his eyes trailing down to your lips within and instant.

It felt like izuku began looking over you, his ear spiking up and his breath seems to still as well, his nose still twitching fastly as his shaky body moved closer to yours. His forehead moves to yours and he leans it agaisnt yours. You hum to yourself and stroke his cheek, izukus whole body shivers at the sweet touch of you.

He couldn't help himself any more, he tried to be patient and he feels like he has been for ever! Izuku smashes his lips onto yours and immediately whines into the kiss his tail wiggling as he moans climbing on top of you and rutting into your thigh. His breathing was heavy and it's like he couldn't be away from you anymore.

You were in for quite a night.

[atwhughesversion]

rick tocchet is gone — why did this happen, and now what?

ICYMI: the canucks announced a few hours ago that rick tocchet has chosen not to return as coach for next season. it raises a lot of questions — why did it end this way, will the canucks be better or worse off, what does it mean for certain players, and who on earth will take over?

lots and lots of text below the cut lol:

why did tocchet choose to leave?

as with most things, i’m sure more information will start trickling out once we think (and hope) that it’s old news in the market. right now, there have been a few pieces of information shared by reliable insiders. elliotte friedman said recently that he’d heard the 3 main holdups were contract (aka $$$), quinn hughes’ uncertain future, and lack of a practice facility. rick dhaliwal said that he thought the main issue was salary. today, we’ve heard from thomas drance and dhaliwal that the canucks did ultimately make a very genuinely generous contract offer, so the money probably wasn’t what drove tocchet’s decision.

this is what rutherford said:

“We did everything in our power to keep him, but at the end of the day Rick felt he needed a change.”

and this is what tocchet said:

“I'm choosing to move on from the Vancouver Canucks. Family is a priority, and with my contract lapsing, this becomes the opportune time. While I don't know where I'm headed, or exactly how this will play out for me over the near term, I feel like this is the right time for me to explore other opportunities in and around hockey.”

on canucks talk today, drance suggested that the decision was largely personal, and he mentioned that The Rift™️ was draining (and wasn’t entirely absent last season, despite the team’s success helping).

if i had to make a guess, i’d say that there were things tocchet wanted (quinn hughes certainty, practice facility) that the organization couldn’t provide, and once he received the large contract offer he ultimately decided that the money alone wasn’t enough for him to stay with a team that took a lot out of him the last year.

was tocchet a good coach?

this is the million dollar question lmao. while i’ve had my issues with him, personally i think that he’s an above-average coach all things considered. i think he was exceptional in terms of defensive systems and seemed very solid in terns of player relationships. i’m not sold on his offensive coaching ability, though, and IMO it’s a little concerning that he just hasn’t seemed to be able to budge his expectation in order to accentuate and take advantage of the skills of offensive players who might have some defensive warts. i don’t think he has the pedigree to be one of the highest-paid head coaches in the league, but i think he’s a solid option. ultimately, i don’t think he’s as good of a coach as the 2023-2024 season implied, but i don’t think he’s as bad as the 2024-2025 season implied.

what does this mean for quinn hughes?

quinn was really close with tocchet, and referred to him as the best coach he’s ever had — he even did an interview a few weeks ago, where he essentially went to bat for tocchet. a lot of people were of the opinion that the team needed to do whatever it took to keep quinn happy, including re-signing his favourite coach. so, with this news, and the uncertainty about whether quinn will ultimately sign a new contract with the canucks when he’s eligible (which rutherford won’t keep his damn mouth shut about oh my god), people are understandably concerned that tocchet leaving will make quinn less inclined to stay.

keep in mind, though, that tocchet was the coach who not only led the canucks to one of their most successful seasons, but was the guy behind the bench for quinn’s personal breakout season — and he started coaching the team when quinn was 23. that’s really young, and it’s very easy for young people to develop strong relationships with the mentors who help them reach peaks like this — and while the team made the playoffs in quinn’s rookie year under travis green, tocchet was the first one who helped them genuinely look like a contender, so it doesn’t surprise me that quinn would want him to stay.

quinn is a very smart player, though, and what’s most important for him will be winning. if they hire a new coach, the team looks great, and they have success again, quinn isn’t going to leave just because he misses rick tocchet. coaches are hired to be fired and while players will certainly get close with coaches (and tocchet wasn’t fired), there is an understanding that that person is not guaranteed to be with them for more than a couple years.

what does this mean for elias pettersson?

while petey’s surprising and lengthy decline was catalyzed by an injury, and has continued to affect him for a multitude of reasons (further injury, training around injuries, the rift, nonstop noise from the organization, etc.), so i don’t think it was caused by tocchet, i don’t know that i feel confident saying that tocchet played zero role in its longevity. there are a few reasons why — the style of hockey tocchet wanted his players to partake in wasn’t necessarily designed to take advantage of petey’s best attributes, and his emphasis on defensive hockey (including passing up low-quality shots so as not to cause turnovers) seemed like it may have caused some of the players to occasionally feel hesitation in really going for it offensively, and i do wonder if that contributed to petey being so hesitant to shoot or make dangerous plays.

the personal dynamic is also something i wonder about — they both have said that their relationship was good, but bruce boudreau once said that he found the best way to get the most out of petey and his personality was taking an approach using more positive reinforcement. did tocchet share this same approach? i’m not so sure.

i think petey was going to rebound whether tocchet stayed or went, but it might be a bit of a breath of fresh air for him to not have the same guy who has been criticizing him nonstop (while fawning over his #1 enemy /s).

who will be the replacement?

the options are basically: a member of the coaching carousel (woodcroft, laviolette, and anyone who’s fired after the playoffs are a few options), an internal promotion (aka manny malholtra), or a first-time NHL head coach from elsewhere (a current assistant coach with a different franchise, a coach from a different pro league — i’ve seen people throw around sam hallam, which would be interesting if not probable).

IMO, manny malholtra is the most likely (and today, rutherford said that he’s on the short list) — he has a lot of NHL assistant coaching experience, and has done a great job in abbotsford this year. and, notably, the abby canucks played a fairly similar way under malholtra as the canucks did under tocchet — so it’s not like the team would be deer in headlights learning a completely brand-new system.

the team will also need new assistant coaches. i wonder if maybe the sedins would be willing to start working for the NHL team full time, but they seem to really enjoy their current role in player development (though if manny came up, maybe he’d try and get the 2011 band back together 👀)

general vibe check?

i was pretty neutral on tocchet staying or leaving — there were things i didn’t love, but overall he was a solid coach who dealt with a season from hell. i do think it’s pretty bad for optics that canucks management made it incredibly clear that they wanted him back, and they couldn’t convince him to stay, so i’m ultimately not the biggest fan of how this went down. i’m optimistic about the future, though — at the very least, maybe we’ll get the “new coach bump” and have a hopeful start to the 2025-2026 season?

[rosaeh]

❦ jason «if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more. i lack the words to express my love for you but, please, let me show you. » todd

he cannot tell you how much you mean to him, the solace he finds in you. but he hopes his actions show you enough.

❦

more often than not, jason unfortunately finds himself not being able to speak up his feelings for you.

he used to resent himself for this. for not being able to truly show you how much he loves you, how much you improved his life.

before realising that, maybe, the only reason he couldn't find the words for it was because he felt too much. maybe if he couldn't speak it up, it was not because he lacked the words for it, but because there was no word meaningful enough to describe his utter love for you.

he wished a single word could wrap it all up. all his love for you, all his longing. the way he feels you within his very soul.

his heart is beating for you. you're the first — and only — thing it has beaten for in a while.

but he cannot show you. he cannot rip his chest open and show you the beating of his heart — no matter how much he wants to. so he has to settle with taking your hand in his, put it above his heart, and let you feel it — all while he has the great pleasure of keeping his gaze fixed on your face.

maybe jason couldn't voice his love for you, but he sure could show it. after all, actions do speak louder than words. and he finally understands why.

when he cannot express how grateful he is that you always wait for him to come home, he'd wrap his arms around you, and hold you close, as if he could merge his body with yours.

and when you come home from a tiring day, he'd have you resting your head on his lap, one of his hands holding yours while the other hoover over your face, caressing your features in such a delicate way. each caress holds his love for you. the one he cannot express. he loves you. he wishes he could take away your tiredness. you're everything to him, and he'd be willing to do anything for you. so he keeps you close, watching over you and appreciating how safe you look in his arms, while his fingertips trace the shape of your nose.

when he wakes up next to you, and is so struck by the sight of you by his side that he cannot even say the simplest words, he'd lean in and press kisses all over your face. he's not saying anything, but you understand. you know the meaning behind his kisses. he's grateful to have you by his side. grateful to have you with him, and he will never get tired of waking up next to you. no matter how long it's been this way. and he looks down at you with a fond gaze as he kisses your forehead.

he cannot voice the way you're always in his mind. how you're the only thought that ever crosses it. how dumb you make him. everything he encounters makes him think of you. but there are no words coming out of his mouth, and instead he brings these things home to you. he brings you this bouquet of your favourite flowers he saw while walking past the flower shop. he brings you this book he thought you'd like. he sends you picture too. no caption. but when you see the pictures, you know. this made me think of you — when do i not ? and you ? you keep these things close. you dry the flowers he brings you, read the book in one go, and put the pictures in a folder. "i love this man".

that's how he knows that, maybe, maybe, he's doing good enough. because that's all he wants, really. to do right by you. to give back to you all the love he feels in your presence. he wants to give you all that and so much more.

because if his words wrong him when it comes to expressing his love for you, he knows his actions don't.

[sunwoowrites]

His Anger, His resentment- He's Hurt. (Part 2)

Y/N x Chan Angst, comfort.

Ever since the presumed breakup, I have been living at full speed. I have lived, breathed ‘mastering the perfect morning routine’. I wake up before dawn every day, dragging myself out of bed despite the exhaustion that clings to my bones. The gym has become my battlefield. Every rep, every mile, every drop of sweat is a fight to silence the voices in my head—voices that echo his words: "Lazy." I push myself harder each day, as if working out long enough will erase the sting of those words, as if making my body strong will somehow make me enough.

My days are consumed by a strict routine I’ve crafted - meditation, journaling, praying. Anything to “centre” myself, the thoughts that swirl around me, constantly reminding me of how "ungrateful" I was in his eyes. I tell myself it’s working, that I’m doing better, that I’m healing—but the reality is, I’m drowning in the pressure I’ve put on myself.

Hours slip by as I force my mind to focus, to study every page like it’s my lifeline. I’m not just studying; I’m cramming, obsessing over every detail, determined to prove I’m not the lazy, unmotivated person he accused me of being. I’m trying to prove my self-worth.

The kitchen has turned into a place of torture. I spend endless hours trying to perfect my recipes, tweaking ingredients, timing everything just right. But with every meal I make, a voice whispers in my mind: "You always cook horrible food." The taste of failure lingers in my mouth no matter how much I try. I’ve applied for part-time jobs, working late into the night, just to pay for my studies on my own. I refuse to "leech."

Somewhere, deep down, I know it’s too much. I know I’m running on fumes, that I’m losing myself in the chaos of trying to be perfect. But as long as I keep moving, keep achieving, maybe - just maybe it will fill the empty space he left behind.

 Chan doesn’t realise the weight of the situation until Friday rolls around. His phone vibrates in his hand, and the screen flashes with a notification from his manager.Jeongin knocks on his studio door, Chan barely registers the sound. "Come in," he murmurs, distracted, fingers gripping his phone. Jeongin opens the door.

"Hyung, the movie is about to start." Chan nods, getting up in understanding, but only then does he realise that it’s already Friday. How did the week slip away so fast? He sighs and gets up from his desk. For a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities threatens to pull him under.

Chan walks out, phone in hand, takes a deep breath, attempting to mask the unease gnawing at him, and flings himself on the vacant seat. The lounge is filled by the members and their significant others. The usual sounds of laughter and conversation fill the air. Chan checks the messages from his manager asking for updates on their current project.

Manager Hyung

How far are you with the album?

20:30

The words hang in the air, sharp and cold. Chan feels a familiar rush of panic flood his chest, his stomach twisting. He freezes for a moment before a flashback hits him like a slap to the face. A few days ago, while Chan was at the company studio, he got called by his manager. "How far along are you with the new album's music?" The blood drained from Chan’s face. "Hyung...I've been so caught up with the other groups' new albums. I completely forgot." His voice tight, trying not to sound unprofessional.

While his manager reassures him with a "I'll see what I can do,” his voice calm yet frustrated. Chan apologises profusely, but the damage had already been done. Chan beats himself up. How could it slip my mind? I’m the leader. I was supposed to be reliable. It’s my responsibility to make sure stuff like this doesn’t happen.

Jeongin notices a shift in Chan’s demeanour, his usual upbeat energy dampened. Chan, who always wore his emotions on his sleeve, is now staring blankly at the screen, barely acknowledging the film playing before him. And to top it all off, I'm nowhere to be seen. In fact, he hasn’t heard from me in a while. Did something happen?

“Hyung, where’s Y/n?” Chan looks at Jeongin. “Right here…” The words die in his throat when he looks around the lounge to see that I was, in fact, not there. Not only does his mind go radio silent, but it begins to crash. The world around him fades, and all that remains is the crushing thought

What did I do?

His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for his phone, but his thoughts are clouded. Was it something he said? Something he didn’t say? He recalls the last few days, the argument, the coldness he’d thrown my way. He can't remember the exact moment it started unravelling, but now, in the pit of his stomach, the gnawing feeling is undeniable. Jeongin and now the other members begin growing concerned, “Hyung…?” Chan lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

Chan grabs his coat, running out the door – sending countless calls and messages to get through to me. He reaches my apartment.

My kitchen looked like a war zone. The air is thick with the smell of burnt food, and the sink is piled high with failed attempts. The timer rings, signalling the latest batch of cookies I’ve tried to perfect, but the results are disappointing, as they always are. I slide the tray out of the oven, a wave of frustration rising in my chest. I breathe heavily.

"Just one thing right. One thing," I mutter, eyes stinging with tears I refuse to shed. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, focusing on the next task, the next step in the routine that has become my life. But it’s not working. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels enough.

A crash from the kitchen interrupts my spiral. A bowl falls from the counter, shattering on the floor. I freeze, the sound of it reverberating in my mind. I feel like I’m breaking, just like the pieces of ceramic at my feet. It’s then that I hear the knock on the door. My heart skips a beat. I look at the camera on the wall. It’s Chan.

He looks dishevelled, with bags under his red eyes. I don’t want to answer. I can’t. But something inside me forces me to go. My fingers tremble as I reach for the door handle. When I open the door, Chan stands there, coat still on, his face filled with concern. His gaze softens as he takes me in—my apron messed with cookie dough and flour. My hair in a messy bun. I’m worn down. I’ve been fighting battles no one can see. "Y/n…"

I turn around and go to clean up the mess on the floor. I pick up the pieces of ceramic from the floor. He follows behind me. "Honey." I ignore him hastening my cleaning up. "Honey listen to me." he moves to clean the mess for me. I push his hand grabbing the pieces hurriedly not caring for the cuts that begin to decorate my palm. ''Can you not Chan?!"

He takes a deep breath stepping away. Eyes welled with tears. "You're hurting yourself." I roll my eyes dropping the pieces into the plastic bag. "Oh please, as if you care. Don't pretend." He moves closer to me. "I really didn't mean it. None of it."

I turn to him, "You know, I really want to believe you, Chan. To an extent, I do, because I know who you are. I know what type of person you are - both on and off camera. But your words broke something in me. Something I don’t know how to fix anymore. And it hurts. It’s something I would never, in a million years, have done to you - even at my lowest. I don’t know if this is something you can fix, Chan."

He sighs, dejected by my words. He walks toward me and gently takes my hands in his. He grabs a paper towel, dampening it, and begins cleaning up my cuts. His face tightens in concern as he frowns, then walks away to get the first aid box. He motions for me to sit on the barstool and begins sorting through my wounds.

Tears roll down his cheeks, but he doesn’t speak. When he’s finished bandaging my hands, I lift his chin gently. "You don’t have to beat yourself up," I say softly. He frowns, his voice barely a whisper. "I could say the same to you."I sigh, looking away for a moment, gathering the strength to speak. "I think we need a break—"

He interrupts me, his voice firm. "No." I hold his hand, squeezing it. "Yes, we do. You need to work through whatever’s going on with you, on your own. And I... I need therapy. I need time to heal. When we’re better... maybe then we can try and do this again."

He looks at me, eyes searching mine. After a moment, he adds quietly, "Can we at least still stay friends during that time? I want us to heal our bond as well." I nod. He opens his arms and engulfs me in a comforting hug. "It's all going to be okay." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Yeah."

[luneemeritus]

Here we go.

• The chandelier was a warning to the managers. I thought I mentioned it in my OP, sorry that I didn't. He didn't intentionally killed her. It was absolutely wrong regardless.

• Did you read my post? I literally mentioned Philippe's death. "It was a horrible one by drowing" ok? He was tresspassing Erik's house. Erik built that house precisely to hide from the world, what did you expect him to do when an aristocrat, a member of the same society and class that opressed him during his whole life, almost tresspassed his house? "He was searching for Raoul" oh I'm afraid Erik's magical crystal ball was not working that day. It was self defense, end of story.

• Buquet killed himself. Erik didn't kill him. "B-but Erik's built the torture chamber" he did not kill Buquet. Simple. Personally I consider the "torture chamber" part lazy writing and not really making sense because it's kinda useless, but feel free to disagree on that. But I will repeat: Erik didn't kill Buquet. And even he had killed Buquet, lol he had it coming, I would also be mad seeing someone spread horrible shit about my physical appearance. If that bothers you lol good.

• I love how you think I'm "ignoring" things that I literally already mentioned. But let me answer this by adressing your other "callout": "he doesn't think before he acts?" Bro literally kidnapped Christine out of an outburst and threatened to blow the Opera House, only to regret everything later. You refuted yourself. No, Erik doesn't think before he acts. He *is* impulsive. He acts purely on emotional, this is why he lies so much to the Daroga, he doesn't think before he acts and regrets when the shit he did goes wrong. That's like. The most basic character trait for him. And about the gunpower and scorpion/grasshopper: aside from Classical Gothic Literature exageration, Erik had always suicidal tendencies, but he doesn't really express this before his crysis at the end.

"the deaths were not created by the musical" jesus FUCKING christ. Literally the whole point of my original post was that the context and tone of Erik's behaviour was changed to make him more antagonistic. He didn't kill anyone on purpose or out of pure spite/sadism like he did with Piangi in the musical (and he didn't kill Buquet), literally the only person he killed on purpose was Philippe who was tresspassing his house but even still you refuse to understand my point because "bad outcast killed aristocrat uwu". And the "murder for nothing" wasn't the only thing the 2004 movie specifically changed that made Erik unlikable, but I won't repeat myself because this was my original post.

And your last paragraph, again, proved you missed my point and probably didn't even try to understand it. The 2004 movie (what I was comparing the novel to, and not the stage musical even though I have my own criticism to it) made him more manipulative than he was in the novel and wrote crimes he wasn't responsible for originally (aka grooming a child and the murders I already mentioned). My point was that Leroux Erik is less villanous and more sympathetic than 2004 Erik, but people often dismiss it because Leroux Erik is described as "uglier" and more tragic/complex than in the musical. I'm not the one denying him complexity or humanity, you are by refusing to analyse his character traits and the reason and context behind his crimes. You're the one making poor excuses to not understand his character. The worst crimes Erik committed in the novel were not manipulative evil genius plans that took 6 months like in the movie, but out of a psychosis attack after hearing the woman he loved and believed that loved him back planning to run away and, again, displaying cruel comments about the very appearance that caused him the trauma he has to deal with. Leroux Erik regreted pretending to be an Angel much earlier and apologized to Christine, while 2004 Erik pretended to be her fucking dad until the very end. Leroux Erik is much more impulsive whole 2004 (and ALW in general) Erik is more cold minded. And I already commented about the murders. Leroux Erik's outburst was definitely worse and scarier than in the musical, but it makes more sense considering he's older and had to deal with worse shit and the context of the novel. Erik doesn't even do anything outright "evil" until the very end, he was much more Raoul's mysterious rival begging for Christine's love than the big scary villain.

But then again you don't believe Erik actually loved Chrstine, even though this is the most important part of the story and the reason why the ending is so emotional in the first place, he DID LOVE HER and yet that didn't make his outrageous toxic behaviour any better. Love doesn't make you immune to hurting the ones you love, specially in Erik's situation (+40 years of untreated trauma and systematic neglect that caused severe mental illness and instability). The final chapter is literally called "the end of the ghost's love story"; Christine herself has long ass monologues about how much he loved her, would do anything for her and was completely submissive (also, Leroux Erik is both manipulative and easily manipulated, people can be both *gasp!*) and her monologues themselfs (when properly translated) refute any anti-E/C rhetoric. Erik loved Chrstine and if you're denying that, you're already starting your whole argumentation wrong.

People saying that 2004 Erik is "more likable" and "less horrific" than Leroux Erik is hilarious to me. No seriously, it genuinely baffles me. Are you serious that a version of Erik (the only one as far as I'm aware, thankfully) that grooms Christine when she was a child, kills Buquet and Piangi for absolutely no reason, aside from being much more manipulative and cold-minded, is "more likable" than the OG Erik that didn't do any of those?

Leroux Erik is always impulsive, doesn't think before he acts, ends up fucking shit up and feels guilty for it but continues fucking shit up because it's the only way he knows how to survive. Leroux Erik apologizes for the "Angel facade" much earlier instead of holding it until the end. Leroux Erik didn't run out there killing random people because yes, the only person he actually and directly killed was Philippe, a Count that was tresspassing his house. Leroux Erik's love for Christine isn't shown only in the end after the kiss. What is it about Leroux Erik that makes people despise him and prefer creepier, worse versions? Oh, sure.

🙄

Hey just passing by to say that disfigured people existing and being represented in fiction isn't "Horror" or "Body Horror". Just saying.

(this isn't a hate post against gerard butler! unfortunately i've seen a lot of phans being rude and terrible to him just because they dislike the 2004 movie, i'm not doing this, he is an awesome guy and a great actor, i'm criticizing the 2004 portrayal of Erik and media takes)

[matteoberrettini]

the thing is that jannik really did look like he was enjoying himself less after everything that happened and now he says before ao he thought "well, last year's over, let's see how it goes now" and in australia he was greeted by people treating him differently. like? other players must've treated him as if he was a different person, a cheat, someone to avoid, when less than a year before they talked to him and joked around with him. and nothing changed between then and now except that someone else fucked up and jannik paid the price for it. the other, huge thing that changed was that jannik wasn't happy in tennis spaces like he once was. because of that fuck up that was not his fault. imagine you're already going through the most difficult time in your career and then from many of your peers there's no compassion, no understanding. just judgement and resentment and refusal to look at the truth. in favor of believing some kind of narrative that he gained any advantage whatsoever in this whole affair. it just breaks my heart that he said he was waiting to see how it'd go after some time had passed. he was trying to put the past year behind him. and he couldn't because others kept treating him like he did something wrong when there HAS BEEN proof he didn't. for a good while now. he was trying to move on and he couldn't, not fully at least, not with lightness in his heart, because they wouldn't let him.

[acknowledge-reigns]

Reign | Roman Reigns x Black!Fem OC | 18+! | Royalty AU

Description: Prince Roman has to marry in order to take his rightful place on the throne.

Chapter: 1/5

Face Claim: Megan Thee Stallion

Warnings: Mentions death of a parent.

Word count: 1,295

This is a historical romance fanfiction. As such some characters featured have their real names and some have their kayfabe ones. Example being Jey is Joshua because that fits with the time period and tone of the story better. Jimmy is Jonathan, Drew is referred to as Andrew. Whereas Roman, Solo, Naomi and many others mentioned keep their kayfabe names because I feel they can work anyways. This is regency era. Think Bridgerton. That along with the "Bridal Discipline" series of erotic novels by one of my favorite authors Golden Angel is the inspo behind this one.

As always my stories are NOT about real people and does not reflect their character. While there is no smut in the first chapter of two, This is very much an 18+ BDSM based romance. If kink content isn't for you, please scroll. You have been warned.

My masterlist can be found here.

👑 Tag list: @lov3rla03 @reignseclipse @acute-crashout-jeyuso

Roman sighs heavily as he reads the will, his fingers tracing the elegant script. The weight of his royal responsibilities feels heavier than ever.

Paul clears his throat delicately. "Your Highness, I've already prepared a list of eligible ladies from across the kingdom. The season's opening ball next week will be the perfect opportunity to meet them."

Roman's eyes narrow at the mention of the ball. He vividly remembers his father's lavish events, where political machinations and court gossip always swirled.

"Must I really parade myself like some prize horse?" he mutters under his breath. "Fine, prepare everything. But I want no interference in my choices."

Paul nods, already mentally preparing the guest list. "Of course, Your Highness. Though some noble families may try to meddle, their influence is nothing compared to the future king's decision."

Roman's father's will clearly states that he must marry within three months of his father's passing, or the crown will pass to one of his cousins whom had already taken a wife instead.

The terms are firm: 'My beloved son Roman, though I've prepared you for the throne, it is not yet your time. Your coronation cannot occur until you are wed. Choose wisely, my son - your queen must be strong, kind, and above all, loyal to the kingdom and our bloodline. - Your Father, King Sika of The Kingdom Of Leava.'

Roman clenches his jaw, understanding the weight of these words. His advisor and long time friend of the royal family Paul had told him time and time again.

Roman paces the room, his mind racing with thoughts. He knows there are plenty of beautiful noblewomen who would eagerly throw themselves at a chance to be queen, but none of them seem worthy.

Paul notices his restlessness. "Perhaps a visit to the royal gardens might help clear your mind, Your Highness? There's no rush - we have weeks to find the perfect candidate."

Roman reluctantly agrees to the suggestion, though his mood remains dark. The weight of his future seems heavier with each passing moment.

As he walks through the lush gardens, memories of his childhood play out - running through these same paths with his brother, sisters and many cousins. Matt would know what to do in this situation he thought to himself. He had been the heir. Had been.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Ana Hill arrives at the palace gates, her worn clothes and travel-worn shoes contrasting sharply with the elegant palace. She nervously clutches a small bag containing her meager belongings.

The guard looks at her papers with skepticism but eventually waves her through. The palace kitchen staff welcomes her with curiosity, though some look at her unrefined appearance with disdain.

"You must be Ms. Georgiana Hill," says the head cook, Mrs. Smith, eyeing her from head to toe. "I hope you're a quick learner. The royal banquet is in three days."

Ana nods determinedly, though her hands tremble slightly. She's been cooking for her family since she was young, but never anything so grand as a royal banquet.

"I'll do my best, Mrs. Smith," she says quietly.

The head cook gives her a stern look. "See that you do. I'm not one for repeating myself."

Another servant whispers to her as she walks by, "The Prince has been difficult since his father's passing. Watch yourself around him." Ana just nods, too focused on her task to fully absorb the warning.

Days pass as Ana throws herself into her work, learning the palace's intricate kitchen system. Her dedication and skill quickly become apparent, and she rises through the ranks.

The staff talks about the upcoming royal ball, especially the Prince's search for a bride. Some wonder if he'll even find someone suitable among the noblewomen, while others gossip about his cold demeanor.

"Poor man," one kitchen maid whispers to Ana. "Burdened with such responsibility. And now he must marry a stranger..." Ana just listens silently, focusing on kneading dough.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

The moonlight streams through palace windows as Ana wanders the quiet corridors. She's never been allowed to explore this far before or seen anything beyond the servants quarters. The sound of her footsteps echoes against the marble floors. Her curiosity grows as she passes by grand rooms and magnificent paintings.

Ana gasps as she hears footsteps approaching from behind. Her heart pounds in her chest as she spins around, only to see Prince Roman standing there.

The expensive vase she accidentally bumped into wobbles precariously before crashing to the floor. Shards scatter everywhere as Ana stares at the broken pieces in horror, knowing that the replacement cost would easily cover months of her family's expenses.

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness!" she stammers, dropping to her knees to try and clean up the mess. "I didn't mean to-"

Roman's eyes sweep over Ana, taking in her disheveled appearance and fearful expression. Despite her clearly servant status, there's something different about her that intrigues him.

He moves closer, kneeling down to help her with the broken pieces. "It's alright," he says softly, his voice gentle. "Accidents happen."

Ana's hands shake as she works, careful not to cut herself on the shards. "The cost of this... I can't afford it. My family needs-" she stops herself abruptly, realizing she's speaking too freely in front of the Prince.

Roman notices her distress and helps her stand up. He's struck by her vulnerability and the determined set of her jaw, even as she tries to hide it.

"Tell me what troubles you," he says, his voice commanding yet surprisingly gentle. "And we'll discuss this vase later."

Ana hesitates, unsure if she should burden the Prince with her family's problems. But something about his presence makes her want to trust him.

"My father... he passed away recently. My mother is ill. I have to ensure she and my little sister are taken care of." Ana expresses.

Roman's expression softens with understanding. He recognizes the weight of responsibility she carries, similar to his own burden as future king.

"How old is your sister?" he asks, his voice quiet. "And what of your mother's illness - is there a doctor treating her?"

Ana looks down, her voice trembling. "My sister is just ten and six years of age. Mother has been sick since last winter - the doctor says she needs special medicine, but it's expensive."

She glances at the broken vase, then back at Roman. "I work two jobs to pay for her medicine, but even then, it's not enough. This vase... it would pay for several months' worth of her treatment.."

Roman considers her situation for a moment, then makes an unexpected proposal. "I can help with your family's expenses. But I have a condition."

Ana's eyes widen in surprise and hope. "Anything, Your Highness," she whispers. "Name it."

Roman straightens his posture, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "Ms. Georgiana, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Ana's mouth drops open in shock, her heart racing. She never imagined such a proposal from the Prince, let alone one made in the palace corridor while she's still in her servant's uniform.

"Your Highness, I... I'm just a kitchen maid," she says, trying to process the gravity of his offer. "Surely there are more suitable-"

Roman steps closer, his eyes fixed intently on hers. "You're different from the others. I see it in your strength and determination. Your family's needs are mine now too."

He gently takes her hands in his. "We could help each other - you need the money, and I need a partner who truly understands the people. Who understands...me."

Ana's heart pounds in her chest as she searches his face for any sign of deception. What he's offering is beyond her wildest dreams - but can she trust this man she barely knows?

Next chapter

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Characters and Face claims:

Georgiana "Ana" Hill - Megan Thee Stallion

Violetta Hill - Coco Jones

Mary Anne Hill - Loretta Devine

Lady Abigail - Dove Cameron

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Extra Lore and fun facts you should know (may add more later! Feel free to ask questions):

The kingdom is called Leava, which means "Strong Bloodline".

The capital city of Leava is called Rilevanza, which translates to Relevancy in Italian. A play on the island of relevancy.

Georgiana is from a small village called Akua made up primarily of poor fishermen. Akua means water.

If you've seen Bridgerton, you know Lady Whistledown. We have our own version of that in this story in Lady Mystique 😉

[voiceofthelionhearted]

for relating to her so much, it's kind of a surprise that i've never made a post about the spectre and the lead into tpatd. but i guess today, we're changing that.

the spectre is, in my mind, about giving grace, changing, and empathy. spectre is surprisingly kind, being the one princess you get by immediately killing the previous princess. however, she doesn't let you forget what you've done. she calls you "killer". she also shows that she has an edge -- she can be dangerous to you if she wants to, but you are no longer dangerous to her. she holds all the power, in terms of physical danger. and she is willing to look past your previous murder of her in order to reach a conclusion that she seems to feel is mutually beneficial. in my mind, there is no reason for her to be this reasonable -- unless she thinks that something is up. for instance, there's someone behind the scenes who is telling you to kill her.

which, of course, she learns to be the truth when she possesses you. for how excited cold is at the prospect of her meeting the one who wanted you to kill her so badly, she treats the narrator with the same attitude she treats you, only reacting with frustration or incredulity when he states the obvious about her no longer being in the room with tlq, and offense when he describes her presence with his body as burdensome. she doesn't like him, but she's still willing to be civil and understanding, like when she describes him as a memory and "similar to her".

she is understandably angry when you decide to slay yourself to slay her. it's petty. it's self-destructive. it's terrifying. why would someone go to such lengths to hurt another? but, she did hear how the narrator encouraged you to "fix your mistake" of deciding to let her out, so both iterations of the princess in the following chapter are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. although, in the harsh princess's case, it's mostly because -- well -- you're stuck together, and neither of you know for how long.

and it's following her possession of you and going into tpatd where you see that she is still willing to be civil -- but that doesn't mean that your actions have no consequences.

if you were cruel to her prior to letting her possess you, she is understandably on edge, because it means that you didn't do any self-reflection and could potentially still be a danger to her. she automatically responds to opportunist's violence with violence, angry at having been hurt again, and responds to you telling her that you're back in your own body with more anger and betrayal. you're begging her to stop hurting you, after all you've done is hurt her without any remorse or second thought. after sharing a body with her, she must have hoped that you can understand her pain and anger, despite how civil she was willing to be with you. she made it abundantly clear to you that, even though she's willing to put everything behind herself, she hasn't forgotten it, and yet, you still think that you're allowed to beg for the pain to stop? after you caused all of her pain in the first place? when you tell her that you deserve to die for all that you've done to her, she considers your words, and then her angry expression melts into something softer. sadder. you finally understand. you're taking responsibility for your actions. regardless of whether or not someone was influencing your decision to hurt her, it was still just that -- your decision. showing remorse in front of her tells her that you've truly learned of her pain, and fully understand it. she may have been harsh, but is it so wrong to be harsh towards someone who has only ever hurt you?

if you were kind to her, she is nicer to you, and a lot more timid in front of your body. she wants to keep you hidden away, a secret to be kept safe, because you reflected on your previous actions and were kind to her. yeah, you stabbed yourself to get to her, and she's confused about why you would do something like that, but perhaps she's willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because she heard the narrator and how he talked about her. she's hoping that you were only cruel to her because of the narrator, and so maybe you can be kinder. in fact, she knows that you can be kinder -- because she's seen it. so she's kinder to you, hoping that the two of you are building a relationship wherein you won't hurt her anymore. she's less willing to hurt your body, because even though there are voices in there that she doesn't like, that's still your body, and you're still the one in control when you're inside of it. in this one, you betray her by not listening to her request that she cut herself free. she's not angry at you, but you can see sorrow in her face as you cut her free, rather than letting her do so herself. as we know, this results in opportunist finally killing the two of you. you disregard her desires, her autonomy, and both of you suffer the consequences together.

yes, the point of the spectre and tpatd is empathy and understanding, but it's also about forgiveness and what it looks like. forgiveness is not always a soft and sweet thing. it can also be harsh and guarded. it just depends on the subject of forgiveness and how they act. that is the healthiest form of forgiveness -- you forgive, but you do not let the person who hurt you, hurt you again. not without consequences this time.

[shockmastervoidstate]

Why you care so much about your CR

Feel too attached to the CR? In this post, I will tell you why and if you understand why, you can do something about it

Many of us feel somehow guilty for leaving the CR. We feel as if we would "escape" a trap, while leaving other poor souls behind.

I did a thought experiment and reflected on it with my knowledge of psychology and I think I figured out why we feel this way.

It's because our ego, identity and purpose are determined by other people.

It's human nature. Psychology professor Martin Seligman, who talks a lot about positive psychology, explains how we derive our purpose from those around us.

We are, essentially, nobody without others. We would just be wandering around, eating when hungry and sleeping when tired until we die.

But since we live in social networks, we have a certain self-image that is given to us by others. A kid who is always praised for their intelligence will see themself and behave like a smart person. They gravitate towards hobbies, jobs and tasks where they can use their brains for their own good and the good of others.

Our ego holds on strongly to our identity, and everything that questions our identity is scary and stressful. The smart kid from my example will quickly develop confidence and pride in his intellect. However, the worst thing that could happen to him is failure to complete their intellectual tasks, especially when others can observe it. This would lead to an identity crisis.

We all have identities that consist of a whole set of labels.

We all are members of families and communities (like shifting Tumblr, haha). As a result, each of us has a unique set of responsibilities.

Our ego doesn't want us to just let go of it, its survival depends on it, and in extreme cases, our survival depends on it, since we puny humans are as good as dead without community.

The ego doesn't understand the concept of shifting realities. It knows only itself and hates and fears everything that threatens it.

"Reality is a prison and people are the prison bars"

Because they tell us who we are and we believe it.

Even when we shift or manifest, aren't our desires at least partly predetermined?

Almost all shifters choose realities and people that they saw in this CR. Almost all shifters want to be human and live human lives. Almost all shifters want to embody attributes that their community values, such as beauty, style, wealth, kindness or cruelty, intelligence, success, confidence, strength, tolerance or intolerance, uniqueness or fitting in.

It's no wonder that we can't just leave like that, when everything we learned to value was determined by our communities here.

Especially when you do not embody attributes that are valued by your community. You want to shift to be rich/successful/beautiful, but you value these attributes, because you were taught to.

And now you're on a quest to get the job done, but when you want to shift for these things, your ego and identity have something to say.

"What about me? What about your CR self? What about your CR community?"

What about them, they will always be here and they have always been here, since every moment exists forever in the multiverse.

But your ego and identity, that could only exist thanks to linear time, doesn't understand shifting.

"Don't leave me behind. Shifting isn't real, it's just a lucid dream. Go back to work, you need to take care of my, sorry, I meant your business. Yes, your business. Not mine, don't look at me like that."

Honestly, when I did my thought experiment, I saw how absurd "shifter's guilt" is.

Imagine you were living on a lonely island, just catching fish when hungry, throwing rocks when bored and sleeping when tired.

You don't have a mirror. Even if you looked into one, you wouldn't know if you were beautiful or ugly, because there is nobody else to compare with. You also don't know if you're strong or smart or funny. You have no concept of these things.

There is nobody to impress and nobody to help. You just live.

Now imagine you discovered a portal to a different island, one that's a little bit nicer. Would you go?

Yes, you would. Your life will be the same, just a little bit nicer. You leave nothing behind. Not anybody else, not your identity, because you don't have one.

"Hey shockmaster, what the hell should I do now?"

There are some things that can help you detach from your CR to shift.

1) Consider how much you want to detach from your CR. Do you want it to vanish forever or just make the bonds a little weaker? This will determine what steps are suitable.

2) Always remind yourself that you are awareness, not a physical body. You are just aware of it.

You can do this by saying affirmations or by consuming media that support this belief.

3) Question labels. Do you call yourself lazy? Why? Because someone you know works harder? Or your teacher said so?

4) Question your values. Do you like strength? Why? Because you felt unsafe in some situation? Because someone you know admires strength?

5) Treat the CR like a dream. It's not special. You may have not shifted much, but you had so many dreams. What makes them less valid than the CR? Think carefully about this. Could it be that your ego wants you to forget and discard your dreams so that you can focus more on egoic interests?

Don't forget to treat the people in your CR as dream characters, at least in your mind. Your ego likely thinks that your relationships are special, but are they really? Would you be friends with the boys and girls from school if you had never gone to school? Would you live with your parents if they weren't your parents?

6) Shift to a DR that is similar to your CR. If you just can't help it and feel like you have business to do in the CR, do them in a nicer CR.

7) Shift for a vacation. Just go on an adventure and then return to your CR. Have fun, your ego will not mind, hopefully. But if done successfully, your ego will comprehend shifting much better. It will get easier.

8) Abandon your CR identity and shift to a reality that is extremely different. A good choice for people that think their CR is totally inadequate. Use the LoA and embody your new identity already.

9) Achieve the void state. You'll be liberated from your identity and ego enough to shift to any reality without persistence. Lucid dreams and astral projections are effective, too.

Good luck! Live how you want.

[daemyra-fire]

How needy Nick was for love in this chapter, how much he needed June and even though she stayed and she really wanted to know what was wrong with him, he was in a very bad place with the stupid commander.

He invited her to stay at his house and wanted her for himself, even the next day the only thing he thought about was running away with her and leaving everything behind.

And I understand that June is sometimes very selfish but please she literally melted for Nick, when he told her to stay she decided to stay, when he arrived saying that they should go to Paris and be a family, she was willing to leave, in the same flashback she tells him that even without Gilead she would love him.

So no matter how selfish she is, she still loves him and I feel that when they say no she puts Nick first it is because she knows that he is capable of surviving on his own more than the others so she prioritizes the rescue of others, over Nick.

Now the real problem is the betrayal, does that affect many people? Of course it started with Lawrence, but all he did was survive. Wharton is crazy and we could see it when he exploded in anger. Nick gave him something that he knew wouldn't endanger June, and that's always been his priority. It was ugly, of course! But the commander already knew that he killed the boy in the hospital, and he had to maintain his trust so that he wouldn't send him to the wall.

June will be upset about it, of course everyone in her position would be, is that why she stopped loving Nick? I don't think so, I think she might separate them and obviously not go with him but that doesn't mean their relationship is dead, the girl was willing to leave everything for him and she more than anyone knows that in Gilead there are times where you play the bad guy. I don't think she understands it now and more if she doesn't hear the reason why he did it, if she doesn't know about the hospital or what Wharton means but I think that with time she might understand.

What bothers me is that this happens 4 chapters before the end, this should have happened in season 5 or before, giving us the idea that they are not going to be together is the stupidest idea the directors and writers have had, because those two move the show, Nick is the favorite of the majority, why torture the fans like this before the end? Don't they want people to see the testaments?

but well I still believe that they will end up together, I feel that Nick would still give his life for June and she would see it, like when he found out that she worked for soj and nothing happened, survival and attacking Gilead is now more important, I also doubt that June is with Luke even if she is not with Nick, because all season we have seen that their relationship is dead, that they only stay together for Hannah and that is not even enough so if it is not with Nick she will be alone. everything except with Luke.

so my hopes are still standing, despite this "betrayal" they both love each other and more than once June has been reckless and more than once Nick has given her up to protect her and help her, so let's hope that it develops well and that they give us a decent ending for both of them, they said in the promotion that it's a season for the fans and that we will like the ending, so I doubt that they don't know that the fandom loves Nick and June together, when their networks are full of messages from Nick and June end game, lol 🤣 I don't think they are that blind, so let's keep the faith that this will be solved one way or another.💖

[bigsoggyboots]

Cliché

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summ: you and Sevika get invited to Topside's party. She doesn't want it, you both know you need it. You have to get along in order for you to complete your mission.

wc: 930

an: welcome back to my uploads being slow because of testing. thats my schedule for the next 3 weeks btw, basically until school is over. I had this idea of sevika being in a love-hate relationship with you (hopefully) you can understand where that kicks in. this took me too long to do and I hope u like it. bye.

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imagine…

how Sevika feels when she sees you every time she directly asks to see Silco. she knows you purposely ignore her request every time she asks, she sees how you pretend to write it down. she's damn sure she knows what words play in your head as you give her that knowing smile and fake glint in your eyes.

she hates it, just as much as she hates you.

you listen to everything but her own personal requests; you meet her at Babettes, discreet, sheathing yourself in a blue cloak. you make sure to book a room furthest down the hall, in a name only people who worked for Silco would understand. hell, you even changed your makeup for this.

you sat in front of her now, the dim candlelight igniting your face in a way that Sevika would only see as infuriating, as she passed you the envelope. she tried to push down the thought of how soft it made you look.

you and Sevika knew of the arrangement Silco set his scary lady set her up for the task for, the formal invite was still of a shock.

Silco hadn't told you two much, only that Topside was making a meeting he couldn't be there for. You both knew that was a lie. Silco could make it, he chose not to. So, as substitutes, you would be talking to Piltover officials about Zauns “unsanctioned” Shimmer activities.

“don't know why the hell he's making us do this.” Sevika grumbled, watching you tear open the envelope to conceal your smile.

“perhaps to have more time to keep jinx under control?” oh, so now you make jokes? yeah, whatever. Sevika scoffed at that.

you glazed over the contents inside the letter, eyes widening at what the proposal would be. Sevika inhaled a puff of smoke from her cigar and her eyebrow quirked up at you. for once, the words almost didn't make it out. you had to say it plainly.

“Topside is inviting us to a party.”

…what?

even though you only whispered, Sevika looked at you like you yelled. she momentarily forgot to breathe, choking on the smoke she harbored.

Topside inviting Zaunites to a party? willingly? on a formal notice?

“they've gone to shit.” sevika hit her chest, coughing her smoke out.

“you mean they've gone batshit.”

“that too.”

you read more of the letter and realized you needed to wear formal attire. you muttered to yourself all too well, “where the hell are we going to find a dress in Zaun?”

“they want us to dress up?”

“this.. has to be joke.” it felt like it, like there's an attack going to be behind this. but, Silco was serious, this letter was serious, and the conditions and information given all about it was serious.

you and Sevika held gazes, wide eyed and utterly clueless on what to say. Sevika never thought in her life Piltover would so as have the thoughts glaze their mind, you researched Piltover well enough to know that Piltover wouldn't like Zaun to be seen in the same sun's rays.

then you had an idea. a terrible idea. such an idea that Sevika could begin to pick up on. she almost looked amused.

Sevika crossed her arms. “no.”

“we have to.”

Sevika spoke harsher this time. “no.”

“it'll help us make a better convincing argument.”

“i wouldn't keep you for as long as i can throw you.”

“are you serious?”

“very.”

“unbelievable.” you huffed out beneath your breath. “think logically here.”

“i am.” her grip on her biceps tightened, she leaned in closer. “it's not happening.”

“we're happening. we're making this happen.”

“i'm not pretending to be in love with you.”

“how else would we come together and talk to those Topsiders up there?”

“like acquaintances. like normal people.”

“what's not so normal about this? people act in love with one another all the time.” and for a minute, Sevika stopped herself. you had a point and she wanted to choke you out all the same.

it's not normal when it's you; that's what she wanted to say.

“no, we need them to be forced to look at us. we need to have their attention and keep it Sevika for everything to not go to shit.” you continued on, having to keep a steady voice.

Sevika sighed. a low, deep, annoyed sigh. frankly, if you hadn't known any better, she would have sounded furious at you.

“it's better to have a story that guides them away from the truth.” right. the truth. the plan that Silco had been crafting for so long for Zaun's independence. she wanted to throw that plan to shit.

“there's no changing your mind about this, is there?” you almost thought you were dreaming; there was a light blush that creeped on Sevika's neck as she couldn't dare to look at you.

she looked.. defeated, like she couldn't believe she didn't want to put up more of a fight.

you smirked, confirming her suspicions. “no.”

“we're.. together.” okay, definitely blushing now. no amount of shadows and limited eye contact could erase that.

“for the night.” she reminded, to both you and herself.

tonight is the closest you two have ever been. literally and figuratively.

she'd never looked too long, never stood too close, and most definitely never blushed at you. you thought it was just the stress of running around Zaun and all, thats why you teased her so much, but now you know why.

and tomorrow, you have a feeling you'll get even closer.

“yeah, for the night.”

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[serveandchoke]

Everything has changed

Jannik Sinner x Reader

Synopsis: You're the girl next door, foreign, and out of place. But you meet the red-headed boy from the house next to yours and changes your life.

a/n: 2/3 fics :p im so soo sorry for making u guys wait, tourney has been unforgiving and it's hard balancing activities hahaaa but yeah after my tournament i got to go to madrid and see matches happen in real time so yeah.. but i kinda wished jannik was playing, i miss him. BUTTT we get to see him again in a few weeks and i cannot wait for that. alright enough oversharing hope u enjoy this fic!!!🤍🤍

It all started when you moved to Italy. You were just a kid, barely twelve, when your family decided to make the move from your home country to Jannik’s small hometown of San Candido. At the time, it felt like an impossible adjustment, a different world filled with strange customs, a new language, and people who all seemed so far ahead in their lives. But there was one constant that kept you grounded: Jannik Sinner.

He was thirteen, just a year older than you, but he made everything feel easier. He was quiet, a little reserved, yet incredibly kind. His smile was rare but always genuine, and it seemed like he always knew how to make you feel at ease, even in the most foreign of settings. He spoke in his thick Italian accent, which at first was hard for you to understand, but soon enough, you’d learned his words as if they were your own.

The two of you were inseparable. Every afternoon, after school, you'd both ride your bikes through the winding streets, exploring the beautiful town together, laughing over things that seemed silly to everyone else. It wasn’t long before you realized you had developed an undeniable bond with Jannik. The friendship blossomed naturally, and you never thought twice about it, he was just the boy you grew up with. The boy who always made you feel like you belonged.

By the time you were sixteen, something in Jannik changed. You could feel it before he even said it, before you even understood it fully. You’d noticed the subtle shifts in the way he looked at you, the way his hand would brush yours when you walked side by side, the way his smile became a little warmer every time he saw you. The small things that shouldn’t have meant anything, yet they did. But you were too caught up in your own world, high school, your family, your plans, to pay much attention to it.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking,” Jannik said one evening, the two of you sitting on a grassy hill overlooking the town. He was staring at the sunset, but you could see the tension in his jaw, his lips pressed together like he had something heavy on his mind.

“About what?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, trying to read him. You could tell something was different in the way he spoke. It wasn’t the usual carefree Jannik who would joke around and tease you.

“I’ve been thinking about tennis,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he should say it or not. “About how... I might want to take it seriously, go pro. You know, travel the world and all that.”

It wasn’t a surprise. He was already exceptional at tennis, the best player in town by far. You’d always known he had potential, but the weight of it hit you when he spoke those words aloud. He had always been so grounded, so humble about his talent, and now, you could see the pressure in his eyes.

"That’s... that’s really amazing, Jannik, you should go for it. I mean, whatever you feel like what works for you, you know?" you said, trying to sound as supportive as you could. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. The thought of him leaving, leaving everything behind, was too much to process.

His eyes flicked to you, reading your expression, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to leave here, though,” he said quietly, as though he were confessing something. “I don’t want to leave you.”

The way he said that made your heart race. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you just nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The moment stretched on, both of you sitting there in the silence, but the air was different now, charged with something unspoken. Something you didn’t know how to name, and neither did he.

But the day came, and Jannik left for the big leagues. It wasn’t a grand goodbye, just a quiet one. You clung to him, as if it was the last because this was the last you'd be having this. Having him. "I'll miss you." You'd say, swallowing the tears back. "I'll miss you even more," He'd press a kiss to your temple, and you'd pretend it meant something to him. Because it did to you, and maybe, it meant something to him too.

You watched him go, as he stepped onto the plane to begin his journey. And you stayed behind, your world still in San Candido, your heart feeling the loss more than you ever expected.

Years passed. You focused on your studies, diving into your work, pushing through medical school. You had dreams of becoming a doctor, helping athletes, but every now and then, Jannik’s face would flash in your mind. It wasn’t often, but it was enough for you to realize that part of you still held onto him, even from afar. You followed his career, of course. Everyone did. He became one of the best players in the world, and with every victory, you felt a mixture of pride and ache. He had become everything you had always known he could be. And as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t deny that you missed him.

By the time you were twenty-four, you had finished your medical degree and started working as a sports doctor, focusing on athletes. The job was demanding, but it was everything you had ever wanted. And yet, no matter how busy you were, the thought of Jannik lingered at the edges of your thoughts. You had moved on, in a sense, built your life around your goals and your work. But Jannik’s absence, the loss of that connection, still weighed on you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were working at the clinic, reviewing a new athlete’s file when you heard the familiar voice. At first, you thought you were imagining it. But when you looked up, there he was. Jannik Sinner, standing in the doorway of your office, wearing that familiar smile that sent a warm rush of nostalgia through your veins.

It took a moment for your brain to process it all. He had grown taller, his body more defined, his face sharper. But his eyes, those deep blue eyes, were still the same. They were the same eyes that had watched you grow up, the same eyes that held secrets in them when you were younger, when you were both too scared to admit what you had.

“Jannik?” You blinked, unsure if you were dreaming.

He chuckled, a low, familiar sound. “It’s really you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”

The warmth in his voice made your heart flutter. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed it, missed him, until now. “What are you doing here?” you asked, standing up from behind your desk, suddenly feeling self-conscious in front of him.

“I’m here for a check-up,” he said with a shrug, as though it was no big deal. “You’re working as a doctor for athletes now, no?”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “Yeah, I’m actually the team doctor for some of the tennis players now.” You gestured to the seat across from you. “You can take a seat.”

Jannik did, sitting casually across from you, his posture relaxed as always. But even now, you noticed the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes searched your face, like he was trying to figure something out. Something important.

“How’s everything?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest. He was here. After all these years, he was here.

He smiled, and for a second, you swore you saw a flicker of something more than just friendship in his eyes. “It’s good. You look good, too. You’ve really grown up.”

You laughed softly, nervously. “Well, I did go to med school, so... there’s that.”

The conversation shifted easily from there, but beneath the surface, something had changed. You both had changed. Jannik, the young boy who had once been your best friend, had become a man. A man you couldn’t deny you still had feelings for. And as you talked about everything that had happened since you last saw each other, you realized something. Something that had been building for years. This wasn’t just a reunion. This was fate pulling you back together, as if it was always meant to be.

As Jannik stood to leave, he turned to you with a look that was both familiar and new. “It was good seeing you again,” he said, his smile lingering a little longer than necessary. “Maybe... we can catch up more? Off the clock?”

Your heart raced as you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. But you didn’t need to. His smile said everything.

And just like that, everything had changed.

[captain-hughes]

Two : The move

Summary : Yn Y/L/N has just arrived in the United States. For her, it's a new life that begins with her brother. She will join the University of Michigan. She doesn't want to get bored but it's without counting on her friends who hopes she meets someone. It is at a game that she will meet this player who attracts her attention.

Quinn Hughes is on the University of Michigan hockey team. He focuses on hockey and his studies to be able to become a professional player. When he meets Talia in one of his games he will not be able to help but be intrigued.

Each of them is intrigued by the other but what will happen when they talk to each other?

An : There is a part 2. I hope you'll enjoy this one. Do not hesitate to leave a comment to tell me what you like or what has disturbed you. XOXO

Masterlist

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Pov Yn :

Assembling furniture is a real hassle, especially when you don't understand a word of the instructions your brother is giving you. Benjamin isn't very handy either. We put together our beds and the wardrobes. It took us the entire afternoon. 

I decide to go grocery shopping. We have nothing to eat for tonight or the rest of the week. 

I put on my shoes and my earphones. I start my favorite playlist and head out. I walk for a good half-hour before reaching the supermarket. I begin shopping. The amount of choice is crazy. I stroll through the aisles, looking for what I need. I have to buy enough for the whole week. I stop by the drinks aisle and grab some Coca-Cola and Sprite-we have to celebrate our arrival, after all. I notice the alcohol bottles but can't buy any since I'm not of legal age in the U.S. I move to the next aisle. 

I've been searching for food for a while now. I'm so focused that I don't even hear my music anymore. As I lean forward to grab a bag of Cheetos, I suddenly feel something bump into me. I fall. Finally, I look at what crashed into me and see a young girl, about my age, on the floor as well. 

She has tanned skin and gorgeous, curly brown hair that falls to her shoulders. Her eyes are such a deep black that it's impossible to distinguish her pupils. She's wearing a khaki-green ruffled skirt and a simple white tank top, paired with white sneakers. 

"Sorry. I didn't see you. Are you okay?" 

She offers me her hand to help me up, and I gladly accept. Once I'm on my feet, I respond, "Yeah, don't worry. Thanks." 

I smile at her, unsure of what to do next. A smile forms on her face as well. 

"Nice to meet you. I'm Avery. I hadn't seen you around before." 

"Nice to meet you. Yn. I just moved here. Have you lived here long?" 

"Yeah, I grew up here." 

She laughs. I didn't expect talking to someone to feel this good. I thought I'd spend the rest of the summer unpacking and only start making an effort to socialize once school started. Apparently, fate has other plans. 

A voice calls her name from a distance. She turns around and smiles at me. 

"I have to go. It was really nice meeting you. I hope we see each other again." 

"Thanks, it was a pleasure meeting you too. I hope so as well." 

I smile back. I watch her walk away before returning to my shopping, Hermit the Frog by Marina playing in my ears. I finish grabbing everything I need and head to checkout. 

While the cashier scans my items, I spot Avery in the distance with another girl-absolutely stunning. I hurry to pay and leave. 

The door echoes through the living room as I close it behind me. Benjamin finished assembling the last pieces of furniture while I was gone. 

"Can you help me put them in the right place?" 

I nod. "Let me put the groceries away first." 

He nods back. I watch him move our couch so that it faces away from the windows. I focus on my task, placing the groceries in the fridge and cupboards. Then, I quickly go help my brother. 

"I got us pasta for dinner and stuff to make tomato sauce. I'll cook tonight." 

"Thanks. I really need that." 

We move all the furniture into the right rooms. Next step: unpacking. The only thing left is decorating. I can't wait to make this new place feel like home.

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Once I've posted the photos, I start making my bed and unpacking my things. 

It's getting late, so I head to the kitchen to prepare the pasta with tomato sauce I had planned. Since Benjamin is watching TV, I put on my earphones while I cook. 

Once I'm done, I bring the dish and place it on the table in front of the couch. Benjamin is watching a basketball game. We eat while watching the match. My brother makes me laugh with his reactions-whether it's frustration when the team misses a shot or excitement when they score.

[angelsberrymilk]

Give Me Back What's Mine (pt. 4)

check pinned for previous parts | ao3 link

Samboy - Sam Winchester x Soldier Boy/Ben + Wincest

3.9k words

summary: this one is pretty emotional. these boys are a MESS.

tw: Dimension Travel, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Dean Winchester, Feral Dean Winchester, Desperate Dean Winchester, Djinni & Genies, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Blasphemy, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Hallucinating Dean Winchester, Body Horror, Horror, Vomiting, Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Not Beta Read, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Crossover, Homophobic Language, Making Out, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feminization, Top Soldier Boy (The Boys), Bottom Sam Winchester, Soldier Boy Being an Asshole (The Boys), Soldier Boy Has Issues (The Boys)

a/n: this was meant to be out yesterday in time for samboy sunday but i was having a lovely day out so yeah. i dont feel like queueing this till saturday so have it now :D

If Castiel thought Dean would somehow sit still while his baby brother took off with his evil clone, he'd be a fool, and Cas is no fool.

That's why he was standing by the Impala by the time Dean came over, looking distraught and furious, a gun in hand and a rifle in the other. He pops the hood open and throws the rifle in, then gets in the car. Castiel is in the passenger seat when Dean throws his phone on his lap, "Tell me the directions,"

Castiel doesn't say anything, he holds the device in his hand, opening the location tracker connected to Sam's phone as the engine comes to life.

.

.

.

Sam felt like crying, he was back, he should be happy. And yet he feels some emptiness within him, like something was missing. Like he left a piece of himself back in Soldier Boy's world.

On the bench he's sitting at, Ben was right there next to him, thighs and shoulders touching as the man looked at the lake before them. It was just the two of them, not another soul in sight. The car was parked behind them and it's been a solid ten minutes since anyone has said anything.

Sam lifts his head when Ben clears his throat, he turns to look at him and Soldier Boy was already staring at him. Sam licks his dry lips, "What did you tell him?"

He sounds tired, even to his own ears.

"Nothing," Ben shrugged and Sam knew he was lying.

"Don't lie to me, not after everything, Ben," Sam begged. He didn't mean to, his plea tumbling out of his lips against his will.

Ben frowned and he turned on the bench to face Sam better, his knees touching the side of Sam's thighs. "After what? What do you think this is?"

Sam's eyes widened and he moved his body to face Ben on the bench, their knees now touching, "Why're you here? Why did you come back with me? You don't belong here, Ben,"

Sam watched how Ben's eyes darkened in the same way they get when Ben wants to hit someone, but Sam doesn't cower, staring straight at him, waiting for an answer.

"You don't get to tell me where I belong," Soldier Boy said, holding a finger up to warn Sam to watch his mouth.

Sam quickly blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Then why are you here? I just need to know why so I can figure out what to say to Dean,"

"Dean?" Ben scoffed, "Why the fuck you gotta tell him anything? He fucked you in the pussy too?"

This time Sam flinched at this crude words, shaking his head, "You don't understand, he's— He'd kill you if he finds out what you did,"

"He'd kill you if he finds out what you did to me," That's what Sam meant to say, but he doesn't, keeps it hanging in the air, thick as smoke, clear as day.

Soldier Boy gets up from the bench, glaring, shoulders tense and looking to murder someone. His chest burns with a feeling very keen to jealousy, a feeling he hasn't felt in decades, but now, it burns bright in his chest, and Soldier Boy hates it.

"What I did? Sam—" Ben starts, then cuts himself off by laughing, head thrown back and all, and worst of all, it doesn't even sound comedic, the laugh sounds dry and strained. "I might've been a little intense sometimes, but don't tell me anything I did, you didn't want," Soldier Boy quickly says, his eyes a little wider, a little manic.

Sam tries not to think about those dark nights where his body was bruised and ripped apart for selfish pleasure. He tries not to think of those times where he shouted, called for his brother, Dean, to come and save him, just for his name to turn into another type of call. Where it sounded desperate, animalistic, hungry and depraved.

At some point, just hearing Dean's name coming out of Ben's mouth would make Sam feel butterflies in his stomach and his dick stirring awake, it was a nightmare. A Pavlovian response.

Ben stood right in front of Sam, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, "I never meant to do bad things, Sam. I'm not a bad guy. I'm not evil, I just—" Ben looked away, unable to spit the words out and Sam got up from the bench, grabbing Ben by the shoulders, "You can tell me,"

Ben tries to shrug Sam's shoulders off but Sam doesn't let go, so he sighs, unable to look at him in the eyes, "I just wanted something that I chose, I want something that's just for me, without Vought telling me who to talk to, who to fuck, who to get along with,"

Sam's heart is hammering in his chest and he knows exactly what Soldier Boy is talking about. As much as Ben likes to act cool and guarded, he can't help but slip when he doesn't mean to, especially when it's just him and Sammy in close quarters like a motel room, or in a car after they've been driving for three hours without break.

Sam knows about Soldier Boy's manufactured life, knows how he was experimented on by a private company, Vought, then was used as the military's mascot for many years. How many battles he couldn't fully participate in because Vought was worried they'd lose him, lose their investment, break their favourite toy, their golden boy.

Sam also knows how Soldier Boy was convinced he was in love with one of his teammates from his old super-hero team, a red head with a stupid super-hero name. Soldier Boy really thought she was the love of his life, but he was naive enough to not realise it was all a PR stunt that Vought pulled to appeal to the wider public, to market them better, to make them look and see Payback's strong all-American leader, with his sexy, all feminine girlfriend leading a team of heroes to protect America's good, honest people!

Until that point, most of Soldier Boy's choices were made for him, and those choices he himself picked? They were already pre-selected by the higher ups to make sure whatever Soldier Boy chose to do, it fit with their narrative and plan no matter what.

It hurt, but that was the reality of things.

"And—" Sam swallowed, "And what? You found that with me?"

Ben stared at him, then down at his lips, then back up at his eyes, "I don't know,"

Sam's shoulders slumped at Ben's answer, he removed his hands from the man's shoulders like he burned him, looking at him confused and betrayed, "You don't know? You don't know if I'm— How about all those days and nights were you swore you'd kill me if I left you?"

Ben watched Sam get agitated by the second, stepping away from the bench so he could have space to pace in and run his hands through his hair. "Ben, you have to realise that a part of you wants to stay with me,"

"I never said I wanted to stay with you," Ben lied, crossing his arms over his chest and Sammy clenched his jaw, "That's not what you said when you were balls deep in me, Ben,"

Ben's left eye twitched, but he didn't move from where he was standing, the sky slowly getting darker and darker above them. "Just because you fuck a hooker twice, doesn't mean you have to marry her by the third," Ben shrugged and Sam finally had enough of his shit.

It took only two steps for Sam to reach the man, punching him in the jaw, not as hard as Dean because he's well too familiar with Ben's body. The man's jaw moves with the hit, entertaining Sam, which makes him even more angrier.

Sam hisses, grabbing Ben by the shoulder and shaking him, their chests touching as Sam speaks right in his face, "You're such a bastard, Ben, why do you make it so hard to like you?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm just that, a bastard?" Ben said, he meant it so sound demeaning, but instead it comes out a little sad.

Soldier Boy feels himself start to slip, to slowly open up to Sam, and worst of all, he can't even help it, the man just has the wettest, biggest puppy eyes and the tightest, wettest hole Ben has ever been in, and he's a sick bastard who happens to be a sucker for pretty faces and wet, smart mouths.

"All of my family's dead, everyone I knew is dead. There's nothing for me back there. There's no Vought in your world, so where's the harm in starting a new life? Where I get to decide what to do with my life? Is that a crime, Sammy?" Ben says and now Sam starts to look a little guilty which never fails to either piss Ben off or make him so horny he feels dizzy with it, and in that case, Ben's dick is chubbing up in his jeans.

"So—" Sam gulps, noticing Ben's eyes and the way he's looking at him, a little too intensely for his comfort. "So, you want to stay with me until— Until you get settled?"

Ben nods, if getting settled means killing Dean and the guy in the trench coat, sure.

"You'll have to teach me a lot of things, like— Like how to use those telephones with no buttons?" Ben says, even though he doesn't really think he needs one if landline exists, who the fuck is he gonna call anyway? The Mormon church?

But if one thing Ben knows, is that Sam loves it when Ben asks him to teach him stuff, when he hands him a little power, it's cute, and so Ben indulges him sometimes.

"Yeah, I'll teach you how to use a telephone with no buttons," Sam can't help but smile, and it's a fond smile too, the piece of shit, making him feel soft with just a few words.

"Okay, so—" Ben starts.

"We have to get—" Sam says at the same time, blushing when he realises what just happened, "Uhm, you can go first,"

Ben smiles, flashing Sam his perfect white and sharp teeth, all handsome and charming, "I was going to say," Ben slowly steps towards Sam, standing right in front of him. Sam's eyes widen when Ben wraps his arms around his waist, Sam looks around out of habit, belly flip-flopping with butterflies.

"Now that Dean's not here, how about you give your old man a proper kiss?"

"Don't call yourself that," Sam grimaced but Ben doesn't care, he licked his lower lip and stepped even closer, pulling him in by the waist, the tips of their shoes touching.

Sam's heart was beating fast in his chest, he looked down at Soldier Boy's half lidded eyes, then down at his tempting pink lips. It was unfair, how pretty he was when he was nice, or when he didn't open his mouth. Sam felt like he should pull away, go back in the car and drive back home, where Dean was surely flipping things upside down, or maybe he was on his way, having tracked Sam's phone.

Sam bites his lower lip, slowly raising his hands to press them on Ben's chest. Dean hasn't really paid much attention to him when he got back, he may have fed him but the rest of the time was him glaring daggers at Ben, trying to kill the man. So Sam felt a little entitled to Ben's attention, he was offering a kiss, maybe more if Ben felt so inclined, and Sam was weak to Ben when he looked at him like that.

Bending his head down, Sammy presses his mouth to Ben's, eyes closed and all. Ben makes a little surprised noise, then hums, quickly taking charge of the kiss. Sam tastes good, technically he has not even brushed his teeth when he woke up but to Ben, it mattered very little, especially since he has been abusing his taste buds with hard alcohol ever since he woke up to the 21st century.

Ben's chest burns, dragging his hands to Sammy's face, cupping it and tilting his head where he wants it, drinking him in like water and air.

Soldier Boy eventually pulled away to allow Sam the chance to breathe, he watched Sam pant in his face, a blush high on his cheeks, his hair dancing in the wind and Ben let go of one of Sam's cheeks, letting that hand fall to Sam's ass, squeezing.

"D— Ben!" Sam's gasp was wet, and the mistake not going unnoticed by Soldier Boy.

"I don't want to sleep in one of the rooms in the bunker, they're fucking ugly, let me sleep with you," Ben suddenly said, bringing Sam down to planet earth a little.

"Hn?"

"You have your own room," Ben is now speaking right in Sam's mouth, their lips brushing with each syllable. Ben didn't sleep at all when he was left alone in one of the bedrooms, knowing Sam was sleeping in another room and there was another man with his face, and that weird guy in the trench coat who stares too much.

Soldier Boy worried if he closed his eyes, he'd have nightmares, so he didn't, staying awake all night, listening to the sounds of the bunker all on his own.

"Let me—" Ben's hands are pulling Sam even closer by his ass, using his inhuman strength to get them pressed tight like sardines, and Sam was into it if the tent in his trousers was anything to go by.

Ben was going to convince Sam to share his room with him then and there when the grating noise of that fuckass Impala was heard. Ben doesn't even have to look back to know who's behind the wheel. He rolls his eyes and steps back, keeping a hand on Sam's waist for good measure.

And yep, Ben was right, the car screeches to a stop, leaving an aggressive cloud of dust behind and Dean jumps out of the car, looking beyond furious, Ben watches how Dean raises his gun as he's walking towards him and shoots him six times in the chest, Sam shouts, "Dean, no!"

Ben stands there, looking down at his chest, at the bullets bouncing off him like nothing. They don't leave a scar on him, barely scratch the surface of his skin, but they do pierce his clothes, and now he's got six neat holes on his shirt.

Something stirs in Ben's chest, he wasn't even doing anything to Sam to warrant getting shot by his psycho brother, but maybe he's that possessive over him.

"Please don't kill him, if you do I swear I'll never talk to you ever again," Sam quickly says and Ben realises that Sam was now standing in front of his big brother, who looks beyond murderous.

"Why do you let him touch you like that!?" Dean shouts behind Sam, staring at the back of his head and Sam freezes, caught off guard. So, Dean saw.

Castiel was standing by the car, with the passenger door open, watching the interaction with interest. He didn't really think he'd need to intervene, but he's standing there in case Dean and Ben start pulling at Sam, after all, he didn't want his floppy haired, kind hunter to be ripped in half between the two.

Dean grabs Sam by the shoulders, gun still hot in his hand and turns him around so he could face him, "Sammy," Dean shakes his brother a bit by the shoulders, trying to meet his eyes, Sam was terrified, unable to look at his big brother in the eyes. But he also felt this odd sense of determination, a dark part of himself throbbing within him in time with his heartbeat. Sam took a wet, deep breath in and finally met his brother's eyes, "Please don't be mad,"

Dean's voice got caught in his throat at the way Sammy was looking at him, those big, wet, puppy dog eyes, his soft hair dancing in the wind and his rosy cheeks, his pointy nose and that damn mole. His lips were a little shiny and Dean knew that Ben must've kissed him, he didn't see the kiss but knew in his heart that it happened. However, Dean did see the possessive hold that Ben had on his brother, his mitts on his ass, their bodies touching from their toes to their heads, it made him want to burn the world and himself in the process.

"Sam, why him?" Dean said before realising he was speaking, and he sounded so fragile then, weak and almost (definitely) pleading.

Sam blinked down at his brother, his eyes quickly glancing at Ben standing right there where he was shot. He hasn't moved and he was looking at them with an unreadable expression, without blinking, it unsettled Sam a little as it made him excited, "I—"

"What does he have that I don't?" Dean cut him off, shaking with anger, his eyes stinging.

"De, he's you, he's— He understands things about me…" Sam tried to be very careful with his wording, he had one chance and one chance only, and he'd rather die than fuck this up and ruin everything for himself, like making his brother hate his guts, or worse, leave him for good.

"What things, Sammy? I've been with you since— What in the world does he know that I don't? Sam, I died for you, please don't let him have you, you're the only family I have," Dean was full on begging now, he was shaking and sweating, his gun still clutched in one hand and eyes wet and wide, he wasn't breathing normally, like he was doing to have a panic attack.

Sam quickly reached up to hold his brother by the neck, with both hands, one on each side and shook him a little, "Hey, hey, I'm not leaving you, ever, do you hear me? You're my big brother, Dean,"

"Whatever he knows— You can tell me, Sammy, I promise I won't be mad at you," Dean sniffled and stepped even close, now their foreheads touching, noses almost touching each other.

"Dean," Sam whined. He was freaking out a little, he was scared and he felt like he was going to burst in flames. Dean immediately picked up on his distress and hugged his giant baby to his chest, petting his hair and shushing him while Sam clutched at his flannel with everything he had. Dean's hand was warm and heavy on his head and neck, grounding him, and the gun digging at his back, still held by Dean, was a reminder of the true weight of what he was about to say to his brother.

The gun brought Sam a sick form of relief because he believed that if Dean deemed his brother too dirty, too sick to roam the earth, Sam trusts Dean's decision to put a hole through his head.

"I love you, De," Sam whimpered against his brother's neck.

"I know, I love you too, Sammy," Dean breathes his brother in, nose in his hair, chest to chest.

He feels Sam tense up a little and he frowns, he's about to pull away a little to look at Sam but his brother just tightens his hold on him, refusing to be pulled apart, so he stays still.

"De, I've never— I've never loved anyone more than I ever loved you," Sam says and Dean frowns a little, a part of himself liked to think that Sammy loved Jessica the most, but a part of Dean was convinced that Sam will never love or trust anyone as much as he trusts him, ever. They definitely fought or had disagreements throughout the years, but they never failed to come back to each other, and that has to mean something.

"Sammy, I—" Dean sighed.

"Don't say that you know, because you don't! You don't, Dean," Sam quickly said, tightening his hold on Dean, his muscles finally being put to some use after the months spent being thrown around by Ben and told to lay down and take it like a good bitch.

"So tell me, Sammy," Dean urged him, finally glancing up and looking at Ben.

Soldier Boy luckily didn't move a single inch from where he was standing, bullets by his feet as he watched the two in silence.

Sam went speechless because as much as he thought about it, he wasn't sure how to tell Dean that he loved him. He loved him like no brother should, he loved him and he felt dirty and wrong but nothing has ever felt as right as that feeling.

So he did the best next thing he could think of, he finally relaxed his hold on his brother, and briefly thought about how Dean' skin would surely turn green the next day from how hard he held him. Sam would like to see it, if he lives long enough to see tomorrow.

Sam reaches with one of his hand to hold Dean's, the one that was holding the gun and bringing it to his temple. Dean's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth in shock, "Sam—"

"I trust you, Dean," Sam whispered.

"If I'm— If I'm too— You can do it," Sam couldn't even say it out loud, his heart slamming against his rib cage as Dean stared at him with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Sam let go of Dean's hand and slowly cupped his cheeks with both hands. He stared long at his brother's skin, the freckles, the stubble, the dark circles under his eyes, his nose that has been broken so many times that Sam has lost count, his pink lips, the prettiest Sam has ever seen, much prettier than any girl's, then those damn eyes.

The same eyes that he sees in his sleep. The same eyes that he looks for when he's scared, or unsure, or when someone says something stupid and he looks at his brother, to make sure they both heard that.

Sam licks his lips and sees his brother's eyes quickly flit to his tongue. Dean looks back up to his eyes, Sam can't really tell what his brother's thinking behind those eyes, and he slowly, ever so slowly leans forward, not breaking the eye contact with his brother and finally presses his lips to Dean's.

Time freezes around them, Sam can't breathe and Dean is wide eyed, his warm lips to Sam's, he feels something snap within him, and that's when he finally breathes.

Sam feels it. He feels Dean's chest expand against him and that's when the floodgates open and tears fall down his cheeks.

Dean tips his head forward and opens his mouth, tasting Sam more, his heart racing a hundred miles per hour, his mind the clearest its ever been. He can see everything now, crystal clear, as he devours Sam's mouth and everything his baby brother has to offer.

Dean clumsily shoves his gun inside his jeans' waistband and grabs Sam's neck with both hands, pulling him even closer, their noses pressed against each other as Sam gets a first taste of Dean's tongue, the back of his teeth and the roof of his mouth.

Sam tastes apple pie, beer, blood, fireworks in the dead of night, cold noodles, late nights in the Impala, cheap cologne, Dean's laughter and his freckled thighs. Sam can taste him like the fourth of July, bright, gorgeous and loud. There were built of the same hunk of clay, two halves, and now finally, made whole.

.

.

.

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