#well the exact halfway point when it comes to time is in the last half hour of my physics exam

[greetings-inferiors]

Just came out of the 3 hour STEP exam, and my god

It’s so strange, it’s definitely the hardest exam I’ve ever done, I didn’t finish a single question, but I could never not do a question. And it’s not brutal at all, they give you half an hour per question. I even did a mechanics question, even though I only practiced pure, just because I was looking through at the end and thought ‘that’s very doable’

Anyway excited for step 3, that was fun

[somerunner]

In my high school, all you needed to get a varsity letter in cross country was, I think, to get under 19 minutes on a 5K. Most of the varsity letter requirements for other sports were similarly easy to meet. Our school wasn't known for athletics.

My first race was a little under 22 minutes long, and every year I struggled to get my time lower than 19:50.

My senior year, I had hit puberty, so I had more strength and cardiovascular fitness than before. I figured I would make it this time, and I trained as optimally as I could. I followed the coaches' directions more closely (my brother and I were once told that, given our fitness, we should never run slower than 9 minutes a mile for an easy run; it took until senior year for me to actually follow that advice). I ate well, slept...probably poorly, and I felt pretty fit compared to previous years. My dad bought me and my brothers Garmin Forerunners, which are GPS watches that can tell you your pace in the middle of a race. He came to as many of our races as he could all throughout high school, and our mom did too (she came to our middle school races in addition to high school ones -- it was no fault of our dad's, not to come to our middle school races; I find it impressive and touching that he made it to almost all of my high school ones. In middle school it was always some random distance so we never really had a consistent distance to truly compete against ourselves with. High school had bigger teams and each race always right around five kilometers, with one notable exception).

The watches helped a lot. (I still have mine from back then, but it struggles to hold a charge for a full run unless you've kept it in the charger until the minute you go running. I don't use it quite as much; I've misplaced my charger too often, and I don't want to look for it a day in advance just so my watch can tell me my strides per minute (arguably important, but I digress). I can't pace myself any better than in high school, but I don't need to because there's no exact season or race I'm training for -- though for something big, like a marathon, I will actually use the watch. My phone can record my pace for less-important runs.)

Anyway. Back to the point. I hadn't broken 19 minutes my whole senior year, and we were down to one last race. I was anxious the whole last week. The last three days, I could practically feel adrenaline seeping into every capillary like I was a sponge. It felt good, unsurprisingly to me (though that may be surprising to you). I felt ready.

The last meet was big, full of schools. I'd just learned from my dad (either that day, or just before some other race in the past week or two) that the "strides," or short almost-sprints you do a few minutes before a race, are actually important -- they prime your body for that first 100-meter dash where you stake your position for the next mile. If you don't do your strides, you'll dip into anaerobic metabolism early, and your legs might be locked up halfway through the race, and that's bye-bye sub-19:00.

I felt like I weighed like nothing. My entire body was a spring. Side note: if you've never put on racing flats/spikes, I encourage you to borrow a pair for a short run (and I mean short! Like 100 meters if you don't run, and a mile or two if you do run). It feels like there's a weightless force field on your foot, with how light it is compared to a normal shoe. It's a surreal feeling.

When we started the race, I felt a touch desperate. I ran only a little slower than my best; you're supposed to hold yourself back for the first mile. I knew that, but I glanced at my watch to see that I was averaging a 5:00/mile pace. That was WAY beyond my target pace, and I barely even noticed. That was heartening to see, but I obviously dialed the pace way, way back to 5:45/mile or something. I needed this record-breaking adrenaline to last me for three miles, not half of one.

Frankly, all I remember of that race was that first 200-meter dash and the disconnect between what I felt and what I saw on my watch. I always have that disconnect during a race, but it was especially pronounced during this race.

The next two miles were hard but good, and I broke 19. I got a massive personal record (PR) to end my high school career with; I think it was more than a minute of improved time. Which is rather insane. Improvement tends to be more incremental than that, but things like this do happen pretty often in running, especially at the relatively slow paces I ran at.

My brother broke 19 and 18 in the same race. Just skipped right over the whole 18-minutes-something-seconds window. I was over the moon for him, of course. We'd both made it past the lettering-qualification by the skin of our teeth, and at the same time, by a huge margin.

He's kept up with consistent running more than I have. He's also gotten me back into running after I semi-gave up on it, and our older brother's gotten back into running too. We, along with our dad, decided to run a marathon/half-marathon together this summer. I'd say we all did well, though I didn't train as much for it as I should have.

I've only ran one marathon so far, and it was recent, but now I'm feeling the itch. I want to run another one, I want to absolutely demolish my time. Admittedly, this is partially because I didn't practice as much as I should have, and I've seen my brothers' times, so I know how much farther I can go.

If you've come close to your (previous) best at something, you might have realized too that it was only a false summit. Could be a project within your hobby, could be a physical accomplishment, it could be anything that requires some level of effort large or small. But I hope, when you realized you could do even better than you just did, that it felt inspiring.

It's kind of a rush.

[callofdudes]

i beg for Ghost angst pleAse

idea: GhostxReader get engaged! Reader d!es and Ghost is just not himself anymore

Missing half of me.

I hope you enjoy it, I love angst 😊

Cw: Angst, death, violence, dissociation, overdose of anti-depressants, depression.

Summary: You were one of the last things Simon had, and without you he crashed and burned.

Dear God he wished he could kill the sick fuck that did this. Why did he have to find out this way? You'd not been engaged two weeks and now you were gone. His fingers ached remembering how he held you after you'd said yes, how he pulled you close and kissed you until if felt like nothing else in the world mattered anymore.

Well now he was feeling the exact opposite. The world didn't matter. You were gone. Dead. The only thing he had left in his life was gone. You'd been ripped away from him like everyone else. Like the universe didn't want him to be happy.

He didn't deserve happiness.

You'd been attacked by some men who notoriously were out to get Ghost. They intended to kidnap you and use you as leverage against him, but when you fought back, they lost control and beat you so bad you were barely halfway to the hospital before you succumbed to your injuries.

Simon mourned the rest of the month. He cried every day until he felt his heart clench and the air forced from his lungs. He choked on tears as he found any sort of strength to yell and fight.

He drove his fist into the mirror in the bathroom after trying to take a shower. He'd always been repulsed by his own image but now he didn't even want to know his own face.

His knuckles bled profusely as glass stuck in his skin and pieces of the mirror lay everywhere. His hands trembled as he lost control, unable to keep himself calm for two seconds. He'd find those men, he'd find them and he'd kill them.

Once he returned to base he wasn't himself. Price remembers when Ghost crawled out of his own grave and tore at the desert sands. He was never the same man.

But this wasn't Simon. Nor was it Ghost. Simon had truly lost. There was nothing left. There was nothing. Every wall Ghost had seemingly built up had crumbled and he had no energy to bring them back up.

First it was the violence.

Ghost was much quicker to anger, finding him in the gym working at the punching bag until he physically wasn't able to move his arms. He'd train until his hands bled.

He snap at other soldiers quicker, resorting to violence faster. Snapping his hands around recruits throats, choking them until they no longer even looked in his direction again.

Price had to amp up Ghost's therapy sessions. Three times a week. But that was going nowhere. Whenever he was asking anything about you or how he was feeling it's like Ghost went into overdrive. He had no energy to put up walls, his mind had nothing there to stop the floodgate.

He just shut down. His mind felt far away, his body so close yet so far. His thoughts were empty. His thoughts weren't even his own at this point. His therapist would tap his shoulder but that never helped. It was so bad that barely anything could pull him from the deep depths of his dissociative state.

He'd stare off into the distance even as Johnny came to his side, kneeling next to him and gently cupping his head and bringing it to his warm chest. Even as he comforted his friend Ghost didn't come back.

Johnny stayed. Johnny rubbed his back, softly whispering and keeping him close and warm while the others left the room.

"I'm here Ghost. It's ok, it's just me."

Finally he spoke, his voice trembling as he finally held onto Johnny. "Y/n...??"

Johnny's heart broke as he hugged Ghost a little tighter. "No Ghost.. I'm sorry it's only me. Johnny, just Johnny."

Ghost whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks as he pulled Johnny into his arms. He didn't look up at his face, not wanting to ruin the sweet illusion that he's you.

The warmth, the comfort of his hands on his back. Some things are off but that doesn't matter. He's holding Johnny and he wishes so dearly it was you.

John seemed to understand and held onto Ghost as tears flowed down his cheeks.

He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to shatter the illusion. He didn't want to lose you. You were everything in his world and he wanted to maybe start a family like you'd always wanted. He'd always said he'd start a family just because of you. He hates kids but for you... For you he would have done anything. He'd climb the tallest mountain and swim the deepest ocean just to reach you. To pull you back into his arms and hold you until he forgot the world ever did this to him.

Johnny hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry Ghost. But I'm right here if you want to talk?"

He shook his head, Johnny's voice finally pulling him too far out of the illusion that he couldn't dive back in.

"I'm sorry." Johnny whispered.

Ghost pulled his arms away, letting Johnny out of his embrace and finally saw his face, smashing whatever little imagination he had into smithereens.

"I just want them back-" he choked out, more tears falling down his face. "Why did they have to leave too!?"

"Ghost..-"

"It's taken away everything I ever cared in this damn world! It doesn't want me to be happy! It didn't stop when I was tortured and burned and buried! It didn't stop when my father abused me!"

"And yet it took away the only family I cared about. And now the person I was going to call mine for the rest of my life!"

Johnny blinked, surprised at the outburst. "The universe doesn't hate you." He sat down next to Ghost and wrapped his arms around him again. "No, no it doesn't hate you."

He rocked Ghost back and forth, holding onto him so he didn't have to hold onto himself. Ghost was completely limp. Not an ounce of fight left in him. At least... At least Johnny is here. Still a light in his world. But nothing when compared to you.

Johnny was a few stars you were the whole night sky.

Price got Ghost on some more medication. Usually when something like this is fresh Price gets him more just to help slow him down and numb everything out for a bit. He didn't want to do it, it was awful. But it was the only thing that worked.

So Ghost was put on a higher dosage. Taking a couple pills every few weeks.

He was done with this. He felt gross, the pain was still there no matter how numb the pills made it feel. He felt his hands trembling as he tried to take his morning dosage. His water glass tipped and shook in his hand as he held the pills to his mouth.

He couldn't do it. He shoved them in his pocket and walked away.

Price was up next, nodding to him as he went to the fridge. "Did you remember your pills?"

"Yes." Ghost replied, scrolling through his phone.

He'd originally had his phone background as you and him. You'd gone on a long hiking trip and took a photo together at the top. He had to get Johnny to change the wallpaper to a black screen in the meantime because every time he saw that amazing smile and the warm glint of excitement in your eyes he would burst into inconsolable tears.

He'd even started to blame himself. It was the little things. Little jabs and thoughts in his head. And then they consumed him, plagued him into exhaustion from lack of sleep.

If you hadn't been with such a trainwreck of a man. If you had dated someone out of the military. Simon Riley can only hurt what he touches. He's just like his father. No one loves him. You shouldn't either. Loving him got you killed. Simon killed you. He killed the love of his life.

Simon Riley could only hurt. He was born to kill. The world didn't make him a lover. The world would take away anything he tried to nurture.

He'd gotten more reckless on missions. Getting grazed by bullets just to feel something, to hurt himself. He wasn't a warrior, he was a man losing his soul. He would stab the men he fought, wishing it was those men. He'd stab and cut and tear, blood splattering all over him. He'd ruthlessly tear down anything in his path.

And after that, after every mission. Before he had washed away the blood. Before he'd taken off the mask. He came to you as who he truly thought he was. He'd kneel at your grave and beg for you to forgive him for what he'd done. He'd cry, trying not to touch the flowers laid around your tombstone in fear they'd wilt.

He pressed his forehead to the ground and ask for your forgiveness for all those lives he took. Begging you to still love him despite all the blood he'd spilled.

And then he'd force himself to leave and wash away the blood. Wash away the guilt. Wash away the responsibility of all the families that would hear of the death of their sons and husbands. It was a passing thought. Only a killer wouldn't regret or linger on his kills.

After another long mission, Simon came back and after his debrief he went to your grave. He kneeled, rereading your name over and over in his head. Y/n L/n. Y/n L/n...

He was so close to giving you his name. To continuing the Riley family that has died so many years ago.

The Riley family didn't deserve to continue. A heritage of blood and violence and abuse. No. No the Riley family didn't deserve to live, and someone like you didn't deserve to carry it.

He bowed his forehead to the ground, trembling as he begged you one last time for your forgiveness. That you'd still place your loving hands on him even after everything he's ever done.

Would he even go to the same place you would?? Probably not. You didn't deserve the same date he did. You deserved clean waters and soft pastures with other loving people. A place you could connect and be happy for eternity. You deserved the wonderful sounding place they called heaven.

He didn't.

He walked back from your resting place and made it to his room. He didn't wash off, he didn't clean himself. He would be judged for the monster he was.

He opened his nightstand drawer and pulled out the bottle of pills he'd made for himself after so long of skipping medication. 34 pills. It was all he needed.

He filled a cup with water and brought it to his room. He sat down on the floor and started to down the pills, one swallow after the other he emptied the bottle and laid on the floor.

He felt awful. Dizzy and lightheaded. He felt numb and pain and anguish. Every emotion he'd been feeling turned up the intensity to 100.

His fingers went numb. Time seemed to slow down. He closed his eyes and prayed that when he woke up he'd either be in the burning pits of hell or cradled in your arms. He could just imagine. He could imagine your gentle kisses placed on his forehead as you combed through his hair. The soft soothing tone of your voice as you held him against your chest.

How much he missed you. How he dearly missed you. It almost felt like your arms were wrapping around him. Pulling him to your warm body and telling him everything would be ok. Kissing his temple as you promised him everything would be alright.

Everything would be alright...

[yowyowyaoi]

Kisame’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Deidara

Me and Tobi found a big muddy hole full of earthworms, let’s go fishing! 😁

We finished it last night, sorry 

I was just teasing him!

Exploding or boring?

Not a tea person but thanks anyway 

LMAOOO he probably pissed himself 🤣

Pls tell Itachi I’m not gonna hurt her I just want to pet her for a while!

Leader said he’ll kill us if we do it again so no probably not 😓

You gotta use the conditioner too or else it won’t be effective 

I’ll ask him but he don’t really like places like that. Says they’re too happy 🙄

From Hidan

If you have two does that mean one sleeps while the other fucks or ?

No offense but it’s literally so boring I can’t sit still that long 

I would say he’s giving you blue balls but.

Can’t imagine giving a shit but 🤷‍♂️

Tried that once. Got the mask halfway off and suddenly felt like I was drowning. Never again.

Old bastard said no 😑

You need to watch him he takes like two bites and pushes the plate away 

How? Half of us are gay half are insane and some are both 🤣

One dick, two dicks, your dicks, BLUE dicks! Lol get it??

From Sasori

Thanks but water erodes my “skin”.

I’m done reading it, you can borrow if you like.

Please make sure he puts on sunscreen he’s too stubborn to listen to me.

Don’t really remember all that well but I believe it was ice cream.

He has to *want* treatment and so far he’s turned down every offer Kakuzu or myself has made.

They make for more appealing puppets if they have some unique physical characteristic while they’re still living.

I’ll probably marry him some day but first he has to work on not blowing himself to bits.

Oh of course. You know you don’t need to ask.

From Kakuzu

Hey I almost beat you and I’m 60+ years your senior.

Just this once … no charge. Worth it to see him freak out like that.

I’m not very well-versed in animal anatomy but I can take a look and try my best.

EVERYBODY pays. Itachi too.

Fits nice. My thanks.

This place is falling apart, if it’s not one thing it’s another.

It’s annoying but I don’t see any serious long-term effects.

From Konan

That’s so sweet, thank you ☺️ 

Write down the exact kind for me, I’ll pick it up the next time I go to the market.

He’s a sweetheart isn’t he? 🥰

I’ll take your word for it, but ducks are so cute I don’t think I could eat one.

Come to my room I have some eye drops that’ll help him.

If I let that happen no work would ever be done and they’d likely kill each other.

So many miles, with these heels it’s hard on my feet.

If you want it that rare then there’s really no point to me cooking it at all 😒

At this point the yelling has become background music.

Me on one shoulder and Itachi on the other. You big show-off 😁

From Tobi/Obito

You only beat me because Deidara distracted me!

Forty cookies isn’t even that many. Plus Itachi ate two more.

Kakuzu said to earn the money myself so I stole one of his bounties 🤷🏻‍♂️

Itches. A LOT.

Can’t stand tea but if you have any hot chocolate, yeah.

You should hang out with Zetsu more often then. Like one never-ending picnic.

He really wants to go but I don’t have a pole. You have a spare?

Yeah but he might let us get a fish-tank if YOU said you needed it, like for health or something 

Sushi? Isn’t that cannibalism?!

Fuck him AND his perfect ass. Literally and figuratively.

Don’t give me that “kid” shit, we’re like the same age!

From Zetsu

You want to split that guy’s leg with me? He was very fat, lots of good meat 😋

He’s a good man but doesn’t his dubious emotional state concern you?

It’s a lot like hearing two voices at once. Constantly. 

It’s no fun if they don’t scream a bit first. You know this.

I did the scouting; that lake about five miles up the road is both deep and fairly clean.

Let’s hide under his bed and scare him. I bet money we can get him to soil himself while crying for that damn Jashin 🤣

From Nagato

I thank you for the tea. It helped me to sleep.

Well, keep an eye on him.

The pain is worse when I stand but Sasori is working on prosthetics for me that may solve the problem.

As long as you return in time for your next mission.

Get that looked at as soon as possible. We can’t afford to have you out of commission.

I do, but she deserves so much better than myself.

I’ll speak to Kakuzu about getting you a new one.

If you two are going to do that, please keep it away from our hideouts. It disturbs Konan to hear the screaming.

From Itachi

I ate this morning. Promise.

That wasn’t Hidan’s fault, I’d forgotten to take my pill so my reflexes were slow.

Just consider it. Uchiha Kisame. Say it out loud. It’s beautiful 😌

Can you check if I left that shirt in your room?

Dei and I went there last night. The manager banned us for life because Dei set off a C3 in the men’s room. 😑

Fine. You buy the skirt I’ll “model” it for you.

Sad. Come stay with me please.

You worry too much.

That picture is for YOUR EYES ONLY. 

Aww what do you mean? Kitty loves you she’s not trying to eat you!

It’s one that Konan gave me. It’s really good you’d probably like it too.

Tea?

I didn’t *fall* in, he *pushed* me. Big difference.

Mom taught me when I was younger. I can teach you too if you want.

You’re mine too. Always ❤️

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hello 🤗

How about Everlark and no. 35? Thank you so much 🥰

Hey! Thanks for the prompt! This is more sweet and fluffy than I originally planned but 🤷🏼‍♀️. Who doesn’t like a little sweetness on a Tuesday morning? 🥹

Also this is my very first time writing in like 6 plus months so go easy because I’m rusty 🥲.

Prompt: A Kiss To Gain Something

-

“Peeta,” I call out, using the front entrance — the public entrance — of the bakery for once. “Hello?”

“Back here,” he murmurs faintly, sounding rather preoccupied. My brow furrows in confusion, considering it’s his usual lunch time, in which he closes the bakery every day for an hour. I can’t think of one single task he could be preoccupied with.

And then the smell of something sweet hits me like a tornado.

Like a mouthwatering, sugary, irresistible tornado.

And then I know exactly what he’s doing.

“Peeta,” I call again, in a sing-song tone now.

And then he knows exactly what I’m doing. He recognizes the shift in my voice immediately. He knows exactly where I’m going with this, exactly what my intentions are, and as I make my way over to him, I see I’m just in time to watch his shoulders sigh up and down.

“Katniss,” he says, a gentle warning in his voice as he moves away from his baking station. He meets me halfway between the cash register and the door to the back room.

A clear attempt to keep me from the cinnamon rolls he just pulled from the oven.

“I’m not going to eat them all,” I promise, while subtly peering around him to check if he’s frosted them quite yet.

“That’s what you told me last time,” he murmurs wryly, placing his hands on both my shoulders and rubbing lightly. “Aren’t you supposed to still be hunting?”

I roll my eyes at his clear attempt to get rid of me. “I got bored.”

“Since when are you bored with hunting?”

“Since I’m tired of eating squirrels every night!” He chuckles, because he too is sick of the same exact dinner every single evening.

But business has been plentiful at the bakery as of late, making it hard for him to find the energy to make supper and the only thing I’m good at making a meal out of is the meat I hunt, and well, it is winter. The deer have been scarce to find for some time now and will likely continue to be for another handful of weeks to come.

Making squirrels our easiest meal available. Or better yet, making them our only meal available.

But tonight cinnamon rolls sound like a good enough dinner to me. They sound good for breakfast too, if I have it my way.

Peeta cups my face in his hands, bringing me out of my thoughts with his warm touch and the strong scent of cinnamon clinging to his skin. “I promise, I will cook for you tonight, Katniss.” He seals his words with a chaste kiss to my mouth. “But I need you to get out now.”

My face contorts in shock. “Hey, I’m your wife,” I complain, feeling a little insulted now. “You can’t kick me out. I own this bakery too.”

“Yes, and you eat almost as many cinnamon rolls as we sell,” he retorts and I cross my arms, half-abashed and half-annoyed, because he has a point. I’m not going to let him know that but he does.

But he still doesn’t like to see me so put out, so immediately he changes tactics. “Sweetheart,” he whispers gently, leaning down and kissing the side of my face, moving his mouth in a circuit from my cheek to just behind my ear. “We’re almost out of the ingredients for cinnamon rolls and the demand for them is so high right now. I gotta make sure there’s enough for tomorrow.”

But I don’t hear a word he says. Not really. It all goes in one ear and out the other. Instead I passively allow him to travel the path between my cheek to behind my ear, from my jaw to the corner of my mouth, and back again, at least three times before I make my move.

Instead of trying to sneak by him or trick him, I go for a manipulation technique much more my style. Some silent, upfront pleading.

With my lips this time.

He already knows what’s coming when I reach both my hands up on his shoulders and push myself into his arms.

I can almost feel him roll his eyes at me this time, as he picks me up off the ground.

“This isn’t going to work-” He tries to say, but I cut him off, rather abruptly, with my kiss.

And unlike his, mine isn’t chaste in the least.

He tries to stay stoic at first but, to neither of our surprise, he cracks rather swiftly under temptation.

“Katniss,” he sighs, when I finally break the kiss off, moving down to his neck, finding that spot of skin that he can’t resist when I graze with my teeth.

Just as I expect, his knees buckle a little when I open my mouth and bite down.

“Okay,” he concurs, as if he were relenting after being held up under torture. “You win. I’ll give you one but I need the rest to sell.”

“Fine,” I agree, feeling satisfied, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck now as he carts me towards the back room.

“You’re so weird,” he murmurs sardonically as he sets me down on my feet.

“Excuse me?” I shoot him a dirty look.

But he’s not planning to take the comment back evidently. “You go through all that just for a stupid cinnamon roll?”

“Yes,” I say automatically, my tone a little stubborn. “So what?”

“Nothing, my love,” he says quietly but he’s trying not to laugh at me.

I advert my eyes, starting to feel a little embarrassed at my determination now. “Peeta, you know that the more you say no to me, the more I want something.”

At that, he gives me an exasperated look. “Trust me, my love. I know that.”

I’m about to say something else, probably to try and defend myself again, but before I can he pulls me into an embrace, hugging my back to his chest. A tiny olive branch, I suppose.

“You love me,” I inform him as he plants a kiss on the back of my neck, moving my braid aside to give himself better access.

“Well, that was obvious,” he snorts.

I bat his hands away, giggling a little at the tingly feeling his kiss elicited down my spine, before quickly grabbing the largest cinnamon roll in the batch and heading out.

“See you at home,” I mumble as I slip through the back door with my mouth full of warm, doughy goodness.

“Katniss,” Peeta calls after me, just as I’m almost out of earshot.

I walk back, a little perturbed. “What?”

“I do love you,” he says, his eyes softening as they meet mine again. “I love you a lot.”

-

[sleepless-in-southlands]

in a sunlit dream, you mistook the light for fire

Ao3

Summary: The continued education of the hermits in just what it means to live with a prophet. Content: Goofs Gafs and Fun Times with a side of one-scene tension; prophecy, minor blood/injury, unreliable narrator (oblivious luke) Pairings: Lucky Jumbo (Luke Carder/Mumbo Jumbo); Luke Carder & Rendog, False Symmetry; Luke Carder & Grian Notes: Part two of In A Vision

~

“Duck.”

Mumbo tilted his head slightly at the sudden command, but didn’t move outside of that, a decision he came to regret approximately five seconds later. Luke chuckled as his boyfriend quickly turned around, half a snowball slowly sliding down the back of his head and the mischief-makers who had put it there already halfway out of Mumbo’s line of sight.

“I warned you.” Luke said amusedly, sipping his bucket of milk as Mumbo grumbled and swatted at the offending lump that was rapidly turning into slush against his neck. His foresight floated on the top of the drink, having changed little between an unalerted and an unsuccessfully alerted Mumbo getting snowball-ed.

“Yes, well,” Mumbo managed to get the majority of the snowball onto the ground, shaking his chilled hand off and spotting the grass with ice chips, “I’m still adjusting to receiving warnings from someone not even looking up.”

“Foresight was in my milk.”

“Of course it was.” Mumbo’s tone was, arguably, much too fond for the statement, shooting Luke a moustache smile as he finished patting his collar and neck dry. He picked up his clay flower pot filled with tea a moment after, returning to his and Luke’s mini outdoor drink date. “As you were saying, before we were interrupted?”

Luke set his bucket down next to his legs. “Have you ever heard of ‘cups?’”

~

“Whoa, dude. Mumbo wasn’t joking about the yellow smoke thing.”

Luke coughed, more of his totally-normal super-safe non-toxic fun-coloured smoke tumbling out of his mouth as he did so, only serving to further unsettle the Octagon founder next to him. A mini vision, something Luke had never experienced in his old world but had newly discovered in Hermitcraft. They were usually within the realm of profit prophets, brought on by purposeful connection to others. In a world where everything and everyone was constantly connected by code, Luke had come to accept they were simply a new part of his reality.

Annoying, but much more acceptable than an average vision, Luke had found. Only a small headache, without passing out or having to speak in tongues? Practically a blessing, compared to falling off his roof and scaring all of Boatem just to inform them of the next Big Eyes Crew prank.

(It wasn’t right to call the situation ‘funny,’ given Luke did feel bad that he had to be Hermitcraft’s introduction to the concept of prophets, but the emergency Boatem meeting called afterwards to determine the necessity of ‘prophet-proofing’ the town was a bit entertaining.)

Luke rubbed at his forehead. “It’s not dangerous.”

“Whatever you say.” Ren said, still sounding somewhat put-off by the smoke. Luke hadn’t collapsed (another point to mini visions), but Ren hovered close to the prophet, clearly anticipating a fall nonetheless. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Luke glanced towards Ren. “Want a prophecy?”

“Uh, sure?”

“The blood of the ocean, salty and cool, the last thing you’ll taste in your tomb of sand.” Luke recited, an echo of his usual ‘prophet voice’ shadowing the words and sending a wave through his forethought, bobbing in the air.

Between his lack of an actual mouth and his sunglasses, it was hard for Luke to read Ren’s exact expression, but Luke had enough experience to make an educated guess.

“That’s- huh.” Admittedly, Ren could certainly be taking it worse. He seemed more confused than concerned. “Will I get a notification when that happens, or do I have to guess?”

Luke blinked. “Guess. Or I can tell you afterwards.”

“Alright.” Ren said with a nod, as if Luke hadn’t just prophesied his death. “Ready to keep going, or do you need to cough up more smoke?”

“I can walk and cough.”

“You say that while looking like you want to fall over.”

“I always look like that.”

Ren laughed. “As long as you’re sure, dude. But if your eyes turn yellow again, I’m making you sit down.”

“I can accept that.”

The mini prophecy ended up coming to fruition a day after Luke delivered it, his communicator buzzing on the floor next to him while he worked on sorting all three of his holding-objects chests. He picked it up, finding the notification had come from the server’s main chat.

>Renthedog suffocated in a wall <RentheDog> OH <RentheDog> it was about a treasure chest <RentheDog> dont worry luke i got it <iskall85> what are you talking about <RentheDog> my super rad death prophecy from luke that just came true <GeminiTay> are death prophecies… good things? <iskall85> they dont sound like they are <RentheDog> someones sound like theyre jealous they havent gotten a luke death prophecy yet

Luke chuckled as he watched the conversation continue, half in amusement and half in bemusement. Arguing over whether or not a death prophecy was a ‘good thing’... only the hermits.

~

“You want to fight me? As practice?” Luke frowned. “I can barely swing a pickaxe, much less a sword.”

“I don't want to fight you for your skill-”

“Ouch.”

“-I want to fight you because Grian said you can use your four eyes to predict attack patterns.” False explained, her own sword already drawn and at ready for the proposed battle.

“Foresight.” Luke corrected, eyeing her sword. His foresight hadn’t yet predicted a swing, but it had already begun wrapping around the blade, which Luke didn’t consider a good sign. “And it’s not really predicting attack patterns, just… how the sword will get swung.”

False adjusted her grip on her weapon’s handle. “Good enough for me!”

“Again, my foresight does not translate to skill.”

“Luke, everyone is unskilled compared to me.” False joked reassuringly, letting her sword tip fall to the ground. It was her ‘dummy sword,’ a wooden one Luke was ninety percent sure she had crafted specifically so as to not spook him with the idea of having to avoid a truly dangerous edge. “Come on, just one go. I want to see what it’s like to fight someone who can see my next move coming.”

“I really don’t think this is going to be as exciting as you’re hoping.” Luke reiterated even as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a diamond sword he had crafted from diamonds lovingly donated to him by Mumbo. “Ah, do you have another wooden sword on you? Or…”

False waved Luke off before he could continue. “It’s alright, I don’t mind a bit of diamond burn.”

Luke’s foresight blurred as it suddenly shot upwards, Luke taking the hint and quickly stepping back to avoid what would have been a fairly harmless bump against his thigh had he stayed put. False’s eyes gleamed with excitement, enthused by the proof of Luke’s foresight as she hefted her sword properly. “And I don’t plan to get hit.”

Recovered from the small shock, Luke huffed a laugh and raised his own sword. “We’ll see about that.”

Fighting False was a lot different from avoiding Grian’s misguided slashes, Luke learned quickly. There was something delightfully thrilling about not only dodging incoming attacks but blocking them as well, his own sword swinging to meet False’s whenever it came for his chest or arm. His lack of skill, regretfully, didn’t magically vanish with the start of the fight, the two of them quickly working their way into somewhat of a stalemate near immediately: False couldn’t get a hit on Luke as long as he was predicting her next-moves, and Luke couldn’t get a hit on False without giving her an opening.

Luke knew that, stamina-wise, he’d run out of energy far faster than False would, meaning he had no chance at winning the spar by dragging it out. If he wanted the victory, he’d have to force the point while he still had the power to do so.

And, well, False had wanted to fight a prophet, hadn’t she?

Taking care not to accidentally spear himself on False’s sword as he did, Luke jerked backwards, a motion that technically avoided False’s swipe but was a bit more dramatic than the upwards slash called for. False raised an eyebrow as she adjusted her strategy, clearly intrigued by Luke’s choice in dodge.

“I’m never going to win if I’m only one step ahead of you.” Luke said in answer to the unasked question, dodging the next slash with a much too elaborate spin out of the way. “Two or three steps, on the other hand…”

Understanding flashed in False’s eyes, followed by newfound determination. Luke just grinned. It was a tactic he had used before, in card battles played against supposed masters who wanted the added challenge that came with a prophet for an opponent. Luke didn’t have any true control over his foresight, and in this fight specifically he was using it more as a visual guide than an instruction manual, but his competitors didn’t need to know that. The more they got inside their own heads, trying to plan their future moves by the dozen to evade Luke, the easier it became for Luke to get them in the present.

Case in point: False swung her sword low, likely the beginning of a series of moves that would have led into a beautifully crushing defeat for Luke had it been allowed to play out. Instead, in the moment, Luke took the opening it presented him to swing for her chest, shoving her back with the side of it rather than properly slashing.

Unprepared, False stumbled backwards, falling onto her backside when Luke stole her previous move and aimed for her ankles. Deciding that was as close to a ‘defeat’ as Luke felt he needed to get, Luke took a step away from her and planted the tip of his sword in the dirt next to him.

“Point to the prophet.” Luke joked as he watched False prop herself up on her forearms, looking surprised. Not that Luke could hold it against her- he has used an old card game trick in a sword fight. He had figured his chances of getting skewered were at least three times that of pulling it off.

Not that False needed to know that.

“And a point well earned.” False responded, pushing herself up and onto her feet with a grin. “Grian didn’t say anything about you being able to see that much into the future.”

“Yeah, well…” Luke glanced to the side, slightly abashed, “fun fact about prophets: we are capable of lying.”

“...It was a bluff?”

Luke turned back towards False, whose grin had only grown. “You seem oddly delighted by that.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Luke!” False raised her sword once more, Luke mirroring the action reflexively. “Alright, best out of three.”

“I hope you know that was my one and only trick,” Luke said, watching his foresight sway with False’s sword, “and therefore my one and only victory.”

“I’m not falling for that twice.” False replied, showcasing a newfound confidence in Luke’s nonexistence skills that he did appreciate, even if it did mean he was once again getting a sword brandished in his face. “Again!”

As predicted, Luke lost the following matches, foresight and trickery only able to do so much against genuine skill, but that was alright. It wasn’t anything like the card games he missed most from his old world, but Luke appreciated having another type of competition to throw himself into, no matter how terrible he was at it.

And it was still safer than the last card game he had played.

~

“Duck.”

Luke threw out the warning idly, aware there was a good chance it would receive the same response it had when given to Mumbo- a moment of confused contemplation that would render the heads-up functionally null and void. The skeleton about to shoot Grian, after all, was behind Luke, who had been distracted by reading his foresight written in only the dark spots on the nearest birch tree. A non-prophet wouldn’t have any chance to warn for it, and Hermitcraft was still adjusting to Luke.

Luke kept his eyes towards the tree, watching as his foresight scrambled to rearrange itself after his warning. Instead of returning to its usual scrolling-sentences structure, however, the letters condensed into two large, caution-tape yellow words: LOOK OUT.

Look out?

Suddenly, a pain through the back of his shoulder. Luke gasped, more out of surprise than agony, one hand going to cover the spot as he swiveled hard to look behind him.

There, he found Grian drawing his sword as he rose from a crouched position, shooting Luke a look as he went to take out the skeleton Luke had both seen coming and completely missed. Luke carefully slotted his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his arm, blood already staining his shirt as he watched Grian make quick work of the skeleton.

Grian… actually ducked.

Skeleton defeated, Grian put his sword away before returning to Luke, careful to leave at least a block and a half of space between them as he came to a stop. He had kept his distance since the debacle that was Luke’s reveal as a prophet, Luke had noticed. Luke didn’t try to press him about it; he wouldn’t want to get too close to the guy who had torn into the pure essence of his being either.

“You tell me to duck, but you don’t do so yourself?” Grian questioned, eyes looking amused.

“I… didn’t think you would.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Moment of confusion.” Luke half-answered, shifting his grip on his injury. “Most people don’t trust prophets on the drop of a hat.”

“And I don’t want to get shot when it can be avoided.” Grian gave by way of response, the throw-away comment concealing an emotion Luke couldn’t quite catch before it was gone and Grian was changing topics. “Do you have a golden carrot on you?”

“I do.”

“...Are you going to get it?”

Luke rolled his shoulder, ignoring the twinge of pain generated by the motion. He knew the arrow would eventually ‘despawn,’ as Mumbo had phrased it, given enough time, but he had known too many horror stories of flesh healing around foreign bodies in his old world for him to feel entirely comfortable doing it on purpose. “In a second?”

Grian sighed, an action Luke had yet to make peace with, given he wasn’t entirely certain Grian needed to- or did, or could- breathe. “Do you want to take the arrow out?”

“I was planning on waiting for it to disappear on its own.”

“Your shirt’s going to be the same colour as mine if you wait that long.” Grian pointed out, reminding Luke of the unfortunate reality of his blood. Luke had tried talking to Xisuma about getting his ‘blood mod’ removed, only for the admin to find out that Luke’s code was a mess of an enigma; indecipherable and untouchable. It was a small mercy, at least, that the blood went away at about the same rate that arrows did, once the originating wound was closed.

“Good point.” Luke acknowledged, suppressing a wince as he gave the arrow still lodged in his arm an experimental tug. “Okay, on the count of three- one, two-”

“Do you want help?”

Luke paused in his bad-idea speedrun. “Hm?”

“Mumbo prefers taking out the arrows first, too, so I’ve got practice.” Grian crossed his arms in hesitation. “If you want my help, that is.”

Luke considered the offer. Letting someone who knew what they were doing take the arrow out was tempting, given his plan had just been to rip it out and hope it didn’t hurt too badly, but he didn’t want to make Grian uncomfortable with the proximity it would require. “Only if you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” A pause. “Do you mind?”

“Why would I mind? You’re doing me a favour.” Luke carefully let go of the arrow as he spoke, frowning at the blood dripping off the side of his hand as he held in front of himself. “A messy favour, at that.”

“It’s alright.” Grian gestured with a wave. “Can you turn around?”

Luke did as requested, trying not to jostle his shoulder too much as he did so. His foresight was no longer decorating the birch tree beside him, having seemingly vanished after its attempted warning, but Luke could still track the quiet yet audible sound of Grian’s footsteps as he came to stand directly behind Luke. He placed a hand on Luke’s upper arm, grip oddly cautious, followed by a slight shock of pain that Luke presumed came from Grian grasping the arrow.

“Ready?”

“Go for it.”

A wiggling pain, a moment of adjustment, and then the arrow was out of Luke’s shoulder, Grian moving fast to minimize the discomfort from the action. Luke’s whole arm instinctively tensed, stinging with the action, and for half a millisecond Luke could’ve sworn he felt Grian give his arm a squeeze, as if in reassurance, as if in comfort.

And then the second passed, Grian letting go of Luke and taking a step back behind him. Luke turned to face him once more, fishing a golden carrot out of his pocket with his blood-free hand at the same time. He took a large bite off the end of it while Grian discarded the freed arrow, reveling in the near-immediate relief the expensive vegetable brought with it.

“All done.” Grian shook off the hand he had used to pull out the arrow, crimson drops hitting the grass next to them. “Ready to keep going?”

“Yeah.” Luke kept munching in his carrot as they began walking once more, shooting a glance at Grian's hand. “Do you want to wipe off your hand at all? I think I have some wool on me.”

“It's alright, it'll despawn soon enough on its own.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

Luke nodded, accepting the answer. Silence descended upon the two as they continued on, Grian’s eyes forward while Luke’s kept straying back to the side, watching his own blood paint a dotted line a block and a half away from him.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 19: Feet

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4965

Warnings: one instance of gendered language, the rest is gender neutral, foot fetish, foot job, toe licking, some angst for spice, reader is implied to have had a bad/abusive past but nothing is specifically mentioned in that regard

A/N: sorry I got so sidetracked for a minute there efvkefkeke but I'm back to finish these Kinktober prompts at last lol

⭐

You’re halfway through the door, tray of tea and afternoon snacks in hand, when you come to an abrupt, china rattling halt just over the threshold. That you very nearly send scalding hot liquid splashing across the floor doesn’t even seem to register in that moment as you incredulously widen your eyes at the back of Baizhu’s head. You’d expected to find the chair in front of his desk empty and the bed soundly occupied but — a quick, surreptitious glance at the neatly straightened sheets assures you you’re not imagining things, and you had in fact walked in on the exact opposite. 

What was he thinking?

“Doctor?” You call over, soft and politely tentative. 

He doesn’t even have the grace to act surprised at being caught, nor does he turn to look at you, and just keeps writing in the heavy ledger spread open before him without pause. 

“Ah, is it that time already?” He says over his shoulder in that always pleasant tone. “I thought I still had a chance to get a bit more work done before you came back and shackled me to my bed again.” 

“That’s not funny.” You sigh in defeat and shuffle further inside to come up alongside him at the desk. 

Standing there for a moment, you just watch him scribble away, dip his brush in the ink and carefully touch it to paper again before continuing on with nary a sign of interruption in the flowing script. You couldn’t quite make out what it said though — not because his penmanship was bad or anything. It was all clean and precise, and nearly perfectly balanced across the sheet but you didn’t know how to read half of the complicated characters, having never been taught more than a few of them. Baizhu was actively trying to rectify that but, well. You hadn’t quite made it that far yet. 

At last, you draw a pointed breath when he still won’t stop long enough to look up and actually acknowledge you. “What are you doing, doctor? You should be resting. You know that.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware you’re concerned about me overexerting myself and I do appreciate the care.” He chuckles softly, pausing to dip the long handled brush into the inkwell again. “But a tiny bit of inventory isn’t going to kill me, dear. I promise.” 

“Inventory?” You echo him in confusion. “How are you able to do that without looking in the storeroom or what’s stocked in the pharmacy?” 

Finally bringing his head up to offer you a small, gentle smile, Baizhu gestures somewhat vaguely at the room at large. “This is both my home and my livelihood, isn’t it? One would find me quite lacking if I wasn’t even aware of what inventory moves quickly and what lingers for a while. It’s not too difficult to estimate the daily needs of the pharmacy based on my years of previous experience keeping everything running as it should.” 

You were undoubtedly impressed by that, your brows lifting in surprise and something not unlike awe, and yet you still find yourself saying, “But what if something has suddenly changed and your estimates aren’t correct?”

Noising a brief sound of consideration, Baizhu lifts his unoccupied hand to thoughtfully touch the backs of his knuckles to his chin. “Hm, changed in what way? If there was a sudden influx of sick people all suffering from the same symptoms and, therefore, requiring the same kind of medicine, I certainly would have heard about it and could easily make the proper adjustments.” 

“But … I don’t know, what if someone was stealing from you?”

He blinks at that as he slowly glances up at you again. The tiny little smile that pulls at his mouth promptly makes you flush under his ever watchful eye. “Oh? And have you been helping yourself to my herbs, dear girl?” 

“N - no, of course not! I wouldn’t even think to do something like that!”

Chuckling, he serenely turns back to the ledger again. “I know you wouldn’t. I was only teasing you a little bit.” 

Trying not to pout and failing rather miserably at it, you turn your head away from him only to spot Changsheng curled up in a tight coil on the far windowsill, sunning herself in the mid morning sun. Well, at least that explained her suspicious lack of commentary thus far. Stamping down the urge to heave yet another sigh, you shuffle forward to place the tray on the corner of the desk. There wasn’t any use in trying to argue the matter further. Baizhu always had a ready answer on hand no matter what you questioned him about, and his need for bedrest was no different from the inventory in that regard.

“Would you care to sit with me for a while?” 

Your head comes up halfway through the motion of turning to leave, but his attention remains focused on what he’s writing. Perhaps you would have found it a bit off putting if only you were not quite so familiar with the doctor's usual habits and peculiarities. If he was asking you a question like that then it probably meant he was keen on having the company … or perhaps he just missed having Changsheng hanging off his neck. Not that you could exactly crawl on top of him and take her spot or anything but the sentiment was still a nice one, wasn’t it? 

“You wouldn’t find it too distracting to have me hovering around you, doctor?”

“Of course not, dear. Having you around is always such a pleasure.” 

Even the teasing tone in his voice is not enough to keep the smile off your face. Your initial misgivings are long forgotten now as you step behind his chair over to the other side of the desk where you eagerly hop up to perch on the ledge. Laughing under his breath, Baizhu reaches over to briefly dip the brush in ink yet again and then continues on with his work. Content just to be sharing his space with him like this, you watch on for what feels like a lifetime. It was always like that, though. You could have sat with him in complete silence all day and never gotten bored of looking at him. 

But it doesn’t last forever, and your skin tingles warmly when he eventually slides his free hand over to lightly touch yours where it’s braced atop the desk. It’s an idle gesture, one that he doesn’t seem to give much thought considering the way his brush just keeps flicking over the blocky characters without even a moment's pause. If you didn’t know any better you would have almost thought it a subconscious action. Something his fingers felt compelled to do for no other reason than the close proximity of another person. 

You were just as familiar with this part of him as his stubborn refusal to heed the warnings of others, however, so you allow your fingertips to brush over his palm. It was nice being able to share such quiet amity with him, and you suspected he felt much the same way as you did. A simple comfort. 

“There,” He finally sets the brush aside some minutes later with a satisfied exhale. “That should just about do it, I believe. I’ll just have to double check everything is as it should be once I’m allowed back into the pharmacy again.” 

“Doctor Baizhu,” You can’t quite keep the soft inflection out of your voice now. “I already told you those jokes aren’t funny. We’re not holding you hostage or anything like that …” 

His elegant shoulders softly shake as he turns that fond look on you again. “I know you’re not, dear. But the way you and Gui act it’s like you think I’m going to shatter at the first upset though. You know I’m more resilient than that, don’t you?” 

Frowning, you shift your attention down to your lap. Sometimes you weren’t so sure about that … but before you can figure out how to articulate that in a way that wouldn’t make you sound like an anxious mother hen (an ironic role reversal if there ever was one) Baizhu brings his hand up to rest across your knee. He gives it a brief squeeze that makes your pulse quicken, and you find yourself slowly glancing up from under the fall of your lashes. 

“Your heart is very much in the right place and I do appreciate it.” He tells you with perfect sincerity now. “I have no intention of admitting defeat so easily though. There are still many things I need to see to in this world before I can even think about crossing over to the next … teaching you how to read and write is right at the top of that list, for starters.” 

Your cheeks burn in shame and deep felt mortification alike. Baizhu had taken you in off the streets even when every shred of common sense should have dictated that it wasn’t a good idea to do so. Even Changsheng’s initial sass and uncertainty hadn’t been enough to dissuade him from it though, so you knew he wasn’t saying such things from a place of malice or discontent. He seemed to genuinely want the best for you — and that’s why you don’t protest when he runs his hand lower to comfortingly caress over your calf. 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He assures you with a gentle pat. “You’ve already made commendable progress in just the short amount of time we’ve been working on it. I’m very proud of you, you know.” 

You squirm, growing increasingly more flustered the more he not only talks but also touches you with that gentle familiarity. “Thank you, doctor. But … I'm just not sure how I can repay you for everything.” 

That wasn’t entirely true. You did have one idea. 

But you were always hesitant to instigate these sorts of encounters with him, mainly because regardless of how many times you went through the motions together Baizhu never sought you out himself. It was always you doing the pursuing, coming on to him and offering up thanks the only way you really knew how. He seemed perfectly willing once things got started so you didn’t necessarily think it was a matter of him not wanting to share the intimacy of a lover with you, but it did make you doubt yourself just a little bit. 

Even now the brush of his fingers on your leg remains innocent and unassuming as if the thought of where else this might otherwise lead had never even crossed his mind and he was perfectly content with simply appreciating the warmth of your skin against his. You weren’t sure if it was a result of him being so used to Changsheng’s near constant presence around his neck that made him this comfortable with casual touching or if he was just like this naturally, but he seemed not to want for anything more than that. Were you possibly overstepping some unspoken boundary when you laid yourself bare at his feet? Was he perhaps too polite and kind to tell you ‘no’ even if he really didn’t want it? 

You truly had no idea. Baizhu was so unlike anyone else you’d ever met that you really couldn’t make sense of him sometimes. The inventory, the way he refused to take care of himself amidst taking care of everyone else, the touching, his insistence that you should know how to read and write … he truly was an enigma. 

“You needn’t worry yourself about unnecessary things like that.” He tells you, and the affectionately gentle tone in his lilting voice just further throws you into turmoil. “I didn’t invite you into my home with the expectation of receiving anything in return so no thanks are necessary. Just keep doing your best every day and I’ll be perfectly content with that.” 

And isn’t that precisely why he deserved to be on the receiving end of such favors? 

Stealing another quick look at the far windowsill, you confirm that Changsheng is still softly snoozing away before shifting on top of the desk to fully face him. Baizhu tips his head in question, looking totally unawares, and it almost gives you pause. It’s a little hard to shake the feeling that perhaps you were the bad guy here, like maybe you were the one taking advantage of him, but … surely that wasn’t the case, right? If he didn’t want it he would have said so, wouldn’t he? 

You feel uncharacteristically shy, almost sheepish as you curl your leg up and brush the ankle against his thigh in clear suggestion. His expression promptly settles into a neutral look of understanding. He doesn’t show any signs of being pleased or excited by it, but he also doesn’t look repulsed by your advances either. Just accepting. Of you, of this — archons, even when he wasn’t teasing you he was still the most difficult and confusing man you’d ever known. 

“This isn’t something you need to do for me. You must know by now that I’ll be perfectly fine without it.” 

Face warming with what you think is probably shame, you nod in understanding. “I do, but … I’d like to make you feel good, if that’s okay.” 

Drawing a stitled breath that makes his narrow shoulders rise and then fall when he lets it out on a slow exhale, Baizhu loosely curls his fingers around your calf. Drags them lower to give your ankle a reassuring squeeze and then further down to nudge off your slipper. It hits the floor with a near silent flop against the hardwood, and then he’s cupping the heel of your foot in his palm. Gently lifting it to chest level, he bends to press a chaste kiss to your toes. 

“You’re very kind to me, dear, but I hope you don’t think I expect such favors from you just for providing you with a roof over your head.” He murmurs, and you give your head a shake this time. 

“That’s not it. I know you don’t. I just want to be able to do something for you in return …” And this was the only thing you knew how to do with any amount of skill. You were neither a scholar nor talented in any trade. You couldn’t read or write. Some days it felt like you struggled just to serve the tea properly. 

But this was something you had plenty of experience in and you liked to think you did it well. That doesn’t exactly disperse the niggling thought in the back of your mind that tells you you’re somehow forcing yourself on the doctor, that you were coercing or forcing him to give in. There’s a certain amount of guilt that comes with this, on your part at least, but you can’t quite seem to find the resolve to stop doing it. 

And Baizhu does give in, though not without an almost sad, barely noticeable softening of his strange burnished gold eyes. Still cradling your foot in his hand, he presses his mouth to the sensitive pad this time to make your toes flex at the ticklish feeling before lowering your leg. You watch him carefully direct it to his lap and a dull thrill races through you when the weight of him through his pants meets the arch. Using both hands now, he takes a moment to just fondle over the extremity and massage his fingers into your skin. An unexpected shudder dances up your spine when he locates a particularly tender spot that seems to bleed some of the tension from your body when he presses on it. 

Of all the things you’d expected to have to do for him this one had been relatively low on your list. Liking feet did not appear to be so strange or unheard of in the grander scheme, but you can’t quite decide how you actually felt about him using only this part of you to get off. Certainly other areas would make him feel even better — your mouth, at least, but he always kept his attention on your feet instead. That embarrasses you a bit too, if you were being honest, but the way he softly sighs in budding arousal stops you from pressing the matter. 

If this was what made him feel good then you would happily give that to him. 

“Your skin has gotten even softer since the last time,” He murmurs, clearly pleased by that. “Those herb scrubs are doing wonders to reverse the damage done before you came here. It really is a shame you had to struggle so much just to survive.” 

“It’s okay, since I don’t have to do those things anymore.” And you intended to keep it that way, no matter the cost or what it took. Baizhu had given you a new life, a new purpose for existing, so of course you would want to repay him. It was only natural, right? 

When he smiles it picks up the edge of sadness you can just make out in his eyes, but his voice remains soft and even toned. “Are you certain about this? I know you always seem eager to please but …” 

“I’m sure. You enjoy it, don’t you?” Pointedly curling your toes to nudge them against the faint bulge under your foot, you keenly observe the way his dark lashes give a slight flutter in response. He stirs underneath you, becoming more pronounced. A little thicker. But still, he doesn’t immediately jump at the chance. 

“I do. More than I’d like to admit, if I’m being honest.” His fingers tracing over the jut of your ankle bone, Baizhu regards you in quiet contemplation for a long moment before drawing a careful breath. “Thank you for having me in this way, dear. I don’t exactly have the time to cultivate many relationships, and taking on a lover seems … ill advised, given my condition. As long as you understand that there is a limit to what I can give you in return, I have no qualms about it.” 

Your stomach sinks. So that was it then, wasn’t it? His hesitancy didn’t stem from a lack of wanting but wary caution when his own mortality always at the forefront of his mind, dictating all of his decisions. What he could do, what he would allow himself to do, how much he would comfortably let another person in. That was the crux. 

Perhaps you should have felt bad about chipping away at his self erected defenses to end up at this point where he was openly admitting it to you, but somehow you just really don’t. 

You feel emboldened, in fact, and you gently rub the pad of your foot over him with a fresh spike of courage searing your veins. Baizhu hums a low sound in response and lets his eyes slip shut for a moment, just basking in the sensation. It was vindicating, in a way. Knowing it wasn’t a problem with you or the burden you’d been carrying when you came to him. The fact he’d held out this long — no doubt wanting to avoid any further exploitation — was a testament to his strength of will, but he was still human. He was still a man with all the hardwired urges and impulses of any other. 

Just as you’d thought, then. You really were the only one who could take care of him in this way. 

Directing your foot a little lower down, you take a moment to gently nudge at and tease the weight of his ballsack between his legs. You can see the growing tent in his pants now, straining up just above your toes. He looses a shuddering breath and slowly rolls his hips forward to grind himself on you. A sense of reluctance still remains, you can see it in the tense set of his shoulders, but that doesn’t quite stop him from acting on it. 

“You’ve already done so much for me, doctor Baizhu.” You whisper into the suddenly static air. “Let me do something for you now.” 

Hissing a low sound of wanting, he tips his face down to watch your foot slide up the now rigid length of his cock. A glossy strand of hair slips forward to hang over his shoulder, matching the crystal bauble that dangles off his glasses. It swings softly at the motion, drawing your attention to it for a brief stretch, but his attention remains locked on what you’re doing in his lap. You can tell he wants to, so you reach up a little higher to toe at the sash around his waist. 

“Untie this for me?” 

Baizhu hesitates only for as long as it takes you to blink, and then he’s stiffly bringing his hands up to tug at the knot. It comes loose with a near silent slither, not unlike one that Changsheng would make, and you dart your eyes up to make sure she was still where you’d last seen her. It didn’t look like she’d so much as moved since you’d entered the room some time ago though. Hopefully she really was fast asleep over there in the warm sun or she at least had the sense to keep pretending to be. The doctor wasn’t afforded many opportunities like this, and you knew he’d put an end to it immediately if she alerted him. 

But for now at least, he makes quick work of getting his soft pants pushed down enough to allow his cock to spring up between the two of you. A hot pulse of wanting spears through you at the sight, your desire to do more with it than simply rub your feet on it almost overpowering your higher functioning mind. But you pointedly stay on track, and lift your leg to press that stiff length against his flat stomach. Using this to brace against, you start to rub the pad of your foot up and down, up and down the silky underside of him. 

Moaning very softly, Baizhu leans back in his chair to watch as if in transfixed silence. The light blanket he had resting over his shoulders fans out slightly with the shift, and you dare to scoot a little further over on the desk so that you’re sitting almost directly in front of him now. The soft rustle of movement settles back into silence again, interspersed only by the occasional chirp of a bird outside the window or the distant sounds of city life beyond. Lifting your eyes, you look Baizhu in the face. 

To your surprise, he’s looking back at you. 

“Thank you.” Is all he says, and the hushed tone of arousal in those two simple words makes your blood boil. Oh, how you wanted him to be yours so badly. 

“You needn’t thank me, doctor.” You murmur as you fan your toes out over the head of his cock and knead them down into the glans. It makes his chest hitch, his golden gaze taking on a far away, almost dreamy quality. 

Quickly, you bring your other foot up and snatch the slipper off that one too. You don’t even register the sound of it hitting the floor as you press in on the base to massage both ends of him at the same time. A faltering groan slips out of delicately parted lips, and he tips his head back to sigh up at the ceiling in appreciation. 

It’s a bit awkward like this, but you soon find a steady rhythm that has your feet moving over him in tandem while he sedately rolls his hips forward to fuck himself on the pads, arches and toes. Just as every other time it’s escalated to this, Baizhu shows no visible signs of uncertainty now and, in fact, he’s actually quite open about how much he’s enjoying it. You can see the deep rise and fall of his chest gradually become more pronounced, the muscles in his stomach flexing tight with each slow motion grind against your feet. He’s beautiful like this. Even more so than he usually is, and you idly wonder if he would allow himself to express his pleasure more vocally if it was just the two of you. No employees or snakes, or zombie children to potentially alert and interrupt the moment. 

Maybe if you did well enough he would let you find out some day. 

“Are you sure this is enough?” You finally venture to ask when his straining cock pulses eagerly under your toes. It was no exaggeration to say that you would have given him anything he wanted, no matter how strange or demeaning it may have been, but he only gives his head a distracted shake. 

“Yes, dear, just like this is fine. More than fine, actually.” Drawing a shuddering breath, Baizhu brings his attention back down as he lifts a hand up to grasp your topmost foot. He takes a moment to covetously squeeze it, feeling along the skin before carefully guiding it towards his chest once again. “I don’t think I’m in any position to ask for more anyway, but this is plenty. I’m afraid I can’t seem to get enough of these cute toes of yours as it is.” 

Your heart stutters a beat when he bends his head over your captured limb and instead of leaving it at just the kiss he reverently presses into the toes, he opens his mouth to lick over the thin layer of skin as well. The sensation makes you jolt, especially when he drags his tongue between the first two digits to attack the sensitive webbing inside. You seethe and try very hard not to yank your foot away when it tickles almost enough to make you squeal. Baizhu doesn’t appear all that concerned about it though, and he merely peers up at you from over the rim of his glasses. Watching your reaction, or perhaps gauging how much you could take before you couldn’t reasonably keep your voice in check any longer. Either way, he’d never taken it quite this far before and you had no idea what to make of it. 

Not the fact he was doing it at all or the startling revelation that comes with it. You hadn’t expected the space between your toes to be this sensitive, and you shudder despite yourself. 

“D - doctor …!” 

He lets out a low sound of pleasure, warm breath puffing against damp skin as he reaches over with the opposite hand to grasp the foot still keeping his cock pinned. Fondling over it, he maintains his eye contact with you when he swipes his tongue between your toes a second time, and you really do almost recoil. You’d never felt anything quite like it before. Soft and warm, and squishy, and you really weren’t sure how you felt about it wriggling over your toes like that. 

Pulling in a quiet gasp, you clutch the edge of the desk in a death grip while he grinds his throbbing cock against one foot and licks at the other. His breathing was quickly turning ragged, his cheeks a little flushed. It makes your head spin to see him like that, but somehow the borderline ticklish sensation of his tongue almost manages to distract you from it. 

If he ever put his mouth on the spot between your legs like that … 

“Ohh, goodness,” Panting, Baizhu hunches forward over your legs with a full bodied shudder. The motion of his hips falters for a split second and then morphs into something a bit more urgent. More needy. His cock stiffly works back and forth, back and forth across the soft arch of your foot, along the pad and up to nudge your toes before dragging back down again. 

It’s not hard to imagine him rutting inside your body this way, and it pulls a low moan from the back of your throat. The sound seems to tip him over the edge and, brows knitting in deeply felt pleasure, he presses his mouth firm against the bottom of the foot he’s still clasping, hissing against the skin. His sputtering length gives a muted twitch. You can feel the dull, subsequent contractions that follow as it pumps out a thin jet of creamy fluid to coat your extremity, and then another. He goes still with one final spurt, issuing a frazzled, sensitive moan that quietly trails off into nothing. 

The resounding silence is almost too much for you to bear. 

“I’m sorry,” He wheezes at length, once he’s calmed his breathing down some. “I seem to have made quite a mess.”

“It’s alright.” Trying to keep your voice pleasantly even, you curl your toes down into the softening cock to lightly massage it. “As long as you feel good that’s all that matters. I’m just glad I can do something for you …” 

Releasing a stilted exhale, he gingerly straightens up in his chair. You don’t miss the vague grimace that crosses his lovely face when he sees the sticky evidence of your illicit activities, and Baizhu softly tuts as he reaches into a pocket to withdraw a dainty handkerchief. He uses it to wipe up the clumpy mess with another soft word of apology, his hands gentle where they touch. Looking at him like that, bent over your feet and sincerely apologizing for something you’d talked him into doing, you once again find yourself being hit with a strange sense of guilt. It was only natural to want to thank him with such favors … wasn’t it? 

So then why did you feel like you’d done something wrong?

⭐

Crossposted: here

[pizzafishandchips]

28. "Just say what you want"

Fandom - Infamous IF Content warnings - strong language Summary - Luna has a fun little encounter with Blake Winter.

“Ah crap, I’m gonna be late.”

Luna clicks her tongue upon checking the time on her phone. In her mind she’s already begun the countdown until Orion inevitably comes ringing, in spite of it still being at least half an hour out till the band’s next appointment. She can only imagine the ensuing lecture if she isn’t back within the next five minutes.

She places her skateboard on the ground, one foot holding it in place as she glances around. Everyone had been incredulous when she brought it along for the tour, but in the end she’d be getting the last laugh after all.

Safely tucking away her things in her backpack, Luna pushes off with a powerful kick. She speeds across the sidewalks with expert ease, casually humming under her breath even as she wheels around corners with startling velocity. Her stride never breaks even as she weaves and dodges around the poor pedestrians that are unfortunate enough to cross her path.

“Sorry! ‘Scuse me!” she hastily calls out as many of them yelp and leap out of the way.

She takes a brief pause to check the time. Two minutes until she’ll have to bear the brunt of Orion’s disapproval face for the rest of the day: better make them count.

Examining her path forward, she can already see the entrance to the hotel not too far off, but at a standard speed it would still take her at least another five minutes before she can reach it. Luna realizes she’s at the top of a slight decline; if she plays her cards right, there’s a real possibility she can make it just in time.

Still, it’s no reason to completely throw caution to the wind. There’s someone ahead of her, halfway down the hill. Their back is turned towards her, but there’s something familiar about the silhouette.

When they pause, taking out their phone and turning to face the cityscape to snap a picture, Luna recognizes them in an instant. Her lips curl into a truly devilish smile as she readies herself atop her board. Knees bent, hips steadied, she doesn’t hold back when she takes off.

Her long hair whips in the wind as she gradually gains speed racing downhill. It’s not a particularly sharp decline, allowing her to easily control how fast she’s going. Too much, and she’ll be in danger, but too slow, and she won’t get the effect she wants.

And Luna likes nothing more than to put on a good show.

She flies ever closer to the person in her way, and when she gets just close enough, she hollers out to them, “Out of the way!”

With a startled jerk of his head, Blake Winter finally looks up at her. In the brief second that occurs before their paths collide, his eyes widen in shock as he tries to leap out of the way. But she timed it perfectly: he’s too slow, and on the narrow sidewalk they’re on it’s a guarantee that she’ll crash right into some part of him.

...Until, right at the last moment, when it almost seems like they’re a hair’s width away from each other, Luna pivots the tip of her board and kicks at just the right moment. She slides around him, into the small space between him and the wall of a building next to them, and leaps onto it with her board. Her body is tilted almost parallel to the ground as she glides across the vertical surface, before she returns back to solid concrete well ahead of Blake.

When she’s safely at the bottom of the hill, slowly continuing to roll away towards her destination, she turns back to him. Their eyes meet, and Luna doesn’t hold back from laughing at his deer-in-headlights expression. It’s the most off kilter she’s seen him this entire season, and she makes it a point to relish it within his sight.

At last, she reaches the front of the hotel. Glancing at the time, she’s pleased that not only was she able to scare the shit out of Blake Winter, she was also able to make it just in time. Sure enough, she spots Orion exiting the sliding doors at that exact moment, looking down at his watch. He blinks when he sees her standing near the entrance, but at the sight of her tousled hair, her slight pant, his eyes swiftly narrow as he puts two and two together.

“Luna—”

“What? I’m here and on time,” she interjects.

He glances down at her skateboard which she’s tucked under her arm at this point. Luna plasters on her brightest, most innocent smile.

“Did you even wear your helmet?”

“Uh…”

He’s about to chastise her when something behind her catches his eye. In that span of time, Blake was finally able to reach the hotel himself. For once, he doesn’t hide behind an aloof sneer as he approaches; he’s clearly still flabbergasted when he looks at her. She smiles just as sweetly at him, with laughter thinly veiled in her eyes. She wishes she could have taken pictures of his face in those glorious moments jumping around him; she wants to remember that moment forever.

Not even caring for Orion’s presence, Blake blurts out, “Are you crazy?”

“Oh, well, hello to you too, Blake.” It’s endlessly entertaining, pretending nothing happened, trying to push him into admitting it himself. Say it out loud, she wills. Tell me to my face how I scared you shitless.

Orion’s eyes dart back and forth between them, puzzled. As if he could read her mind, Blake sets his jaw, resistant.

“No, never mind,” he mumbles.

“What do you mean, never mind? You think you can just go up to a person and call them crazy out of nowhere?” Luna scolds, enjoying herself. “Just say what you want, Blake. You’re the one who likes being honest and real, right? So tell me what the problem is.”

She’s still riding a little bit of the high leftover from her expeditious return. Luna’s gaze is unyielding as she stares him down, daring him to rise to her challenge. In that instant, she wouldn’t have even cared if there were cameras watching. If anything, it might have made for good TV.

And in a truly rare moment, the vocalist of Underground Wastebasket deflates, however imperceptibly. For the first time, Blake Winter admits defeat to her, however small and petty the victory might be. Yet, to her surprise, there’s none of the venom or cheeky derision that she might expect from him. If anything, while he’s still a bit aghast from her little stunt, there’s a hint of respect in there as well.

“Like I said, it’s nothing. Forget about it.” He shakes his head again as he slowly makes his way to the hotel doors. Under his breath, just barely loud enough for her to hear, he says, “You really are insane, aren’t you?”

When he’s gone, Luna returns her attention to her manager. Orion stares at her with a furrowed brow, and she wonders if she’s managed to avoid a lecture after all.

“One of these days, we’re going to have to talk about your skateboarding habits,” he sighs.

[anditvanisheslikemist]

Hi!! I'd love to see any combo/one of these for Josh or Ian 😊 38, 50, 67

These are the prompts in case you haven't seen them

Thanks for the prompts! 💙💚

38. “Just let me take care of you why are you so stubborn.” 50. “You sneezed ten times today.” “Thanks for counting.” 67. Having to be dragged back to bed.

I'm taking the dialogue prompts in particular as inspiration rather than exact quotes!

For anyone who doesn't know, my OCs Josh and Ian are best friends and 2/5 of the band The World Above. Their story starts with Sympathy, but you don't need to read that first (it's pretty long). As of this little fic, they're halfway across the country from each other, Josh in Chicago and Ian in L.A.

Also on AO3.

- - - - -

"Why are you even awake? It's so early there."

Ian turns a full circle as he's looking for something, the video blurring enough to make Josh dizzy. "Because! Shit to do." He blinks, and his nose scrunches, and he leans out of frame with a quick heh-SHHHoo!

"At—" he glances at the microwave clock and subtracts two hours— "8:46 a.m.?"

"That's not early." He sniffs and rubs the back of his hand under his nose, still distracted.

"Not to the rest of the world, no." He scratches Finley between the ears and leans back into the sofa. "What are you looking for?"

"Hmm." It doesn't quite come out right, like his nose is too blocked to let the sound through. "I… heh!-ngt-TCHiu!"

"Bless you. You don't remember, do you?"

Ian's slower to recover this time. "I remember." He coughs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Or. I will remember." He thinks for another moment. "Eventually."

One of Ian's many roommates walks through the back of the video. …Jayson. Yes. It's a big house with a lot of turnover, all musicians and artists working server jobs and the like to make ends meet in L.A., but he's been around long enough that he was there when Josh went out to visit last fall.

Ian's coughing again, and this time when he fumbles around for something out of frame he comes up with a handful of tissues, and sets the phone down to blow his nose, which just makes him sneeze again. Twice.

"That doesn't sound good," Josh says when Ian picks the phone back up.

Ian shakes his head dismissively. "I'm fine."

"Dude," Jayson says from the background. "You've sneezed like ten times already, and I only got up fifteen minutes ago."

Ian flips him off. Jayson shrugs and goes back to his coffee and his book.

Back to Josh: "Don't look at me like that."

Josh sighs. "You know what I'm going to say."

"That I've got shit to do and the start of a cold is not enough to stop me?"

At least he admits it. "That it's a Sunday morning with no obligations and you should go back to bed."

"Do you want to see my to-do list?" His voice is starting to sound strained.

"I wouldn't be able to read it." Ian had, at some point, figured out a system that worked for him. And only him.

"It says I have three sponsored posts to do and half a dozen venues to contact." Ian's been able to parlay his low-level fame into social media deals and solo shows and appearances with other people's bands, and there's a little bit of streaming revenue coming in from their World Above stuff. But only a little bit.

"Four," Jayson says without looking up from his book. "Sponsored posts."

"Oh, shit, you're right." Ian scrubs at his forehead. He's still in go-go-go mode, but he's fading, about to crash, his tan skin washing out before Josh's eyes except for where his nose is starting to be rubbed raw.

"And that all has to happen today?" God, he hopes not.

"Well, no. h'TCHIU!" He sniffs and reaches for more tissues. "Not technically."

"Bless you. So it can wait a couple of days?"

Ian shrugs, not meeting his eyes, which in this case is a yes.

"So you should go back to bed."

Ian grumbles unintelligibly. Finley noses his way toward the phone to see what's going on, and Josh has to stop him from licking the screen.

"I don't think your sponsors want someone clearly sick doing their ad reads," he tries.

"Fuck you, I always look good."

Josh rolls his eyes. "You can post reels or whatever from your sickbed. Get plenty of sympathy likes."

"Hey, some people think that's hot." Because Jayson is fully a part of this conversation now, apparently.

Ian's resolve is starting to waver, but he shakes his head firmly. "I can do it."

God, this would be so much easier if he was there. "Ian, I say this with love, stop being so fucking stubborn and just go the fuck back to bed. You need it."

Ian tries to protest some more but just starts coughing instead, and by the time that's over all of his fight is gone. Jayson had gotten up at some point and filled a glass with water, and he hands it to Ian and steers him by the shoulders back toward the stairs.

"I got it, I got it," Ian mumbles, shaking off his hands, and starts slowly climbing the stairs.

"Thanks, Jayson," Josh says, relieved. He gets a salute in return, and then they're alone.

Ian's breathing heavily by time he gets to the top of the stairs, and his nose is running, and it almost looks like he's starting to shiver. He shuts his door behind him and curls up under the covers, eyes barely open.

"Josh?" A little shaky.

"Yeah."

"I don't feel good."

Gentle: "I know. I'm sorry. Do you want to take anything, or just go to sleep?"

Ian nods, which Josh takes to mean the second option, but doesn't close his eyes.

"Here. Hang out with Finn for a while." He turns the phone around so Ian can see Finley lapping up water across the room, and then back to himself when Finn spots the invitation and pushes his way past the coffee table to nestle between Josh's legs, wagging his tail even though there's not really enough room and licking the screen before Josh can stop him.

"Puppy kisses," Ian says, hoarse and vague.

"Puppy kisses," Josh agrees, wiping the slobber from the screen. "Everything else can wait, okay?"

"Okay," Ian whispers.

Josh scratches Finn behind the ears and nods. "Everything else can wait."

[pennyserenade]

THE EXPERIMENT 

pairing: joel fleischman x original female character, joel fleischman x unnamed ofc  rating: e (explicit, 18+)  tags: explicit, voyeurism, female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving), light praise, little bit of male sub, light dirty talk, consent is given at all times but sometimes it not explicitly spoken, a little of a prudish sex thing going on but it doesn’t have any basis in religion and isn’t really accusing, doctor/patient relationship (but is that really unethical if there’s only one doctor in the whole town? i mean, logically that’s bound to happen. i’ll leave this question of ethics up to you, though). word count: 8.7k+ (i wish i had words to explain this)  summary: joel & ofc decide to explore the bounds of female sexuality & anatomy professionally, but find that maybe they want to explore something a little personal, too.  a/n: well, they don’t call it the last frontier for nothing, do they? this was definitely a product of a mild case of insanity & too much self-indulgence. so i guess happy women’s history month to me. (also if you’re thinking: part one? is there going to be more? that’s up to destiny. i’m a mere helpless bystander at this point). also, also: here is a playlist/soundtrack for this story, just for your consideration. 

study one, part one: simply irresistible  

Don’t marry the first man you break the bed with. It will set you up for a lifetime of mediocrity. 

The sound of her grandmother’s voice, heeding that exact warning, had been the reason she had agreed to do the study with Joel. At the age of nineteen she had married the man she had metaphorically broken the bed with and now at the age of twenty-five she lived in the small town of Cicely, one divorce down and a lifetime of mediocrity coming up on the horizon. 

The thought of it scared her senseless. 

She was still young, pretty, full of ambition. Points Fleischman had been made sure to emphasize that one night in the Brick, when the barstool conversation about self pleasure between Chris and the two of them had formed into something more substantial. They had drifted away from the erotic nature of the topic and had found themselves in the clinical, academic side of it, comparing thoughts on published literature and personal theories about sexuality. While Chris had tapped out halfway through, claiming he found talking too much about sex took the soul from it, she and Joel had doubled down. At one point she had remarked that women weren’t thought of in the medical field, not really, and told Joel if he really wanted to do something of importance, he’d tell all of his Ivy league doctor friends in New York to look into it. The bright idea came to him almost instantly as the words left her mouth.  

It took him a week and a half, but eventually after enough of his convincing and her grandmother’s voice in the back of her head, she had agreed. “For the advancement of science,” she had told him one fateful afternoon, “nothing more, nothing less.”

He had beamed at the news and remarked, “Of course! I see you in a purely professional manner—just a fellow academic looking to travel the unbeaten paths of female sexuality with me. It’ll be great.”

The paths were not exactly unbeaten — the ‘60s and ‘70s had been a wonderful time for exploration, Joel had discovered by himself — but they certainly weren’t as smooth as they could be. She was happy to do her part, and happy to be occupied with something more than work at the café and nights at the bar and the impending doom of her future at large.

“Doesn’t it worry you?” Shelly asked, sitting down a plate of eggs in front of her. “The idea of Dr. Fleischman seeing all of your…well, you know?”

“He’s seen yours hasn’t he?” she asked, grabbing the salt shaker off the table and coating her eggs.

“Well, sure, but not like that. Only men I’ve really liked have seen me like that.” Shelly thought for a moment. “Do you like Dr. Fleischman like that? I suppose it would make sense if you did. He’s kind of cute but too young for me.”

“No, of course not. Joel’s too…Joel. Neurotic. Kind of mean. But also-“ she pointed her fork in Shelly’s direction for emphasis “-our doctor. It’s one thing to do this for science and entire thing to do it for personal pleasure.”

Shelly frowned. “I never thought of it like that. Poor Dr. Fleischman, no wonder he’s so high strung most of the time. I’d be angry too if I couldn’t sleep with anyone. You’re going to let him, though, for the study I mean?”

Too stunned to speak, she blinked.

Shelly colored. “Oh I thought—well, Chris said this morning on the radio that you were. Or would. But I guess maybe he could’ve been wrong.”

“Chris in the Morning?” she shrieked. “I was wondering why everyone kept looking at me like that when I was shopping at Ruth-Anne’s this morning! Just take the eggs, Shelly; I’m sick.”

Remorsefully, Shelly took the plate off the table. “If it makes you feel any better, Chris said he thought you and Dr. Fleischman were well qualified for the study, and you had everyone’s vote of confidence in the bar this morning. We never knew who had a degree in psychology.”

“Well there’s not much to do with a bachelor’s degree in psychology, even in the well populated parts of the United States, believe it or not. Here it really means next to nothing.” Laying her head down on the cold surface of the table, she mumbled, “Has Joel been in today? I don’t think I can see him until later. This is mortifying and I’m 99 percent sure he was the one who told Chris.”

“Well…” Shelly said nervously.

“What?”

“Hi, Shelly.”

She heard Joel’s voice coming closer. Her stomach twisted as she raised her head and saw him approaching, wearing a too bright disposition.

“Hi, Joel, would you like some eggs?” Shelly offered as he pulled out a chair. “She can’t eat them on the account that you’ve made her sick.”

Joel frowned. “Me? What in the world have I done? I just got here! I’ve been to no other place besides my home this morning.”

“You’re telling the whole town everything,” she whispered harshly. When he perked an eyebrow, confused, she added, “That I’m gonna sleep with you!”

Shelly shifted awkwardly. “I think I’m gonna go put these back in the kitchen while you look at the menu, Joel.”

Joel scoffed, ignoring Shelly. “I detest that,” he began, “I mean, really. You know how this town gets and your immediate thought is that I’m the one who’s the problem? I’m a professional and even if we are in the middle of nowhere, I still abide by a code of conduct. I could have accused you of the same thing, but I didn’t because I’m not insane. God knows where they get the information they do.”

“You’ve already ruined my breakfast and now you’re ruining my morning,” she huffed. Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, she made to leave.  

“Wait, wait,” he said, grabbing his own coat and chasing after her. He followed her to the door and opened it. She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling the stares of everyone turn towards them.

“Go back,” she told him sternly.

“I will not. We’ve got some things to discuss before tonight anyways, and I think it’s silly that you’re angry at me.” He waved his hand in the direction of the door, smiling with that stupid glint in his eyes—so self satisfied. “Come on. It’s going to be very awkward tonight if we begin like this.”

The outside air was chilly as they exited the bar. She pulled her gloves out of her coat and squinted against the morning sun. “What more could you possibly want to ask me?” She delivered the words sharply.

Joel didn’t let her defeat his mood. He nearly skipped beside her, hands in his pockets. “Oh, simple questions but ones I think would be better if I asked you in the confines of my office, given the way you’re reacting to this.”

“I don’t want to be a town spectacle, Joel, is that so hard to understand?”

“No, of course not, but you’ve got to know by now anything is a town spectacle in Cicely. And besides, who cares? This is for science. It’s honorable. We could even win awards for this.” She scoffed beside him and he buckled down, serious. “No, I mean truly. You know for the first time in a long time I woke up and felt like I’m doing something that matters? I’m on top of the world right now!”

“I’m honored you think so highly of the prospect of watching me touch myself,” she told him dryly. Surprisingly it earned her a laugh. He really was in a good mood—an impossibly good mood. Despite herself, she found herself fighting off a small grin at the sight of him.

He held the door open for her when they made it to his office. Marilyn sat at her desk as usual, knitting.

“Hello,” Marilyn greeted warmly.

“Hello,” she responded, the anger disappearing completely from her tone. “What are you making?”

Marilyn held up the fabric. “A sweater.”

“It looks very nice.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

Joel maneuvered behind her and moved towards Marilyn’s desk. “Listen, Marilyn, I want to make sure you don’t let anyone come back. Not at all. This is going to be a private appointment.”

“Should I lock up and go home?” Marilyn asked, not looking up from her stitch work.

“No, not that kind of personal,” Joel responded. “I conduct my own studies at my own facilities. It’s just a matter of privacy.”

Marilyn nodded. “Alright,” was her plain, unbothered response.

Joel’s office was as bare and as ugly as the last time she had seen it. That unappealing green shade they’d put on the walls had begun to peel, and that stupid New Yorker poster hanging behind his desk didn’t add much warmth to the environment. It served much of the same purpose that the calendar in the lobby did: his reminder to the town that his days in Cicely were numbered.

“You should really decorate or paint or something. This isn’t comforting at all. There’s no life,” she told him, taking a seat.

“As much as I appreciate your constructive criticism, I didn’t bring you here for your opinion on the decor.” Joel shuffled around in his bag, before bringing out a leather bound folder. “I brought you here for this.”

He handed her the paper out of it.

“What’s that?”

“Questions and consent.” Joel sat in his office chair. “I want you to know that this is likely to get a little awkward for the both of us, and that’s okay. I’m going to ask you vulnerable questions and you’re allowed to ask me vulnerable questions too. I’ll answer all of them.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, nerves beginning to fill her. He smiled softly — too kind. “Stop that,” she told him.

“What?”

“Just be normal.”

“Nothing about what we are going to do is normal. I’m just trying to make you comfortable.”

“Well it’s having the opposite effect.”

Joel ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath in. “You can’t possibly be this difficult the entire night. Stop being so defensive. I’ve seen you naked before.”

“That’s not why I’m being defensive! I’m just nervous,” she confessed, frowning. “I haven’t—I don’t know. This is so weird.”

“That’s why I’m going to ask you these questions. They’re about your—your, you know, comfort. Questions pertaining to what makes you feel good and what I can do to ensure that this study replicates a normal session for you.”

She glanced down at it. Questions like “Do you reach orgasm mostly from vaginal or clitoral stimulation?” and “How many times a week do you self pleasure?” popped out at her. Warily, she looked up at Joel.

He set his own page down and took off his reading glasses. “Listen, if this is too much, we don’t have to do it. I mean it. I’ll just find someone else. It’ll be okay. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I want to! It’s just odd. I…It would be different if maybe we’d, you know…but we haven’t.”

Joel considered that. “Do you think it makes that much of a difference that we aren’t sexual partners?”

“No,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Maybe. I don’t know. I just feel like you’ve got an unfair advantage over me at the moment. Like you’ve seen me naked and you’re going to see me…you know, but I don’t even, like, know your full name.”

“Joel Haim Fleischman.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you wanted to be serious.”

“I’m trying to help you. You said you didn’t know, so I told you. Ask more questions. Anything.”

“Like about how you…you know?” She quirked an eyebrow and made a lewd gesture that made him grin widely.

He nodded. “If you want. I think that’s fair.”

She nodded firmly. “How do you, then?”

The old office chair creaked as he leaned back and tapped his pencil against his lap. It was a nervous habit, but he didn’t look nervous. Oddly enough — being as he was Joel — she figured this sort of thing would’ve discomforted him more than it did her. But he seemed at ease, professional.

“I have these magazines,” he told her plainly. “Standard stuff, Playboy and a few lingerie catalogs. I sit in my bed and I look at them for a little while, and I touch myself.”

“Like how?”

Joel raised his eyebrows. “Like…explicitly?”

“Yes. That’s only right. You said so yourself.”

They looked at each other for a moment before he swallowed and continued. “I…Well,” he laughed nervously, bringing himself closer to the desk now. “I have lube that I keep in my nightstand and I take some of it out. I put a decent amount in my hand and I—well, you know. I usually do it quickly and a little rough.” A blush spread across his cheeks but he worked hard to conceal the fact that he was growing unnerved. He didn’t move his eyes from hers. “What about you? Do you use magazines?”

“No. Sometimes I use erotic novels but mostly I use my own imagination.” She looked down at the paper in her hand. The questions seemed so…intimate. When he started writing on the paper, she looked back up. “What are you writing?”

“What you said.” Joel put his glasses back on. “Do you have a recurring fantasy or a scenario you go back to?”

She shifted in the chair. “There‘s a few. Do I have to describe them to you?”

“No, but it would be helpful if you could briefly talk about why these scenarios turn you on.”

She felt herself heat. “The control,” she answered meekly. “I…in my scenarios, I’m being managed. Not tossed around or roughed up, but you know, sort of bossed around. But nicely.”

Joel remained stoic as he scribbled more words into his page. “Do you use toys?”

“Sometimes a vibrator.”

“Do you penetrate yourself?”

“Oh my god. It’s barely 10:30.”

He looked up at her, hardly concealing his grin. “What? This is a basic questioning that I’ve drawn up from real, actual studies women have done before. Is there a better way you’d like me to phrase that?”

“I don’t do that. I mean. Not really. I mean, only once or twice but it’s not preferred when it’s just me.”

“Clitoral stimulation mostly then?” She nodded. “Okay. And you’re not allergic to latex?”

“Like condoms?” Joel nodded. “No.”

“And you’re still on the birth control? The pills?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t missed a day?”

“No.” She leaned over the desk to look at his writing. “You’re writing an awful lot there.” He nodded his head in agreement but didn’t explain.

Joel finished writing the last of his thoughts and then he leaned back again in his creaking office chair. He looked none the worse for having asked her those things, completely and totally unbothered. He could be unnerved, though; she saw it in those brief moments he had to talk about himself.

Strangely she wanted to see more of it. It went straight to her core, the idea of him laying there on his bed, looking at those nude magazines. Maybe even moaning a little lewdly. Did he moan? Whimper? She knew she could ask and he would answer.

She became embarrassed when she caught his eyes. “I better go. I’ve got things to do before you come over tonight.”

“But we didn’t discuss what we’re going to be doing.”

She stood from her chair. “You’re going to watch me. There, we discussed it.”

“But you haven’t signed the consent form!” He waved the paper in the air as she tried to make her escape.

She leaned forward to steal the pencil he had been holding. Quickly she scribbled her name on the dotted line. “Better?”

Joel inspected her through narrowed eyes. “You sure you’re going to be okay with this?”

“Positive. See you then, buddy.”

Buddy?

She was losing her goddamn mind.

——————

Torture. It was positively, without a doubt, torture.

After she had left Joel, she had spent the better part of the day absorbed in her own thoughts. Nervously she had made and re-made her bed. She had cleaned the house obsessively. She had tried on different outfits. Skirts and dresses and then plain blue jeans with simple sweaters. Then she decided on no clothes, only underwear. Then she tried on every undergarment she owned. Black lacy bras with black, lacy underwear; then plain white bras with plain white underwear; and then every other combination in between. Finally she had decided on the lingerie set that she had ordered a few months back.

It was a gift to herself to feel better about the fact that she was wasting away at the age of twenty-five in a little town she had to tell people was ‘someplace close to Anchorage’ just to save herself from the ‘Oh I don’t know where that is’ conversation.

The set had been too expensive considering the impressive lack of fabric, but she had never owned something so pretty before. The bra was strapless, sheer on the sides with intricate, see-through white lace covering the cups, and the matching underwear had the same sheer lace everywhere, except the crotch area. A white silk stripe of fabric covered the area in the middle there, leaving something to the imagination. It had also come with a white garter belt and stockings, but she chose not to wear those. After all, the set had been for her, not Dr. Joel Fleischman, M.D.

Even if she was dressing for Joel — though she wasn’t, truly — then so what? She had suffered enough. Maybe he was neurotic and on the whole not incredibly personable, but he had graduated from Columbia, making him a successful person. Plus, she was pretty sure that he knew where the clit was and that was more than she could say about the two other men she had slept with. And there had also been the way he had sat in the office chair and asked her those questions, almost completely unbothered. And the way he had confessed how he had touched himself. How he had emphasized rough…

She frowned. Maybe she could admit, just a little bit, that she wouldn’t mind if Joel happened to find her attractive. But that wasn’t a crime—it was almost more helpful. They had agreed, if this session worked, that they would conduct further research. Research done together. He had spelled it all out for her, in medical terms, of course: start with self pleasure; move to cunnilingus, perhaps paired with digital penetration (this, he had to explain, was what people referred to as ‘fingering’); and then end with coitus. A simple three to four week plan, if they found themselves comfortable enough. If she found herself comfortable enough.

God only knew she wanted—no, needed—to get comfortable. That New Yorker, fish-out-of-water business Joel had going for him paled in comparison to the existential crisis she had coming up. At least he knew he had his water when this was all over with. She hadn’t the faintest idea where she was headed.

———-

He came bearing gifts. Well, a gift, that was more a gift to him than it was to her.

She handed him a wine glass from the cabinet and he took it with a sheepish grin. “I forgot,” he told her honestly, opening the top of the bottle. “I wouldn’t have brought it if I remembered that you couldn’t have it. Your nerves got me nervous today, you know? I was just trying to think of ways to make you feel better.”

If she wasn’t so nervous still, maybe she’d find some humor in the sentence. But she was still nervous. Increasingly nervous. “Ha,” she managed. She tightened white silk robe around her body and turned around to get a glass of water for herself.

Joel moved up beside her, pushing his glass of wine in front of her. “Maybe just a little won’t hurt. But just a little.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I don’t want to interfere with the results.”

“You’re so nervous. That’s going to mess with the results worse than a sip of alcohol will.”

She pushed it away from her, looking away from him. She focused on the clean kitchen sink—how the light made the bottom of it shimmer. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Do you find me attractive?”

“Well…” he laughed nervously. “I’m not sure we should be having this conversation right now.”

She looked at him. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I asked you to do this. I would never…I consider this a purely professional conquest.”

“So if I wanted to kiss me, you would?”

Joel licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed. “I…Would it make you feel more comfortable?”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if I wanted you to kiss me, would you?”

He inspected her face. “Yes,” he replied seriously.

Up close like this, she could smell him. He smelt like soap and fresh laundry; clean but not overly scented. Doctor-like. The outside clanged to him too, but just a little; it was the scent of the frost that came off of people whenever they stepped in from the cold, nothing offensive.

His face was more visible than usual like this, too. She noticed he had a scar that ran from the bottom of his cheek to the place just before his chin began. It was a prominent straight line, something she was surprised to have never noticed before. And then there was his nose, which she had noticed, but had never really admired. It was really very nice, long, sloped, and bulbed at the end.

“You have a nice nose,” she complimented, reaching out to touch it. Her finger traced down the slope and he laughed self-consciously, shaking her hand away. “No, really. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Oh, sure. Nadine Fleischman.”

“Mother?” she asked. Joel nodded his head. It made her grin. “She seems like a wise woman. Does she know you’re doing this?”

Joel brought the wine up to his lips. “This?” He motioned between the two of them. “Of course not. She would be strongly against this. If all goes well, I’ll just have to think of something to tell her. What about you? Do your parents know?”

“No. I don’t tell them what they don’t ask and they don’t ask much.” She shrugged. Placing the glass in the sink, she turned to face him. “I bet your parents are really proud of you.”

“Well, I try my best to make them proud. I’m sure yours are proud too, though. I mean, not every woman can pack up and move to the middle of nowhere by herself. That takes a certain amount of bravery.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We’re not all Maggie O’Connells here. I don’t have my own airplane and I think my move was more an act of cowardice. I wanted to get away from civilization for a little while.”

Joel clicked his tongue. “C’mon, you’re being too hard on yourself. Cicely and her lover Roslyn came here looking for the same exact thing, and you wouldn’t consider them cowards, would you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly an explorer, either.”

“But you are!” He beamed, catching his stride with this pep-talk. “I mean look at you. We’re moments away from conducting a study that could do some very serious good for the scientific and medical communities. And you brought it to my attention! Me, the one who went to Columbia. I know maybe that isn’t something you can report back to your parents about, but it certainly is something to be personally proud of. And I chose you for a reason, you know?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she teased, “It had nothing to do with the population size and the fact that I’m currently one of the only unwed and single women in the area?”

Joel tilted his hand side to side, playing along. “Only partially. Mostly though, it’s because you're intelligent. I never wanted to just watch you, and I still don’t. I want to be co-collaborators with you. I think that your input on this project will be almost more beneficial than your, you know, input.” He took another sip of his wine, smiling down at it. “Truthfully, if I thought there were more women in Cicely willing to do this, I wouldn’t have asked you to be my subject at all. But I would’ve still asked you to help me. And I mean that.”

She smiled softly at him. “Thank you, Joel,” she said, trying not to sound so affected. Then, finally: “I think I’m ready whenever you are.”

———

Her bedroom wasn’t overly frivolous: she had a sizable bed, a closet, her dresser, a nightstand, and a single, old wooden desk that sat to the right of the doorway. The desk and dresser had come with the house. The only piece of decor on her walls was a medium size poster that hung over the bed to make up for the lack of a proper headboard. In it, Bob Dylan and Joan Baez stood by another poster that read “Protest Against The Rising Tide of Conformity.” It had been something she had obtained and college and never got rid of. In many ways, she felt it was the only thing in the world that was really hers.

Of course, Joel found this amusing almost as soon as he had seen it.

“Robert Zimmerman,” he shook his head ruefully, “He’s one of me, you know?”

“What, Jewish?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of ironic that he’d stand in front of a poster like that with a name like Bob Dylan, don’t you think?”

“I never really thought about it. It's funny that you mention that, though, because she’s one of me.”

Joel looked over at her, puzzled. “What, an independent woman?”

She shook her head, laughing. “A Mexican, Joel.”

“No kidding.” He perked out his bottom lip, genuinely surprised.

“My father isn’t very dark,” she said in way of an explanation. “We come in different shades, believe it or not. Her father must’ve been darker. Or her mother. I don’t know. Aside from the fact that she’s a Mexican, I don’t know much else.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“Did I ask you if you spoke Yiddish?” she snapped back.

He narrowed his eyes, smiling drooping. “Is this a cruel to be kind thing you’ve got going on? You’re like Jekyll and Hyde today. Worse, maybe.”

Shamed filled her. “I know,” she admitted quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit of bitch sometimes.”

He considered her for a moment. “It’s okay, I guess. My professional diagnosis is still a bad case of nerves. I trust that if they worsen you’ll tell me, because I don’t want to do this if you feel uncomfortable.“

“I don’t feel nervous, though! Not as much as before, anyways.”

“Good. There’s nothing to be nervous about. But if you do—know that consent form was merely something that said you consented to the results of the study being published, not the study being conducted. I’d never make you sign something like that with this. I want us to trust each other.”

“Thank you. I’m fine, though.” She took a seat on her bed. “What’d you bring in the bag?”

He sat the black backpack that hung across his shoulder on the desk and began to extract the items from it, one by one. “This—“ he held up a clipboard, “Is the paper I’ll use to record the results. I’ll write how long it takes for you to come to an orgasm, the ways in which you do it, what you use. You know.”

Listening, she laid back on the mattress. She allowed the robe–which she had made sure was fastened tightly around her the entire time–to slip open, revealing a good portion of herself to the air. Joel paused for a second, taking her in, before going back to the bag. She was flattered by the hazy nature he delivered the rest of the tutorial in, as if he was only half there, distracted.

“Does that all make sense?” he asked at the end. “I’ll use the timer to time you, and you’ll tell me when you’re, you know, orgasming? It’s pretty simple.” He made intentional eye contact with her.

“Makes perfect sense,” she told him, drumming her fingers alongside her abdomen.

“Right. So I’ll just—“ He pulled the seat out from the desk and grabbed the pencil and clipboard. Joel nodded towards her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The slightly unnerved nature of him made her feel less intimidated. Watching him squirm, trying to avoid looking at her body—she liked that. She wanted to know that he could be made just as vulnerable—that she wasn’t the only one who felt nervous and anxious.

They maintained careful eye contact as she discarded the rest of the robe onto the floor, and continued to maintain it as she pushed herself up to the pillows. It seemed like he was almost scared to look lower.

“Joel?” she asked, sitting up on her forearms.

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me?”

“Right now?”

She nodded her head.

“Would it make you more comfortable?”

“I think it would make both of us more comfortable.”

He smiled timidly before setting his clipboard down.

As Joel took off his shoes and tugged his tie loose at the end of the bed, her heart pounded against her rib cage fiercely, just desperate to jump out of her. It wanted to find some relief in a body that didn’t make it work overtime. Someone who was a little wiser with it.

“Is it alright if I keep my clothes on?” he asked, fingers still playing with his patterned tie. “I can take them off if you want. I once had a girlfriend who wouldn’t let me in her bed unless I changed or got out of my clothes, so if that’s a problem—“

“You’re fine,” came her quiet response.

The bed dipped under the weight of him and she felt the warm feel on his fingers brushing against her ankle. It was obvious by the way he looked at her, brows creased, asking silently whether he was allowed to do that—to touch her—that he hadn’t meant to. She nodded her head.

The gesture made her relax on the mattress.

Joel moved his fingers from her ankle and situated himself nearer to her, at the pillows. Awkwardly he attempted to make sense of their positions — her on one side of the bed, lying on her back, him at the other, practically on his knees. She found confidence in his lack of confidence, grabbing the sides of his open green cardigan and pulling him towards her.

At first he kissed her hesitantly, pecking once, then twice, each time keeping his eyes open and alert, watching her. After a bit, he began to realize that there was no protest waiting to rise up in her throat—that she was not just doing this for his benefit. Joel pressed his lips fully to hers after that. They were soft and warm, plush as he used them to map out her own mouth. He tasted like wine and mint gum, and was perfectly okay with what he did not know. He treated it like it was—a first—and it made her appreciate him all the more for it.

Sometimes - most of the time - men never did firsts like they should be done. They wanted to be experts, wanted to prove they were capable. Joel took no interest in that. He hovered over her, trying to understand before he moved. Even his hands remained respectful, just barely brushing over her back.

As the kiss became more heated, both of them began to lose their previous reservations. Joel’s body molded into hers; one of his arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her closer, and she placed one of her bare thighs between his legs. Beneath his dress shirt she could feel the outline of his frame, surprisingly hard and muscular. His nose brushed against hers as he moved his head to kiss her more deeply and she let him enter her mouth with his tongue, meeting it with her own for a moment.

When he accidentally brushed his hands over her breast, trying to re-situate, she mewled into his mouth. Joel parted from her, eyes at first remorseful, but that went as quickly as it had come when he looked down at her. Her eyes told him all he needed to know. Joel stared down between their bodies and she knew what he was looking at: the way her nipples had hardened beneath the white lace of her bra. It made her feel good, warm. Wet. She took his hand in her own, guiding him back to her breast.

He went slack jawed for a second, before coming to his senses. “Are you—oh, God.” He said, wearing a strained smile. “I hate to ask this now, but do you think maybe you’re ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

They kissed once more, more messy and less calculated than the attempts before. She tugged at the ends of his hair and he groped at her still covered breast, his warm palm scraping against her nipple. She moaned and he sucked at the end of her tongue after she had pressed it into his mouth with small kitten licks. Strings of saliva hung off their connected lips when they separated again, and he half grinned, breathing heavier beside her. “You’re going to do great,” he whispered softly.

The trip back to the chair was an arduous one he scarcely survived, almost tripping over the blankets and then his own two feet. When he sat back down, the sight of him made her laugh heartily; his mussed up hair, his red, swollen lips, the dazed look in his eyes. He laughed too.

“Put on those eyeglasses, Fleischman, and then I’ll start.”

Joel hummed, amused, but did as she said. The eyeglasses he wore every day sat on his nose and he watched, both expectant and—if she didn’t know better—she might dare to say excited. He leaned forth in the chair, licking his lips. No longer did he fear looking lower.

“Maybe, uh—“ He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “—take your underwear off? You don’t have to, but for the sake of, you know, me seeing everything, I think that would…you know.”

“Right.” She lifted her hips off the mattress and shimmed out of the nearly sheer underwear she had taken so much time choosing. Her left foot pushed them down her leg, to her ankle. With an amused grin, she tossed them in Joel’s direction. He caught them, shaking his head.

“I think you’re liable to be a lot of trouble for me, you know?”

“Is that right?” she cooed, opening her legs. The cool breeze in the room made goosebumps form on her flesh. His dark eyes drank her in.

“You’re not supposed to be cuming for me,” he told her, his voice low, seductive. “Cum like you might usually, as if I weren’t here. Close your eyes, lean back on the pillow. Think of your fantasies. Men who are a little rough… but nice.”

She let his voice guide her, shut her eyes, pressed her body back against the mattress. Her fingers strummed lightly alongside the inside of her thighs, teasing the area. She could hear the scrapping of his pencil against the clipboard when she did, and wondered what it was he wrote as her hands zeroed in closer to her core. She knew he didn’t want her to cum for him, but he never did say not to cum thinking of him.

After teasing her legs, two of her fingers began to massage her center, pulling her lips apart, and then running over them gently, up and down, up and down, not yet sliding a finger in to feel the slick she was certain had already gathered there. She began to feel the stirrings of her desire, warming her inside out, from the top of her head, to the bottom of her feet. It was electric. She felt like if he pressed her finger to her clit right now, she’d cum in a second. So she didn’t

She pressed a finger between her folds, allowing herself a little more sensation; she ran it up and down just like before, this time gathering up the wetness, taking it up nearly to the point of her clit, but stopping just short of it. It was a torturous act of self restraint, but she had learned from experience that it welcomed a more fulfilling orgasm–like denying herself it for too long only made it build up with more fury.

She began to think of Joel again. Thought of his nose, how the tip of it would feel as it scraped against her swollen clit, his tongue lapping the juices between her legs. How his fingers would press into the flesh of her thighs, tight, holding them apart. The lewd sounds of his tongue pressed to her cunt as he drew an orgasm from her, sucking her the way he had with her tongue, taking and taking and taking until she was nothing but a shaking mess in his arms.

She could feel her slickness more prominently between her legs now. Knew that Joel, who sat across from her, watching, could probably see it drip down her cunt—could maybe even see it glisten on her fingers as she ran them up and down and finally, remorsefully, letting two of them circle her own clit. She pressed down hard, her knees fighting to draw inward, and her one free hand clutching desperately to the pillow her head laid on.

She began to moan more openly than she usually allowed herself to, unashamed by it in a way she couldn’t bring herself to be in normal circumstances. The pressure was building up rapidly behind her clit and her body was begging for release, shaking ever so slightly. She thought of his mouth, how hot and wet it’d be, thought about how he’d run his tongue up and down her folds and maybe if she asked him—or better yet, maybe even if she didn’t—he’d poke the tip of it inside of her, filling her with him, before lapping her up greedily. How he’d pinch her nipple between his fingers and tell her how good she was doing-

“Oh Joel,” she moaned, “Joel—I’m—I’m cumming.”

She rode herself out until she felt it was all done—without bringing herself to another orgasm—and then she crashed back onto the mattress. She breathed fast, spent and electrified all at once. Staring up at the ceiling, she grinned.

That had been one of the best orgasms of her life.

“Do you mind if I say something mildly inappropriate?” Joel asked, his voice tight. She glanced up at him. He looked amazed.

“Go for it, Doctor.”

“That was the hottest thing a woman has ever done in front of me. God, you—“ He ran his hands through his already unruly hair, leaning back in his chair. He wore a faint grin. “I’m a proud Jewish man, don’t get me wrong, but if you were a religion I think I’d be converted.”

She laughed. “How long?”

“Hm?” he asked, eyebrows drawn up.

“How long did it take me to orgasm?”

“Oh.” He came to, remembering himself. He looked down at the paper.  “A minute and thirty seconds. Is that usual?”

“Probably. I don’t know. Maybe a little shorter.”

Joel jotted that on the paper. Without looking up he said, “Do you mind if I ask you what you thought about while you did it?”

She propped her head up on her hand. “Is it a professional or personal question, Dr. Fleischman?” she said, toeing the line between flirtatious and serious.

Smirking, he replied, “Let’s say both.”

“I thought of you.”

His cheeks heated, but it was obvious that fact flattered him; he sat straighter in the chair and he grinned. He also found it in himself to be brave enough to ask, “What about me? Was I like the other guys you think about?”

She inspected him, saw the glint in his eye and the visible tent his cock had made, even despite the dark color of his pants. “Do you like being talked to through masturbation, Dr. Fleischman?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Well, I don’t know, I’ve never tried it before.”

She bit her lip, debating her next words.

On one hand she very much wanted Joel to come undone in front of her. It was obvious the thought of it was killing him too, making him tense. He watched her expectantly, sitting in that chair, clutching that clipboard so hard it practically made his knuckles white.

But on the other hand, she wondered what this would do to them outside of the bedroom. Her relationship with him had bordered on friendly before, but would it stay that way if they crossed the threshold from professional to self indulgent? She really did need this study more than he would ever know–more for herself than anything.  He had been so kind the entire time, though–reassuring and soft, patient and understanding. There had been nothing they had done so far that he hadn’t asked permission for. And he was just Joel. Though there were times he could border on asshole territory, he never flung himself into it—especially not at the moments that mattered. She believed him to be good, someone she might have really liked if she met him on the street somewhere.

Drawing herself up on her forearms, she decided.

“Did that make you hard?” Her words practically dripped in sex. It had been so long since she had done something like this. But she knew it was right, felt it in the way he regarded her with that astounded, half surprised, half unbelieving look.

He tossed the clipboard to the ground. “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me,” he joked, fingers resting on his thighs.

She pulled herself closer to him, slowly, scooting just an inch down the bed. Getting on her knees, she reached behind her and unclipped her bra. “Am I? What would you know,” She shrugged, smirking.

He looked like he was about to faint from joy. “Oh my God,” he grinned. “Jesus, I never—you know, you think about this sort of thing happening but you never really expect it. This is the stuff of wet dreams. The stuff that only happens in the movies. Oh my God.” He tugged his tie looser.

“Joel?”

“Yes?”

She crawled a few inches closer, stopping at the end of the bed. “Shut up and undo your belt,” she whispered.

He nodded eagerly, fingers pulling at the leather. The sound of the metal clanking filled her with anticipation. She bit at her lip, watching him. Joel looked up at her in the eyes and they shared something silently for a moment. It was an agreement, a pact. It said: this part is for us.

“Take yourself out. You got to see me. I want to see you.”

He unzipped himself slowly, practicing more self control than she thought he’d be able to. Maintaining eye contact with her, he reached into his underwear. Joel opened his mouth, a moan escaping as he rested his cock against his palm. She grinned. He didn’t move, didn’t even try to offer himself any relief. The shaft was already leaking, beads of pre-cum glistening the head.

In an odd way, this made her feel more womanly than she had in a very long time. Maybe in ever. The way he looked at her, eyes so full of want; the way he let her say and do whatever she wanted; the way he listened without question, like he trusted her – it made her feel wanted, needed..

“I know I said masturbation, but do you mind if…Well, I want to put my mouth on you.” She bit at her lip. “Can I do that?”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he told her, exasperated. “Don’t you know that? Look at you.”

Joel made room between his legs for her body and she got on her knees. He took her head between his hands, smiling. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked her softly. She nodded, reaching forward to take him in her hand.

“Oh,” he moaned, face contorting with pleasure. His hands moved to the back of her head, entangling with her hair, and she leaned forward. Experimentally she licked the top of his shaft, her tongue flat. He ever so slightly thrusted his hips forward at the contact, laughing mutedly once she pulled back to look up at his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost inaudibly. He moved a piece of her hair back away from her face. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that—“

She cut him off, leaning forward again. Her tongue licked the underside of his cock slowly, following a vein up to the top where she sucked lightly, teasingly, at his tip. He worked hard not to rut his hips, his hands tugging a little on her hair, and she opened her mouth, taking him in. She tasted him on her tongue; this wasn’t the wine or the mint of his lips or the clean of his body; it was salty and purely him.

She licked a ring around his head before going down, wetting more of his cock. As she began to take him deeper, testing both him and herself, she found that was more apt at this than she thought; nearly the entirety of him fit in her mouth. Joel’s fingers tugged at her hair when she went back up, doing his best to stay still.

They looked at each other when she sucked at his tip again. It was a marvel to her how pain and pleasure looked so alike, but she found there was a definite difference when he groaned through gritted teeth and told her, “You’re taking me so well.”

The praise settled directly between her thighs. She took him fully in her mouth again and let her own moans vibrate against his cock as she slid a hand between her legs. Joel’s tugs began to grow a little harsher and she reached her free hand around her head, clinching onto one of the responsible arms.

She began to move faster, bopping on his cock, and his moans became more unmanageable, no longer something he could hold back. They were low, throaty, a product of all of his desires. She moaned against him, her hand beginning to work faster, rubbing tight circles around her clit and he began to draw his hips up to match the rhythm of her movements.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, his grip on her hair loosening. He shuttered, fingers hovering over her shoulders. “I’m gonna cum. Honey, you better—“

She took him deeper, faster, her tongue running alongside the underside of him. Joel groaned deeply, his hips canting. Moments after she came, rubbing her sensitive clit harder, Joel did the same. His hot seed filled her mouth and drew herself off his cock, satisfied.

As she swallowed, he leaned back in the chair, blissed out. He moved the hair from her face again, breathing heavily. Joel smiled at her. “Thank you,” he told her breathily.

Exhausted, he leaned his head against the back of the chair too. He closed his eyes, laughing. Looking up at him, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, surprised at herself. But not ashamed of anything.

That surprised her more than anything: that she could sit here on her knees, between his open legs, naked and vulnerable, and not feel like she had done anything wrong. Joel didn’t make her feel like what she did was wrong; he basked in it. He leaned forward, once he got over the initial surprise, and kissed her on the lips. That too surprised her. She had put her mouth on him and he still wanted to kiss her. She wondered if he tasted himself – if he liked that idea as much as she did. All of the sudden, she had so many questions for him.

She must’ve been looking at him like he was insane, because he said, “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s fine. More than fine.” She grinned. “You…You kissed me.”

“Did you not want me to?”

“No, I did!” she clarified. “I just…I thought men didn’t like that after women went down on them.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.  “I think that’s stupid, don’t you? You just gave me some of the best head I’ve ever had in my life and you swallowed it! You didn’t have to do that.” He shook his head in disbelief. “No way I’m not gonna kiss you. It sorta kills me to think you’ve been with someone who told you that. Going forth, know you shouldn't do that for men who think that.”

“Yeah,” she responded awkwardly, feeling inexperienced suddenly.

Self-consciously she leaned forward and grabbed her underwear from beside the chair. Joel leaned out and touched her. “Hey,” he said softly, “That wasn’t meant as a lecture or anything. I’m just saying. I’m sure many women, just as smart as you, have fallen for that exact same thing.”

“I know.”

He looked at her, frowning. “It’s okay that you don’t know things. There’s things I don’t know–things I wouldn't mind teaching me.” He paused, drawing himself up in the chair. “How about we make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?” she asked, rising from her knees.

“If you still want to continue with this, we can treat it as a learning experience for us both. No judgments, just experimenting after we experiment.”

She laughed, putting one of her legs in the underwear. “I know how to have sex, Fleischman.”

“I know you do – you’ve very much proved that – but it's obvious someone has got you a bit twisted up. I don’t think there's really a stopping point for sexual experimentation, either. Like today–I didn’t know I liked women who were a little dominant, but now I do. That’s the stuff you learn.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“I’m being 100 percent truthful and I don’t feel self conscious about admitting that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I worked hard in med school and up until a bit ago, I was with the same woman for a very long time. It’s a simple truth that I have very few notches in my bed post, but I’m not opposed to learning. This whole thing–it could be for you and me as much as for the whole world. We’ll just have a little something for us when we’re done with what we need to do each week. What do you say?”

She considered it, walking around the bed to retrieve the bra. What the hell? she thought.

“Okay,” she told him.

His nose crinkled when he smiled. “That’s the spirit. You wanna get coffee with me in the morning?”

“I think I just want to be your friend right now.”

“That’s okay, but it doesn’t answer the question.”

She paused. “You weren’t asking me out?”

“No, just coffee. Friendly coffee. You can even pay for your own, if it means that much to you.” He leaned forward and grabbed the clipboard off the ground, putting it on the desk.

She was being too cynical.

She smiled. “No, it’s okay. You can pay, what with you having doctor’s wages and all.”

“Oh, thanks, you’re a real pal.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, looking at him. She smiled sincerely.“You are too.”

And for the first time since she had moved to Cicely, she felt she truly had something. Lots of somethings. Coffee in the morning and Joel and this, whatever this was.

It was as life was saying: Fish with no water, meet the sea.

[liamhaydn-blog]

The Madness of Manchester City

The Treble

On Saturday the 10th of June Manchester City became just the second English team ever to achieve the treble. Though for all intents and purposes, the treble was secured weeks before when Real Madrid was beaten 4-0 at the Etihad, the only team left in their path with the tournament pedigree to believe they could beat City, without requiring the miracle Manchester United and Inter Milan would have needed. From that point onwards it always felt like a mere formality. There was an inevitability in the way in which the Manchester City machine motored towards the treble. This was after all the third successive season in which City won the Premier League and reached the Semi-Finals of both the FA Cup and the Champions League. The treble has been within touching distance for quite some time.

And that as much as anything else is perhaps what differentiates this version of the Treble from Manchester United’s of 24 years ago. United went into the 98/99 season trying to wrestle the title back from Double winners Arsenal who were looking to form a dynasty of their own. In Europe, United had been knocked out of the previous year’s Champions League at the Quarter-Final stage by AS Monaco, which represented a backwards step from reaching their first Champions League Semi-Final under Ferguson in 1997.

Both United and City suffered indifferent form by their own differing standards on route to the treble. United won just 9 of their first 19 league games in the first half of the season, drawing 7 and losing 3. In December they won 1 of 8 matches across all competitions, going 6 without a win and winning just 1 of their 6 league games. This had United in 4th place at the end of 1998. Manchester City were also considered to be playing well below their best level, yet they still never dropped points in consecutive league games even once, their worst run of form coming either side of the winter World Cup, when they won 2 of 5 league games, losing 2 of them which represented a crisis for them. Despite Arsenal posting their highest ever points total at the halfway stage of a season with 50, an underperforming City were still only 5 points behind them, with 2 meetings between the sides still to come.

With 8 games to go in 98/99, United led Arsenal by 4 points, however in those last 8 games Ferguson’s side were only able to win 4 of them, none of them back to back. This made for an incredibly tight race which went right to the wire, with momentum swinging back and forth on an almost game-by-game basis. A 1-0 win away at Middlesbrough for United meant that with just 2 games to go they and Arsenal were dead level on not just points, but goal difference as well. United topped the table for having scored more goals, but it was Arsenal who had the superior form having won their last 5, scoring 16 in the process and letting in only 3. 

It was a victory for another United, Leeds over Arsenal which was the key result in the run-in, swinging the momentum back in United’s favour and though it wobbled still with United only managing a draw at Blackburn and then falling a goal behind at home to Spurs on the final day, it remained in United’s hands and they got the job done. A 2-1 win over Spurs secured the first part of the treble, they had bettered Arsenal by a solitary point and as well bettered them on goal difference by a single goal. Incredibly Arsenal conceded just 17 goals all season and managed the exact same total of points as the previous season with 78. Last season it had won them the title by a point and this time they had missed out by a point, the margins could not have been any tighter.

At the beginning of April, City trailed Arsenal by 8 points with 11 games to play, one of them a game in hand. Before City had even notched their 12th successive win of a run that had begun at the back end of February, they had already been declared Champions for the third successive season. The title decider between City and Arsenal proved an epic mis-match, the meeting between the league’s two best teams resulting in a 4-1 win for City, the same margin by which they had earlier that month already beaten the league’s worst side Southampton and aswell City’s toughest and only challengers of the previous 5 years, Liverpool. By this stage City’s superiority over the rest was such that the opponent just did not seem to matter, they were dispatched in exactly the same manner. 

In winning the FA Cup, City did not concede a single goal from open play, a Fernandes penalty in the final proving the only blotch on their copybook. They themselves managed 19 goals across 7 games, reaching the final by scoring 17 and conceding 0. Arsenal were the only side to not concede 3 on City’s route to the final, as they hit Chelsea for 4 and Burnley for 6 in the Quarter-Finals. That United didn’t suffer defeat of a similar margin after falling 1-0 down just 13 seconds into the final (the fastest final goal in FA Cup history) was something of a shock. 

In comparison United of ‘99 were minutes away from exiting the FA Cup at the 4th round stage at home to Liverpool. They had trailed for 85 minutes when with 2 minutes of normal time remaining Yorke equalised. Then deep in stoppage time, United avoided a replay back at Anfield courtesy of a winner from Ole Gunnar Solskjaer. They could not avoid the cup replay in the Quarter-Final against Chelsea, needing a 2-0 win at Stamford Bridge to advance after a scoreless draw at Old Trafford. In the semi-finals against Arsenal, 120 minutes could not separate the sides, so they met back at Villa Park to do it all again 3 days later. Again the game went to Extra-Time, though only after Schmeichel had repelled a Bergkamp penalty which had been awarded late on, but the odds remained against United. They were down to 10 men, without their captain Roy Keane who had been dismissed and were against a team they had failed to beat in their last 6 attempts, 4 of which had taken place that season. 

Then of course Ryan Giggs stepped up and scored the greatest goal of his career at the best possible time to put United into a final they won 2-0 against Newcastle to secure the double. The margins again had been so tight, Bergkamp scoring a penalty and the knock-on effect of Arsenal progressing to the FA Cup final may well have seen them go on to win back-to-back Doubles. As it was, the Double was this time United’s, yet they still wanted more. 

Such has been City’s recent results at the Round of 16 stage of the Champions League, a 1-1 1st leg draw away at RB Leipzig represented a novel occurrence. A round of 16 tie involving City which was still alive after the first leg. However City returned to their usual selves in the 2nd leg, winning 7-0 with Haaland grabbing 5. There was another 1-1 draw away in Germany in the Quarter-Finals, though this time coming after City had already effectively killed the tie against Bayern Munich with a 3-0 home win. 

Their Champions League semi-final against Real Madrid was nicely balanced after a 1-1 draw at the Bernabeu but in the second leg City produced a vintage Guardiola team performance, winning 4-0. It wasn’t just the scoreline, but every single statistic which outlined City’s surreal dominance over the defending Champions and a team which featured multiple players who had won the Champions League 5 times. By half time City had mustered 13 attempts to Real Madrid’s 1 and 196 touches in the final third compared to 10 for Real. It took twenty four minutes for Real Madrid to complete a pass in City’s half, a pass which came immediately after City had opened the scoring. City then immediately won the ball back. In the final City met Inter, a club who had spent less money in the last 5 years than Brighton & Hove Albion. The 3-time European Champions were amongst the biggest final underdogs there has ever been in the competition but they fared well, surprising many by only losing by a single goal.  

Back in 1999, it was again Inter who stood in the way of a Manchester club in the Champions League, then at the Quarter-Final stage. A 2-0 home win gave United a good platform to build on for the 2nd leg, but they had needed a miraculous save from Schmeichel and an inspired goalline clearance from Henning Berg to deny Inter a precious away goal. In the San Siro, United fell behind in the 63rd minute and were not safely through until the 88th minute when Scholes’ away goal made sure of their progression. In the Semi-Final, United met Juventus, who were looking to reach their 4th successive Champions League final. United needed a 90th minute goal from Giggs to get a 1-1 draw at Old Trafford, but in the first 11 minutes in Turin Juventus appeared to wipe away that goal’s importance by going into a 2-0 lead. United looked momentarily dead and buried against a team who made Champions League finals for fun, whilst United were attempting to reach their first in 31 years. 

Goals from Keane and Yorke gave United the edge on the away goals rule  before Andy Cole made their progression certain in the 84th minute. For the final though they would be without their two first choice centre midfielders, Keane and Scholes both ruled out due to suspension. United’s makeshift midfield saw Beckham move centrally to play alongside Nicky Butt, while Jesper Blomqvist came in on the right. United faced Bayern Munich who were on course for their own treble. The two sides had already met in the Champions League that season in the Group Stage and there was more deja vu for both as they also returned to the Nou Camp, home of FC Barcelona, who had also been in the “Group of Death”. Both of the sides earlier meetings had resulted in draws, but it was Bayern who struck first in the final leading after just 6 minutes. 

The Germans were the better side for much of the contest, with the usually deadly combination of Yorke and Cole failing to trouble Kahn very often. It had been a difficult season for Sheringham, he’d scored just 4 goals all season but one had come the previous weekend in the FA Cup final and he got another cup final goal here to equalise for United in the 90th minute after Bayern had failed to clear a Beckham corner. Sheringham was not done yet and he got on the end of another Beckham corner almost immediately, flicking the ball on for Solskjaer to plant in the roof of the net in the dying moments of injury time.   

To achieve the treble Manchester United went unbeaten for the last 33 matches of the season, they won 23 and drew 10 including 2 FA Cup games in which they required replays to progress.13 of their 23 victories came by one-goal margin and aswell they trailed in 11 games, being behind for a total of 396 minutes, not including additional time. In City’s last 28 games of the season, they lost just once, on the final day of the league season away at Brentford with the title secured and 2 cup finals looming ahead. City won 22 of their last 28, and just 6 by a one-goal margin, including both finals. Guardiola’s team trailed in just 3 of those 28 games, including the one they lost. Not including additional time, City were behind for just 46 minutes across the final 28 games of their season. 

For Manchester City fans, it had been a fairytale season. In fact, if they could write the script themselves they would have come up with something like this. City trailing leaders Arsenal for nearly the whole season, but City’s never say die attitude and relentless pressure forcing the Gunners to fold and in the end finish a distant 2nd best to the Champions who made it 3 in a row. An FA Cup final victory over Manchester United, giving their hated rivals the chance to deny them a treble and then taking that chance away by beating their much inferior opponents, then finally conquering Europe by beating the giants of Bayern Munich, Real Madrid and Inter Milan. You’d be within your rights to ask what can top/match this for City? Why doing it all again next season, and that will be the target of the manager and owners, who will firmly believe in their capability to do it.  

Domination

In the first part of their treble, Manchester City became just the third English club since the Second World War to win 3 league titles on the spin, with Liverpool doing it between 81/82 and 83/84 and United doing it twice under Ferguson, first between 98/99 and 00/01, and then again between 06/07 and 08/09. They also became just the third team in this country to win 5 league titles in 6 years after Liverpool did it between 78/79 and 83/84 and United did it between 95/96 and 00/01.

Liverpool dominated the 70′s and 80′s, aswell as winning 3 in a row they also won back-to-back titles on two other occasions. Between 1975 and 1990, they never went longer than a single season without winning the title back. However despite Liverpool’s long period of dominance, it was still possible in this period for Nottingham Forest to win the title in their first season after promotion from the Second Division, Aston Villa to win their first league title for 71 years using just 14 players as Liverpool finished 5th, Everton to be crowned champions twice in 3 years and Arsenal to win the title at Anfield on the last day of the season by the two-goal margin they required to snatch the Division One trophy from Liverpool.

Shortly after Liverpool’s reign ended, the Premier League began as did Manchester United’s era of dominance under Alex Ferguson. In 21 Premier League seasons under Ferguson, United won 13 league titles becoming the only English club to win the league title 3 years in a row on 2 separate occasions. There was however still room for Arsenal to win 3 league titles in 6 years, 2 as part of a double and the other with an unbeaten league campaign. Chelsea also won 3 and Blackburn and Manchester City won maiden Premier League titles. The closest an English team has ever come to winning 4 in a row came in 2010, when United’s title race against Chelsea went to the final weekend of the season.

City will next season have the chance to do what those great Liverpool and United sides were never able to do by winning the title 6 times in 7 years for their 4th league title in a row. In fact since English Football’s first top-flight campaign was won by Preston North End 134 years ago, no English team has ever won the league 4 years in a row. It is the longest run of any major top-flight European league and this record has played a big part in establishing the English top division as historically the most competitive anywhere in Europe. 

With its “Big 6″ the English league has been well positioned to avoid becoming the kind of “one-team league” which is so looked down upon. As well as the massive, historic institutions of Manchester United, Liverpool and Arsenal who have won over 50 league titles combined, there’s Chelsea who have won 5 league titles aswell as 2 Champions League’s this century and the Premier League also had the shock story of 5,000/1 underdogs Leicester City becoming champions in 2016. There is something fitting about Leicester doing that the season before Pep arrived in England, as since then the Premier League’s position as the most competitive, winnable league has become illusory. 

United have not finished above Manchester City since winning the league in Ferguson’s final season 10 years ago. Arsenal have finished above City just once in the last 13 seasons, that being the season before Pep took the job. Liverpool have been Pep’s main rival since he arrived in England, yet even they have finished above City just once in 14 seasons, the year they won the league. Since winning the title in 2017 and finishing 15 points above Pep’s City, Chelsea have finished at least 15 points behind City every season since, this past season the gap was 45 points. Spurs finished above City in back-to-back seasons in 15/16 and 16/17, every season since then they have finished over 20 points behind. 

Gary Neville, whose Salford City team quickly rose 4 divisions thanks to heavy investment, has been a regular critic of the FFP model, bemoaning that it does not give smaller clubs the chance to compete against the historically big clubs. He argues that FFP makes football “a closed shop”, whereas heavy outside investment means we get a more competitive game where other teams can win. This argument is damaged by the fact that not only can City win now that they have been the benefactor of significant investment, but we have reached the stage where virtually *only* they can win, if you look at how far ahead they are of all their domestic rivals. 

Points amassed since the start of the 17/18 Premier League season:         

1. Manchester City 547 2. Liverpool 499 3. Manchester United 420 4. Arsenal 403 5. Tottenham 400 6. Chelsea 393         

In the last 2 seasons alone, 7 different clubs have finished in the top 4 in the Premier League. Meanwhile Manchester City have finished in the top 4 for each of the last 13 seasons, coming in the top 3 in all but one of them. In 10 of the last 12 seasons, they have finished either 1st or 2nd. As worry of Manchester City’s dominance has grown in recent months, on the final edition of Monday Night Football of the season, Neville took to assuring us that City’s dominance is nothing new for English Football, pointing out that we have seen similar dominance from Liverpool in the 70′s and 80′s and Manchester United in the 90′s and 00′s. He pointed out that City have won 7 league titles in the last 12 years, whilst in the same timeframe Liverpool (between 72-73 & 83-84) and United(between 92-93 & 03-04) each won 8. 

However City’s dominance in England goes beyond just the domestic league, it of course stretches to the two domestic cup competitions. This was not mentioned by Neville. In 12 seasons between 1972 and 1984 Liverpool won 13 major domestic trophies (8 leagues, 4 league cups & 1 FA Cup), so 13 out of the 36 available over 12 seasons. In 12 seasons between 1992 and 2004 United won 12 major domestic trophies (8 leagues, 4 FA Cups), 12 out of 36 available. City in 12 seasons between 2011 and 2023 have won 15 major domestic trophies (7 leagues, 6 league cups and 2 FA Cups), 15 out of 36 available. However that includes a 5-year stretch which takes in the Pellegrini era and the first and last seasons of Guardiola and Mancini’s reigns, in which time City only won 1 league title. In the last 6 seasons alone, City have won 11 major domestic trophies (5 leagues, 2 FA Cups and 4 league cups) so 11 of the last 18 available. Meaning that in 6 years, half the time of the Ferguson period Sky Sports used to show this domination is nothing new, City have won just 1 less major domestic trophy. 

City will be overwhelming favourites to make it 4 Premier League’s in a row, and we have seen recently the damage one-team domination has done to other leagues. In Germany, Bayern Munich have won the Bundesliga for 11 successive seasons. Even this year when Bayern sacked a manager mid-season, a dressing room fight between two star players made headline news and Bayern’s CEO and Sporting Director were both sacked in the immediate aftermath of the season’s conclusion, Bayern still won the league. Juventus’ stranglehold over Serie A lasted 9 seasons in which the league rapidly lost relevance as it became a foregone conclusion. The last 3 seasons has seen 3 different winners, none of them Juventus and it has done wonders for the leagues popularity, with the joyous scenes of Napoli fans celebrating their first Scudetto since 1990 viewed all over the world. 

PSG have reached just 2 Champions League Quarter-Finals in the last 7 years, but they have won their domestic league in 9 of the last 11 seasons, which has led it to be spoken of derisively as a “Farmers league”. But since Pep’s arrival in England for the 16/17 there’s been exactly the same number of Premier League winners as there has Ligue 1. City and PSG have won 5 each, whereas Liverpool and Chelsea have been able to nick one each, as have AS Monaco and Lille in France. City have won 5 of the last 6 Premier League title’s and their era of dominance looks far from over.  

After going top of the league with a win away at Arsenal, City then dropped points away at Nottingham Forest which allowed Arsenal to regain top spot. City had wasted many opportunities to run out of sight as we have become accustomed to seeing, and this surprising slip-up strengthened some people’s belief that this was not the usual City, there was something wrong. In fact a lot of the media attributed Arsenal being top of the league to the fact City were misfiring. After the Forest game, the players talked and decided that enough was enough. It was time to as they themselves put it “stop messing around.” Just for there to be a title race in England, City were required to not hit top gear for the first 24 games. In the end them just being at their best for 11 successive games was enough, as they amassed maximum points in them to win the league with 3 games to spare.   

Arsenal led the table for 93% of the season, 247 days, but they didn’t last long once City hit top gear. One draw at Anfield from 2-0 up was enough to dislodge Arsenal’s confidence as they felt Manchester City gathering speed and unstoppable momentum behind them. City just did what they always do, put together a winning streak which noone can match, in the past it’s been as many as 18, this time 12 was enough as City could let their last 2 games go. The story of this season has of course been Erling Haaland, a player who more than any other before him epitomises the machine of Manchester City, he has even been nicknamed a “Robot” by fans of rival clubs, a name that is part derogatory and part begrudging respect for the prolific 22-year olds goalscoring exploits which saw him break the record for most Premier League goals in a 38-game league season with 7 matches to spare. 

Why City will continue to Dominate

There are countless reasons why City’s domination will continue. One is their squad depth. Squad depth is what ultimately wins league titles over a long, hard season and nowhere is that more evident than with Manchester City. City’s squad depth makes for seamless rotation which ensures fatigue is avoided in the final months of the season where trophies are won. City had just 1 player (Rodri) in the Premier League’s top 100 for most minutes played by an outfield player. In comparison, Arsenal had 7, which goes some way to explaining why in the end they had nothing left, they were physically and emotionally shattered. Meanwhile City were peaking. Whilst other teams suffered at the end of a gruelling season, City’s ability to rest players throughout the season due to their incredible strength in depth meant that their players still appeared fresh and therefore less susceptible to pick up injuries which increase in likelihood when players are fatigued.

 Bukayo Saka and Phil Foden are two young English talents, both of similar exceptional quality. For Arsenal, Saka started all but one league game, appearing in all of them for a total of 3,194 minutes. Foden in comparison only started around half of City’s league games and played a total of 1,842 league minutes. City’s strength in depth is such that Foden was more often than not an option of the bench, whereas Saka was so essential to Arsenal that when his goals and assists dried up at the end of the season, Arteta felt he could not rest him even when out of form, such is his superiority to Arsenal’s bench players.

 Last summer Kalvin Phillips was signed for £42M from Leeds United. He was a regular starter for the England national team, starting in the Euros final in 2021, a year in which he was later voted England player of the year. He made his first Premier League start for City in their 36th league fixture, after the title had already been wrapped up. Fellow new recruit Julian Alvarez scored 4 goals in 5 starts in the mid-season World Cup his country won, with 2 of his goals coming in the semi-final. Before the Premier League was secured, he started just 11 league games. It is not controversial to say City’s squad depth is on another level entirely to the rest. 

Another reason City will continue to dominate is of course, their manager Pep Guardiola. In his career thus far he has managed 11 38-game league seasons, and has reached the 90 point mark 6 times. This season he reached 88 with 2 games to spare, and had City been pushed by Arsenal to need to reach 90, they most certainly would have done, which would have meant a 7th 90 point season.  Bundesliga seasons are shorter at 34-games long, but despite this Pep added another 90 point season there for a total of 7 90 point or above seasons in his career so far. This has helped Guardiola to achieve 11 league titles thus far in 14 years. That is by far the most of any manager in that time, in fact it as many as the 2nd and 3rd most successful managers Max Allegri and Antonio Conte have combined (Allegri 6 and Conte 5).

Guardiola has ruthless, unmatchable standards. He refuses to allow complacency and accept bad results. After a game in which his side won 4-2 from 0-2 down at home to Tottenham, Guardiola hammered his players to the media, claiming the fire had gone and that he saw that old fire now in Arsenal’s team, whilst his had become what he termed “happy flowers”. Laporte, Walker, Mahrez and Foden have been huge players for City over the years and all of them have done very little wrong in that time. But this season they have been confined to the bench for much of it, as Guardiola holds zero sentimentality about what has gone before, he cares only about the next result, getting the next win. Pep’s ruthlessness stands in contrast to for example Jurgen Klopp who has been sentimental with players he’s had success with and allowed them to stay too long without replacements, which has led to a sharp downturn in the teams results this season. 

Another reason City will continue to win is their ownership model, which runs at a level of efficiency on a different level to any in history. In the past there was similarities and comparisons to be made with the ownership of PSG, in that they are both state owned clubs, but in recent years they have taken two very different paths. They were once comparable, but now City care only for winning and dominating the competition, whereas PSG have gone down the path of attempting to grow their brand, which has been successful but has come at a cost of going backwards on the pitch. 

City’s squad building is the best ever, they solve problems before they even materialise before our eyes, the opposite of Liverpool whose midfield problem sprung up on them suddenly due to neglect. Even when City appear to have got a rare signing wrong, they work out eventually. For the majority of his first 2 seasons with the club, Nathan Ake was either on the bench or out injured after his £41M move to City, but in this now his third season he’s been a key player for them. Kalvin Phillips has been widely mocked this season, but so was Jack Grealish last season, so who knows he may be another one who eventually comes good. 

Their transfer dealings run like clockwork, legends of the club such as Sergio Aguero and David Silva were moved on before they could decline, De Bruyne is turning 32 this month and should be difficult to replace but City always seemed to find the best possible replacement, such as the man who replaced Aguero, Erling Haaland who is 22 and will get even better. Whilst their rivals have weaknesses they have to wait to address, as there is so many squad deficiencies they can’t possibly deal with them all at once, instead having to prioritise, City deal with theirs ahead of time.  

City have become beyond a football team, where the usual pitfalls that befall others just do not apply to them. Arsenal fans were happy to see City progress in the cup competitions, the expectation being that playing more games would increase pressure on them and give them more stress. A trip away to Goodison Park should become trickier sandwiched in between two ties with Real Madrid. But City are immune to such things, they can play flawlessly every 3 days. If anything being in the cups actually helped City in the league, they were able to land psychological blows on Arsenal outside of the title race with thumping wins, such as when they scored 13 goals in 4 days against RB Leipzig and Burnley. 

Arsenal were City’s only really challengers this season, and with 84 points they managed their 3rd highest points total ever in the Premier League and their highest since winning the league in 2004. But that total is only 1 win higher than what City consider an off-season, with it being just 3 points better than City’s total in 19-20, the only season they failed to win the league in the last 6 years and comfortably their lowest points tally in that time. The best Arsenal team of the last 15 years being just 3 points better off than a “poor” version of Guardiola’s City, shows the enormous gulf that has emerged between City and the rest.

City have spent billions to catch up with the European elite, and now they are ahead of the pack. But they will not rest in the lead and wait for others to catch up, Guardiola will not allow it, he will always want more players and always strive for improvement. And they are currently so far ahead of the rest. Playing twice a week for 3 months, they’ve been behind in 3 games. In that time they’ve played Liverpool, Arsenal, United, Bayern twice, Real Madrid twice and Inter Milan. In the Etihad games against Arsenal and Real, the then league leaders and defending European Champions, they were so much the better team it would be redundant to analyse the visitors’ performances. As there was no performance, you need the ball in order to do things wrong with it, and neither team could get it until they were 3-0 down. Real Madrid and Arsenal are both blessed with excellent young wingers in Rodrygo, Vinicius, Saka and Martinelli. Rodrygo didn’t touch the ball until the 14th minute, the other 3 wingers scarcely fared better. As journalist Colin Millar put it “the games are largely non-events. Often ludicrously lopsided, non-competitive and entirely drama-free.” 

The Champions League is a difficult competition to dominate. As a knockout competition factors such as luck, the draw you are dealt and refereeing decisions have a much bigger impact than they would over a 38-game league season. Guardiola’s Barcelona team was until now the best team there’s ever been, but they still only managed 2 Champions League’s in 4 years, and required an outside the box wonder strike from the unlikely source of Andres Iniesta with virtually the last kick of their 2009 semi-final with Chelsea to win the first one of them.

The margins are much thinner for winning or losing a Champions League than they are for the domestic league where there is always enough time to right wrong’s and with a length of 38-games the best team should ultimately always come out on top in the end. However in the Champions League, those fine margins have cost Guardiola, such as in 2012 when Messi struck the crossbar with a penalty in the semi-final against Chelsea whilst the tie hung firmly in the balance, in the end it went Chelsea’s way. Guardiola has also suffered with fine margins in the Champions League whilst at City, being knocked out at the Quarter-Final stage by Spurs in 2019 due to Aguero being stood in a marginally offside position before Sterling seemed to have put City through in stoppage time. Pep has reached the last 4 of the Champions League in 10 of his 14 attempts, with his 4 failures coming in his first 4 seasons at City, where he may feel he got all his bad luck and marginal losses out of the way, falling at the Quarter-Final hurdle 3 seasons in a row.  

Real Madrid were fittingly the first team to win back-to-back Champions League titles since the competition shifted to a Group Stage format in 92-93. They went on to win 3 in a row, being the first side to do so since Bayern Munich in the 70′s, for what was their 4th Champions League in 5 seasons. Strangely this period never felt predictable nor as dominant as the history books would suggest when only noting the eventual winner. That Real Madrid group is not really thought of as one of the best and most dominant teams in history, partly because in that 5 year period where 4 Champions League’s were won, they only won their domestic league once. Partly also because they were involved in so many compelling Champions League ties which swung this way and that before in the end landing in Madrid’s favour. This of course reflected their winning mentality and resilience but also the fact they had plenty of weaknesses and vulnerability, they undoubtedly had to rely on plenty of luck too.

5 of the 8 quarter-final and semi-final ties Real Madrid played in those winning campaigns were won by a margin of a solitary goal over the two legs, aswell as being taken to extra-time 3 times including in 2 finals. The Spanish giants had so many tight games in this period, it would not be an accurate reflection to call it “domination” as they were often won by the smallest of margins, a penalty or offside decision given or not given and a couple of these ties could so easily have gone the other way.

In their 7 knockout stage games including the final, City scored 19 goals and conceded just 3. They were trailing in just one of the games, falling behind at the Bernabeu. They then scored 5 unanswered goals across the tie to go through 5-1. Domination is felt more in the manner in which Champions League titles are won, rather than necessarily just being about how many of them are won, and due to this City may quickly begin to feel a more dominant Champions League team than Real Madrid did. 

Though City will also feel capable of putting a run together similar to Real’s 4 in 5 years. Europe is weaker than it’s been for a long time, next seasons competition will take place without recent winners Liverpool and Chelsea, Barcelona haven’t made the round of 16 since Lionel Messi played for the club, Bayern Munich just had their worst season points wise since 2011, PSG look further away from winning the Champions League as they have perhaps ever looked under the Qatari’s ownership and Real Madrid will need something of a rebuild as they embark on a new era without long time forward Karim Benzema. In this climate, City will be overwhelming favourites to retain the crown. 

The Champions League has given Guardiola lots of pain, the 2 narrow semi-final defeats with Barcelona, 3 successive semi-final losses with Bayern Munich, and then falling short in the round of 16, quarter-finals (3x), semi-finals and final with City before finally getting over the line at the 7th attempt. Now he has the chance to do something not even his great Barcelona sides were able to do, retain the Champions League and perhaps then go on to equal Zidane’s Madrid with 3 in a row. To do that would be a huge dream and motivator for Guardiola, who’ll feel he should already have more than 3, as he hunts down Ancelotti’s record of 4. 

What ends City dominance?

No matter who City get to replace Pep (the likeliest candidates right now are Roberto De Zerbi and Vincent Kompany, but that may have changed in 2 years time) there will be a drop off. A decline is inevitable, for the players and as well the hierarchy, as they would have to adjust to life post-Pep. City would of course be much better placed to deal with the loss of Guardiola than United were after Ferguson, but there’s no denying that for the first year or two it would feel very strange. There are other intense, demanding managers out there with great tactical acumen but there is not another Guardiola. There is no other manager so set on dominating the field and prepared to take such ruthless actions to ensure it. So the board will no doubt be using all tools of persuasion at their disposal to keep Guardiola for as long as possible.

And they will have lots of strong arguments to make. There’s no other inviting club projects currently, and the other leagues are struggling financially compared to the booming Premier League. So winning leagues in those other countries will not win Guardiola the same respect he gets for winning the English league. Due to the money now invested by the big clubs in the Premier League, Guardiola will always have a rival that presents enough of a challenge to keep him engaged, for years it’s been Liverpool, now it’s Arsenal, in the future it could be Newcastle or United. The league continuing to improve in a way benefits City, as the competitive top 4 and top 7 races will mean all those teams take points off each other regularly, whilst City remain head and shoulders above the pack. The competitive nature of the league has also meant clubs having to pick and choose their games, unable to go for all of them. Noone will ever pick City as the game to go for as beating them is a long shot, so instead teams may look to let that one go (as West Ham did, resting Rice for their trip to the Etihad). Brighton on the other hand targeted Arsenal away winning 3-0 in between heavy defeats at home to Everton and away at Newcastle.

After 7 years at City, Pep has built his best team yet, a team completely without weakness. Next season City have the chance to become the first English team to win 4 straight league titles, the first English team to retain the Champions League since its format altered in 1992 and the first team anywhere in Europe to retain the treble. By winning the Charity Shield, UEFA Super Cup and World Club Cup, City can also become the first English club to hold six trophies. With his 5th league title in England, Pep recently equalled Busby. Next season he can equal Paisley and then it is only Ferguson ahead.

In the aftermath of finally winning the Champions League with City Pep has hinted that this 2-year contract with City will be his last. He undoubtedly felt a lot of pressure to finally win City their first Champions League, it would have taken its toll on him, the embarrassing exits in his first 5 years then falling painfully short against Chelsea and Real Madrid. Getting that monkey off his back will have given him considerable peace of mind. He will want to win another Champions League with City and once he has, he may feel there are not many more ways he could add to his legacy there.

In the summer of 2001 Alex Ferguson announced his retirement from management. His United team had taken 7 of the last 9 Premier Leagues, recently winning the treble and a threepeat of league titles, taking the title by 18 points in 2000. Ferguson felt there was nothing left to achieve and it had become too easy. Of course what happened next was Arsene Wenger’s Arsenal hit top stride becoming a very worthy adversary again, then Chelsea arrived on the scene followed by Manchester City. The thought of retiring became a distant memory, Ferguson stayed at United until 2013.

But if Guardiola adds the UEFA Super Cup and World Club Cup to his City collection and another Champions League aswell as a further Premier League title or two by the time his current deal ends in 2025, he may be having similar thoughts to the ones Ferguson had in 2001. He will be too young for retirement, his need for Football is too strong, but he may feel it’s time to step down from City, with there being nothing left to conquer, at the top of the mountain the only way is down. 

As you’d have to be living under a rock not to know by now, Manchester City face over 100 charges from the Premier League. They are accused of 50 breaches of providing inaccurate financial information, 8 breaches in relation to manager remuneration, 5 breaches linked to UEFA financial regulations, 25 profitability and sustainability breaches and 30 breaches of assisting the Premier League investigation that has concluded after more than four years. The case has now been referred to an independent commission and should City be found guilty they could face a multitude of punishments ranging from fines to points deductions to relegation to being stripped of their honours. 

The Premier League’s investigation took 4 years to conclude, we are looking at another wait of around 2 to 4 years before the conclusion of the independent commission will finally give us a final verdict. Armed with the best lawyers money can buy, City will fight the charges tirelessly as they did back in 2014, when they had their first brush with UEFA over financial fair play regulations. City’s legal counsel revealed in an email that City Chairman Al Mubarak “says he would rather spend £30m on the best 50 lawyers in the world and sue them [UEFA] for the next 10 years” rather than agree to a financial penalty that UEFA were proposing. UEFA initially imposed a 2-year Champions League ban upon City, but CAS overturned the verdict with some of the charges being time-barred. In the end a fine of around €9M was paid by City for lack of cooperation. 

Jamie Carragher said recently that “Manchester City don’t want this hanging over them.” and Pep Guardiola expressed his wish that the outcome comes quickly. But this would be to misunderstand City’s response over the years against charges from both UEFA and the Premier League, which has to been to delay and hold-up the cases for as long as possible. In fact the Premier League was so frustrated with City’s delaying tactics that it went to the Court of Appeal two years ago, accusing the club of “making as many procedural applications and complaints as it possibly can to slow the day when it will actually have to provide the information”.

Carragher went on to say there is something of an asterisk over City’s achievements at the moment, but clearly they don’t agree. City will argue that the asterisk only comes if/when they are found guilty, otherwise why would they want to delay? They don’t care if no outsiders believe they are innocent, City believe it. And for as long as there is no proof of wrongdoing and the punishment that comes with it, they will always maintain that. This season saw Italian giants Juventus docked 15 points for rule-breaking, this was then revoked before a new punishment of 10 points came in before the end of the season. Meanwhile in England, charges against City beginning back in 2009 and extending to 2018 have been allowed to drag on for years with no end in sight.

Manchester City seemed to use the coverage of the Premier League charges levelled against them to their advantage on the pitch. It galvanised the club into an ‘Us against the World’ mentality. Pep was trying desperately before it to get his players riled up enough to take the threat of Arsenal seriously, but it was the public announcement of the charges that seemed to shock City back into life. The Premier League announced their charges on the 6th of February and City didn’t lose again in any competition until the final day of the league season, after they’d already been handed the trophy of the competition charging them for the 5th time in 6 years. 

The accusations of wrongdoing united the club, bringing the fanbase, players and manager closer together. City fans quickly made their position clear, booing the Premier League anthem, holding up banners for £5,000 an hour lawyer Lord Pannick (known recently for advising Boris Johnson over the ‘Partygate’ inquiry), and singing the name of club owner Sheikh Mansour, the current Vice President and Deputy Prime Minster of the UAE. In buying Manchester City, Abu Dhabi made the perfect choice in a club with a relatively small local fanbase that had achieved no success since the 1970s. This has kept them outside of the ingrained tribal rivalries of English football, which has meant fans of other clubs will always take them winning trophies over the likes of Liverpool, United and Arsenal. They also have appointed the perfect manager in Pep Guardiola who is worshipped for his methods, and seems to have a messianic-like pull for many football watchers, which takes attention away from any other reasons why City might be so dominant. Perhaps no Football manager has ever been so highly thought of by the media, who seem endlessly fascinated by Pep’s methods. 

And for as long as he is City’s manager, the club will not be knocked off their perch. It’s possible someone else might get 1 Premier League, if Arsenal’s young players and manager can continue to improve, or if Klopp, who has already built one great Liverpool team can build another. The Saudis are making huge investments at Newcastle, and United will be under new ownership eventually, but none will keep Pep’s City off top spot for longer than a single season. 

If City are found guilty of all or at least some of their charges, we have to be realistic about what that will likely mean. Will they be relegated or stripped of trophies they’ve won under one of the best managers the league has ever seen? It’s highly doubtful. The most likely on pitch punishment (I.E not including fines) would be a points deduction. A points deduction for City would likely see one of the best Premier League title races in history, with clubs who have been starved of winning the league seeing this as their best chance to win in years. It would have to be a significant deduction though to stop City winning the league, if it was 10 or even 15 points you can picture Guardiola staving off sleep and food until City return to a positive points total and with that added motivation they’d likely find a way to win the league anyway. 

However, nobody has much faith that the Premier League charges will lead to anything significant. We have seen in recent years how much our systems struggle with holding power accountable and upholding rules. With a Tory Government in power for 13 years, our society has become desensitised to corruption and come to accept that “money talks”. In Sport that is the case even more so. There wasn’t rules in place to stop Chelsea from doing whatever they wanted in the early years of Abramovich, and City have consequently seen it as “if they can do it, why can’t we?” 

The media in this country loves winners and sporting excellence regardless of its cost and the reasons for it. They were cheerleaders for Abramovich breaking up United and Arsenal’s hold on the Premier League without asking any critical questions about who he was and why he was doing it. This lack of scrutiny went on for nearly 20 years until Russia’s invasion of Ukraine led the Chelsea owners’ assets to be frozen, due to his association with Russian President Vladimir Putin. Abramovich for years had been praised for his ambition and love for Chelsea Football Club, and now suddenly Chelsea fans weren’t allowed to purchase a pie in the stadium.

Lessons have seemingly not been learned, and much of the media remains wilfully ignorant of what the ownership model of Nation States means for football. In 2018 Amnesty International said, “the success of the club(City) has involved a close relationship with a country that relies on exploited migrant labour and locks up peaceful critics and human rights defenders.” Football has less control over its own governance than ever before, the sale of Newcastle United to Saudi Arabia was pushed through by the UK Government as the Saudis threatened to pull UK investment if the Premier League resisted the takeover. Under the ownership of Todd Boehly, Chelsea has been handing out 8-year contracts to players to help bypass FFP and reportedly promised to invest in Sporting Lisbon in exchange for them agreeing to sell them Manuel Ugarte.

Going back to the charges, the perception seems to be that there’s only a problem if City are found guilty. People are thinking about what the consequences would be if a club had won all these trophies and received all this praise whilst cheating rules all the way. But if the charges don’t stick, there is still another huge problem and that is that because of City’s ownership model, they could only be consistently beaten to the Premier League title by other Nation states. And even then they have a huge head start on Saudi Arabia at Newcastle and potentially Qatar at Manchester United. When Abu Dhabi came in at City, they were aiming to catch Liverpool and Arsenal teams in decline and a United team with lowered spending under the Glazers. Saudi Arabia and Qatar would be aiming to catch City, and the type of spending required for that would be mind-blowing. 

As journalist Miguel Delaney put it what Guardiola has at City is “the perfect sporting infrastructure, constructed to his specific preferences. This (the domination) is what happens when you give a genius these pristine laboratory conditions. It has eroded the likelihood for human failure that actually enriches our sport. City have brutalised the very idea of sporting competition. There’s been no tension. There’s been no drama.” For as long as that is the case, no matter the outcome of City’s case, difficult and uncomfortable questions will persist. 

[hiriajuu-suffering]

Loathing

I was really hoping this moment in time, this particular crossroads, would be a flashpoint I could decompress myself. Instead, the point in time just became emblematic of all the abject failures current to my life right now.

I got somewhat halfway through grad school before my mind couldn't bear the lack of novelty anymore. Now, I'm struggling to finish any classwork that's put in front of me because what intellectual growth was coming of it? I feel like everything I do lately is an expression of word vomit, shouting into the void for no one to ever pick up the tiniest sound, let alone listen. The biggest thing that was supposed to keep me going through a post-baccalaureate was the establishment of a sense of meaning, but moments of the world crumbling around me are still holding more weight than a greater path I can carve for myself. It's tough to believe I was ready for this: not because I wasn't mature enough, but my sense of conviction couldn't be manifested into something less aimless because my life experiences uniquely dulled it. To where not even medication checks my neurodivergences in a way allowing me to garner the will I need to push forward. I'm probably the only one left who knows I'm capable of it, but the whole point has been to show it and I've just been...unable.

Nearly everything I've been doing socially is seeing an opportunity that results in a blank. The last one was certainly a manifestation of all those elements: a misandrist, a shallow mind, a flake, but somehow I'm not compelling enough to get the simplest and most casual situations formed because I'm not the main draw. I'm uniquely non-beneficial from the outside looking in because why the fuck would I ever be wanted independently? Why do I only draw in people that are significantly and immensely less mature to the point of literally not being functional, let alone respectful, human beings? I don't crave simplicity in the sense of comfort: I crave simplicity in just people being reliable and faithful to their own words. I'm into both of you means ghost after literally only two days. Youth is wasted on the young, and when you only match with the young, all you do as elder undesirable is get gaslit. Equity shouldn't be means to disrupt happiness, so questioning engendered standards is always validated by experience, somehow. Only way to prove me wrong is functional affirmations of my subjective position to where I'm afforded some level of opportunity, but that doesn't happen. I have to capitalize on every little instance so hard I've had the same primary for 8 years with no progress for half that time at minimum. Why? Because I'm not worth being valued. Normative masculinity ought to be discarded by the 4th wave framework, so all we see is the ruination of social structure and a bunch of incels rising to create conflict out of the tension which manifests for no other reason than the ego of the standard itself. As it stands, the preference is to advance intersectional standards at the expense of men and necessarily amplifying sexual racism, not neutralizing it because we somehow forgot this century normative attraction is a function of gender relations because of course men don't matter when it comes to that argument.

The one thing I correct the speaker on is I didn't CHOOSE to be a cisgendered male if we buy the LGBTQ+ framework of sexuality not being a choice. I've felt moral guilt over not being pansexual or demisexual because I was fundamentally born with preferences less open than the most moral choice. It wasn't my choice to be the exact gender, race, and religion the movement hates most with all its being (though it likes to tout intersectionality as a core framing). Am I claiming any of my rights are being harmed? Absolutely not. But one can have the right to do something and will have such a small rate of potency on the action, the right might as well not exist: the same logic we operate under when we talk about institutional racism and systemic discrimination.

I've tried my damnedest to meet the impossible standard as a South Asian American Muslim cisgendered male the 4th wave wants me to be, but if you look at those intersections, and this something I learned nearly a decade ago in undergrad, postmodern feminism at this moment in time would prefer I don't exist at all. My existence is too inconvenient to their narrative: a socially conscious person with these intersections should NEVER have a voice. That's why my self-reflections in oratory were considered only ever manifestations of the ego. That's why educating got conflated with grooming when an internally racist white woman was onlooking any scenario I was in prior to turning twenty. That's why I was the only person on my college team who couldn't voice a legitimate perspective on feminism, the only straight, non-Christian background, darker-skinned man on the squad. The one person through all that time who strongly linked herself to the 4th wave accepted me for who I was, and while she couldn't always grasp the way approached these issues, she at least had support of my humanity, which is why I say she was the best coach I ever had: she's the only one of the dozen or so that ever did. That's also a significant contributing factor of why I was ousted from my first teaching position, if not less so but still present from my second teaching position. The 4th wave has uniquely harmed my life, not because my natural disposition was to ever take away opportunity from women, but because my opportunity had to come at the expense to advance its agenda.

We haven't made much, if any, headway on the gender pay gap on this current model, and women continue to be increasingly more educated than men. As a man, I don't feel the moral privilege to speak because men have been speaking for too long. The less attractive, the less socially/culturally/racially desirable, the less I'm afforded the ability for my humanity to be recognized and the more feminism pedastalizes whiteness from its perspective on masculinity. Hence, when I attempt to finish a degree where I have to critically think about author theses and narrative, I feel guilt for expressing my opinion at all: especially when Americanization forces me to think, as a Muslim, I have no right to offer perspective on Jewish generational trauma even though my family survived through an ethnic cleansing; as a man, I have no right to offer perspective on how disequitable standards in gender affects my ability self-actualize despite I've been doing work for years on my hoped-to-be-spouse on solving her internalized misogyny; as person of South Asian descent, I have no right to offer perspective on how normative beauty standards make us the least attractive humans in existence and how that creates anger and resentment among our kind, we're just expected to man up about it or we're incels; and, perhaps most disheartening, as a person with some privilege, I have no right to empathize on struggles with those of less affluence, as if familial wealth always translates to receiving any of said benefit, let alone makes for an environment removed from its own challenges when so much is just a given that I got none of but it's impossible to know that much at a passing glance.

I loathe this moment in time. Not because the world is uniquely worse than it has been recently, but because my social conditions do everything in their power to see that I fail because my advancement isn't seen as a good. And I'm only human, I get weary, too. But my kind are expected to be capitalistic work hogs instead of a vantage of poignant intellectual vocation, one that shifts the status quo in any way. A person takes one look at me and hopes I don't change the world because at no point in history did normative whiteness ever want my identity to make real differences in humanity. Even if it is positive.

[ariluvsusm]

latte- azriel

description: short filler fluff, azriel gets back from a mission and just wants to spend time with you, so you go on a cute date (like normal people)

warnings: fluff, female reader, a few sexual implications and jokes

-a/n: i wrote this so fast but i just wanted to publish something 😭 sorry for being inactive!! im busy with school. i’m working on two requests rn and will have them published by this weekend (a spn one and a tog one!!). please give me requests!! i will literally write ANYTHING you request (including smut) but i just need prompts!! i’m having severe writers block.

————————————————————————

you sigh quietly, putting down your fork.

“missing loverboy, y/n?” cassian asks.

you and the inner circle, save for azriel, are having breakfast at the townhouse. rhys insisted upon making you all breakfast, like the mother hen he truly is. it’s really good… you just wish azriel were back from his mission.

“shut up, ass-ian.” you shoot back.

“yeah, shut up assian!” rhys sarcastically echoes in a high voice, an amused smirk on his face.

“you know what, rhys? if you could use your dark scary night powers and make him come home that would be helpful.” you joke.

“i can’t do that but i can make you an exact replica of him out of night that functions and everything.” rhys jokes, stuffing half a pancake in his mouth and then downing chocolate milk. like a child.

you laugh. “okay, what’s the price? my soul? my youth? i’ll take it!”

the entire table breaks out in laughter.

“well, if i were you, i’d ask amren to make me an anti-azriel. she seems like she’d know how to do that,” mor says through laughter.

amren smiles, smiles, evilly at you. you stop laughing and look at her, gaping, slightly terrified.

and she breaks into laughter.

“your face!” she says through bouts of laughter.

the rest of the inner circle just looks at her, mouths slightly open, forks halfway to their destinations, waiting for amren to damn them to hell or something.

“at least someone’s in a good mood,” cassian grumbles.

the conversation topic changes, now discussing books and the library. but you just stay quiet- you miss him so bad. and you can’t help but wonder and pray that he comes home unscathed. you know that’s he’s the best spy in prythian, and a skilled warrior, but you still worry. finally, you hear the front door open, and you bound through the house, flinging yourself into the arms of the golden skinned, hazel eyed man in the doorway. he spins you around.

the rest of the inner circle, except for amren, show up a moment later- laughing at your eagerness. but you don’t let go.

“i missed you so much.” you murmur into his neck, breathing in his scent. he squeezes you.

“and i you.” he mutters.

“gross,” cassian says, scoffing.

“leave them be,” rhys says. “after your… reunion, come find me and we’ll do the paperwork.” he leaves, and you turn your head, now looking at mor, the last remaining one in the doorway. she just winks and leaves.

you were about to ask az why the hell you guys weren’t in the bedroom yet, when he starts.

“y/n… let’s go on a date.” he says. “i just… i just want to be a normal male and female.”

you were about to object, when he gives you a pointed look.

“i can bed you later…” he says quietly against your neck. and that’s all it takes for you to agree.

“i’m gonna go bathe. why don’t you go get ready?”

so you go back up to you and azriel’s room to get ready. although, you’d rather be up against a wall, or pinned to the bed, or hell, even on the floor under azriel.

you put on a casual date outfit- for the night court, at least. loose, high-waisted lilac pants that sway when you walk, and a matching long-sleeved, deep v-neck top that shows off your cleavage and cuts off to reveal your midriff. you put silver jewelry, dab some oil on your lips, and line your eyes with kohl. finally, you’re ready.

azriel had just come out of the bath when you’d slipped on your flats- so you watched him on the bed while he got ready. his muscled, toned back and majestic wings flex as he slips on some undershorts and pants. he turns around to see you ogling at him.

“like what you see?” he jokes.

“why do we have to go on this date?” you groaned. “i can think of a hundred other things i’d rather do with you. in this house. in this room.”

a flash of something crosses his eyes.

“i don’t know, y/n, i just want to be a little more… domestic. i- it’s like i’m a beast all of the time. i just want to go on a coffee date with my female.” he turns around and slips on a shirt.

you hop of the bed, hugging him from behind. it doesn’t exactly work- you are quite a bit shorter than him, and his wings prevent you from wrapping all the way around. stupid gigantic illyrian male.

“i know, az. i understand. now get dressed so we can go!” you say before giving him a half-heated pinch on his side. he relaxes- just a bit.

you walk down the hallway and into the sitting room, where for some reason, the entire inner circle is waiting. they look at you in surprise.

“what are you doing out here?” cass asks.

“this is… my house too?” you reply.

“shouldn’t you be in there with him… doing… stuff?” he prods. again.

“we’re going on a date.” you say over your shoulder, azriel holding your hand.

“oh, build the tension a little, so when you get back you can fu-“

mor cuts him off. “shut up, cassian.” and then she calls after you and azriel, “you two have fun!” he insists on flying you into town, of course. illyrian males need female validation.

you’re in the sky, looking down upon the town, wrapped safely in his arms, when he tells you.

“one of my males lost his mate,” he almost whispers. you look up at him. you know he’s referring to the spies he was commanding on the mission- the ones who are in training.

“oh, azriel, that is just awful.” before you can say more, he continues.

“it broke him completely. he… he didn’t make it out of his tent that night, the night that they told him. that- that bond… i… i just wanted to spend some actual time with you. wholesome bonding time.” he murmurs.

you look up at him as best as you can. a few moments pass before you assure him,

“of course, az. i understand. i’m happy to spend this time with you.”

after a few more seconds, he continues flying.

“okay, but… wholesome bonding time?” you laugh.

“was not clear enough?”

“no, it’s just not very azriel-esque.”

“what other choice did i have?” his laugh a deep rumble, and music to your ears. “was i supposed to bed you first and than say ‘oh, y/n! put your clothes back on, damn it, we’re gonna go get coffee’?”

“i mean….” you jokingly trail off.

before you land, he stills in the air. you look up at him, a question in your eyes, and when he meets your gaze your breath hitches. a new look- a different one than you’ve ever seen. affectionate, awe-filled. it softens his features. a smile lights up your face before you can help it, and he smiles back. a smile that reaches his eyes and shows his teeth. you couldn’t be happier.

———————————-tiny time skip——————

soon, your arms are linked, walking down the streets of velaris, towards the cafe you and the inner circle frequent. the barista, a young brunette female with a kind smile and kinder eyes, looks up from the latte she’s preparing and greets you.

“hey, yana.” you call, walking up to the bar and sitting down.

“you two look cute,” she smiles, “what can i make for you today?”

immediately, azriel answers with your favorite coffee. he orders himself a regular black coffee, also going for a plate of pastries- your favorite. you can’t help it- you feel so loved, so cared for. although it’s a small thing, it somehow fills your heart. when she walks away, you peck him on the cheek.

“so what’s going on with the rest of them?” he asks you.

“you mean the rest of our family? your wonderful brothers and sisters?”

“sister, and amren.”

you slap his arm. “amren has earned the right to be your sister.”

“that doesn’t stop her from scaring the absolute shit out of me.”

“that’s just the true older sister spirit.”

he laughs, looking down at you. yana is making your order now, having already placed azriels black coffee in front of him. everything is perfect in this moment. azriel is happy and home, you’re happy, you’re both unharmed. you kiss him- on the lips this time- and smile up at him.

“what is that for? am i just so lucky?”

“i love you so much. thank you for being so wonderful.”

—————————————————————————-

-a/n (again lmao): this was so cheesy but 😭😭😭😭 at least im getting better? i just wanted y’all to know i’m alive LMAOOO… and that im going to be publishing good things soon :)

[omiscurls]

Diluc, zhongli and childe reaction to their s/o breaking up with them after something they said, maybe after a week or so after they argument they think the s/o forgave them but they break up instead? I WANT THE ANGST

consequences

plot: reader decides to break up with the character after not speaking to them

contains: diluc, zhongli, tartaglia (idk how am i going to do this to my special boy but ill try my best)

warnings: angst, breakups, implied past toxic behavior

a/n: OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO HARD- I DONT HAVE THE HEART TO BREAKUP WITH PEOPLE

diluc

hopeless thoughts ran through your head as you fought with yourself about wether to enter angel’s share or not, hand halfway through to the doorknob. your mind hadn’t been made up just yet, you were still in between two very different scenarios - the urge to forgive him for his hurtful words growing stronger each day, as anger and other emotions subdued to loneliness and the feeling of a part of you missing, ever since the two of you stopped talking.

your mind flashed back to the exact moment when you looked into diluc’s eyes, always so soft and calm for you, forming a way of anger he never expressed towards you before. to the feeling you got right then and there that this man is not the same one you’ve met and fell in love with.

the process of coming to terms with that conclusion was as painful as the first strike of his angry glare, and even though he seemed to have realized the weight of his words right after saying them out loud, no matter how hard you tried, you could not erase them from your memory.

one strike of that pain, one memory of that night was enough to make you go through with your plan, door to the bar opening with a little screech.

it was like just another late afternoon, with charles tending the bar, knights and townsfolk filling the hot room, and the smell of alcohol traveling through the air.

“hi” you said to the bartender “is master diluc around?”

charles, busy with his work, quickly replied that he’s out back, opening a barrel. you nodded and went where his directions guided, pushing open yet another door to see the back of the man you loved, looking just as always from this angle, working over said chore. he didn’t even seem to mind the fact that someone walked in on him working.

“diluc” you said with a sigh, and he almost immediately turned around, tools falling from his hands and onto the ground.

“darling, hi” he replied quietly, walking over to you but stopping half way, eyes set to analyze your expression, figure out what was going on in your mind. “i’m glad you’re here safely, i haven’t heard from you in over a week” he added cautiously, as if weighing every word before deciding to say it out loud.

“well” you sighed again, once again going over wether you should actually break things off right then, mind taking pity on his troubled expression, tired eyes, on the obvious eyebags that were much more apparent than before, a sign that he didn’t catch too much sleep. “i had to come to terms with what i’m about to say”

he wanted to tell you he was sorry, he really did, but words didn’t seem to come out of his throat. obviously he was sorry, it was a bad day and he meant none of what he said, but you knew that, right? you knew he always cared for you and loved you… right?

he wasn’t the best with words, hence, the idea of apologizing with a gesture after you were done teaching him his lesson came to mind. a brilliant idea, one could never go wrong with a thoughtful deed for their significant other, just give him one more chance.

“and my conclusion is, we need to take a step back and… reevaluate things in our lives. i’m not saying this is the ultimate end, but what you’ve said, and how you’ve said it made me realize…”

you were making a good point. you were talking about your feelings. he should listen, but the only thing he heard was the blood pumping through his veins, and the two single words

the end

so there won’t be another chance? he won’t be able to prove himself? what do you mean, the end? the best thing that ever happened to him in his sad life was coming to an end because of him? but he was so careful, he treated you like his treasure, because that’s how he truly felt, like his lifeline, something he could never lose…

and all it took was one sentence too much, one glare too intense. for the first time in what, six, maybe seven years, his eyes began to water, as he blinked the tears back at a rapid pace.

“… and that was a shitty thing to do. i hope you know that. i don’t know if i had anything else i wanted to say, perhaps i did, but… that’s all. see you around, i guess” you mumbled, loosing confidence in what you were saying, taking one last glance at his lost eyes before turning around.

turning around from him, from the love of your life, was perhaps the hardest thing you ever had to do, and yet you did do it.

before you could reach the door again, though, a cold hand caught your forearm. your eyes met his, with just a glimmer of hope that he would magically say all the right words and somehow make you stay, you didn’t want to leave, yet knew you had to. if you wanted to preserve the respect you had for yourself, you had to leave.

why were you giving him time to say something?

his helpless gaze seemed to speak with a thousand words, begging, pleading you to not leave through that door, but as much as his lips did part, not a single word left.

he couldn’t say anything to hold you back, and you ripped away from his grip, turned, and walked away.

and just like that,

he was all alone, again.

he was gonna need a drink.

zhongli

tears flooded your vision, blurring every details of zhongli’s face, causing you to only see a pale color palette, instead of your favorite person, ever. maybe it was for the best, maybe it would make it easier, you thought, but that was a foolish thing to hope for.

even through the salty tears, you could make out his eyes, it’s glow never failing to guide you, and comfort you, now seeming to burn their way through you, through your body and soul.

“you’re stuck in another love, zhongli, we both know that!” you exhaled a bit louder than you intended to, the outcome sounding more like an accusation than a fact. “how can you ever say you love me, when it’s so obvious, and so apparent, that every time you look at me, you see someone else? you HOPE for someone else?”

you could only wish the words you spoke didn’t come out as a complete mess, because of those tears you were constantly choking on. desperation seeped through your voice, as the feeling of helplessness rose every time you looked at your lover and at the anguish, and confusion he presented.

how could he make this so hard? it’s not like you’ve presented some statement he didn’t know already, right?

you hoped your eyes would say all the things you didn’t trust your voice to. you hoped he’d somehow hear how all you ever wanted was to be enough, was to meet his standard, how it tore you open that every time he said <i love you> his eyes wandered everywhere but onto yours, how all his touches seemed absent, how all his compliments were truly about some other face, some other smile, some other kind soul.

the worst part was, how could you blame him? how can anyone, ever, blame someone for being in love, of all things? love was something beautiful, and once you’ve experienced it, you’re drowned in it forever, and don’t even want to see the surface again.

love is beautiful. when you’re the one who’s receiving it. love was beautiful, to you, too, when you loved how his wisdom flew through his words, how his kindness hugged your spirit, how his aura brought you comfort. you loved his eyes, you loved his cheeks, his lips, every single detail of his skin.

the love you felt made you complete, made you warm, until you finally realize the thing you should’ve seen much sooner.

that you were merely a mirror for him to look at someone else, someone long gone.

suddenly all the warmth you felt was directed back at you, burning you inside, making you wish you never felt it in the first place.

“aren’t you gonna say something?” you whispered.

his long fingers found their way to your hand, but you snatched it away.

if you fell onto his charms now, you wouldn’t be able to get out once more.

his breath hitched as he gathered himself to speak

“i want nothing more than to love you” he said, although quietly, it rang through your ears like the loudest of screams.

you scoffed.

“we both would’ve wanted that, then”

“and i’m sure i can, if you just—“

now, laughter was all that you were capable of letting out.

“zhongli, you can’t train yourself to love someone. and even if you could, then how do you think that would make me feel? like i’m so unlovable you had to force yourself through it to grow accustomed to a feeling similar to love?”

“that’s not what i—“

“that’s what it means! let it go, please, please just… let me go” you sighed, standing up from the bench over at liyue harbor that you were sitting on. the sun has begun to set on the other side of the sea, and you couldn’t help but notice, it would’ve been the perfect date.

“i do sincerely hope you’ll find someone who’ll love you just the same” he finally stated, as he gave up on trying to make you stay.

“why?” you chuckled “so i could make them suffer the same way you made me?”

tartaglia

(archons give me strength)

you found nothing but guilt, looking into the endless ocean trapped in his eyes. for the first time in forever, they glistened, but not with a spark of joy, like you always hoped they would, they shone a sickly shine, caused by a thin layer of tears, that didn’t dear to spill over his porcelain cheeks, almost as if afraid of making contact with the ruthless face of the number eleven of the fatui harbingers.

he could’ve easily been crying if only he let himself go. he would’ve been in tears, sniffing and coughing, but he just… wasn’t. he held those tears in the gates of his eyes, as if his life depended on it.

the guilt you found inside them, wasn’t his, but yours. you felt guilty, watching this composed, confident man fall into pieces right before you, crumbling before your sight. why were you doing this? you seemed to forget all those terrible things you’ve heard just from the way his irises begged for forgiveness and brows furrowed in inexplicable sadness.

but you couldn’t, no, this time you couldn’t.

“my word” you swore on dear life you’d burst into tears if your voice shook right now “my word is final. we’re over. and that’s… that’s it. you need to understand that there won’t be another chance.”

the moment his lips parted, you knew you were lost.

“i have told you so many times already, but i will say this as much as i need to, it will never happen again! i swear, on everything i love and everything that i am, i swear on life itself, i won’t ever let that happen again! you know i won’t! come on, i promise you, if there’s anything you can say about me is i do keep my promises, don’t i? darling, please…”

“promise yourself to heal and become better, first” you stated coldly, watching faith disappearing slowly from his fixed look.

“im sorry, you know i am, im sorry, im sorry, im so fucking sorry!” a scream left his throat as desperation took over both reason and self-respect.

“sorry isn’t gonna cut it”

“then what will? i’ll do anything, anything in the world, anything to prove myself to you. i get that you can’t love me, i understand that, but please, let me win your trust again.”

he said unnaturally calmly, compared to what he did before, and you got concerned immediately.

i understand that you can’t love me, his words rang through your head. oh god, what were you doing? guilt stroke again, right at where you felt your heart to be.

right when you wanted to turn around and leave, he must’ve sensed that, and pulled you into a tight embrace. not suffocating, as they often describe it, not toxic and desperate, but… as loving as every other hug you’ve ever received from him. as calming and grounding, even though you could feel his heart racing. he didn’t refuse for you to leave, he didn’t trap you.

you understood after a while,

he was saying goodbye. all the love trapped inside his heart seeped out onto you, all his feelings surrounding and engulfing you.

“let me promise you this” he whispered, voice shaking painfully “the next time i’ll see you, i’ll be a better man. someone you will be able to be proud of, someone worthy of both your trust, and love. i won’t stop until i’ll be enough for you to look at me without the disgust and fear you have now. i promise. i’ll be better.”

“until then, then.” was the only thing you were capable of saying before leaving.

as soon as the door shut behind you, you rested against a wall and covered your mouth with a hand, unable to hold your tears any longer.

you heard a cry through the door. so he does have some feelings left, after all

your daily reminder that requests are open [here]

[harrywritingsbyme]

Puffy Little Peach

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: I’m OBSESSED with this concept…like to say it’s hot would be a complete understatement!! There’s also no real plot to this one...just some hot shit with Harry and Y/n😋😌So I hope it doesn’t suck ass and you guys actually like it…enjoy🙃

5.2k wordss

“Oh my goodness.” Harry gawks, now completely stopped in his tracks, focusing in on the sight in front of him. His eyes were practically bulging out of his head, his mouth was on the verge of spilling over from how hard he was beginning to salivate, and his cock was rapidly swelling in his pants. Why was Harry like this?  Well, there were many layers and reasons as to why Harry was going into sensory overload right now. But the short and sweet answer to that question, the common ground for all of said reasons, would be you. 

But here’s the not so short and sweet answer...

For starters, you were just minding your own business and relaxing in bed. You’d taken care of everything that required your attention for the day and you were just taking some time to relax, and do absolutely nothing. You were all nice and comfy in the soft and plushy sweatshirt and sweatpants set you’d gotten a couple weeks ago and had fallen head over heels in love with, and you were cuddled up with one of Harry’s pillows. Since he was taking care of something’s himself, the pillow was the best thing you were going to get for the time being. Now while you were just lying in bed and embracing all comfy and cozy of it all, you were mindlessly scrolling and clicking through your phone, you watched a little tv at some point, and you even got a little nap in. You were very much so relaxed and not doing a single thing the way you intended. That is, until Harry finished up with everything he had to take care of before coming upstairs to find you. 

And once he did...your stint of doing absolutely nothing came to an end. Well, sort of. 

When he first stepped foot into the room, you didn’t even realize that he’d come in. Not only was your back turned away from bed door, but you also had the volume on your phone turned up a bit so you couldn’t exactly hear him either. But when you felt the end of the bed dip, you immediately turned your attention in that direction to spot Harry’s newfound presence in the room. You don’t hesitate to drop your phone and take your earbuds out, and Harry doesn’t hesitate to bypass crawling up the bed and lying next to you, and go straight to crawling up the bed and on top of you. Like he wastes absolutely no time at all. 

And at first it was all cute and sweet. Harry was on top of you, sponging little kisses on your lips and all over your face and neck while he lightly tickled at your sides. You couldn’t stop laughing and squirming below him, trying to wriggle out of his grip as he continued to kiss and tickle you. Harry loved giving you all the attention in the world and just making you laugh, so he didn’t intend on stopping for a good little while. Whenever he let up on the tickles and stuck to just kissing you, you thought that you were in the clear. But he’d pick right back up and start tickling you again, leaving you to fall right back into a fit of laughter beneath him. Eventually, after a series of “my stomach hurts” and little tears streaming down your face from laughing so hard, Harry finally let up.

The two of you then proceeded to talk about your days and all, ever once in a while stopping, mid sentence by the way, to kiss each other. These stops were often initiated by Harry and would last a couple minuets if he was able to successfully wrap you up in and just melt you into the kiss. And about 99.999% of the time, he was in fact successful. You just couldn’t help but melt into them. They were so soft, yet firm if that made any type of sense. Like while he gingerly moved his lips against yours, he still managed to reaffirm his control over the kiss. Not to mention the way he held you the entire time. Whether you two were talking or kissing, he always had his free hand cupped around the side of your waist underneath your sweatshirt. He’d either just hold you there, or he’d squeeze you a little, or smooth his hand across your soft stomach, occasionally dipping his fingertips just below the waistband of your sweats.

Now given the fact that Harry was in fact himself, the cute and fluffy little atmosphere surrounding you two was quickly (but not too quickly) scrapped and turned into a full on hot and heavy one. You were no longer pushing back the curls that fell in his face when he lifted his head back up from your neck or from kissing you. Instead, you were pushing your fingers up into the curls that were at the nape of his neck as he pushed his lower half against yours. You welcomed the feeling of Harry’s tongue gliding against yours and exploring your mouth. You two were swallowing each others moans as you kissed, barely parting from each others lips to catch your breaths.

“Y’just so pretty.” He’d softly moan against your lips every once in a while before continuing to kiss you. And as he did this, his hand that was once sitting at your waist, began to wander up your shirt. As he does this, he discovers that you’re not wearing a bra, meaning that your supple breasts were bare and able to be played with immediately.

And for Harry, immediately, meant immediately. Harry was quick to cup the soft flesh in his hand, causing you to let out a string of moans into his mouth. Feeling his large hands around you all of a sudden caused a shiver to run up your spine and goosebumps to spread across your body. Along with kneading at your ample breasts, Harry also brought his forefinger and thumb to your now pebbled nipples to pinch and roll them around a little. That sensation alone sent even more chills and goosebumps across your body, and it caused your panties to dampen even more. After giving all of his attention to only half of your chest, Harry adjusts himself on top of you in a way that would allow him to play with both of them at the same time. Unfortunately though, he wouldn’t be able to lick into your mouth the way he was before. Which prompted you to let out a little whimper at the loss of his lips against yours. But you weren’t too upset with that since Harry definitely made up for it in the way he played with you afterwards. 

After simply toying with your other breast in the same way he did the first, Harry brought his mouth into play. He got rid of your sweatshirt that was already pushed up as high as possible to expose your chest, leaving your upper portion entirely bare. He then proceeds to lay between your legs, and wrap one of his hands around one of your breasts before taking the other into his mouth. If you two weren’t in that much of a rush or a rush at all, Harry always took the time to mouth at your chest. He was absolutely obsessed with stuffing his mouth with your supple breasts and just sucking on them. He also loved sucking on your pert nipples. He loved to suck on them and even lightly bite down onto them if he wanted to make you moan even louder. Which speaking of moans, you and Harry’s moans never stopped. Harry’s were quite muffled due to the fact that his mouth was full at the moment and yours were the exact opposite. They were filling the room and beautifully ringing into Harry’s ears. Following the same pattern as before, once he’s done mouthing at one side, he moves to the other. Again, the two of you continuously moaning, you from the sensation, and Harry from the sheer enjoyment of it all. 

Once he’s all done with your chest and is ready to move on to the lower part of you, Harry begins to kiss down your body. Instead of starting at your chest, he comes back up to your lips to sponge a few kisses onto your lips and to lick into your mouth a little before leaving a trail of wet kisses down your throat, and to each of your nipples, taking a moment to suck on them a little. He then leaves a kiss on the area between your breasts before continuing on his journey down your body. He leaves a ton of kisses along your midsection, taking the time to appreciate your body. 

To say that Harry was obsessed with your body would be a bit of an understatement. Harry loved every single inch of your body. If it was on you, Harry loved it. He wished you just walked around the house naked so that he could see all of you all the time. Harry would literally die for you and your curves. He was absolutely in love with your rounded figure and if he was given the platform to express how much he loved your figure, he was going to make sure he did it. Whether it be by means of constantly touching or squeezing you, whispering into your ear about how amazing you looked and how bad he wanted you, bringing one of your hands to the front of his pants so that you could feel just how hard he was from just staring at your body, or just worshiping your body like he was kind of doing now. Along with his kisses, Harry sang your praises and just gushed all over you, he would even bite at the flesh of your stomach a little. Your body was just so soft and it was like he became a puddle whenever he touched you. And a bit of a horny teenage boy.

When he reaches the waistband of your sweats, Harry quickly sits himself on his calves between your legs so that he can “properly” pull your pants down. 

“Wanna unveil your lower half baby.” He explains, hooking his fingers into  both sides of the waistband of your sweats. 

“Whatever you say Harry.” You chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes at how serious he was when it came to getting you naked. In response, Harry quickly pops the elastic against your skin before hooking his fingers back in. He then beings to ever so slowly pull your sweats down. He makes it about halfway down your thighs before he’s stopped in his tracks all together. 

“Oh my goodness.” Harry gawks, completely taken aback by the sight in front of him. Not to say that he was upset with it or anything. In fact, Harry was mesmerized at the sight. Now along with your beautiful, perfectly rounded figure, you also had something just as beautiful and rounded going on between your legs. The area between your legs was absolutely amazing and perfect to Harry. 

He loved to cup your fleshy mound in his hand at any given time. If you two weren’t cockwarming at night, he’d always have a hand in your panties holding your plushy cunt in the palm of his hand. Even if he’s driving, Harry would either be holding your hand or cupping your pussy because of how plushy and soft and plump you were. That’s why he loved when you wore dresses or skirts. Even though he didn’t mind undoing your pants if it meant getting to your cunt, he definitely preferred having easy access to you and being able to just hold you in his hand. Harry also loved it when you wore leggings. Like not only were your delectable curves on display, your puffy peach as Harry liked to call it was also on display. It didn’t matter if you wore panties or not, there would always be a defined outline of your pussy through the material. Along with the overall rounded shape of your mound, he was also able to see where your fleshy folds met. And it was even more defined when you decided to tease him and not wear panties when you joined him for a workout. At one point, Harry had to take your out to buy more leggings because he’d be so turned on that he’d tear a hole in the crotch area and just fuck you right then and there. Harry was never, nor did he ever want to, kick his obsession. It was just never going to happen. 

“They were the only ones I had before doing laundry. Plus they’re not exactly uncomfortable.” You say, explaining why you had such a pretty and tiny thong on, breaking Harry right out of his perverted thoughts. 

“I just wanna take a bite outta you.” Harry groans, completely disregarding your explanation (which he thought was actually adorable…like you actually felt the need to explain, to him of all people, why your pussy was bursting out of an itty bitty thong) and feeling his cock twitch in his pants. The thong wasn’t doing its job of covering you in the front at least, if anything, it was being swallowed up by your fleshy cunt. “Such a pretty little pair of panties.” Harry sighs, staring at how your amazingly delicious and juicy cunt as he loved to describe it, was practically bursting out of and engulfing the thong you had on. “Can you um- lets just get these off of you first.” Harry says, changing his direction to you and quickly helping you out of your sweats before tossing them somewhere behind him. He also pushes your legs further apart, only making the panties even more useless when it came to covering your cunt, and in turn, giving him an even better view. “Now I want you t’pull them up from here baby.” Harry instructs, reaching out to pull one of your hands that was lying on your stomach down to the top of your panties to show you from where he wanted you to pull. After he does this, you follow his direction, tugging your panties up a bit, causing them to move further up between your folds.

By now your lips were fully exposed on either side of the sting of fabric that was practically inside of you at this point. Upon seeing this, Harry couldn’t help but to reach down between your legs and pinch the two fleshy lips between his fore finger and thumb. You were so soft, plushy, and sticky between his fingers. And Harry couldn’t help but to play with you a bit. As he continued to squeeze you between his fingers, your mind was racing. On one hand you had Harry obsessing over you and just worshiping you, which never failed to make you all blushy. And then on the other hand, Harry was touching you and was completely entranced with your body, which made you incredibly needy for him. You were fighting with wanting to snap your legs shut from how exposed you were for him, and with wanting him to touch you even more. And on top of all that, you were fiercely tugging your lower lip between your teeth, trying your hardest to hold back the little moans that were threatening to spill out from how much you enjoyed the way you were being touched. But you couldn’t help but to let out a little yelp and moan when Harry pushed one of his fingers in between your lips to pull the sizable portion of your panties that had been engulfed by your pussy back out and to the side.

After squeezing, poking, prodding, and obsessing over your pussy a bit more, Harry finally removes his hand from between your legs(and the other from his pants). He then glides his hands up your thighs, to which he gives a good squeeze because he just can’t help himself, and he brings his hands all the way up to your hips where the bands of your panties were resting. The sight of the elastic slightly digging into your soft and fleshy hips alone was enough to make Harry of wild. He hooks his fingers into the thin bands before pulling them down from your hips and off your body, leaving you completely bare and spread before him. He’s quick to toss the panties in the same direction as your pants from earlier, immediately bringing his focus back to you once the last piece of your clothing was completely out of the way. 

“Have I told you how stunning you are?!” Harry randomly asks, taking a moment to take all of your now fully naked body in. Before making another move, Harry just had to sit back and look at you. 

“I think you have at just about every moment you could possibly find.” You softly reply, fighting the intense urge to snatch up one of the pillows next to your head to cover your face.

“Well I’m just gonna say it again…” Harry begins, slowly lowering himself on top of you, bringing himself up a bit so that his face could hover over yours. As he momentarily lays himself on top of you, you could feel his very hard cock pressing right into where your lower stomach and the upper portion of your mound began. He was pressing right into where you were feeling the most pressure, and he was so close to where you needed him the most. “And again, and again, and until I can’t say it anymore.” He continues, bringing his face down to yours, and pushing himself into you a tad bit harder. “You are the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He whispers, looking you right in the eyes as he uttered every word. Harry then brings his mouth to yours, locking your lips in a kiss that was filled with passion, adoration, and lust.

As Harry kissed you, his tongue explored your mouth and his hands explored your body as if they’d never done it a thousand times before. You could feel his hands moving across your entire body. They started at your chest, fondling your supple and ample breasts again and rolling your pert nipples between his fingers. His hands then traveled down your sides, using his grip on you as leverage a bit to rut himself against you, receiving some of the mounting pressure in his cock. Harry pushes his hands further down your body and right between your legs. When he hears  a muffled little whimper escape your mouth, Harry decides to tease you a bit and slowly glides his hand down your mound, wanting you to beg him a little. And that you did, whenever he’d stop his hand from going further, you’d immediately whine into his mouth and buck up into his hand, causing Harry to chuckle against your lips at how needy you were before continuing on. Eventually, after he’s had is fair share of teasing you, Harry brings his hand down to your folds and pushes two fingers in between. He drags them up and down, starting at the very top near your clit, and pushing them all they way down between your lips and to your entrance where he slightly nudges with his fingertips. As he does this, he focuses in on your entrance and your clit. Whenever he came back to your clit, he’d start circling your clit and the sensitive area right underneath it and would not let up. Like you’d be moaning up a storm and squirming underneath him and he’d still be working in your clit. Your sensitivity was already heightened after everything that went down before he even started toying with your clit, so to have him barely letting up on your incredibly sensitive button was a lot for you to handle.

But after a little while longer, Harry finally lets up on your pussy and brings his kisses down your body for the second time, only this time, he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he sponges wet open mouthed kisses along your body. When he makes it back down between your legs, there isn’t a second to spare before Harry begins mouthing at your cunt. He’d been dying to do this since he first pulled down your pants to discover your cunt bursting out of that thong of yours. Your cunt was already so plump and juicy against his fingers, it felt ten times as plump and juicy against his mouth. He was in heaven as he mouthed at your cunt. For the first couple of minuets, all he could do was suck on the fleshy lips of your pussy, loving how thick they were. He even went as far as to pinch them together between his fingers and just suck them into his mouth and lick in between them. Harry then pushes your legs up a bit before resting his forearms on your spread thighs (this also helps for when you try to snap them shut when it got to be too much) and brings his hands in to pull your fleshy cunt apart to really expose all of you to him. And in no time, his mouth is attached to your clit. One minute he was harshly sucking on your clit, and the next he was slowly sucking on you and lapping his tongue back and forth against your clit. As he sucks on your button, Harry couldn’t help but give in to his body; he starts to grind himself down into the bed, trying to relieve the intense throbbing in his cock. He was beyond turned on and he couldn’t help himself. He loved having your body on display and he loved being able to play around with and pleasure you. And then to see your delicious cunt bursting out of those so called panties?! He was definitely in need of a release. And so were you. 

With all of he built up need and pressure and sensitivity, on top of the fact that Harry was practically moaning into your clit, it was nearly impossible for you to hold yourself from letting go. And because Harry had become an expert on your releases, he could sense this in the way your moons had turned to whimpers, you were fighting to close your thighs even more, and you hands were wound even tighter in his hair. To make you go even crazier, Harry let go of one of your lips and brought his now free hand down to your entrance where he began to push one of his fingers in and out of you. He then began to slobber and suck even harder on your clit, making it pretty much impossible to hold back any longer. And with that, Harry had you squirting all over his face and the bed. As you let go, Harry doesn’t let up on your clit or your entrance. He keeps fingering you and flicking his tongue back and forth on your button, and he keeps moving his finger in and out of your tight little entrance. Once your release had come to an end, you began thrashing against Harry, needing to take a little break before going any further. He can hear you whimpering that you can’t take anymore but he doesn’t let up. He was so close to his release and he couldn’t stop just yet. To help you out a bit, he eased up on your clit a bit and began to lick all of you and sucking on your lips again until he came. Not too long after you reached your climax, Harry began to feel his rumbling even louder in the pit of his stomach. Eventually becoming so loud he couldn’t ignore it, nor hold back anymore. His hips and mouth came to a halt, and he let completely let go. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Harry loudly groans, feeling his warm cum involuntarily spurting from the head of his cock and into his pants. He just couldn’t hold it anymore, you felt, looked, and tasted too good for him to hold himself off anymore. The fact that he didn’t cum already was an accomplishment in itself. Just hearing him moaning and cumming between your legs sent shockwaves to your clit and through your body. 

Once he’s all done Harry stays between your legs and rests his head on one of your soft thighs, taking a moment to recover from his intense release, even though he was still very hard. After about ten or so minutes of just lying there and recovering from those earth shattering releases, Harry finally musters up enough energy to go again and take care of his cock once more. 

“Wanna go again sweets?” Harry asks, breaking the silence as he reaches over to softly squeeze at your equally as soft thigh.

“Don’t think I can...that one was a lot.” You mumble tiredly. “I just got feeling in my legs again.” You continue on. 

“I’ll do all the work baby.” Harry whines, trying to get you to cave. “Then I’ll let your pussy rest.” He offers. 

“Okay fine...you better be glad I want you inside anyways.” You agree, making sure to give him a little attitude. 

As soon as he hears you agree, Harry springs up from your thigh and immediately instructs you on how he wants you. He’s quick to help flip you onto your front, and help get a pillow up underneath your hips. And again, before going any further, Harry takes a moment to appreciate your body. This time, taking the time to gawk at your ass and your thighs. When it came to his favorite positions, Harry’s top position would be you lying on your front. Mainly because he can really pound into you from this angle, but also because he gets to watch your ass and thighs jiggle with every thrust. He loved watching the soft flesh move back and forth with his movements. Plus he loved being able to almost ride your from behind. And he also loved having to pull your ass apart to really see his cock disappearing in and out of your pussy. 

“Fuck Y/n, I can see your sweet and plump little peach from back here.” He groans. Harry would never get over the sight of your puffy little pussy between your fleshy thighs and ass. He couldn’t wait to fuck you and have all of his creamy and sticky cum pooling between your plump lips. The simple thought of that caused Harry’s cock to twitch, signaling to him that he needed to be inside of you immediately. Harry swiftly moves on top of your thighs, lifting himself up a bit to line himself up with your entrance, or at least what he could see from behind. He then nudges his cock past your outer lips to actually align himself with your entrance. When he does this, Harry could hear the sort of creamy sound of his cock pushing past all of your delicious flesh and juices to push inside of you. And then Harry finally begins to sink into your pussy, slowly filling you to the brim with his cock.

“So big!” You mewl, feeling the slight sting from his girthy shaft forcing your walls apart to fit. No matter how many times he’s pushed into you, this feeling would never change.

“Gotta have a big and thick cock for this thick, yet incredibly tiny pussy of yours.” Harry groans, pulling your ass apart to watch his cock disappear into you and feeling your narrow walls stretch to fit his cock. 

Once he’s all the way inside of you, Harry is quick to tighten his grip on the flesh of your ass and begins to piston his hips into you from behind. Thrust after thrust he fucks his cock into you, making sure you feel every last inch and every last stroke inside of you. Both you and Harry were moaning uncontrollably, the both of you still very sensitive from your first releases. You were letting out a perfect mix of cries, moans, and whimpers, every once in a while muffling them by biting into the sheets below you. Unless you asked or begged for it, Harry wasn’t going to go easy on you. So you weren’t surprised with his rough, and very pleasurable thrusts.  They felt so good that you were even becoming a bit lightheaded. This feeling only intensified when Harry laid down on top of you with his mouth right at your ear, whispering the filthiest things and growling into your ear. He was going on and on about how good your pussy was gripping his cock and how he couldn’t wait to make a mess of your insides with his second load cum. He also couldn’t help but to ramble on and on about how puffy your little peach was and how he absolutely loved playing with it. Harry felt like he was in cloud nine. He had his cock buried deep inside your pussy, you were falling apart on him, and he got to listen to your sweet moans, whimpers, and cries along with the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs, and the wet sounds of his cock fucking your pussy. 

Because he was so turned on and desperate to cum again, it wasn’t longer before Harry could feel his second release bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. His hips became a bit staggered as he continued to fuck his cock down into you. He could feel you tightening up around him too and since he wanted the two of you to cum together, Harry pushes a hand down between your body and the bed to squeeze at your fleshy upper mound before pushing it further down towards your clit. 

“Y’cute little button is buried underneath all your meaty pussy baby.” Harry growls into your neck, quickly unearthing your clit and immediately circling it around the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. “Want you t’cum with me baby!” Harry grumbles into your ear as your whimpers intensify. “Can y’do that f’me sweets?” Harry coos, his tone completely juxtaposing the way he’s harshly rubbing at your clit and slamming his hips down into you.

“Mhm! Wanna cum with you!” You cry out to him, feeling the very familiar and overwhelming feeling that came along with your releases. 

“You can do it baby, let go with me!” Harry pants, not being able to hold off any longer. He delivers two final thrusts into you before exploding inside of your warm cunt. And you’re not too far behind, cumming seconds after Harry. You end up squirting for the second time, completely letting go and ending up completely worn out. Harry too was completely worn out with this release milking him for everything he had. It didn’t help that your walls were contracting and quite literally milking his cock. 

But Harry could care less, he’d end up doing just about anything when it came to your puffy little peach. 

Masterlist

[rawliverandcigarettes]

HALFWAY HOME - Presentation Post (2022)

The night Shlee hatches in the trunk of a skycar, an asari watches and cries. She promises he will survive, at all and every cost. Shlee believes her. He stomachs the resentment of his alien sisters forced into hiding with him, and dreams about the stars. But the Milky Way is vast, swirling; painfully interwoven. And when Shlee begins to wonder who he is, who he should be, and what secrets keep this fragile galaxy from splitting apart, perhaps it's already too late.

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Shlee T’selvi, a young salarian raised by asaris in secret, reckons with the complex circumstances of his birth and why he represents a threat to the brittle politics of the galaxy in the looming shadow of the Reaper invasion.

Halfway Home is a fan fiction of approximately 174k words based on the space-opera video game trilogy Mass Effect. This story has been crafted with the intent to be understandable by fans as well as people who never interacted with the original material. While most of the story happens during the run of the trilogy (Mass Effect 1, Mass Effect 2 and half of Mass Effect 3 to be exact), Shlee’s story only loosely connects to Commander Shepard’s, and hopes to focus on the universe with a different lens.

It is a Gen fic, with an Explicit rating.

Halfway Home explores themes of identity, community, violence, and connection, and take them from the Citadel Tower’s secrets all the way to Omega’s fragile hold on galactic power. It attempts to depict perspectives the original trilogy didn’t always consider: batarians and their brutal and systematic dismantlement, salarians in conflict with themselves, the sudden rise of humanity assessed from alien eyes, Aria T’loak and those she sacrificed; and at heart, the societal dysfunction that the Reaper War merely revealed.

This is a coming of age, a mystery, a character exploration. It is also a very rough tale that touches on difficult and painful topics, sometimes in explicit details (I highly encourage you to read the list of trigger warnings if this is something that worries you, because these are not a joke).

This is the first part of the Halfway Homes series, and will be weekly published, starting in November 2022, on Archive of our Own.

(YOU CAN READ IT HERE NOW)

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▪ The Process ▪

I have been working on this story since 2015; early September, to be exact. It’s been my companion ever since; sometimes, it’s been my only companion. The story and characters helped me through very dark times, to the point where I’m not sure I would be here today without it; it also taught me how to write in English, which incidentally landed me a job in my career of choice and allowed me the immense privilege of becoming a professional storyteller in the videogame industry.

I always owe so much to my projects, but this one is special. It stayed with me the longest, and potentially saw me growing the most. And while I would hardly say this story is perfect, far from it, I think it has finally attained the form it always wanted to achieve. It’s saying what it had been wanting to say. And given I believe that art is first and foremost about communication, I think I can, cautiously, call this attempt a success?

The process is not completely done yet. I am still waiting for one last small round of beta reading, to make sure I did fix the things and didn’t cause 25 critical errors in the process; I also want to give this project the highest possible chance to shine, and so I’ll be drawing a ton and work on visuals to accompany it all. But it feels insane, after 7 years of work, to look at a project and not being quite sure what to fix. I’m sure there are things worth tweaking (especially surface-level, like line edits, typos, small clarity issues still lingering, or my bold refusals to ignore the English form sometimes), but I can’t think of any right now. This never happened before. This feels wild.

I was also delighted to discover I am not sick to death with Mass Effect, these characters and this personal take on the universe! I am thrilled to be keep on working on the follow-ups. The Empire of Preys, the second part of the Halfway Homes series, is well underway, and it’s going great so far. I am very optimistic that I can publish it somewhere in 2024 given my rate of writing and how seamless the process is going right now (contrary to Halfway Home, which is one Frankenstein monster of a project). TEoP is, overall, a much more pleasant and less desperate project than Halfway Home ever was, which makes it less difficult to handle (let me tell you that HH has some *interesting* scenes to grammar check…..)

Either way, I am so happy to finally be (mostly) putting Halfway Home to rest, present my weird, messy, problematic child to the world of Tumblr dot com, and prepare for finally letting it run free in Ao3 this coming November.

My ask box is always opened for any follow-up questions or remark, and I wish you all the very, very best.

Here's the complete list of all Trigger Warnings for the series. Please check it out if you suffer from traumatic stress disorders, and always take care of yourself. <3