#which are. you guessed it. a tightly knit community

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Going buckwild at the way Hilda The Series portrays adulthood and loneliness. Kaisa has no one to go to to ask for help getting the due book back, even though all it would take was someone she could minimally ask to knock on an elderly lady’s door and ask for a favour; she’s in the library after hours, is shown to have no allies aside from the woman who raised her and who she lost contact with. Johanna is only ever seen working or caring for Hilda, and her lack of a life aside from those two activities is pointed out by her own daughter when she thinks that this is going so far as to affect their relationship. The bell keeper lives alone in a small cabin on the edge of town, barely within city limits and away from everyone, a house barely even inhabitable and clearly only a place to sleep and eat. He works a solitary job and he’s the only one in the town still working it, meaning he’s probably overworked and forced to pull inhumanly long shifts. Victoria hyperfocused so hard on her projects that whatever friends she had before - and she must have had some from college time at least - lost contact with her, and she never made any other connections in Trolberg, anything that would tie her to the city and it’s inhabitants and make it so it wasn’t worth it to live by herself at the top of a hill. Even when that was over, she still chose to isolate herself somewhere abandoned and keep what was essentially another machine she’d built as her source of company, something she could understand and control instead of an unpredictable human being. Gerda works a job she likes but is shown to be disregarded by the person she works the most around, her abilities and intellect thrown aside for the good of someone she has to bear because of a hierarchy she was forced to accept in order to keep working. She’s appreciated by the town, but other than the main characters, we don’t see anyone paying her any mind when they don’t need something from her.

Meanwhile no kid has ever been alone in Trolberg. The mean kids are a group, the good kids are a group, even the gloomy teenage girls are a group. One of nightmare inducing entities, but a group nonetheless. All children in that world seem to operate on a ‘no man left behind’ code, looking out for each other even if they aren’t exactly fans of one another, helping even grown ups without asking why and working together. And this logic seems to extend to the adults who work around children too; especially the Raven Leader, who we see that through the children works as a vital part of the community and a way through which it comes together.

This isn’t very articulate but do you see the point? Do you see how clever that is? That a show about growing up has these themes? You can be magical, kind, strong, intelligent, competent, but none of that will make you truly happy if you don’t keep the most important thing from childhood? If you don’t keep your friendships, your bonds, something to tie you down to your reality and your community? The adults in the show all made their choices, and it’s okay to want to be alone, we all need it and some more than others (this is coming from someone who needs it a lot), but isolating yourself completely is the one thing that will make growing pains truly painful. I’m just so emotional over it. It’s so subtle and so clever considering the whole Mountain King plot that Hilda is willing to change species because she feels detached from her main relationships and surroundings. I love this show so much.

[hyuuukais]

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, drinking

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 4 ~ ENERGY (wc: 2.7k, 7 screenshots)

Flipping the open sign to 'closed', you wait for Minho behind the counter. There hasn't been much more communication from him since the last time you talked, only a confirmation of when you're meeting. Changbin made sure to leave before he decides to show up, feeling too uncomfortable facing an old friend. Other than the occasional check-in text from Jeongin, you haven't had much ghostly interaction either, which you think is for the best.

Each interaction so far has taken more and more energy, starting with the man on the bus and then the elderly woman. A headache, then nearly passing out? At this point, you'll end up in the hospital. A chill goes down your spine thinking of that; would it be easier for the ghost to get to you unprotected like that, lying in a hospital bed unconscious and exposed?

The sound of the bell alerts you of Minho's arrival. Adjusting yourself to lean against the counter, you watch him close the door and lock it. When he turns around, he catches your eye and gives you a light nod of acknowledgment. Slowly, he makes his way toward the counter, fingers trailing over an arrangement of pink carnations mixed with greenery. Minho stops, letting a petal fall between his fingers and onto the floor. Shaking his head, he closes the distance between himself and the counter with a couple of strides.

"I don't know if I believe you," Minho says, leaning on the counter; his face is too close to yours. "But I'm willing to try and help. I owe Changbin."

"How so?" You ask, unsure if you'll get a reply when he places his bag on the counter and takes out a sleek laptop.

"Why do you need to know? That's between me and him," Minho doesn't even spare you a glance as he opens the device and starts typing. "What's the kid's name again? Any lead suspects yet?"

"Yang Jeongin and no, not really," You answer with a shrug. "I guess the most notable person is his best friend, Hwang Hyunjin."

"Have you looked into him yet?" Minho's eyes dart up between yours, returning to the screen and starting to type. "Could be something there."

"I don't know-" You're interrupted by a buzz and look down to see a text from Jeongin.

Rolling your eyes, you place your phone face down and focus back on Minho's typing. He's not saying anything, but his eyebrows are knit together in concentration as his fingers fly over the keyboard. Other than the sound of the keys, the flower shop is eerily silent, making you slightly uncomfortable. Ever since this has started up, quiet rooms have you on edge, waiting for the next visit from another spirit.

Minho sighs heavily, stepping away from the screen and pacing in front of the counter. You let him take his time, a hand sitting in his hair showing he must be thinking hard. Hopefully. You'll see in a moment.

"Nothing is showing up," Minho stops in front of his laptop, slamming it shut with the hand not holding his head. "Absolutely nothing, just a warning- error, whatever."

"The same thing happened to me!" You stand up straight, fingertips holding the edge of the counter tightly. "When I found this blog that was talking all about his death, it wouldn't let me read the rest of it and said there was an error! It's like something is stopping us from finding out-"

"Invisible forces?" Minho raises an eyebrow.

"Isn't that the whole thing? Normally, people can't see ghosts. Why do you think probably half the world doesn't believe in them?" You say. "So, yeah, invisible forces."

"Alright, sure," Minho slips his laptop bag into his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "I'll look into Hyunjin. Goodnight."

"Wait-" As he turns to leave, you call out; he looks back at you over his shoulder. "Would you... could you give me a ride? Being alone right now has me kind of freaked out."

"Won't you be alone at home?"

"Yeah, but it's different," You mumble, looking down at your feet. "It still feels safe there."

Minho hums in response and you don't move.

"Aren't you coming?" He asks after a moment, car keys jingling in his hand.

You lift your head and spot him holding the front door open. Grabbing your bag and jacket, you walk out after Minho and follow him to his car parked down the road. He opens the door for you politely and you step in with a small 'thank you', fiddling with your bag strap as he walks to the other side and lets himself in. The ride to your house is silent, save for the occasional direction from the GPS.

Along the way, you spot a few stragglers out on the streets, one catching your eye when you're stopped at a red light. An uncomfortable feeling washes over you as they keep staring and you shiver, breaking the eye contact and focusing on the road in front of you. When the light turns green, you take one last look and jump. They're right outside your window, the imprint of a hand left on the glass as Minho starts driving again. He gives you a weird look that you miss, too busy trying to learn how to breathe again.

Ten minutes later, you're standing outside your door picking up the keys you just dropped from your hands shaking too much. Minho is stationed outside watching you get in safely, your cheeks flushing from embarrassment when you struggle to get your key in the lock. Switching the light on, you can hear the rumble of Minho driving away and take a deep breath. You're home now, nothing can hurt you here.

Entering your bedroom, you flop face first into your plush bedding and stay like that for a moment. You feel a dip at the end of the bed, but it doesn't freak you out. By now you can tell when it's Jeongin; his presence feels familiar. The bed moves slightly as he adjusts and gets comfortable beside you and you turn your head enough to be able to peek up at him. He's staring straight ahead, hands folded in his lap, and you see he's even kicked his shoes off. Shaggy black hair falls into his eyes and he shakes his head enough to clear his sight, his eyes then falling onto yours- you've been caught.

"Like what you see?" He teases, head rolling to his shoulder to face you completely.

"No," You lie with a grin, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Not at all. Personally, I'm not a fan of having dead people in my bed."

Jeongin laughs at that, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. You watch him relax, sliding further down into your pillows with a content expression. As much as you want to join him in seemingly falling asleep, you still need to change and wash up. But-

"I gotta go," You say, rolling off the side of your bed.

"What?" Jeongin sits up, hands behind him. "Why?"

"Changbin wants to hang out."

"I thought you were in for the night?" Jeongin's voice goes higher at the end of the sentence.

"Me too! But it's been so long since we've done something fun. Now, which is better? This," You hold a plain black dress up to your body. "-or this?"

You switch the black for a dark red strapless shirt and some black pants and watch his reaction. Although he hesitates, you can already tell he's thinking the second and you toss the dress back toward your closet. After he covers his eyes, you change quickly and do some last touch-ups before leaving the room. Jeongin follows you and you both keep an eye outside for Changbin.

"Be careful, okay?" Jeongin talks low, keeping his eyes on the road when you look over at him. "Lots of energy in those kinds of places, don't need you getting hurt. Especially if you're planning on drinking."

"Are you worried about me?" You tease.

"No, I just don't want you to become one of us before my case is solved."

"Cold."

"Just like my case." This makes you laugh, a light catching the corner of your eye.

Changbin steps out of his vehicle and starts to approach, but you're already waving goodbye to Jeongin and exiting before he can get up the steps to the front door. The night air is crisp, goosebumps forming on your exposed skin, but you're quickly ushered into the warmth of the car. In the window of your house, you can still see Jeongin watching when you drive off. On the way to the bar, you and Changbin sing along to his daily playlist to bring up the mood, and it works incredibly well. By the time you're entering the building, any thoughts of ghosts and death are gone.

Ordering two of the same drink, you and Changbin sit with your backs to the bar and observe the others, making up backstories for each person who passes by you or seems interesting. About four drinks later, Changbin has convinced you to join him on the dance floor. One more drink, and you find yourself surrounded by strangers, distracted by the loud music flowing through your veins. It seeps into your skin and you can feel the beat moving inside you, letting your body take control. In front of you, Changbin shows off his moves and you can hear people cheering, but you know to him it's just the two of you here.

The music slows and so does your body, adrenaline leaving as you brush some hair out of your face. Changbin's expression is all scrunched up in a pout and you laugh at the way he appears to be going in slow motion; it's funny, that is until you notice how everyone around you is following his lead. Panic starts to settle heavy in your chest, turning every direction to try and spot what's causing this.

You sway on your feet as you see the first spirit weaving through the bodies toward you. There's a hole in the center of his head, dried blood crusted down his nose and chin. Moving back to the bar, you stop when you almost hit the chest of someone else; her eyes are dark as she towers over you and you step away. You let your body guide you away, walking turning into a frantic dance to avoid the mass amount of spirits that seem to be mixed with the crowd. The exit isn't too far now, but you seem to be getting sluggish purely from being near this many spirits. You can hear your breathing turn to wheezing as you stumble forward with a hand out, your fingers barely brushing the red handle before someone is wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you away. There's no fight left in you, your eyelids heavy and your body falling limp. Someone is calling your name as you're torn away from whoever is holding you, blurry visions of colourful figures above you being the last thing you see before your eyes flutter shut.

-

When your eyes open, you don't recognize the room you're in. Dust falls from the ceiling, visible in the moonlight coming through a window above you, white curtains pulled to the side. The bed you're in is much too small for your body, pale blue sheets twisted under your legs. Rubbing sleep out of your eyes, you sit up slowly, a wave of dizziness rocking you. Once it's over, you take in the rest of the room.

It appears to be a child's bedroom, string lights pinned corner to corner emitting a dim gold on the walls. Tucked in the corner is a small desk with art supplies messily organized in compartments, one cup of paintbrushes knocked over with dried paint water soaked into a drawing. You stand and pick up the drawing; there's two boys standing by water, but one has been smudged by the spillage. They seem to be watching something out there, but the drawing is unfinished.

Directly next to the desk is an open door leading into a short hallway. Stairs lead downward with candles melting over the railing, wax dripping onto the wooden steps. As you walk toward the stairs, you can't help but look at all the photos covering the walls. Most are artsy, decorative shots, but one in particular catches your eye. There's a family of four, but the photo is torn at the parent's middle, leaving only the children to be seen holding hands and smiling wide. It's almost unsettling.

Following the pathway, it ends at the doorway to what looks like a living room, but all the furniture is covered in white sheets. You cover your mouth to suppress a noise when you spot a man standing by a fireplace. The sound of your hand slapping over your mouth must have alerted him, his head whipping around to look at you.

"What are you...?" He's turning fully now, head tilted to the side and eyes squinting. You have to hold in another gasp when you realize it's Hyunjin you're looking at.

"I don't know," you reply quietly, bringing your hand back to your side. "I've never been here before. I don't know where I am."

"You shouldn't be able to get in here. You-" He stalks toward you and grabs your wrists, bringing you into the room with him.

You watch his eyes widen as the moonlight hits you, eyebrows knitting together and mouth falling open slightly. The grip on your wrists is bruising, and he gives no sign of letting go. There's a shift in the air and he looks away from you and past your head, eyes narrowing at something in the space behind you.

"Back off," He warns, and you're almost too scared to know what he's seeing. "Stay right there."

His voice wavers, hands finally loosening and you're able to pull away completely. This, however, is a mistake. Hyunjin is reaching for you again with a shout of your name as hands grab you from behind, tearing you away from the room, the house, this whole place.

With a gasp, you sit up in a hospital bed, lights blinding you. Someone is touching you, trying to calm you, but you fight them off; you've had enough of peoples skin on yours. Head in your hands, you take deep breathes and notice just how badly you're shaking. You hadn't even realized you were crying until now.

"Y/n! It's just me-" Changbin's voice is clear beside you now that you're a bit more adjusted. "Hey, it's just me. You passed out."

"What?" You finally let him settle you back against the stiff pillow. "I did?"

"Yeah, and I think it's ghost related, but I don't know," Changbin shifts in his chair uncomfortably. "Jeongin's been blowing up your phone."

He hands you the small device and you unlock it to see he's right, Jeongin has been blowing up your phone.

Jeongin replaces Changbin, sitting in the chair with his legs crossed at the ankles. Neither of you talk, but he does stare at you with concern visible on his face. You lay down on your side, keeping your eyes on him as you get comfortable, or at least as much as you can be. There's a moment when he opens his mouth, but a nurse comes into the room to check on you before he can say anything. She explains you'll be able to go home soon, just rest for now.

When she leaves, you sigh. "I wish I never left my bed."

"Me too," Jeongin admits quietly, a faint blush of red creeping up his neck and you giggle.

The energy with him is so different than other spirits and you can't understand why. With him, it's warm, easy; It's not draining or unwelcoming in the slightest. Being with him feels nice, like a dream you don't want to leave.

Jeongin follows you out of the hospital, into the cab they provide, and back into your home. He waits outside of your bedroom as you change, opening the door to let him back in. Crawling into bed, you catch a glimpse of Jeongin next to you. This is the first time you've seen him look so unguarded since you've met, so peaceful, and you drift into sleep thinking of him.

~

notes ~ this is unedited bc it's 2:30 am and i'm tired so pls ignore any mistakes lol

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800

@dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

@lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung @kkamismom12

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you

[acediaedeus]

this does contain them sweet

SPOILERS

what I find really upsetting about Ichigo’s dynamic with his friends/family/mentors is how they treat the fact that he’s part-Hollow. especially when it comes to the Visored and Orihime.

bc yeah, the Visored did struggle with their Hollows, bc they already lived hundreds of years without that aspect. they were comfortable with their shinigami existence, but then this hollowfication bullshit drops on their heads and suddenly they’re not only barely in control of themselves, constantly in a fight with an inner “demon”, but also there’s no one to support them AND they’re getting fucking exiled and then they exist as this tightly knit community of eight for a fucking century with no one to understand them but each other. I’d hate the Hollow in me too, probably.

BUT, then there’s this fresh guy, that hasn’t accepted the fact that he’s now an amalgamation of a million different things, including something that he has been told he has to fight and exterminate, that they have to teach to manage the hollowfication bullshit™️ so what do we do? correct, scare the shit out of him and present existing with a Hollow as amensalism (one is harmed, one is unaffected) or parasitism (one benefits, one is harmed) when it’s more like commensalism (one benefits, one is unaffected), in which the shinigami is clearly the one who’s benefiting from this.

(although we could argue that for the Visored this is a symbiotic relationship in which both are getting harmed, but even then the shinigami still gains benefit and the Hollow gets nothing but hatred, so like, fuck them, lol (I’m advocating for inner-Hollow rights 💀🙏🏻)).

biology lesson out of the way, they essentially do not teach Ichigo anything that would bring long-term benefits (we see this when Ichigo is unable to complete his training with Squad 0, bc he has no fucking idea who Zangetsu (or he himself) actually is (this is, of course, in part his quincy power’s doing, but I wouldn’t say his supposed “mentors” helped much).

in conclusion what does Ichigo get out of this? self-hatred and the habit to suppress what is, whichever way you look at it, a big part of his being, thus blocking himself and Zangetsu from reaching their full potential.

but I guess you can’t teach lessons you haven’t learnt yourself, so there is that with the Visored.

now onto my dear Orihime, who I love dearly (this is a disclaimer). for someone who, supposedly, loves Ichigo more than anything and who we have to take seriously as not only just a potential love-interest, but the actual, one-and-only lover, she is a little bit too scared of Ichigo.

this, of course, for me, begs the question of how am I supposed to accept a love-interest who is consistently terrified of the mc? not a single battle with Orihime present (and Ichigo using the mask) without her shaking in fear and having to be reminded by others (who have known him for much less time than she has), that not only is it still Ichigo in front of her, but he’s also fighting and pulling out the mask he himself doesn’t like much, in order to protect her.

it’s plain and simple upsetting how there’s absolutely no one to accept and embrace the essence of Kurosaki Ichigo. everyone around him wants the shinigami and human in him, no one is interested in the Hollow (except for *ahem* Grimmjow *ahem*), all they do is reject and cower and isn’t that fucking hypocritical after hiding behind his back and begging him to save them?

everyone around Ichigo just really pisses me off with their constant whining. I feel like the only ones who love and cherish Ichigo for the absolute gem of a person he is are Chad and the fucking Arrancars 💀🙏🏻

as I mentioned in the ALT to the last photo in this parade of idiocy: trying to separate and think of Hollow Ichigo and Ichigo as two different entities is crazy and delusional behaviour, bc we have been told countless times, that a person’s inner Hollow is a manifestation of all repressed emotions and traits that they view as unsavoury. which for Ichigo happened to be aggression, cruelty, being merciless and thirst for bloody battles.

let me remind everyone that you cannot truly love a person w/o accepting and acknowledging all their flaws (including yourself).

this is not me trying to say Orihime doesn’t love Ichigo, it’s not really about the characters, more so the writing. I am actively trying to square up with Tite Kubo. for many reasons, but this is one of the ones I pay most attention to.

Ichigo is someone who is in perfect control of himself, who protects no matter what, bc even when he turned into the vasto lorde (after getting his heart ripped out of his chest) it was all his Hollow, yet it still carried out the mission of protection seamlessly, that’s how strong his will is. Kurosaki Ichigo deserves ppl who actually love him around, thank you.

thanks for coming to this ted talk, love y’all!

[mercerislandbooks]

50 Years of Island Books: Our Sales Reps

In this installment, we’re seeing Island Books through the eyes of our sales reps. Dan Christiaens, Christine Foye, David Glenn and Kurtis Lowe all have decades-long relationships with Island Books, with lots of stories to share.

Miriam: Welcome Dan, Christine, David, and Kurtis! I'm excited to talk to all of you. As key sales reps for the big publishing houses, you've all had long-standing relationships with Island Books, and we wouldn't be the place we are today without your contributions. Tell me some stories! It can be about your first impression of the store, how you came to work with us, a particular title that did well at Island Books, or any other fond memories.

Dan Christiaens (Norton): I’ll start off. It was around 20 years ago that I started covering accounts in the PNW. I was still living in SoCal. Island Books was on my account list so on my first trip I stopped by and met Roger. He was pretty terse, made it clear that he didn’t see reps, but would review my stuff and send me an order for anything that he wanted. The store was lovely, well curated, with the typewriters all over and a small music section featuring CD’s, which caught my attention. I would stop by the store when I was in town, say hello, and always buy a CD or two.

When I moved up here in 2004, I started visiting the store more regularly, chatting with Cindy or Nancy, or even Roger—and would buy a CD or order some music that I wanted that they didn’t carry, and began to suggest music they should be aware of. Then our books became the topic of conversation, and I started recommending various books of ours. Roger slowly came to respect my knowledge of our books—and we became friendly, and then MAGIC HAPPENED! And he started ordering from me!

Christine Foye (Simon & Schuster): Here's one of my favorite photos of all time, a picture of Laurie, Taylor Jenkins Reid, and me on tour for the hardcover of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Which leads me to.... 

A book that did especially well at the store and why—The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo! Laurie and Victor came to the prepub dinner that I had for TJR in Seattle. Laurie immediately embraced the book and shared it and hyped it and talked nonstop about it until finally pub day came and by gum, Island Books was outselling all of my other accounts within a month. This was the perfect storm of great book, passionate reader and responsive customer base. It's wonderful to find a book one can really get behind, and Laurie and the whole staff did that with this marvelous novel. Also, don't we look lovely in green? 

Remembering my first days selling to Island Books—I started selling to Roger in 1993. I knew nothing about anything, I was fresh out of the St. Martin's Press office in New York, selling trade paperbacks and mass markets and children's books and perfectly confident in my ignorance. Roger made short work of my inexperience but was kind about it, and commented on how I tidied up the store shelves and faced out titles. Had I worked in a bookstore, he asked. I sure had, and after that things were always affectionate between us in the Roger way. Which is to say, he let me sit and chatter for probably 10 minutes longer than he would have otherwise. And often I got a laugh out of him, which was wondrous. We did bond over having both been to Newfoundland — did you know he co-edited a book about it titled Outport: Reflections from the Newfoundland Coast? He did. (It's out of print.) I always loved Island Books, it was a pleasure to visit and see what kind of books Roger had decided to buy for the community. What a lucky community. 

David Glenn (Penguin Random House): Durn, my first visit to the store was so long ago I’m not sure I can even dredge it up from my addled brain. If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably way back in the mid-90s? Of course that was back in the “Roger Days,” and I think it’s fair to say that, within our tightly-knit rep community, Roger was known as kind of a tough buyer. He relied a lot on jobbers and didn’t particularly like being “sold,” especially if it was by someone he felt perhaps didn’t necessarily measure up, or wasn’t sufficiently prepared to defend a title if questioned about it. Roger did not, as they say, suffer fools gladly and, quite honestly, I was pretty intimidated by him at first. He gave me a bit of a rough few seasons there at the beginning—always good-naturedly, for sure, but also making sure I understood who the buyer/owner was. Early on, though, I decided that I was going to do whatever it took to win Roger over. I was gonna get a belly laugh outta that guy one way or the other. So every season I made sure to bring my A-game, and began my campaign to be “welcomed” by Roger. It took me a lot longer than I thought it would—at least a couple years—but eventually, the respect I had for Roger as an owner and businessperson, was replaced by just the simple goodness of the man. I loved his dry sense of humor, and if you could coax it out of him, he had a truly impish grin. So Island Books at that point became one of my favorite stores to visit.

When Roger decided he’d had enough and it was time to sell, I was pretty bummed. And in what was an odd quirk of fate, the fellow that helped Laurie come to a decision about buying the store was an old fraternity brother of mine who lives on the island. Happily, Laurie and Victor have been the ideal stewards to move Island Books along, post-Roger. The store has always had a wonderful vibe, a superb staff, a great location, and a tremendously supportive community.

As far as books go, I have to mention a title I feel is perhaps the finest novel any of my imprints have published during my 34-odd years with Penguin Random House: The Heart’s Invisible Furies, by John Boyne. Full disclosure: Island Books has sold a solid, if unspectacular 40-plus copies of it since it came out in August of 2017. So, not a real barn-burner. But more than the ���zero” it would have sold had Laurie not been willing to take a chance, and an example of the fruits of the give-and-take between a rep and a buyer. It may not have set the world afire, but my fervent hope is that it will remain a staple at the store for years to come.

In January of 2018, I hosted a dinner for three PRH authors: veteran Amy Bloom, and newcomers Tara Westover and Karen Cleveland. Both Laurie and Victor attended that dinner and, at one point, Victor noticed that while nearly everyone was chatting away left and right, Karen Cleveland was looking a little lost and forlorn (whoever the rep host was that night should have been paying more attention). So he marched right over and began chatting her up. Well, cutting to the chase, Victor read her debut thriller Need To Know (based on the author’s own experiences as a former CIA counterterrorism analyst) and made it his own personal crusade to make it an IB bestseller. In short order, IB sold over 70 hardcovers, and another 100+ more in paperback, which is just an outstanding result for a debut novel. Tara Westover’s singular memoir, Educated, also struck a chord with Laurie and Victor that night. And while it’s true the book was a massive bestseller for nearly every bookstore in America (spending over two years on the NYT hardcover bestseller list in hardcover no less), IB more than held their own and, in fact, really punched above their weight, selling nearly 600 copies in hardcover alone. This is the power of the independent bookstore in general, and the superpower of a store like Island Books. Every community in America should be so lucky to have such a store, and I can’t help but believe that if this were actually the case, the country would be a far less frightening and chaotic place.

Kurtis Lowe (Imprint Group): When I started as a commission rep back in 1997, I did not work with publishers that ranked for a meeting with Roger Page. However, in early 2001, I joined Book Travelers West, so Roger was ready to meet with me to scrutinize the lists of Workman, Ten Speed Press, Running Press, Watson-Guptill, and more. As I pitched book after book (only the best), Roger would pause before a title, pen hovering over the printed catalog page… sometimes he would he would score a one, for one copy... saved! It would have a chance. Two copies. Looking good! Three copies… just about as high as he would go with me. That is because local wholesalers had no better indie partner than Island Books when it came to restocking a title if it worked, and the high shelves were too full displaying vintage typewriters to make room for overstock.  Roger’s team could be on the phone minutes before the deadline and receive a shipment by the end of the day. An initial order of one, two or three copies of could become 20, 50, or 100s sold over time.

When a title did not make the grade, Roger was not cruel, as he slashed a diagonal across the page, but at least he was definitive: “Not quite,” he would state, and often add a helpful comment of feedback for the publisher.  Perhaps the greatest feeling of triumph as a rep was to throw a Hail Mary, one more point to get that book on the shelf, and Roger would page back, look again, squiggle out the slash and enter a number and circle it for order entry.

The times that Roger really went for a book were beautiful, and he was ready to do something a little special. Back in 2014, Island Books picked The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry for their April store pick. I committed to touring Gabrielle Zevin to 27 Pacific Northwest bookstores in three days to celebrate this gift to the bookselling (and rep) community. Roger loved the idea; he set up a display in front and gave a little speech to the the late morning gathering. 

(Photo Credit: Kurtis Lowe / Roger Page introducing Gabrielle Zevin /The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill) / April 2014 Book of the Month Pick for Island Books / April 7th, 2014)

I’ve observed many bookstore succession stories. Laurie Raisys taking over, respecting traditions, and creating new ones, while bringing her own experience and energy to the store has clearly been a great success. Lillian Welch is my buyer now, and she eerily brings some of that challenging scrutiny that reminds me of Roger, but also a new and vibrant commitment to the best books for all readers in challenging times. Thank you to the many booksellers at Island Books who carry on your great tradition and congratulations to Island Books for 50 years as a shining literary light on Mercer Island!

Thank you to Dan, Christine, David and Kurtis, for giving us a glimpse into how those books get on the shelves at Island Books!

To our Island Books community: In the next 50 Years of Island Books installment, I’ll be talking to Cindy Corujo, who has been a bookseller for 36 years and has the longest tenure of any Island Books employee.

—Miriam

[henryhallows]

My Body, Broken For You

It was a special day for Mike. Ever since he came to Glenborough three years ago, he felt like an outcast. It wasn’t because of the neighbors, oh no, they have proved to be a charming bunch, always ready to lend a hand. Mike was just reclusive in nature. He was a car mechanic, and opened up a small shop in the middle of the town. The job didn’t pay millions but enough to stay afloat, and it was a peaceful region. While friendly, he knew people from smaller regions didn’t trust the newcomers much. But all of this was about to change that night.

The locals hold a festival every 31st of October. Apparently, since they disapproved of Halloween but didn’t want the kids to miss out on a fun activity, they created a little carnival for all ages. Pumpkin pies, caramel apples, loads of fun games for children to try, overall a fun time for everyone. The little ones are discouraged from wearing costumes resembling demons and other harmful beings, but more happily associated entities like gnomes or fairies are allowed. And the day after that, All Hallows Eve, nothing out of the ordinary.

But it wasn’t the „all ages” part that excited Mike. After the kids are tucked to bed, all the adults are gathered in the old church in the outskirts of town. What happened there was unknown for him, as they are very secretive about the procedure. Mike shot down any possibility of orgies or heavy drinking as this was a tightly knit christian community, and the church, while abandoned, was still the house of God.

Nevertheless, Mike expected some sort of a feast, that’s at least what Mary implied when she finally invited him. That must have meant that they trusted him, which made the simple mechanic quite happy. Mary was a catholic teacher in the local primary school and made the parish her second home. She was only in her 30’s but talked like she had at least a couple centuries behind her. Always calm, but cheerful and often retrospective. The best place for advice in the whole village. If you could stomach the endless fables about God, that is.

Mike was not a religious man, not by a long shot. He never opposed the idea of God per se, but saw it as fairy tales for people afraid of death. Prayer never put bread on the table, he reasoned, so there was no place for it in his life. Mary wasn’t the biggest fan of this mindset, but said that everyone has their own perspectives from walking this road of life. Although, when she was inviting him, she mentioned that what he was about to see will make him reconsider his stance. Mike thought nothing of it, thinking it was something about the taste of the food or the songs they will sing. Mary was a tremendous baker and often treated the schoolchildren to her famous pastries.

The young mechanic looked into the mirror. He was wearing a pilgrim’s outfit, all clad in black with a dapper hat on top. The adults didn’t have to wear a costume for the festival, but many still did for the fun of it. Once he saw Father Garcia dressed as a man inside a whale, a clever costume referencing Jonah from the bible who was eaten by the whale. Yes, he knew that from Mary.

Opening the door, Mike was instantly hit by the cool and crisp air of an October evening. He heard children laughing in the distance, all probably gathered around Town Hall, where most of the attractions were placed. Most of the teens set up their own tables and activities in the westmost part of town, close to the woods where they couldn’t hear the screaming children. Every once in a while Old Man Henderson would check up on them just in case nobody was getting killed.

Henderson was a peculiar weirdo, most of the Glenborough found him utterly insane on the best of days, but teenagers found him hilarious. You could never guess which rant about the government would turn into a half-an-hour ode to his beloved garden gnomes. Even still, a pretty friendly fellow. As luck would have it, he was the first person Mike spotted on the street. He was wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt, shorts and flip-flops.

„Would you look at that, a mighty fine costume you got there!”, shouted the tooth deficient old man.

„Thanks! Aren’t you a little cold Mister? It IS October!”, Mike questioned.

„Cold? Let me tell you something, kiddo. Cold is a government PsyOp made so the Big Fashion could sell more jackets! Haha, kidding, of course!”, said the man, laughing. Every once in a while, the elder almost seemed self-aware, which only made him more terrifying.

Waving goodbye, Mike arrived at the town’s center, where most of the attractions were situated. There, he met with Mary, Randy and his wife, Holly. The Carters were a lively couple that loved to help around the town in any way they could. Now, they were supervising the children just in case any of them fell into the barrel of apples trying to catch them with their teeth. He offered to help too, an offer they gladly accepted.

„Mike, my man! Great to see you, baller costume by the way. So, are you ready? It’s nothing that exciting, but hey, the kids are loving the carnival.”, said Holly, who was eating a caramel apple.

„You bet!”

„We’re so glad you’ll be with us at the meeting tonight. You know, Billy was unsure if you were ready but our Mary vouched for you!”

Mary grinned from ear to ear. „You are a trustworthy fella, Mike, I have no doubt you’ll fit with us just fine.”, she took a swig of a bottle of apple juice.

Young Grant Carter, son of the other two, ran up to him, dressed as a gnome.

„Mr. Mike! Look at all of this cool stuff! This is going to be the best night ever!”, the child screamed, unable to contain his excitement.

„For sure kiddo, but remember: don’t come near Ol’ Henderson or he’ll have a heart attack!”

„Yeah! He stinks anyway!”, the kid scampered off to his friends.

You’re not the only one in high spirits kid, Mike thought with a small grin.

…

The festival itself was quite uneventful, mostly standing around and talking for the parents. The children had the usual stuff; throwing a plush spider on the web, dunk the scarecrow, whack-a-mole, someone even redecorated their shed and turned it into a haunted house. The older kids, trusted not to wander off somewhere, went door to door trick or treating. One kid fell into a barrel like speculated but was fished out quickly. Overall, a really fun time for the younglings. Now, this is where fun was supposed to begin.

After tucking their little ones to bed, all the adults went on a little pilgrimage to the old church. The fields were dead quiet, the only sound heard were the occasional grunts and the wind. Mary mentioned that the locals always use this silent walk to reflect on their deeds, the good and the bad. For Mike, it was slightly creepy, but who was he to judge some harmless customs?

The pastures stretched past the horizon. At this time of the year they were pretty barren, all the wheat and corn already harvested a long time ago. Here and there hills were scattered across the fields, getting rid of them would be too much work. Since it was an extraordinarily windy area, the trees already lost all of their leaves, now standing dead and making great spots for crows to plot whatever it was crows were plotting.

The whole town started with the field, it was the Temples that decided to turn this meadow into a settlement. Two hundred years later, you would still struggle to find this place on a map, but now they had plumbing.

Finally, the congregation reached the decrepit stone church. Upon entering through the giant doors, Mike noted that the place has seen better days. It was in a poor state to say the least, kept barely alive by Father Garcia going there once in a while to pick up rubble and fix some holes. Half of the roof was missing, the wooden benches were older than the United States and all the paintings were left blank. When questioned about the place, Mary said that it might not be as extravagant as the new one, every church is the house of God, and even a place as somber as this one deserves visitors.

The benches were arranged across a giant table. No food was laid out yet, but that was to be expected. The guests were ushered to their seats, signicated by little cards with names on them. Mike was positioned close to the exit, so he felt particularly cold. No other person showed even the slightest hint of a shiver, which was certainly odd. Not to worry, he thought, the food will make me warm.

In all of this rushing he lost Mary from his sights. Old Man Henderson was engaged in a conversation about the best lawn decorations with Miss Lenore, the Carters were chatting it up with the Trevors, and Mike was desperately trying to find something to say to Rob Graves. That guy was a can of mysteries. He was the town’s mortician and gravedigger, but was suspiciously wealthy. The last guy to know how to small talk but Mike was grasping at straws.

With a chime of the bell, Mary came from the backdoors area, carrying an enormous loaf of bread. The thing was so massive that four other people had to help her carry it. The loaf was put in the middle of the table. With an array of plates by her side, Mary started cutting the pieces. People passed along the slices from the nearest center to the farthest. Mike was the first to get his slice, but soon enough everybody was sitting with a plate for them. That was… disappointing, to say the least. Maybe the feast comes after this? As he went to grab the slice, Rob motioned him to stop.

„Before we eat, we need to pass the wine and say a prayer”, whispered the gravedigger.

„Oh, gotcha," replied Mike, embarrassed.

Just like Rob said, Father Garcia came from the backgrooms with a few bottles. The guests passed them along as well, making sure every glass was full of the stuff. Garcia offhandedly mentioned that the wine was watered down, probably not to have a bunch of hungover adults on the All Hallows Eve.

The excitement in the room was palpable, and Mike couldn’t for the life of his guess why. After making sure that everybody had a slice and wine, Mary spoke up.

„Thank you all for coming! The carnival was simply wonderful, everybody gave their all to make it a special night for the little ones!”

A round of applause filled every corner of the ruins.

„Now, before we start our feast, let us pray to our father who watches from above and gifts us with all that there is and really can be. And for his son, who will grace out company tonight. For did he not say: „Take, eat; this is My body broken for you: this do in remembrance of Me.””, almost shouted Father Garcia.

A shiver went down my spine. That was one hell of a quote from someone he assumed to be some mad carpenter. From a corner of his eye, he saw a wave of fog, gently moving through the broken window. There was no fog today. Everyone clapped their hands in prayer and closed their eyes. Mike quickly followed, but his breath became unsteady.

„Our Father, who art in heaven…”, the congregation started. He didn’t know the words, so he simply moved his lips to the general rhythm, „And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen”

-SLASH-

Mike heard cheering. Joy overwhelmed the occupants, but he was unable to open his eyes. Something felt wrong. Very, very wrong. He was petrified on the spot, as the cold wind made his whole body shake. Don’t make a scene, he thought. It was just your imagination, playing a joke on you. He opened his eyes.

A severed arm. Right there, on his plate, laid a bloody, goddamn arm. Mike looked around the parish in a frenzy and he almost vomited. Every guest was devouring a part of a body. They were slicing up tendons, picking out eyes with their forks, simply tearing into them like abhorrent beasts. Gouging on another human being. The remaining part of the bread in the middle of the table was now a bloody human carcass. The wine, too, changed color.

Before Father Garcia, on the altar, laid a decapitated lamb. This must have been the source of the slashing sound he heard earlier. It was all too much, his head spun, he held onto the table for any stability. With tears in his eyes and surrounded by cheerful celebration, he looked at his plate. The hand moved a finger.

Mike puked the entire contents of his stomach onto himself. Mary caught his horrified look, but before she could react, he bolted out of the church and into the barren field, now foggy and suffused with his own screams.

They were cannibals. Those monsters were eating someone, and he was supposed to be okay with it?! Was this some kind of twisted joke?!

Mike heard a call from behind him. Now they were chasing him! Branches broke under his legs, caressing him if only to slow him down. This had to be a nightmare. He was going to wake up in his soft bed, drink his morning tea, and chat with his neighbor Mary, who WAS. NOT. A. FUCKING. CANNIBAL.

He climbed up a hill quite a distance from the church. He could still hear the muffled voices, but he had to stop somewhere, he was coughing his own blood from exhaustion.

The fog became even deeper. In a matter of seconds, Mike could not see anything past the hill. A faint whisper could be heard, hanging in the air. The man saw a small magenta gleam, something he assumed came from a flashlight. It was…alluring. He had to come closer. He NEEDED to come closer. He moved in its direction, when he suddenly stopped. The luminescence DID NOT come from any light source, but simply hang from the air. In a fraction of a second, the thing turned into an aurora borealis.

Mike stood still, paralyzed in silent horror. The more he stared at the… THING, the more confused he became. The entity changed shape, size, color and dimension on a whim, never the same after every blink. The world was suffused with sound; as loud as an exploding star, and as crisp as an exam recording. It felt like the whole universe was collapsing on top of Mike. He felt his brain melting, threatening to leak out through his eye sockets.

And then, it took shape. Mike’s breath was taken away as he witnessed a nightmarish visage. It had the body of a lamb, not too dissimilar from the one sacrificed minutes ago. Its body was pierced by a spear. It possessed seven eyes and seven horns. Wrapped around its front leg was a scroll adorned with seven wax seals.

The „lamb” did not utter a single phrase, it simply looked into the man’s eyes. And there, he saw it. The firmament. Gigantic rings with eyes were tasked with keeping reality stable, and the curtain closed. The rot infests all aspects of life, and the holy fire that burns through flesh like a candle. The world’s madness and screech of mindless space, and a peaceful choir of the angels. He created it all. He was endless, boundless, limitless. The existence was chained to his will, from a tiniest speck of dust to the tremendous black holes, all was a part of his heavenly machine, the oldest song.

And then he saw the Devil. The grotesque, scarred dragon and his army of demons. The spires of basalt, the gray and smoldering ground of Gehenna. The hordes of screaming horrors danced in a trance. And then, a slaughter. The angels ripped the demons limb from limb. The chimera-like beasts of God bathed in the blood of their fallen brethren. Their faces still as stone, as they too, possessed no will of their own. Satan, a dragon that could dwarf our sun, was killed by a single swing of Archangel Michael’s sword. It was all written into the firmament. It WILL happen. Even the beings that opposed God’s design and spit in the face of his creation, are nothing but puppets on his stage.

And then, the final vision. At first, he was unsure of what it was that he was seeing, he squinted his eyes. The blurry image began to clear, it’s shape turning into-

Mike’s knees fell on the ground. His tears flew like a waterfall, any control ripped away from his body. The body, mind and soul - utterly crushed. He just saw something that stripped all color from his face. He saw himself. Every moment that happened, and all that was to happen. Every possibility or a branching path, already planned for, with no room for error. He too, was a simple actor on the stage, his role dictated by the entity he only took as a fairytale. Mike was a toy.

The vision stopped, and the lamb disappeared into the fog. The only thing left on the hill was a broken man. The congregation joyfully chanted Mike’s name. Mary was the first to find him, and she let him embrace her, a sigh of relief escaping her lungs. The mechanic, now pale and terrified, gently wept in her arms. She whispered something to him, but it fell on deaf ears. That, too, he saw in a vision. A small grin crept around his face as tears unshed.

What a fearful thing, to fall into the hands of the living God.

[annarellix]

Murder at Abbeymead Farm by Merryn Allingham (A Flora Steele Mystery #6)

Amateur detective duo Flora Steele and Jack Carrington have gained a reputation for crime-solving. But will they be able to untangle the latest baffling murder in the cosy village of Abbeymead?

Sussex, 1957: When Flora and Jack hear that Percy Milburn – a newcomer to the area who has ruffled more than a few feathers with his grand plans for modernising Abbeymead – is missing, they’re determined to find him. But after scouring the village, Flora is shocked to discover the body of the poor man in the cellar of a crumbling farmhouse. Percy’s murder is tragic but not unexpected, as his ambition had made him many enemies within the small, rural community. Flora and Jack get stuck into the case, but they’re sent on a wild goose chase around the village. Whoever is behind the death has taken careful steps to cover their tracks… Was it Miss Minnie Howden, the nervous housekeeper who loved Percy? Sir Frederick Neville, the owner of the farm Percy was trying to buy? Or Colin Palmer, made rich by Percy’s death? Did any of the suspects dislike Percy enough to end his life? The amateur detective duo finds themselves outfoxed at every turn, unable to find any concrete clues. When their prime suspect is murdered, Flora and Jack have their work cut out to find the culprit. But the clever killer has pulled the wool over their eyes and is reeling them ever nearer to danger.

Will this case finally bring Flora and Jack closer together? And can they unravel the mystery before they’re led like lambs to the slaughter?

Buy Link:Amazon: https://geni.us/B0BNQXDTB4social

My Review: I think this is my favorite book in this series as the plot is quite complex and tightly knitted and there's some more evolution in the characters. I loved how Flora had some doubt about her sleuthing and Jack was feeling protective. I think that they're a lovely and very modern couple and like their relationship. The mystery is solid, there's a lot of suspects and twists that surprised me. The solution is satisfying and I didn't guess it. Can't wait to read the next story. Highly recommended. Many thanks to Bookouture for this arc, all opinions are mine

The Author: Merryn taught university literature for many years, and it took a while to pluck up the courage to begin writing herself. Bringing the past to life is a passion and her historical fiction includes Regency romances, wartime sagas and timeslip novels, all of which have a mystery at their heart. As the books have grown darker, it was only a matter of time before she plunged into crime with a cosy crime series set in rural Sussex against the fascinating backdrop of the 1950s. Merryn lives in a beautiful old town in Sussex with her husband. When she’s not writing, she tries to keep fit with adult ballet classes and plenty of walking.

https://merrynallingham.com/ https://www.facebook.com/MerrynWrites https://twitter.com/merrynwrites

Sign up to be the first to hear about new releases from Merryn Allingham here:  https://www.bookouture.com/merryn-allingham

You can sign up for all the best Bookouture deals you'll love at: http://ow.ly/Fkiz30lnzdo

[kontextmaschine]

I mean by age my dad's at the end of the equivalent second further chapter and he's still working so maybe four more times. He is noticeably less on the ball but hell I was only half-here for 2021 and I got by.

One thing I have come to appreciate is that for a county lawyer like him – and he might be last of a dead breed, starting practice in the '60s under an old-school system that was not too rusty when exurban development poured new life into it in the '80s – lawyering wasn't all that much about brilliant mastery of the law (thorough, maybe) as in balancing the interests of local power centers as a sort of contractor courtier. He (and through him the firm-clan) would hire out to the school district, and the beer distributor, and the Cold-Eeze guys, and various land-owning widows, etc., etc. and like, would attend to their interests, which included like filings and suits at the courthouse, but more broadly minding the acts of every other actor in their various spheres of interest, at least any so substantial they involved their own involvement with the court (and thus, the reasonably tightly-knit legal community)

And so really, performing the role doesn't demand mental sharpness so much as continuing to exist as the same actor in the reputational system, so it really is one you can ride into the ground I guess.

So, in a few years' time the length of my life since graduating college will be equal to the length up to that point.

And you only have to fudge a little to the dividing line being the personality change, which makes them work as two distinct chapters in life.

And now that I'm all perfected I get another one and a half such chapters of viable life.

And then hopefully a half chapter where I'm still mentally together enough to sit in a sunlit room playing SNES JRPGs.

[persistent-peach]

kind regards, i'm quitting

Summary: Porco Galliard is a demanding CFO who woke up and chose violence. Who does he think he is?

Pairing: Porco Galliard x Reader (Modern AU)

Warnings & Content: language, CFO!Porco, Assistant!Reader, this is just fluff

Word Count: 3k

A/N: did i get back from the club and wrote this drunk af? yes. do i entirely hate the end result? yes. am i still posting it just so everyone else has to suffer my bullshit? yes.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Mondays suck. There is nothing worse than being woken up by a blaring alarm after two days of lazing around or having to go to work where there is an inbox full of e-mails that are somehow miraculously all urgent. You, however, are convinced that if Mondays were a person, it would have an extra special place in hell – the fucking throne. You’ve never particularly liked Mondays, but your aversion turned to hate since you’ve started working for Beast Titan Games.

And it’s not because you hate your job, on the contrary – it’s a pretty straightforward and easy job to handle. It’s just that Zeke Jeager, the CEO and founder of the company, had the brilliant idea to hold an interdepartmental meeting with all the directors and managers every. Single. Goddamn. Monday. And normally, you wouldn’t care about that either since you’re just the Board of Directors’ assistant, but he had to fucking find out you have a stenography certificate and guess who now has to take the minutes for a four-hour long meeting? That’s right, you.

Your only saving grace is the fact that it being a rather small company with a tightly knit community, there aren’t many official points of discussion you have to take note of. Which, on the other hand, can quickly turn boring as shit, because how much longer can you listen to various managers talk about how their children started crying when they were dropped off to kindergarten or how whoever the fuck went skiing in the Alps last weekend? No, you’re not happy with this weekly meeting, no matter how you look at it.

You place Pieck’s coffee in front of her and take your usual place between Zeke and Porco. She smiles up at you in gratitude, and from the dark circles under her eyes you’d bet a month’s salary she spent the whole weekend coding again, side-by-side with the junior programming team – whoever decided to make Pieck the CTO was either a visionary or an idiot. Zeke is obviously stressed, and no wonder with the new game about to drop in a month, but his energy drinks intake is starting to worry you and you make a mental note to magically have them disappear from the fridges in the kitchen. Porco, on the other hand, looks just the same as always, which is scowling and pissed off at everything and everyone. He’s only looked up from his laptop when you came in the conference room, raised an eyebrow when he saw the coffee and then buried himself back into his numbers and budget plans and whatever else he’s doing there. The King of Mean himself, as he is known around these parts.

“Right, people.” Zeke speaks up when everyone has taken a seat. “Let’s begin.”

Two hours later you feel you could practically rip your hair out and not feel anything because of how bored you are. There were no notes that needed to be taken, since the whole conversation was just a never-ending recap of everything that’s been decided for the past six months, since the Attack Titan: The Rumbling has been announced. Even you are pretty excited about the new game, but you’ve already heard these same discussions at least fifty times. Each day.

When the subject turns to who would fuck the Female Titan (yes, you are surrounded by teenage boys, apparently, and not grown-ass people with executive jobs), you decide it’s time to grab a glass of water. You take your sweet time going to and back from the kitchen, so it’s embarrassingly easy to be dragged into Sasha and Connie’s ridiculous debate on which pasta brand is the best. Unfortunately, ten minutes later, their phones start going off about a certain bug that needs to be fixed asap, so you’re forced to go back to purgatory.

When you get back, you’re relieved to hear that the conversation has moved on. Some of them are now talking about possible options for language preferences, while Zeke is animatedly explaining something to Eren and Pieck about an idea he had last night in the shower. You sigh and sit back down – you just really want to get back to your desk, before you nudge Porco with your knee. His head snaps up, he was obviously immersed in his Excel spreadsheets, and scowls down at you.

“What?” He barks, annoyed with the interruption.

You just hold out a chocolate bar for him, which he takes with a nod. He seems sorry for a second for having snapped at you for no reason but doesn’t apologise. You’re used to him – you don’t need him to verbally apologise to know what he’s thinking. You’ve never had any expectations from the abrasive CFO who can’t stand anyone. Maybe except for Pieck. And sometimes you.

“Aw, man, if I knew you were going to the kitchen, I would’ve asked you to grab me a chocolate bar as well.” Jean whines from the other side of the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You say, tilting your head to the side, genuinely concerned you haven’t taken into consideration that maybe it was rude of you to not ask anyone else if they wanted something. “You want me to go grab you one?”

“Nah, don’t worry, darling.” Jean grins. “Your smile is sweet enough to tide me over until this meeting is done.”

You giggle, and roll your eyes. You’ve never met anyone who’s more of a flirt than Jean. He’s innocent, you know he wouldn’t actually try his luck with you, after you’ve turned him down a few years back when he just got started here. Yet he holds no hard feelings towards you and you don’t mind the harmless flirty jokes he throws at you.

“Kirstein, stop flirting with Y/N.” Porco suddenly barks. “Relationships in the workplace are prohibited.”

“No, they’re not?” Armin pipes up, confused as he’s sitting right next to his girlfriend.

There’s silence for a few moments, as everyone seems to have stopped talking among themselves. They’re all paying attention to what’s taking place on your side of the table now. You’re just sitting there confused, watching Porco get worked up over a non-issue. Everyone seems to be very confused at his reaction and you don’t know whether to excuse yourself or placate him to diffuse this whole situation.

“Well, it’s different for you.” He sputters, feeling he’s kinda putting his foot in his mouth right now. “You’ve started dating before getting your jobs here.”

“Porco,” Pieck says slowly, as if she’s explaining college level maths to a five-year-old. “We’re not prohibiting our employees to date.”

“Unless they’re on different hierarchical levels in the same department.” Annie drawls, to which everyone nods.

“So, since Y/N isn’t technically part of any department, she can date whoever she wants here.”

Porco frowns. You hate how you’re in the spotlight right now. You just wish this whole conversation would end. Why do they feel the need to point this out, when you already know all of this? It’s not like you’re interested in dating any of them.

“Except for her direct superiors.” Annie smirks. “So, she can’t date Zeke, Pieck or you, Porco.”

*

Three hours later, you’re focused on going over a presentation that Pieck’s asked you to review – like any other genius, this woman cannot deal with mundane things like remembering where commas should be in a sentence. Zeke’s holed himself up in a pod with Eren and you’re pretty sure they’re either discussing a new game idea or their father’s newest divorce. In any case, you’re left to your own devices when Porco sticks his head out of his office and snaps his fingers in your direction. God, you hate it when he does that.

“Y/N, my office. Now.” He barks and disappears back inside without waiting for a reply.

You wonder what this might be about. There’s a wide range of options you can pick from – from ordering him food from his favourite place to making sure the Marketing team isn’t slacking off again to asking you to tie his tie. Porco Galliard is the most obnoxious boss you’ve ever had, but he’s damn lucky you’re the only one in this company who doesn’t mind it – most of the time.

So, you get up from your desk and, planner and pen in hand, make your way into his office. He nods his head towards the door, silently asking you to close it. Since when have you learnt what every single one of his signals mean? You’d probably be able to read his mind at this point.

“I’m firing you.”

Or not.

You look at him dumbfounded. It’s a good thing you’ve sat down before he opened his stupid mouth, because you probably would have tripped over your own feet otherwise. You look at him, waiting for him to start laughing or say it’s an April Fool’s joke, but he’s just watching you in turn, his fingers interlocked in front of him. Hid golden eyes are serious, more serious than when he’d told Zeke making the Attack Titan the villain in the new game is a dumb idea.

“I’m sorry. I must’ve heard wrong.” You mumble, when no other explanation seems to be coming. “I think you said you’re firing me?”

“You’ve heard me right, Y/N. I’m firing you.”

You sit there in silence for a few seconds, as you’re watching each other. And then your temper starts to flare up, because god fucking dammit, have you not given this job enough? Have you not spent countless hours working on whatever shit he’s asked you to do that is definitely not in your job description? Haven’t you done so much for him that he can just simply wake up and choose violence with you?

“Porco, have you lost your entire mind?” You start, already feeling the rage start bubbling out of you. At this point, you’re not sure you can stop, even if you wanted to.

“You can’t fire me. What did I even do to deserve to be fired? You can’t just ask me to come into your office and tell me you’re firing me without a reason. I’ve worked my ass off all the years I’ve worked here. I’ve never fucked up anything that would justify you firing me. Plus, you’re not my only boss. Did you talk about this with Pieck and Zeke? Do they agree with you? Do they want to fire me as well or is this just you fucking with me today because you’re bored?”

You’ve never spoken this way to Porco in this context – it’s beyond unprofessional and to be honest, just your little outburst would be reason enough to actually fire you now. But, you’re so annoyed with him at the moment, you don’t necessarily care. You’re not sure whether your rage is fuelled by your confusion at his sudden decision or just because he hasn’t given you a reason yet.

You know that if you were a cartoon character, you’d probably have smoke coming out of your ears and your head would inflate in anger. Porco leans back into his chair, still closely watching you, and then he sighs.

“Because I’m tired of seeing people flirt with you.”

Okay, now he’s completely lost his mind.

“What?” You squeak, too stunned to be able to form a full sentence.

“I’m tired of seeing Kirstein flirt with you and watch how the entire software team practically drools when you’re passing through the hallways and hear people get drunk in team buildings saying how they’d show you a great time if you’d just give them the chance.”

“Porco, what the fuck are you on about?” You sputter.

He stands up from his chair, rounds his desk and kneels in front of you. You’re too bewildered to manage to even move at this point, so he takes a strand of your hair and places it behind your ear without a complaint from your part. There’s so much love in his eyes, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d kiss you right now and you’re suddenly so damn relieved that his office has actual walls and a door. If anyone would walk past his office right now, you’d both be in deep shit. Probably would be thrown out the window by Zeke himself.

“I’m tired of hiding, baby.” He murmurs as he takes your hand in his. “I want everyone to know you’re taken. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

You squeeze his hand in return and kiss his forehead. You finally understand what this whole thing is about – you’ve noticed how he’d casually ask you about him quitting one day and sending you links to jobs he thought you might be interested in the next day. You thought he was just exploring other options, but you never realised it has started bothering him to the point he’d actually do something about it now.

You’ve kept your relationship a secret for nearly two years and no one has suspected a thing. You’ve even moved into his apartment a while back, yet neither of you did anything about your professional situation to be able to finally go public with it. In all fairness, you didn’t necessarily mind it – your friends and families are well aware of your relationship and sure, you always have to be careful when you go out in public and you can’t kiss him whenever you’d like to, but it was a mutual agreement. What in the hell happened to suddenly make him change his mind?

“You know we can’t tell anyone here that, honey.” You whisper as you bring a hand to his jaw. He nuzzles into it and it fills your heart with love, as it always does.

“That’s why I’m firing you.” He grins.

“So let me get this straight.” You raise an eyebrow. “You want to fire me because you want to make our relationship official.”

“Yes.”

“I swear to god, for a CFO you’re really stupid sometimes. You do realise that even if we make it official, everyone will realise that we’ve started dating when I was your assistant, right?”

Porco sighs yet again and takes a seat next to you. He’s still holding your hand as he’s playing with your fingers. It still boggles your mind how mean and annoying he can be in a professional setting and how loving and tender he gets when it’s only the two of you together. You once told him that this is one of the reasons you’re certain he loves you – because he can’t seem to stand anyone else, but you.

“Well, we could wait a few months before we do that. I’ll help you find another job and then I can finally hold your hand when we go to birthday parties.”

“But I like my job here.” You whine, poking his cheek with a finger.

“And I want to marry you, but I can’t do that as long as we both work here.”

Ah, so there it is. You open your eyes wide, which in turn makes him roll his.

“You can’t tell me you don’t expect me to ask you to marry you someday, you dumbass.”

“I mean, I’ve never actively thought about it…”

“And you’re telling me I’m the stupid one?” He laughs. “Darling, I love you more than life itself. You’re literally the best thing in my life, of course I want to marry you.”

“Why don’t you quit then?” You frown.

“Because I’m the CFO.”

“And what? Just because I’m an assistant that means my job is less important?”

Porco looks at you with the same boredom and annoyance he reserves only for Reiner. You know you’re being overdramatic and of course he doesn’t think that, but you’re still pissed at him. This motherfucker can’t just fire you because he wants everyone to know he’s fucking you, no matter how cute he is. Plus, you’re not one to take his bullshit. Never did and never will, regardless of professional or personal context.

“No, it’s because you have a degree in journalism that you’re wasting away by working here. You can’t be an assistant for the rest of your life, baby. It’s time to do what you’re actually passionate about.”

“I also meant to show you this.” He says as he pulls out his phone and holds it out for you.

You take it and as you skim through the e-mail he has opened, you feel tears prickling your eyes. It’s a request for an interview. At Shiganshina Times. For you. Next week. You look up at him, still in shock from what you’ve just read.

“I know you’ve always wanted to work for them. It’s just an internship, but we all have to start somewhere, right?” He smiles, unsure of your reaction since you’ve yet to say something.

“You did this for me?”

“Well, I haven’t technically done anything. I’ve just sent Erwin your CV and he was pretty impressed with all the projects you did back in college, so he asked to talk to you face to face.”

You choke back a sob, because this man. This man. You pull him into a hug, not caring if you’re ruining his shirt – you’re the one who’ll be washing it anyway. He chuckles around you, rubbing his palms over your back and you feel so happy in this moment, you could start singing and dancing for all to see.

“I love you so much.” You snivel.

“I love you too, sweetheart. So can I fire you now?”

You pull back from his embrace just enough to look him in the eye.

“No, fuck you, Porco. I’m quitting.” You snap. “Also, you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

[blorboclaw]

What do you think would‘ve happened if Cloudtail had actually been interested in Daisy, divorced Brightheart and became her [Daisy‘s] mate instead?

OK so!

Daisy and Cloudtail get together (after the badger attack for commodity reasons). Brightheart starts training under Leafpool to find a purpose, although Leafpool tries to get her back to warrior duties because... she’s not supposed to be a medicine cat.

Whitewing, who is very close to both her parents and only an apprentice at the time, starts having attachement issues. She doesn’t stay longer in the apprentice’s den to stay with Birchfall, and she might even start looking for a mate outside of the clan because... well, a divorce in such a small, tightly-knit community... everyone is forced to pick a side, somehow. So let’s say she will end up becoming mates with a warrior from outside the clan.

Squirrelflight sees that and feels like there is something wrong with cheating on one of your mates. So she stays with Ashfur, because she might like Brambleclaw more, but she just... can’t imagine causing even more couple-related drama in the clan. Call it peer pressure when the peers have no idea they’re pressuring, if you will. Ashfur doesn’t help Hawkfrost to kill Firestar, which means:

- One more life (or one less life less...) for Firestar

- No climactic “blood will call blood” foxtrap scene. Firestar has no more reason than before to trust Brambleclaw and will eventually regret naming him deputy.

Ashfur is sure the Three are his kits.

Graystripe comes back. Firestar ejects Brambleclaw from his position because he doesn’t like him and there’s no “you saved my life” nor “you’re by son in law” in place to keep him in the post. Graystripe doesn’t want to be deputy again. Firestar says “ok but Brambleclaw was still only a temporary deputy. Brackenfur, your turn to shine.”

Brackenfur becomes deputy.

At some point, Ashfur realizes how genetics work when he realizes all of Brackenfur and Sorreltail kits look like them, or that Berrynose is Daisy’s spitting image, etc. and starts wondering if Squirrelflight didn’t cheat on him. The guy was unhinged alreay in canon, and ending with Squirrelflight wouldn’t have changed anything to it.

So he traps her during the fire. She tells him that the kids are neither his nor hers. Hollyleaf has to kill the guy she thought was her father in order to protect everyone. And then she tells everyone at the gathering, and disappears under the tunnels.

In the mean time, Cloudtail and Daisy had two cream-and-white kits, Toadkit and Rosekit but with better-suited names except I don’t have any idea right now. Maybe Frostkit and Spottedkit? Anyway. We’ll keep calling them by their “canon” names.

Firestar wonders if those two are part of the prophecy once Hollyleaf has disappeared. They are not.

But then who could? Ooooh... that’s true, Cloudtail has a daughter from another mate... Whitewing, your daughters are very beautiful. Dovekit and Ivykit you say? Great. May I... May I know who the father is? No? Well that’s your right I guess.

Dovekit and Ivykit’s father is a member of Shadowclan. Who? Idk whoever.

Anyway the Third is half Shadowclan, the first two are half windclan. That means when the Dark Forest rises, both neighbours of Thunderclan can lay a claim on one of the Three. Since the Fourth, Firestar, is part of Thunderclan, Riverclan lays a claim on the third Three. Firestar still has one life left after the battle and Brackenfur decides to step down from deputyship due to Sorreltail’s death. Cinderheart becomes deputy and becomes Cinderstar when Firestar loses his last life in the Great Storm.

There is no Snowbush, no Dewnose and no Ambermoon, so there’s no Larksong, and no Nightheart. When Dovewing joins Shadowclan, everyone knows she’s half shadowclan and doesn’t seem too surprised. It also allows her to join SHadowclan much sooner, actually even before Darktail arrives. When he does, Tigerheart leaves for Shadowclan, but Dovewing can’t bear to go back to her old clan and decides to stay, to be a spy like Ivypool before her. She tries to get away at some point and is killed by Darktail. For plot reasons we’ll say she had ShadowLightBounce before Darktail’s arrival and they were taken by Tigerheart to Thunderclan.

So TL;DR: while Cloudtail’s love shenanigans wouldn’t have had a big impact on the clan, the effect it would have had on his family would have led to Dovewing being killed by Darktail and Brackenfur to be deputy instead of Brambleclaw.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part III

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of feelings, handcuffs, testosterone, quite a bit of sex, one surprise kiss (cause Erwin is a privileged dick), parents, domesticity A/N: I apparently did not write an author’s note for this originally, but uh, this is one of my favorite sections of the whole fic, so. 

Mike uses the rest of the break to relax, to get his head on straight so that when he gets back on campus he won’t be overbearing. He knows that’s the last thing you want from him.

 You text back and forth a few times a day, but most of it is dumb shit, and the conversation dies off pretty quickly—either Mike not knowing how to respond or you just growing bored. 

 He busies himself by spending time with his parents and playing with Scout who eats up all the attention. Family comes over for Christmas, and his mom and aunt get into an argument. It’s nothing new.

 He’s happy to get back to the school and back in classes just to stimulate his brain. More than that, he’s happy to see you again. Even if it means the two of you go back to friend-only status. 

 Things are awkward between him and Erwin, though. It isn’t the first time they’ve had a hiccup in their friendship, but this one has really rubbed Mike the wrong way. Erwin tries to apologize a few more times, but every time he does, all Mike can manage is an unconvincing, “It’s fine,” which the other man obviously doesn’t buy. 

 He tries not to be possessive when you start coming to the house again, but it’s fucking hard whenever he has to watch you and Erwin talk and joke around. Mike figured you’d be at least a little annoyed that he’d just walked in on the two of you like that, but you act like it never happened.

 Eventually, Mike has to ask about it, just can’t help himself. “Aren’t you, like, even a little mad that he did that? Don’t you think it was fucked up?”

 You’re sitting on Mike’s bed, a controller in your hand as you play Mario Kart, sound a little distracted when you respond, “I mean, yeah, it was fucked up, but I never really expected anything more from him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 You look at him from the corner of your eyes before staring at the screen again. “Erwin is a cocky motherfucker. I’ve seen the way he gets the girls on campus, probably thinks he can charm all of them which means he probably thinks he’s entitled to all of them. Us.”

 “Are you calling him a predator?”

 You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he’d ever, like, rape anyone. He at least has enough class and common sense not to do that. But I think… He doesn’t care who he goes after. Single girls, girls in relationships, happy girls, damaged girls. He just has a one track mind when it comes to sex. That’s what I’ve gathered anyway.”

 Laying back on his bed, Mike laces his fingers behind his head and thinks on what you’ve said. “That just sounds like a drawn out way of saying he’s a flirt.”

 “A massive flirt. Without any real care about whose feelings he hurts in the process.”

 “Sounds about right.”

 “I don’t appreciate it,” you sigh, “But he’s your best friend, so I’m willing to put up with some shit from him.”

 “Even him perving on you?”

 “Not the first time it’s happened to me, probably won’t be the last. He’s curious, I can tell.”

 Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he is.”

 You stay quiet for several seconds, toggling over to another track on the game, then ask, “That make you uncomfortable?”

 Blinking up at the ceiling, Mike wonders what the right answer to this is. He doesn’t want to scare you away, but he doubts he’ll be able to act as aloof as you do. 

 “A little.”

 You hum, nodding in a thoughtful manner before suggesting, “I think we can keep hooking up through this semester.”

 Mike sits up on his elbow, looks at you with high eyebrows. “Wait, really?” He sounds too excited, he knows.

 “Yeah. I have mostly easy classes, or really, I have interesting ones which makes studying for them easier. Plus, it might teach Erwin a lesson.”

 He falls back flat, scoffing. “I don’t want you to fuck me to prove a point to Erwin. I want you to fuck me because you want to.”

 The game music stops when you pause it, and then you’re straddling Mike, hands on his chest as you smirk at him. 

 “Don’t let this go to your head, Zacharias, but no one has ever fucked me the way you do.”

 Mike tries not to grin, triumph blooming inside of him, and he grips your hips a little too tightly. “Oh, that’s definitely going to my head.” 

 You grind your covered pussy over his denim-clad cock, and Mike feels all his blood flow south.

 Laughing, you lean down to ghost your lips over his and murmur, “Both heads, apparently.”

 That day, the two of you start a routine that leaves Mike falling harder and harder with every passing day.

 *

 “Come on, please just be my date,” Mike begs, thinks about getting to his knees if it’ll help convince you.

 “Why?” You ask, looking up from your textbook.

 You and Mike are sitting in the library—you studying, him bothering you. “I’m honestly so tired of parties at this point.

 “It’s not like the big parties we throw, though,” he tells you. “It’s just the brothers and their girlfriends.”

 “That makes it even worse,” you push one little laugh through your nose. “What makes you think I wanna spend an entire night with a bunch of frat boys and their matching sorority girls?”

 Mike rolls his eyes. “They’re not all sorority girls, just like, eighty-five percent of them.”

 Your head lolls, an expression that reads nothing but apathy aimed at Mike, and he gives you a hopeful smile and adds, “On the bright side, we get to stay together all night…?”

 “Oh god, it's a cuff party, isn't it?" 

 All he can do at this point is beg because the more he explains it, the more he realizes how not appealing this is to you. “Please.”

 Sitting back in your chair, you cross your arms over your chest and puff your cheeks out as you exhale heavily. “What’s in it for me?”

 Fuck yes. Half the battle is won. 

 “Uhh,” obviously sex is the first thing that comes to Mike’s mind, so the first offer he makes is, “I’ll go down on you ‘til you cry.”

 You snort. “Try again.”

 “Fuck you ‘til you pass out?”

 “Jesus—why do you want to hurt me? Try again. Third time’s a charm.”

 Mike brainstorms for a solid thirty seconds, thinks about what you’ve mentioned to him over the past couple of weeks, sex and school and—

 “I’ll help you study for your geochemistry exam.”

 You finally look interested. “I’d actually really appreciate that. You took the course?”

 “Yeah, environmental geochemistry was sort of my jam last year. Final grade was a ninety-seven.”

 “Holy shit.”

 Mike shoots you a satisfied smile, but before you can tell him to wipe it from his face, he asks, “So, you’re in?”

 “I guess.”

 This is how you both end up in the frat house handcuffed together. No one seems to be surprised at the fact that you’ve come with him, all the brothers used to you hanging around the frat house.

 Most couples are walking around holding hands just because it takes some of the pressure off of everyone's wrists, but Mike doesn't dare try it with you. Too cute. Too comfortable. 

 These types of get togethers are Mike's favorite, though, always more relaxed than the open parties. There’s still drinking and music, but the energy is different since it’s a tighter knit group. 

 It takes about an hour for Erwin and his date to approach the two of you, fingers laced together, drinks in their free hands. 

 “Looking good,” Erwin greets with a smile. "Very… trapped." 

 “Yeah, you too,” Mike says, trying to ignore the subtext of Erwin's comment.  

 Blue eyes flick to you, and you’re questioned, “How’d he end up talking you into this?”

 You don’t miss a beat as you reply cooly, “Bribed me with sex and study help.”

 “Ah, of course he did.”

 Mike’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches his pinky out to link with yours, a subtle claim. When you rest your head on his arm, he looks down at you and smirks. 

 “Anyway,” Erwin pushes on. “You remember Maddie, don’t you?”

 Mike lies, “Yeah. How are you?”

 The girl’s voice reminds him of who she is, “Well. How are you, Mike?” It’s a little high pitched and nasally with a northern accent. He especially remembers what she sounded like moaning for Erwin through the wall, obnoxious but Mike can’t really judge since he’s subjected the rest of the house to the same thing once or twice (or a dozen times) before.  

 “Glad to hear it.”

 The group stands together for a few more awkward seconds before Erwin clears his throat and asks his date, “Another drink?” then makes his exit. 

 “You have got to get over this grudge, dude,” you take your head from his shoulder, and Mike immediately misses the warmth. “Like, it’s cute that you’re trying to defend my honor or whatever, but it’s time to move on. You guys are friends. Just talk it out.”

 He sucks his teeth, almost tells you about the way he and Erwin had nearly thrown punches at the ranch house, the way the blond had basically admitted to wanting to try you out, but Mike decides against it, doesn’t want to talk too much shit only to end up making up with him.

 “Guys don’t really talk it out. We usually fight it out.”

 “That’s fucking primitive. You should learn to communicate like mature humans.”

 “Probably,” Mike hums. “But not right now.”

 Being connected to each other means every activity is a partner activity. The most interesting is playing beer pong against Nile and his on-again off-again girlfriend, Marie, house rule for the night being whoever is throwing has to use their cuffed hand. It’s like a twisted three-legged race and requires an amount of teamwork and coordination Mike has never had to deal with before. 

 It’s also the first time he manages to beat Nile. Mike had no doubt that the other man would have crushed you by himself, but it turns out the actual couple does not work together very well. All their shots are clumsy, and Nile gets frustrated right off the bat which only makes things worse. Meanwhile, you and Mike come up with a strategy after the first terrible throw and use it for the rest of the game. 

 You’re both challenged by a few other teams and end up winning every time which has Mike feeling smug about the victories and giddy at how in-tune the two of you are. Gelgar even tells you both, “You guys are good together,” which makes Mike cough as you wave him off.

 You drink a little more, converse a little more, and then—as always—end up in Mike’s bedroom. 

 “You want me to get the key and take these off?” He asks between kisses.

 You smile into him, let out a little laugh and play, “You don’t think it’d be kinda fun to fuck with ‘em on?”

 “It’ll be harder,” Mike snorts. “But, we can. Won’t be able to take shirts off, though.”

 “Good thing we just need to take our pants off.”

 It’s clumsy and silly, and you both tug in opposite directions more than a few times. Mike laces his fingers with yours when he goes down on you, relishing in the way you arch off his bed and squeeze his hand. On the floor, you give him head in the same fashion, and fuck, Mike can hardly focus on you sucking him off while your fingers are woven together, even if it is just for the sake of convenience. 

 He fucks you from behind that night, your face buried in his pillow as he’s buried in you. Both of your arms are stretched behind your back, held at the wrists by Mike’s much, much larger hand. He uses his free one to grip your hip, pushing and pulling you on his cock to his heart’s desire. 

 You’re so pretty, damp with sweat and moaning his name when your head is turned only to shove it back into his pillow when he makes you scream. Your dripping cunt opens up for him perfectly, making Mike feel more inebriated than alcohol ever could, but as his balls tighten and that warmth spreads in his gut, he has a single moment of clarity, assess the position he has you in and pants, “Shit, I can’t pull out.” Not without ripping your god damn arm out of socket or fracturing his dick. 

 “Mmm—fuck, just come inside, come inside me, Mike.”

 That alone makes him lose it, shooting a fucking copious amount of cum into your pussy, so much that it drips from your hole and runs down your thighs. 

 “Fucking C-Christ,” he laughs a little hysterically, gathering thick white and slipping it back inside you. Transfixed by the way his added finger pushes more of his cum out of you, he asks in a daze, “You on birth control?”

 “Yeah,” you answer in a breathy voice.

 Mike hums. “Good. Just gonna sit here for a while then.”

 You let out a whimper that turns to a whine when he rubs his slick finger over your clit. Twitching around him, you tease, “F-finger painting again?”

 He chuckles, “You know it.” 

 Honestly, if he could cover you in cum, he would—admire your body painted in white strings, watch it drip down your ribs and thighs. If Mike hadn’t just gotten off, he would be hard again at the mere thought, but for now his focus is rubbing your little clit. Still face down, you spread your legs more and more, and Mike has to curl over you, breathing heavily on your neck as you wriggle and buck, overstimulating him as he keeps his cock nestled inside of you.

 He groans just as loud as you do as you start pulsing around him, pussy clenching in a way that actually pulls a few more drops of cum from Mike, then you both pant for a little while until Mike straightens up and pulls you with him, your back to his chest as you hang your head. 

 “You good?” He questions, brushing his lips over your neck as lightly as possible.

 “Yeah,” you tell him. “Just… Full.”

 Mike’s body heats all over again as he rests his forehead on your uppermost vertebrae. “Can’t just say stuff like that,” he warns, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

 “Hmm.” He can see the little smile on your face without even looking up. “You did offer to fuck me until I pass out.”

 “I have a refractory period, you know.”

 You glance over your shoulder, and now Mike gets a good look at your smirk and twinkling eyes. “I can wait.”

 Both of you emerge from the room in the early hours of the morning, still stuck together as you quietly make your way downstairs to find the key to the handcuffs. You’re wearing a pair of Mike’s gym shorts, the mesh falling far past your knees and barely staying up around your waist. He knows you’re still messy and can tell by the way you’re walking that you’re sore, but he has every intention of cleaning you up and taking care of all your aches and pains in the shower. 

 *

It’s party after god damn party with classes and studying and fucking in between. You have never had this much sex in your life, but you’re not complaining. It takes the edge off, and Mike isn’t the worst company. Far from it, actually. The more you get to know him, the more he falls into what you think is his real personality. 

 The brash frat boy is a front, you come to find out, a mask to fit in with everyone else, one he wears very well. 

 But, when it’s just the two of you in his room playing video games or watching TV, he actually relaxes, gets quieter and much more reflective. The pastels and khakis and Hawaiian shirts stay hung up in his closet, both of you lounging in t-shirts and joggers more often than not.

 He more or less tutors you in geochemistry, and between that and all the nerd shit in his room, you realize… Mike is kind of extremely smart. And, it’s kind of extremely hot.

 “I still don’t understand why you hide it,” you tell him one afternoon as you watch him play Ocarina of Time. 

 He shrugs, green eyes wide and focused on the screen, gives you the same answer he did last semester when you’d asked a similar question: “People are more interested in other things.”

 “So you adopted the obnoxious frat boy persona?”

 “I guess. It makes the college experience a lot easier.”

 You cock your head to the side, genuinely curious when you ask, “Doesn’t it wear you out? Seems like you’re just an introvert in hiding.”

 Mike laughs, pauses the game, and looks at you. “It used to. Some days it still does. But, it’s easier than taking shit from the guys.”

 Squinting at him, you mumble, “I will beat up anyone who gives you shit about being a nerd.”

 It makes him laugh. Loudly. And, you see a certain curiosity glimmering in his eyes, unasked questions—probably something along the lines of when you started caring and getting protective over him. 

 You’re not. Not exactly. You just don’t like the idea of anyone giving him a hard time. 

 “No offense, babe, but I don’t know how much damage you could inflict on anyone. You’re, like, two feet tall.”

 You straighten up, chest puffing up as you pull your fists up to your chin and rock back and forth like a Street Fighter character. “You wanna fuckin’ go, Zacharias? I’ll show you how much damage I can inflict.”

 He grins in that boyish way that always makes you look away. It’s too cute and too charming and makes you feel too many things. 

 Mike hangs his long legs over the side of the bed and pulls you on top of him with no problem whatsoever. You’re eye level with him now, heart beating too fast as you hold his shoulders, eyes flicking to his lips. 

 “We can go if you want. We can do whatever you want.”

 He has feelings for you. You know he does, can see it in his eyes, can feel it in the way he fucks you, and you really should cut things off, but… You don’t want to. He’s the most tolerable person you’ve met on campus, much less annoying than Hitch. You have things in common and joke around until you’re both rolling in laughter. And, of course, the sex is incredible. 

 It’s just casual, you keep telling yourself. Mike is smart enough not to push things. He knows better, knows you’ll just turn him down, and though it’s hard to admit, that wouldn’t just hurt him; it’d hurt you too.

 In his lap now, you don’t encourage him to take things further, mostly because you’re still sore from the night before, and he understands that. Instead, you lock your arms around his neck and change the subject to something that’s still bothering you even after several weeks.

 “Have you and Erwin made up yet?”

 Mike makes a face, answers, “Not exactly.”

 “The hell does that mean?”

 “It means we’re talking a little more, but it’s always short conversations and the problem still hasn’t been addressed.”

 You let out a little, “Ugh,” then state, “You guys are impossible.”

 It really doesn’t make sense that he’s so upset about it, especially since you’ve gotten over it. It was a shitty thing for Erwin to do—walking in like that—but you don’t think it’s anything to end a friendship over.

 And, with that thought in mind, you spend the rest of the afternoon devising a plan. It’s not in your nature to meddle, but it seems, in this case, you’re gonna have to.

 *

 Mike is in his fancy ecology class when you walk into the Pike house, nodding at everyone in the den as you step further inside. You learned a few months ago that it’s much safer to keep your shoes on, less jarring to step on a sticky floor the first years didn’t do a good job cleaning. 

 Nile is reclining sideways on the couch with Marie between his legs, an action movie playing on the ridiculously big TV mounted on the wall. 

 “Is Erwin here?” You ask.

 Nile looks at you with a frown, one that’s completely warranted since you’ve literally never asked this before. 

 “Uh, yeah.” He points up at the ceiling. “In his room.”

 “Cool, thanks.”

 “You know which one it is?”

 Squeezing one eye shut, you’re honest when you tell him, “I think so.”

 The way Marie is quick to pipe up, “Second furthest to the left, right next to the bathroom,” is very amusing, especially when Nile clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.

 You make your way upstairs, following Marie’s directions, then take a deep breath before knocking on Erwin’s door, clueless as to what his lock code might be.

 It takes a few seconds, but the door opens, revealing a very tired-looking Erwin. His eyes widen a bit when he sees you, craning his neck back like he’s shocked that you’re standing outside of his room. That’s fair.

 “Uh, hey?”

 “Hey,” you greet shortly. “Can we talk for a sec?”

 Erwin blinks a few times then steps to the side, murmuring, “Yeah, of course.”

 His space is very different from Mike’s, more organized, framed pictures, bed completely made. Even his desk is clean, papers and books all stacked neatly on one side of his open laptop.

 “Studying?” You question.

 “Yeah. Would you like to sit down?” His voice is deep—not as deep as Mike’s—and always so proper, like he spent his childhood in country clubs (he did). 

 “Not really,” you answer without any hesitation.

 Unsurprisingly, Erwin leans against his desk instead of taking a seat himself, arms on either side, fingers hanging off the edge of the polished wood. It makes the muscles in his forearms become more prominent, veins popping against his skin. You have to give it to him, it’s a good move. 

 “So, what’s going on?”

 Running your tongue over your teeth, you recall what you planned to say—cut to the chase, stay firm, don’t get caught up in any of his tricks. 

 “You need to make up with Mike.”

 Erwin immediately snorts. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”

 “Half-assed apologies aren’t gonna work, dude. Actually sit down with him and hash things out.”

 “Yeeeah,” he drawls. “That didn’t work very well the first time.”

 “Maybe try again? You guys are, like, best friends.”

 “Levi is my best friend,” Erwin corrects, “And, I’m pretty sure that you’re Mike’s at this point.”

 “Don’t say that.”

 “It’s true,” he smirks.

 You wave him off, getting back to your original point. “At the very least, you guys should make up just because you have to live in the same house.”

 Erwin crosses his arms over his chest, blue eyes deviating upward as if he’s thinking hard. You doubt he is.

 “So, you’re not mad about what happened?” He asks after a few seconds. 

 You're blunt when you respond, “It was a shitty thing to do. Wouldn’t advise trying it with anyone else, but honestly, I’m not super surprised you’d pull something like that.”

 His facial expression turns to one of true offense, blond eyebrows furrowing enough for a little wrinkle to form between them. “Excuse me?”

 You take a step toward him, almost jab a finger in his chest but resist. “No no no. You don’t get to be pissed. You’re the one who fucked up here. I’m just telling you the truth.”

 Eyes narrowing, he pushes himself off the desk, standing to his full height to loom over you. It’s obviously an intimidation tactic, one he’s probably used before on many people, and it makes your blood boil. 

 In a futile attempt to make yourself look bigger, you straighten your spine and tilt your head to look up at him, lips pursed, eyes narrow. You remember what Mike said about you being too small to hurt anyone, but you can be scrappy. You’re not above slapping a face or kneeing someone in the balls. 

 Erwin peers down at you, jaw setting for a moment as he really studies you, then breaks into an infuriating smile. 

 “You’re cute, you know that?” He moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you swat his hand away. 

 “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

 This close to him, seeing the way he acts behind closed doors, you wonder how Mike ever even got close with him. They’re so incredibly different. For the last semester and a half, you've only known Erwin as Mike's somewhat obnoxious, spoiled friend. Now, it seems he's showing his true colors.

 “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’m feeling pretty great right now.”

 Oh, you wanna hit him. You wanna hit him so badly, but honestly, Erwin kind of seems like the type to call the fucking police if you did. 

 “You don’t have any reason whatsoever to be feeling good.”

 He’s still grinning, eyes bright and wide as his pupils dilate. 

 Are you calling him a predator?

 He sure looks like one now, a lion with his sights set on an antelope, and as you stare at him, it dawns on you that this was a bad idea. 

 “You know what? Nevermind,” you shake your head. “You don’t deserve to be Mike’s friend anyway.”

 The laugh that pours from his lips is not at all humorous. His voice drops when he challenges, “You think so?”

 You need to leave, need to get out of here before this argument goes any further, but as you make a move toward the closed door, he slides in front of you. You shouldn’t have walked so far into his room.

 “Erwin,” you grit through your teeth. “Don’t do this.”

 “Just tell me—because I need to know—” he breathes, still staring down at you with that unnerving gaze. “What does Mike have that you like so much?”

 Both your hands flex by your sides. There are so many ways to answer this question, all of which will evoke a different response. 

 But being who you are, you speak before you think, spitting the first thing that comes to mind: "You want me to make you a list, Smith? 'Cause I sure fucking can."

 He makes a little circle with his hand, a 'go on' motion, and prompts, "Please, enlighten me."

 And, so you do. 

 "Warmth, sincerity, class, depth, understanding—"

 "So, it isn't just about the sex," he cuts you off, sounding more sure than curious. 

 You pinch the bridge of your nose, tired of these god damn frat boys and their obsession with getting their dicks wet.  

 "I mean, it started out that way—not that it's any of your business."

 "I can give you more, you know. Satisfy you better—"

 "Please shut the fuck up," you beg, getting madder by the second. The confidence, the entitlement, is making you sick. 

 "You don't believe me?" He steps toward you again, and you back up. 

 "No, I don't." Because how could he? Whether it's stimulating conversation or sex, there's no way Erwin could compare. 

 And now you realize just how much you appreciate Mike. 

 Erwin is closing the distance between you, moving slowly but purposefully. "This is how it started with you and him, right? You made him chase you?" 

 "Get out of my way," you demand, trying to shoulder past him—

 And, you should have seen it coming, should have been prepared for the way he grabs you, strong hand closing around your upper arm to pull you to his body. Thick fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back, face tilted up, and all you can really do is shove at his chest with your free hand, growling in your throat as Erwin crushes his lips against yours. 

 Adrenaline courses through your body. You try to shake the hand on your head, try to jerk your arm from his grip, but he's too fucking strong, and it terrifies you. 

 Your voice is muffled as you plead, "Er—mmf—shtp—"

 You lift your hand higher and manage to hit him just beside his eye with the side of your palm, and it makes him break the "kiss" (you refuse to actually call it that).

 He breathes a heavy, "Just let me—"

 "No." You push his chest again, and he lets go of your arm. Quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you tell him, "You're a shitty friend and a little fucked in the head, but you're not low enough to force yourself on someone," you pant, shaking with nerves and rage, "So don't."

 Hopefully, you're not giving him too much credit. Despite the overflowing fury and fear, you still think there's a little hope for him. Not with you, of course, just in general.

 He stares at you, expression changing from confusion to understanding to regret, and before you know it, he's scrubbing his hands down his face and muttering, "Fuck, I'm sorry. You're right I—I got carried away. I've been jealous of Mike and curious and—"

 "Why?" You blurt because you do not get it. "Both of you are, like, top athletes and in a fraternity, could get literally anyone you wanted, so what is it? Is it because I'm a nobody? Because you're bored of the sorority girls? Am I the one chick on your list you haven't screwed?" 

 "I… I don't know. You just—"

 "Is it because Mike has a toy he doesn't wanna share?"

 "Maybe." Erwin is frowning again, like he's stumped. He doesn't even know what he's feeling. It's honestly a little pathetic. 

 "Well, pick someone else. I know you have Maddie wrapped around your finger, so take advantage of that or whatever. Just leave me out of it."

 Ocean eyes are wide and troubled. He really does look remorseful, but that doesn't change what he just fucking did. God, you're disgusted. And a little hurt. 

 "Don't ever try that shit on me again—or anyone else—'cause I swear to God, I will break your fucking nose."

 "Yeah, okay," he nods.

 You go to walk past him again, voice loud and unforgiving when you tell him, "Move," and then you're out of his room, slamming the door, and getting as far from Pike house as possible.

 That did not go the way you had planned it to, but you should have been ready for the worst case scenario. That's on you, you guess. 

 Because Erwin Smith may not be a predator by definition, but he's certainly something—something you want to stay away from. 

*

"Why are you acting weird?" Mike's voice pulls you from your empty head, and you take your eyes off the loose string of your hoodie—his hoodie—and look up at him. 

 "What are you talking about? 'm not acting weird."

 He moves from his place at the edge of his bed and crawls to prop himself up next to you on his pillows. 

 "Uh, yeah you are. Have been for the past week or so."

 He isn't wrong. You've kept to yourself a little more since your "conversation" with Erwin. It had just been so uncomfortable and jarring, and you don't want to tell Mike because you know he'll just get pissed all over again which would be very annoying since he and Erwin finally made up. Just like you wanted them to. 

 Except now you know Erwin a little better, and you're not sure you want him having any more influence over Mike. 

 Rubbing your face, you shrug and easily lie, "I've just been tired."

 And, of course, Mike is too smart for that. 

 "Tired? That's the go-to answer for anyone who actually feels shitty."

 "I mean, yeah, but I'm actually tired in this case." It isn't a complete lie considering how fucking late he kept you up last night. 

 Mike hums. "Wanna take a nap before the party?" 

 The acid in your stomach churns. The party. The one you do not have any desire to go to. The one that will push you over the ledge of annoyance and into the realm of genuine discomfort. You don't want to go. You don't want to hang out. You don't want to see Erwin. 

 Sliding your legs under the covers, you lay down in Mike's bed, turning on your side so that your back is facing him. You've told him on numerous occasions that you don't have any interest in certain events, but he always talks you into going to them anyway. So, what'll be different this time? You're just gonna end up downstairs huddled in a corner refusing to drink as your eyes scan over everyone, ready to make a quick exit if you have to. 

 Mike settles in closer behind you, the heat of his chest pouring across your back, and you can feel the pillow dip when he rests his head on it. He waits for a while before letting his arm fall over your waist. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut, makes something crawl into your throat, trying to scratch its way out. 

 "I really don't wanna go tonight," you murmur.

 You expect some form of protest, a convincing argument in the form of a well thought out fucking speech while he kisses down the back of your neck, but instead, a low rumble of, "Okay," spills from his mouth, and you hate how it makes you feel—how grateful you are for him. 

 He's getting to know you. Has gotten to know you after spending so much time together. He can read your ups and downs now, can tell when you're joking or serious, take the hint when you want him with a single look (that one might be the most irritating), but it just goes to show how perceptive he is, how much of himself he's been hiding while in college. 

 The shallow jock you thought you knew is no comparison for this. 

 "Spring break's coming up," he speaks into your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering to himself, "Citrus kills me," like you can't hear him. 

 You pretend not to because it's soft and personal and would probably make him adorably self-conscious, and you can't deal with Mike blushing. 

  "Yeah, it is. Couple more weeks." 

 "What're your plans?" 

 You shrug against him, trying not to get too wrapped up in the way his body feels over yours, longer legs tangling between yours, his draped hand nearly covering your entire stomach, his stubble scratching your neck and cheek. 

 When did you get this close? When did you decide it was okay to be this intimate? This is what couples do. This is comfort. 

 And, you didn't think you needed it, but fuck—

 "Nothing, really. Go see Mom, I guess."

 "Come stay with me," he says quickly. "Just for a few days."

 You wriggle to turn on your back and frown up at him as a myriad of questions fill your mind. 

 Mike takes a deep breath, somehow reading every one of them. 

 "I know that sounds like a 'come meet my parents' thing, but I promise it's not. I just thought it'd be cool to hang out not at school and not at a party. Plus," he shows a broad grin. "You can meet Scout."

 "Mm, tempting," you laugh. "I do like dogs."

 "And, you'll love her! She's so sweet and so goofy and—"

 "I'll think about it," you stop him. 

 Mike bites his lip, looking hopeful, but tries to play it off with a, "Okay, cool," then leans down to kiss you as if you've already said yes. 

 Honestly, you have, just not out loud. He had you at 'hanging out'. 

 *

Studying sucks. Midterms suck. Avoiding parties, however, does not suck. Mike still goes to most of them, kind of has to considering they're usually thrown at the PKA house, but sometimes he just shows his face then comes to your dorm. You try to convince him to stay, hang out with his friends, but he usually just shrugs and digs through your stash of movies until he finds something he wants to watch. 

 It's fine with you, makes passing geochem a lot fucking easier, but it also means little sleep and a perpetual soreness between your legs. 

 You just… Can't get enough of each other. And, you think that's how it's always been since that first party. Afterward, you had denied him in the courtyard and then broke as soon as he got into your room to get his stupid shirt. Denied him at the bar then broke as soon as he leaned over you at the pool table. Denied him at the after-game party and broke after… Seeing his room? Watching movies? Acting like friends for the first time? Whatever it is, you're always falling into bed together, some kind of unstoppable force against your obviously very movable object. 

 It's something you think about too much now, always somewhere in the back of your head. At this point, you should probably just be with him, don't know who you're kidding with that lie about focusing on school (your grades have never been better actually), but you're scared. That's really what's been hard to admit to yourself, not the fact that you're attracted to him or the fact that your irritation has bloomed into genuine fondness and admiration. It's that's you're fucking terrified. You can feel it in your bones. 

 Don't get too attached because people leave. All the time. People let you down. People disappoint. 

 You don't want Mike to disappoint you, so you won't give him the chance to. 

 Of course, all of that is easier said than done as you look over at him in the Wrangler, one huge hand pn the wheel as his other arm hangs out of the open window, catching the wind that batters against it like he's trying to push back. You hate it when he does that, too many horror stories of car crashes that end in traumatic amputations, but it's one of Mike's strange simple pleasures, makes him grin as if it's his head hanging out instead. At his core, Mike Zacharias is just a huge fucking puppy dog. 

 A dubstep song from too long ago is blasting through his speakers, the vibrations hitting you square in the chest as you bounce your leg and bob your head. It's beautiful outside, winter's bite melting away into sunny springtime days. Some of them still bring a chill to the air, but it doesn't matter since you basically live in one of Mike's hoodies, dark green with the school's lacrosse logo stamped in the middle. It's faded and worn out and far too big on you, but it's quite possibly the most comfortable article of clothing you've acquired. 

 The drive to his parents' house is a good three hours, but between the playlist he's made (stellar, not that you'd admit it), the road games you play, and the road head you give him ("Oh, Jesus Christ, this isn't safe—this isn't safe—fuck—") you make it there in one piece and in good spirits, though you have take a few drinks of the soda you got at the convenience store to wash the residue of cum out of your mouth before meeting his god damn family. 

 He grabs both your bags from the backseat, slinging them over his shoulders, then starts up the path to a… surprisingly small home. It isn't a shack by any means, but after what you saw of Erwin's stupid ranch house and some of the pictures and stories Nile and Gelgar have subjected you to, you just kind of figured all of them had ridiculous amounts of money. 

 Then again, you know Mike got a full ride to college with a sports scholarship, and he rarely talks about his family and their lifestyle aside from Scout and little tales from his childhood—trips to the zoo, the one time he rode a dirt bike and broke his collarbone, he and his dad rescuing an injured bunny from the park. 

 You should've known back then that you'd get in too deep. 

 The small garden that lines the house is well-kempt and full of blooming flowers, and the porch is home to a wire table and matching chairs with an unsavory gnome sitting on top.  

 "What in the world…"

 Mike doesn't even glance to see what you're looking at, just opens the screen door and informs you, "That's Leonidas," so casually that it makes you snort and push him into his own house. 

 It opens up to a living room, long couch, recliner, coffee table and all. A TV sits right in the middle of a beige entertainment center, DVDs stacked on one side, blu-ray discs on the other. It smells clean—like the lemon wipes you use in your dorm—but even stronger than that is the smell of food. 

 "Must already be cooking," Mike muses, then calls out in a different fucking language that has you turning to him in confusion. 

 Before you can ask about it, a plump woman a couple inches taller than you comes rushing out of what you assume to be the kitchen. Her graying hair is tied into a loose bun, cheeks rosy from the heat, and she's still in her apron and a single oven mitt. 

 "Miche, γλυκό μου αγόρι!" 

 She stops in front of him and reaches up to grab his face, peppering it with little kisses and babbling words you do not understand in the slightest. 

 Mike is laughing, speaking to her in the same fashion, possibly answering questions or defending himself judging by the way he holds his hands up. You think you have an inkling about why when his mother turns to you, puts her hands on your shoulders to look at you, then pulls you into a tight hug. 

 You squeeze her right back, rocking to and fro as she does, then look up at Mike from the corner of your eyes in a panic. 

 What do you do, what is happening, what hasn't he told you? 

 It’s about this time that a large dog runs into the room and actually jumps into Mike’s arms. He grunts as he hoists Scout up, nuzzling into her beautiful coat as she tries to lick his face.

 "Mamá, let her get settled first," Mike laughs from where he’s getting attacked. His mother lets go of you, but it’s only for Mike to set the dog back down, and Scout takes the opportunity to sniff and paw at you. “Be nice,” he warns her, pulling you in front of him and pushing you toward the hallway.

 That need to snoop around is ever present as you enter his room, but the much more pressing issue is, "You could've prepared me, ya' know. Given me a little heads up that you're…"

 "Greek?" He snorts, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. "My last name is Zacharias. That's a pretty good indicator."

 "I—..." You pause, pout, then mumble, "I'm not a genealogy expert."

 "Obviously not."

 He dumps the bags on his bed, a queen size, thank god, because he had told you last week they didn't have a guest room (and had seemed pretty happy about it at the time). 

 "I'll get mom and dad to speak in English for the next few days." 

 "I mean," you shake your head. "It's their house. I don't wanna intrude on that. Let 'em do what they're most comfortable with."

 He steps over to you, makes his classic move of staring down at you and smoothing his hand over your hair to make you tilt your head up. "That's sweet, but I know they're dying to talk with you, so actually being able to understand what they’re saying is kinda necessary."

 Humming, you stand on your tip-toes just as he begins to stoop lower. Before you can meet in a kiss, though, you smirk, "And, just why do they wanna get to know me, Miche? Is that a secret Greek name too?”

 He licks his lips, voice husky when he replies, "I've mentioned you a few times--”

 “Uh huh,” you smirk, too close for him to actually see.

 “And no, I think it’s Hebrew or something.” 

 You snicker before your mouths meet, breaths grow heavy, and the only time you break apart is so that you can look him in his light eyes and tell him, "By the way, the whole speaking a different language thing you can do?" He grunts, encouraging you to continue. "Very hot."

 You feel him smile against you, a self-satisfied, "Yeah?" making you burn against him. 

 "Yeah."

 It's hard to leave the room, but you both know you have to, hoping neither of you look too kiss-swollen when you walk back into the living room, and when Mike's mom is no longer there, he brings you to the kitchen instead. 

 "Smells good," he tells her, leaning over the stove and taking a whiff of the prepared dish that’s been set on top--stuffed tomatoes and peppers that make your mouth water.

 She says something, and Mike lets her finish before asking, "Can we speak in English while she's here? It's kinda hard to add to a conversation when you, like, don't know what's being said."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She immediately gushes, turning to you with a worried look. Her accent is thick and charming, but she doesn't ever stutter, clearly fluent, just more comfortable in her apparently native language. "I just get so caught up when my Miche comes home, I—"

 And, she's hugging you again. 

 "I'm Maia! Christopher—Miche's father—should be home soon."

 You rub Maia's back until she lets go and turns back to the stove, but even as she does, she's asking you, "How is school? What are you studying? Miche's told me very few things."

 He shouldn't have told you anything at all, you want to say. 

 "Um, it's good. I'm an earth sciences major, geology specifically, so Mike—uh—Miche's been helping me study a lot."

 He leans down to speak so only you can hear, "Not necessary to call me that. She's gonna know who you're talking about when you say Mike."

 Not that you'll tell him, but you kind of like the way 'Miche' feels, the way it rolls from your lips to the back of your mouth, and for just one second, you think about how you'd like to moan it in his ear. 

 "So, uh," you shake your head in an attempt to get it back on straight. "Yeah, it's going good, I think."

 "It is nice that you study together," Maia hums, slicing into the dish to portion it out. "Miche probably enjoys the break from his fraternity life." 

 Mike makes an unsure noise, but you grin and lean on the counter, eyes shining as you look at the middle-aged woman, "You know, speaking of that, I need to know what he was like before the whole frat thing 'cause—"

 "Uhh, we don't need to talk about that," Mike quickly cuts you off. 

 Maia, however, catches your eye and winks, a silent promise that she'll fill you in later. 

 Mike sees it, whines a dramatic, "Mamá, please."

 You laugh, glancing over at him with a devious smile that makes him roll his eyes and grumble something. 

 The creak of a door opening followed by the sound of a screen slamming back against the frame signals the arrival of Mike's father. It takes him a couple minutes to join everyone in the kitchen, probably taking the time to get more comfortable after what you assume to be a long day. 

 When he does walk in, once styled hair fallen out of place, top two buttons of his shirt undone, you see exactly where Mike gets most of his looks. He may have gotten his fucking mane from his mother, but he definitely got his height and his eyes from his father. 

 "Oh!" He stops short when he sees you, looks at his wife, then at you, then at Mike. "Is this the girl?" 

 "Dad!" 

 Both of his parents snicker as he turns to you, pleading more than telling, "Just ignore them, they don't know what they're talking about."

 You don't pay him any mind, join in on the fun when you lift an eyebrow and tease, "Am I, Mike? Am I the girl?"

 "Oh my god, this is gonna be a nightmare," he groans, the tips of his ears growing red. Still, he tries to put on a stern face as he points at his parents, speaks in beautiful, rolling words that are beyond you, then turns his flashing gaze to you and commands, "And you, don't encourage them."

 "Mm, no promises." You stick the tip of your tongue between your teeth and wink at his mom the way she had at you earlier. 

 All of you sit at an actual table for dinner, something you haven't done in at least a decade, as you talk and laugh between bites of food. Scout is laying underneath, waiting for someone to drop a piece of food, and every once in a while, you feel her wet nose nudge against your calf.

 Maia and Chris are very kind and very funny, and it isn't just because they pick on their son all the time. Chris talks about his day in the office, complaining about coworkers the same way Mike complains about his brothers—"I just don't understand why you would eat sardines in the break room! Someone explain it to me!" Maia tells everyone about the three hour phone call with her mother—"My god that woman can talk. Every time we said goodbye, she would just start on something new!"

 "Explains where you get it from," Chris says with a chuckle. 

 Maia scoffs then stabs a piece of his food with her fork, eating it with purpose as her husband watches. 

 You lean over to Mike and murmur, "They're cute. I like 'em."

 He grunts. "That makes one of us."

 Sucking your teeth, you mimic his mother's actions and dig your fork into the meat of his pepper, stealing a bite and scraping your teeth over the utensil in a way you know drives him crazy. 

 You immediately regret it when you realize how big the piece is, filling your mouth so that it's hard to chew, and you grab a napkin to cover yourself while Mike snorts and smugly says, "Yeah, bet you feel real smart right now. How does thievery taste?" 

 Shoving his arm, you manage to swallow down enough of the food to talk and tell him, "Tastes delicious."

 When you look back across the table, you find Maia and Chris staring at you and Mike with shining eyes and matching grins. 

*

You get along well with Mike's parents. A little too well in his opinion. There are a couple mornings you wake up earlier than he does and share coffee with his mother. He'll walk in to hear her sharing terrible stories about how, "He was such a sensitive little boy," and, "I miss the days he and his friends would spend afternoons here playing their little games."

 She even breaks out the photo albums one evening after dinner, leaving Mike mortified as you laugh and 'aww' at the pictures of past birthdays, Boy Scout outings, and the horrors of middle and high school. 

 "Look how cute you are with braces!"

 "Please stop."

 "All dressed up for Easter, oh my god, are those bunny ears?" 

 "Mom made me."

 "You were so skinny. What happened?" 

 "Are you calling me fat?" 

 "No, I'm calling you buff. Dummy."

 Less embarrassing are the long walks the two of you take with Scout (who also loves you, of course). She stays close to your hip as you wander around the park, only leaving your side when you throw her favorite ball. At the house, she noses at you until you shift to let her lay either at your feet or on the couch with her big head in your lap. 

 It's the cutest fucking thing Mike has ever seen, and he hates it because he can't do anything about it. He can't tell you how much he likes seeing you walk around in his house. He can't tell you how much joy it brings him to hear your laugh ring out alongside his parents'. He can't tell you how much he loves seeing you slide into his old bed in nothing but one of his shirts, making yourself comfortable against his chest and weaving your legs between his. 

 He can't tell you, but he can do his best to show you. 

 Late at night when his parents are asleep, when the buzzing TV is the only thing lighting the room, Mike moves inside of you with deep, slow thrusts. He hikes your legs up to lock around his waist or pulls you up against himself if he's taking you from behind. No matter the position, it leaves you clawing at him, breathing heavily, jaw dropping open in a silent scream. 

 You feel so good, so tight around him even after he gets you ready for his cock. Your silken walls squeeze and milk him, pulling every drop of cum from him to soak into you. Fuck, he's so glad you're letting him do that now, fill you up until you can't take any more, until white is dribbling from your messy pussy. The way you look at him all fucked out is intoxicating, eyes droopy, smile lazy, body twitching with aftershocks as he sucks on your neck and kisses down your shoulders. 

 You have to know. You have to. Mike knows his feelings are written all over his face when he looks at you, may as well be carved into his skin. The words are on the tip of his tongue every night, but he muffles them with kisses, with burying his face between your legs, with sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. 

 He can't say it because saying it makes it real. Saying it will make it hurt more. 

 So Mike keeps his mouth shut, watches you every day as you converse with his parents and play with Scout. You poke around his bedroom in your usual nosy fashion, finding the rest of his Magic cards, old D&D books and privacy screens. The dusty record player he'd inherited from his grandfather interests you above all else, vinyls stacked around it, some old, some new, and as you flip through them now, cross-legged on the floor and swimming in his hoodie, you tell him the little things you talked about with his mom earlier in the day. 

 "She showed me your baby teeth," you say with a snort. "Why do parents keep those? My mom did too."

 "Black Magic, obviously," Mike says seriously, but when you glance up at him, he chuckles. "I don't know, babe. It's fuckin' weird, though."

 You grin and look back down at The Alan Parsons Project vinyl in your lap. You're quiet for a moment, but when you do speak up, it's in a quiet voice. "I'm pretty sure they think I'm your girlfriend."

 Mike cringes on the bed, shutting his eyes and sighing. "Yeah, that's probably 'cause I told them you were." 

 "What?" You turn your whole body to face him, eyes wide and incredulous. 

 Sitting up, Mike holds his hands out and questions, "What was I supposed to tell them? Hey, mom and dad, I'm bringing home this girl I fuck at school all the time."

 "We don't just fuck," you scoff. "You could've said friend or… Study buddy."

 "Study buddies with benefits," he lets out a humorless laugh. "How many of those study sessions end with your mouth around my cock?" 

 "That's beside the point." You stand up and walk over to the bed, hands on your hips as you glare at him in an unconvincing manner. You're not actually upset, Mike realizes. A little annoyed maybe but more surprised than anything. "The point is they expect us to do couple-y things."

 "We do do couple-y things." Mike reminds you, rolling his eyes when you snicker and murmur 'ha, do do'. "Oh my god, you're a dork."

 "So are you. And, a dumb one. What happens when they find out we're not actually together? Are we gonna have to stage a break up somewhere down the line?" 

 "Stop worrying about it," Mike tries, reaching out for one of your arms to pull you on top of him. You must be very used to straddling him at this point. It seems like you're in his lap more often than you're not these days, even if the two of you are just talking. "Just chill and fake it for a little while longer."

 You pout, glancing to the wall for a second before you mutter, "Might be tough. I've never had to fake anything for you before."

 Mike groans and traces his fingers up your sides, stopping at your shoulders and using them to guide you closer to him. With your face only millimeters from his, he barely even has to whisper when he presses, "Fake it just this once."

 You nod, lips brushing his, and from there you both devolve into sloppy kisses and desperate hands. As always.

[ next ]

[hufflautia]

Among Us

Warning: Suggestive themes as the story progresses, but nothing explicit.

Summary: Hufflepuff and Slytherin are playing Among Us with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The grudge Slytherin holds against Gryffindor prevents him from pinpointing the true imposter in their midst. 

~

Emergency meeting!

Slytherin rests his knuckles against the cafeteria table as he leans forward.  

“Found Ravenclaw’s body in electrical,” he says solemnly. 

Gryffindor narrows his eyes. 

“You probably self-reported.” 

“Wha—did not!” 

He arches an eyebrow. “Then how did you find Raven?” 

“I was rerouting power to communications,” Slytherin retorts. His voice is deadly calm but he’s shooting daggers at him from across the table. 

HuffPuff has voted. 2 remaining. 

“Hold up,” Gryffindor folds his arms while eyeing Slytherin suspiciously, “how did you even know it was Ravenclaw’s body? Did you see her and think ‘Oh, look! It’s Ravenclaw, the innocent person I murdered a few minutes ago. Since no one found her yet, I’m gonna sit here for a bit and stare at her as a creepy person would. Aw geez! I should probably report the body now because someone might catch me’?” 

Slytherin scoffs. “That’s not how I talk—” 

“Any normal person would’ve seen the body and immediately reported it. They wouldn’t have time to identify who it was—” 

“I saw a flash of blue right before I reported,” he interrupts. “Any person with at least one brain cell would’ve known it was Ravenclaw. Besides, she’s the only person who isn’t here right now.” 

Gryffindor still looks unconvinced, and Slytherin rolls his eyes. 

“What, do you expect me to think it was Hufflepuff’s body? Hufflepuff,” he gestures, “who’s standing next to me right now with a yellow suit?”  

Gryffindor opens his mouth to respond when Hufflepuff, who has remained silent until now, speaks up. 

“Guys, stop arguing and just vote.” 

Slytherin purses his lips and looks like he wants to continue bantering with Gryffindor. He glances at Hufflepuff, who is intently staring at him. 

Please, her eyes seem to say. 

He swallows his anger, albeit reluctantly, and nods. 

Snek has voted. 1 remaining. 

Gryffinroar has voted. 0 remaining. 

No one was ejected. (Tie) 

Slytherin shoots one last withering look at Gryffindor before walking away. Both of them head off in opposite directions, too frustrated with each other to question why Hufflepuff voted so early. 

Ghost Ravenclaw watches as they leave the cafeteria. 

Y’all stupid, she sighs.

- 

Gryffindor is walking in the hallway leading to Storage. He turns the corner and doesn’t notice Hufflepuff, who’s loosely trailing him. She hurries to catch up with him when she is suddenly pulled into Admin. A hand clamps over her mouth before she could scream, and she struggles against the unknown figure. 

“It’s alright, it’s just me!”

She freezes—she knows that voice. They finally release her from their grip, and she spins around. 

“Slytherin,” she shouts in a whisper. “What the hell!” 

Slytherin suppresses a laugh. He’d probably earn a punch in the arm if he didn’t. 

“Did I startle you, my love?”

“Yes,” Hufflepuff glares. “You would be startled too if someone randomly grabbed you from behind.” 

“Well, you have nothing to fear,” he pulls her into a hug. “It’s only me.” 

Still irked, she stiffly leans into his embrace. However, it only takes a matter of seconds for her to give in, and she wraps her arms around him. 

Slytherin draws back far enough to look at her. 

“You have to be careful. Gryffindor is probably the imposter, so you should stay with me.” 

“Shouldn’t we call a meeting if he’s the imposter?” she says with a frown. 

“If we eject him now without any evidence, he’s gonna say we didn’t play fairly. Let’s stay together so we can catch him red-handed if he tries anything.”   

Her brows knit together, and she seems hesitant. Slytherin notices, but her reluctance disappears as quickly as it arrives. 

“Okay,” she takes his hand. “If you say so.” 

 He gives her a small smile before leading her to MedBay, where his next task is. After he submits his scan, he turns to face Hufflepuff. 

“My last task is in Shields and then I’m finished,” he says. “What about you?”  

“I’m already done.” 

“Ok, good. C’mon, let’s go before Gryffindor finds us.” 

He begins to head out. 

“Wait!” 

Hufflepuff steps between him and the exit. He stops, surprised. 

“Wait,” she says again but calmer this time. “Can we stay here for a bit?” 

“What for?” 

“...I wanna hang out with you.”

Slytherin looks at her like she grew two heads. 

“Why?” he asks. 

 “Why not,” she pouts. “Is it wrong to wish to spend time with you?” 

“Of course not, but now?” he arches an eyebrow. “When we’re so close to winning this thing?” 

“I know, I just…” 

He stares at her expectantly, waiting.

“...I miss you.” 

There is a mixed expression of amusement and confusion on his face. 

“You miss me,” he repeats. 

“I do. And I know it’s silly because you’re right here, but I feel like we barely get any alone time.” 

Slytherin cocks his head. 

“I think we get a fair amount of ‘alone time’ every now and then.” 

She crosses her arms. 

“Not really,” she replies sullenly. “There’s always some sort of interruption. Whether it be homework or Quidditch practice or just anything at all, something always seems to get in the way.”

He frowns. Now that he thinks about it, Hufflepuff makes a good point. When was the last time they were alone with no distractions whatsoever? 

“You’re right,” he takes her hands, “and I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” 

A smile adorns her lips. 

“It’s okay. At least we’re alone now.” 

With the tip of her finger, she begins to draw lazy circles on his chest. 

“With no one else around,” she drawls. “No interruptions.” 

Slytherin can’t hide his grin as he hooks his forearm behind her waist to pull her closer.  

“I guess my task can wait.” 

Hufflepuff ends up pressed against the wall with Slytherin kissing her like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. She clutches his suit tightly as if she is worried he’ll let go, but he doesn’t. In fact, he isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. 

He bites on her bottom lip and swipes his tongue over to soothe the sting, drawing a whimper from her. He pulls back, feeling a swell of pride when he sees her kiss-swollen lips.  

“Do you wanna stop?” he murmurs. 

Hufflepuff shakes her head and licks her lips, drawing his attention to them again. 

“I want you,” she whispers, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Please.” 

Slytherin smirks. How could he refuse when she asked so nicely? 

-

Slytherin zips up his suit and turns to Hufflepuff, who just finished dressing. 

“How are you feeling?” he says, walking towards her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“Of course not,” she gives him a soft smile, “you could never hurt me.” 

 “I know,” he snakes an arm around her waist. “Just checking in.” 

“Well, I’m perfectly fine, so you have nothing to worry about,” she beams. 

Slytherin kisses the bridge of her nose when he feels the outline of something on her back. He scrunches his eyebrows together. 

“What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” 

“That thing in your suit.” 

Not waiting for a response, he slips his hand through the opening of her unzipped suit and begins feeling around for the object. 

Realization strikes her, and she tries to step back. 

“It’s nothing—” 

But it’s too late because Slytherin’s hand brushes against the handle of the item, and he tilts his head. 

“That’s weird,” he says. “It feels like a…” 

He pulls it out, and his eyes widen.  

“...knife.” 

Hufflepuff grabs the knife from him in a hurry and tucks it back into her suit, but there’s no use in trying to hide it. Slytherin has already seen the weapon. 

His eyes cloud with confusion. He staggers back when it finally clicks.  

“You’re the imposter.”  

She gulps, knowing that it’d be useless to try denying it. 

“I am,” she says quietly. 

Her heart aches—Slytherin looks even more betrayed at the confirmation. She swallows the lump in her throat. 

“If you hadn’t stopped me from going after Gryffindor,” she begins, “none of this would’ve happened. Believe me, I didn’t plan for things to go this way. I tried to go after Gryff instead, I even suggested ejecting him! But you wouldn’t let me, you kept…” She bites the inside of her cheek, finding it hard to speak under the scrutiny of his gaze. “...you kept getting in my way.” 

“So now it’s me,” he says in an icy voice. “It’s me who will die.” 

Hufflepuff winces at his words and droops her head in shame. Slytherin uses her brief lapse of concentration to make a run for the exit. He is startled when the doors lock on their own. 

“Even if you manage to make it out, you won’t be able to press the emergency button.”

Slytherin whirls around to face Hufflepuff, who approaches him slowly with a dismal expression. 

“I’ve initiated a reactor meltdown. Gryffindor isn’t gonna find you in time. He’s probably too busy trying to fix the sabotage.” 

His eyebrows furrow as he soaks in the truth of her words. 

“Even then,” she continues, “you need two players to do that.”   

Fuck. When did Hufflepuff get so sly? She always had the potential to be crafty, which is what drew Slytherin in when they first met in detention. He soon realized that though she can be sneaky at times, she values kindness above all else, and he finds that to be very endearing. But, in the few instances when she is sneaky, Slytherin wants nothing more than to pull her into an empty classroom and—

Stop! he mentally scolded himself. Why are you thinking about that when Hufflepuff is literally about to kill you right now?! But fuck, is she gonna look hot doing it—

His thoughts freeze when she draws out her knife. He backs away as she walks towards him.  

“Let me go,” he pleads. “I can help you win this. We can work together!” 

Hufflepuff shakes her head solemnly. 

“I know betraying Gryffindor sounds appealing to you. But you love winning even more. Who’s to say you won’t betray me?” 

He swallows with difficulty. She knows him too well. 

Dread runs through his veins when his back meets the wall. She corners him. Her face scrunches up like she’s racked with guilt for what she’s about to do. 

“I have to end this now,” she says, her voice thick. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”  

Slytherin stares into her eyes.

“Would you kill me, my love?” he whispers. 

Hufflepuff holds his gaze. 

“For victory? Without question.”  

Defeat. 

HuffPuff was The Imposter. 

Play Again? 

~ 

Inspired by @hogwartslastbraincells’s glorious incorrect quote post!  

Check out my masterlist! | Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3 If you prefer to stay anonymous, the anon option for asks is available!  

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 

I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Today’s my birthday, so I decided to post something. I had been meaning to write this for a long time, but I never got around to it until now and I’m quite proud of how it turned out! I like playing Among Us—I get so nervous when I’m the Imposter lmao

Here’s a deleted scene! Warning, it’s pretty nsfw. The scene is after huff is like “hey we’re alone”:  

He begins kissing every inch of her exposed skin while unzipping her suit. Her eyes flutter shut when his lips pay special attention to her neck, and she lets out a breathless moan. He suddenly freezes. 

“Why’d you stop?” she breathes.  

When he doesn’t respond, she opens her eyes to see that he’s staring at her body with a shocked expression—and it isn’t the good kind of shock. She looks down and realizes with horror that the knife she had hidden within her suit is now revealed. 

I changed this to what the scene is now because I wanted to keep it lowkey and make it less nsfw. I cut the official scene off with “How can he refuse when she asks so nicely?” so that there’s no explicit content and the gap between that line and the scene afterward suggests that they did the dirty. 

Speaking of explicit, I’m gonna write a “bonus” fic that fills in the blank of what happened. It’s litcherally just gonna be smut. So, the beginning of the fic will be similar to that of the deleted scene; the difference is that Slytherin doesn’t find the knife and they simply continue. I lowkey deleted that nsfw scene and created a gap so that I could write a bonus fic that goes in-depth. Didn’t wanna scar anyone who doesn’t wanna read smut so I purposefully left out what happened. Those who do want to see what happened after can read the bonus fic when I post it sometime in the future. 

I’m not sure what my schedule for fics will be. I’ll likely be studying for the AP exams, so I might just disappear for a bit. However, I have some ideas for drabbles and ficlets, and those types of fics usually don’t take me very long to write, so I might post them sometime in the future so that I’m not completely inactive. 

MEME TIME ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Also, this: 

HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS LMAO 

After seeing the incorrect quotes post and deciding to write a fic inspired by it, I planned on doing the color word thingie that @hogwartslastbraincells​ had done. I searched up the code for the hogwarts houses colors and tested it out in a draft, and I just left it there for future reference. I can not tell you how relieved I am to finally get rid of the draft after seeing it for so long. 

Well, that’s it for me. I don’t have much else to say other than the fact that today ez a happy day for me. Technically, today’s not my birthday because I’m writing this in advance, but the day that you’re reading this—if you’re reading this the day that I post—is indeed my birthday! Not sure what my plans for the day are (well, my family’s plans to be exact), but I’m sure they’ll be fun :D 

Thanks for reading! Until next time <3

Tags: @slytherpuff-shenanigans @axieleration @sunnniiee @determinedpines @zenobiagrace @asterinflower @cinnamon-roll-unicorn @mossy-axolotl @dumbbitch11 @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @notsowiseravenclaw  @arianatorpotterhead @luciferswife16 @walkinganomaly @asunshinepuff @lewispoolerpayton @adreameratdawn @thewitcheswords @oncergleekpotterhead @princessstoopid @stardustzainy @flvrqnce @multi-fandom-nutjob @eunnieah @iamahufflepuff @1hufflepuff @introvertedrae @princessstoopid @jasminedayz @magnoliamermaid @HOPEFUL-HUFFLEPUFF-PEEVES @peanut-in-the-goal @pufflehuff929 @sophiexteresa @da-fox-rangerrr @dawinehouse @shipping-book-keeper @xxavaloraxx @silverhetdanes @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @elegantcroissantplaidpony @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog @vickeyunicorn @arianatorpotterhead @hmilkwhoney @simpering-simpleton @grandcyclecreation @sweetinvisiblewriter @marvelenthusiast10 @mvlpksvthisht @qiaopa @beardedhumanoid @jadefox05 @justanotherperson @inkedintothepaper @minty-malfoy @trippy-morgan @fangirlgeekandfreak @boilyourteeth @absentmindeduniverse @colettedelaurel @halfelven1 @happy-puff @coloring-bud @in-love-with-remus-lupin @autumnpleaves @crakencc @flyme--tothemoon @hedgepuffgirl @littleemotionalpanda @pancakes-and-sugar @korra4321 @aquietkindofthunder @qixnsriess @porksoba @thatfann @hellounicorn @i-have-a-bad-feeling @aasa2102 @zuko-28 @annie-mcl @clementines-x @writtenfoxscreams @randomwriter23 @cryingabtwandavision @coolninjavoid @urfaveslytherin @malfoys-demigod @tumlbr-trasher @violayaxley @wolfpack-arts-industries99 @zainieees-stuff @milk-leaves @priii @capt-sparrow @blueberry-9-pancakes @stressy-depressy   

[slyttherins]

Wedding surprise | Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You surprise Fred at Bill and Fleur's wedding

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1055

-

Seeing you on the Burrow's doorstep on his brother's wedding day was the best surprise Fred ever had.

He had opened the door, expecting to see Fleur's family, but found you instead, standing in a red dress and looking ready to party. He scooped you in his arms and you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Fred put you down, but kept you at arm length. ''What are you doing here?'' he asked, a grin on his lips. ''I thought you were on a trip for your magizoologist classes.''

''I was, but it's Bill and Fleur's wedding day, isn't it?''

Fred frowned. ''How did you know?''

''Your sister sent me an owl.''

In her letter, Ginny had mentioned the wedding, but also how things were getting darker and darker everyday and that Fred could use some light in his life - and a distraction from the upcoming war. Having been miles away on your magizoologist trip all summer, you accepted the invitation and told Ginny to not mention to your boyfriend that you'll be attending.

''Remind me to thank her later.'' Fred pulled you in further and closed the door.

You quickly noticed that the Burrow was unusually tidy and clean. Even the self knitting needles were no longer on the armchair! Molly must've been on a cleaning spree to impress Fleur's parents and other relatives. She didn't mind her home being an unorganized mess, but her son was going to marry their daughter and she didn't want the Delacours to think they lived in a pigsty - even if the Burrow was nowhere near to be classified as that.

''Is Bill nervous?'' you asked Fred. ''I'm sure Fleur is. Everyone is on their wedding day-''

Before you could finish what you were saying, you felt Fred wrapping his arms around you tightly. You were taken aback by the gesture, but the way he was holding onto you told you he needed a hug from his girlfriend. He put his head in the crook of your neck and breathed you in.

You hugged him back without hesitation, trying to provide him the comfort he needed, and kissed his shoulder. It was rare that Fred was the one who needed comfort, but you were always there for him when he needed you.

After a moment, he pulled back, having recovered from his emotions. ''Sorry. I interrupted you,'' Fred apologized.

You shook your head and ran a hand through his ginger hair, pushing it back behind his ear. ''It's okay,'' you reassured with a small smile.

''Things have been so crazy these past days. I...I'm so happy you're here.''

''Me too, Freddie.''

A smile curled on his lips and he leaned for a kiss, which you happily obliged, having missed kissing those lips while away all summer. Two whole months away from Fred Weasley. Two months of communicating solely through letters and holding onto old sweaters that smelled like him. You wouldn't have lasted another.

The two of you then sat on the couch and Fred fed you in on the craziness that were the last few days, counting the shop being the only shop opened on Diagon Alley and Ginny and Harry being sort of together now.

''We had to escort Harry from his childhood home a few days ago. He was no longer safe there. Mad-Eye got this insane plan to protect him. Half of the Order became Potter - literally - and flew to the Burrow. On the way, some members got ambushed by Death Eaters, which cost Mad-Eye's life,’’ he explained. ‘’Oh! And George lost an ear too.''

''George lost an ear?!'' you repeated, horrified and worried about your boyfriend’s twin. ''Is he okay?''

Fred nodded. ''One of the Death Eaters used some nasty spell and it sliced George's ear off. He was doing ear jokes as soon as he woke up. I'm sure he won't fail to tell you about his ear when you see him. Hopefully he'll find a better word-play than 'I feel holy'.''

You laughed. It was indeed a mediocre word-play. George could do better than that.

''What about you? Are you okay?'' You had noticed the dark circles under Fred's eyes when you arrived, telling you he hadn't had much sleep lately. The approaching war was and it was stressful and exhausting for everyone.

''I'm just still shaken, I guess? When I saw George on the couch with blood dripping from where his ear should've been, I was so scared and worried- I wish you had been there, Y/N.''

Seeing his twin in a gore-y state must've been difficult and terrifying for Fred. They were used to getting dumb injuries from playing quidditch - or pranks turning wrong -, but George's ear had been sliced off.

You took his hand in yours and squeezed it. ''I'm sorry I wasn't,'' you returned.

Your moment was brought to an end when the back door opened and one of the Weasleys walked in.

''Fred! Dad needs you in the backyard to help set up the marquee-'' Charlie interrupted himself, seeing you in the living room with his brother. A smile broke on his face. ''Y/N! Hi! I didn't know you were coming. What a surprise.''

''That makes two of us,'' Fred muttered as you greeted Charlie, having not seen him since the Triwizard tournament.

Charlie gave Fred a confused look, but didn't ask questions. ''We need another wand to lift the marquee up so Mom and the girls can get started with the decorations. She's going all bridezilla on us and she isn't even the bride. Thank Merlin we weren't born when she and Dad got married.''

You laughed and grabbed your bag from the floor. This sounded like Molly. She liked to be in control and make sure everything is perfect. ''I'll put my stuff in your room and see if Fleur needs help with anything,'' you told Fred, giving him one last kiss before heading upstairs.

As much as you didn't want to part from Fred - you doubted he wanted to either -, his family needed him for the wedding preparations and you'd feel selfish for taking him from them. You'll have plenty of time to be with him after the reception.

And, perhaps Fleur needed your help; the bride can always use more helping hands.

[kiraswritten]

(REPOST bc community guidelines lol request from @angryschnauzer​)

pairing: reader x bucky barnes warnings: smut, unprotected sex (pls be responsible n wear a condom!!), dirty talk (this is a given w me) a.n: pretty please can always get you a ton of things (especially when you ask bucky) and thank you so much for this mouth-watering request oh my gosh!! tbh i need bucky giving me a back massage too.

Thank you so much for 300 followers! I love and cherish every single one of you so much ♡♡♡

“Ah! Shit.” you wince, rubbing your left shoulder.

Bucky notices you in pain and immediately walks towards you, forgetting that he was talking to Clint moments prior to you arriving.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later then?” Clint shrugs his shoulders and turns around to walk towards the kitchen.

“You okay there Doll?” Bucky asked, his eyebrows knitted with worry.

You gave him a pained smile, nodding your head, “S’okay, nothing an ice pack can’t alleviate. I’m sure I won’t be able to work out for a few days but I’ll be okay, thanks for worrying about me Bucky.” You head for the med-bay, Bucky stands outside the room, waiting for you till you came out.

You had a small tendon strain on your shoulder, nothing too major but enough to keep you from training with the rest of the team for a week. Since you were an Avenger, your healing abilities were different from a regular person, though of course, you’d still need to recover.

You exited the med-bay and saw Bucky leaning against the wall opposite of the room, his arms crossed against his chest.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Can’t train for a week and I can’t go on missions for a whole three weeks, Doc said if I don’t listen I could tear a tendon. Guess I’ve been pushing myself too much lately.”

Bucky pats you on your uninjured shoulder, giving you a sympathetic smile.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, his voice trailing. Before you could reply, he claps his hands, coming to a realization, “How about I give you a massage? Could help your muscles out and ease some of the tension from your shoulders.”

“You sure Buck? I mean, you don’t have to.” You say, not wanting to make him feel obligated, though deep down inside, you’d want nothing more than Bucky touching you all over, you push your naughty thoughts to the back of your mind, focusing once more on the gorgeous man before you.

“No, I insist!” He says, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close to his side, “Plus I offered, just bring your cute self to my room in half an hour and I’ll give you what you need.”

You feel your face heat up from his words, you wished he meant the other necessity you craved from your friend but nonetheless you nodded your head and went towards your room to change your clothes.

You knocked on Bucky’s door, wearing a loose-fitting tee and some spandex shorts, Bucky opened his door and grinned at you, moving out of the way to let you in.

The lights were dimmed and quiet sounds of streaming water played in the background, giving the ambience of a spa in Bucky’s room. You noticed he changed the sheets of his bed, he had a folded towel placed in the middle with a pillow right next to it.

“Okay, so uh… take off your top and once you’ve done that, cover your lower half with the towel and once you’re done just call for me and I’ll come back inside.” Bucky doesn’t look at you in the eyes whilst he said the instructions and began to leave the room before you stop him.

“No need for that, it’s just a shirt, we’ve all seen each other naked plenty.” You reply nonchalant, pulling off the top, revealing your breasts, Bucky gulped looking away.

You crawled onto his bed and placed the towel on your lower half, covering your bottom. You lied onto his bed with your front down, you looked up at Bucky waiting for him.

“O-okay, I’ll be straddling you while I massage you, is that okay?”

You nod your head, “Yeah, that’s okay, do what you need to Buck, I trust you.”

Bucky smiles and grabs an unlabeled white tub on his nightstand and opens it, you inhale the familiar smell, your whole body instantly relaxing.

“I mixed coconut oil and eucalyptus oil especially for you Doll, heard eucalyptus oil was good for muscle pain, and I know you like minty scents.” He says, taking a good amount onto his fingers, rubbing it all over his hands.

“Mmmm…” your eyelids flutter shut, feeling the different temperatures of his hands against your skin; his flesh hand against your skin felt great, the warmth from his hand melted the oil, he began to gently knead out the knots that were in your shoulders, the metal hand feeling icy cold, prickling your skin a bit, you jumped at the sensation but welcomed it once you got used to it.

His fingers were magic, both of them gently kneading out all the tight knots that formed in your shoulders, his flesh hand began to travel near your sprained shoulder, you sucked in air, bracing for the pain.

Bucky notices you tense and stopped his ministrations, “Doll, relax, it’ll hurt worse if you’re tense. Just trust me.”

You ease up and closed your eyes, breathing through your nose and out your mouth as Bucky began rubbing the injured area, going slow. At first you let out a hiss at the feeling, you were so sore and all you wanted was to recover already.

“You’re doin’ good Doll, just take slow breaths.” You followed his instructions, he continued to rub the area, the pain disappearing more and more.

Bucky then detaches his hands from your shoulders, moving downward and inward to your back muscles, spreading the warm oil across your back.

“Feels good Buck, ah,” you let out a sigh, accidentally moaning Bucky’s name in the process.

Bucky bites down onto his bottom lip, trying hard not to let the noises coming out of your mouth affect him so much.

He presses his palm into your spine, releasing some tension, causing you to moan once more, only louder this time.

“Oh, fuck, yeah Bucky, right there,” You say, your voice airy and light.

Bucky felt his cock twitch inside his pants, he licked his lips trying to to focus on giving you a good massage and not at your words.

“Oooh, Bucky,” You jerk your body from his touch, he kneaded on a particular place on your back that you’ve had the knot at for a while, “Just keep going there,” You tell him, all your words going straight to his dick, he mumbles a quick okay.

You try not to smile but you could feel his growing erection press against your ass as he continued to massage your back, you let out endless sighs and words of encouragement, each passing second you felt him grow harder and harder against your bottom, you let out a particularly loud moan that could have been mistaken for something from adult films, Bucky lets out a low groan from his throat, bucking his hips against your ass.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “You sound so good,” He mumbles under his breath, Bucky’s holding onto the last thread of self-control he had to not grind against you.

“Keep going Bucky,” You sigh, raising your ass to meet his thrusts, his hands fly to your waist, pulling you into his crotch, grinding his cock harder.

“Fuck, you feel good too Doll, please tell me this is okay,” He asks, his lower lip trapped in his teeth as he held onto you.

You nod your head and reply a weak ‘yes’, Bucky then gets off of you, kneeling next to you.

You push yourself off of his bed and turn your body so that you were facing him, you see Bucky’s eyes trail up and down, he licks his lips.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate for another second, your lips captured in his, you wrap your arms around his neck, your chest pressed up against his, you moan at the feeling of his metal arm grabbing onto your ass.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, asking for entrance in which you happily complied, feeling his warm tongue against yours, he tasted so good.

Bucky then wraps around his flesh arm around your waist, pulling your body onto his lap, never breaking the kiss, he makes you straddle his waist.

His metal hand leaves your bottom as he began to undress, starting with his grey sweatpants that did nothing to hide his large erection.

You pull away from the kiss, Bucky reluctantly does so, you help him get out of his clothes, pulling his dark t-shirt off of his body, revealing his thick and toned chest before you.

Your hands travel from his shoulders towards his abdomen, loving the feeling of his rippling muscles, you push down his boxers, leaving him naked. You quickly shed off your shorts, along with your underwear, revealing your soaking core to him.

He grabs you by your waist, pulling you into another fierce kiss, Bucky then aligns his dick with your entrance, rubbing the pre-cum onto your folds, you let out a whimper from the sensation.

Bucky bites down onto your bottom lip as he slipped his cock inside you, slowly. You could feel yourself get stretched out like never before, Bucky takes his time to sheath himself into you, enjoying how tight you were squeezing him.

“Fuck, you feel amazing, just a little more Doll, then we can have our fun.” He lets out a grunt, his whole length finally inside you.

You let out a tiny scream as you felt his tip graze at your gspot, your whole body numb from the pleasure, Bucky continues to thrust in and out of you, his pace never wavering, he lets out a grunt, nipping softly on your neck.

“Bucky,” you gasp as he sucks a love bite onto your neck, your pussy tightening on his cock, he lets out another moan, detaching his mouth from your skin.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so good, you close Doll? You’re pussy’s gripping on me so tightly, come for me Baby,” He snakes his flesh hand between your bodies, his fingers rubbing furiously on your clit, pushing you to the edge.

“Bucky!” You cry out loud as the two of you cum in unison, Bucky’s pace slowing down as he pumped his cum inside you, your arms lazily holding onto his neck, your whole body tingling.

Bucky captures your chin with his metal hand, averting your gaze to him, “You okay Doll?” He asks, his chest still heaving.

You nod your head, giving his lips a soft kiss, “More than okay, that was amazing. You reply.

Bucky grins pulling you into another mind-blowing kiss, the two of you stay in the same position till you had to break away from him to catch your breath.

“So… uh, I-I think it goes without saying but I’m in love with you Doll.” Bucky looks at you with hopeful eyes, you couldn’t help but melt at the sight of him flustered.

From the sex god you had the honor of experiencing first-hand to this lovable man you’ve fallen for ever since you met him, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

“Kinda guessed that when you, y’know,” You gestured to your crotch, Bucky’s cheeks flush, he pulls out of you, you let out a gasp from the feeling, he lets out a chuckle, kissing you on the cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” He says, making his way his bathroom, retuning with a warm washcloth to clean you up with.

With a change of bedsheets, you were tucked in Bucky’s arm, wearing nothing but one of his shirts, the two of you laid under his covers, Bucky staring at you with eyes of adoration.

“Buck, is there something on my face?” You say, feeling flustered by the attention.

Bucky shakes his head, pressing a light kiss onto your forehead, “No, I just, I can’t believe I have you in my arms right now. Feels like a dream.”

You bite down onto your bottom lip, “You’re so cheesy Buck, pretty sure our activities before would prove that this wasn’t a dream.”

Bucky nods his head, “Definitely, you feel so much better than any dream I’ve ever had.” He grabs your waist, turning you around so he could press his hard-on against your ass.

“Seriously Bucky? I need to recover!” 

[sevilemar]

you said that you like stories about people who exist outside of society and its conventions as this grants them freedom to be cunning and selfish in ways that's looked down upon.what abt a story in which the fictional society lauded snake values/skillsets? i imagine (and this is a hypothesis, i'm guessing) that a lot of us have our own brand of freedom-stories, and what freedom said stories exemplify is at least partly based on our specific pri/sec (and burning or lack thereof).

It's an intriguing thought, nonny. I'm trying to imagine what a positive, functioning society like that would look like. You would have tightly knitted groups of only a few people. Any communities beyond that would be fleeting, build and dismantled on necessity and the pragmatic understanding that sometimes you need other people's help to survive, and you always pay your debts. Contracts always have a build-in expiration date because things change. Maybe favours are the most important currency?

Groups are tight-knit, but not impenetrable, and democratic in structure. If someone wants to go, they can. If someone else wants to stay, they can. They do not automatically belong to the group, but the circles are open. I'm not sure if it's even a residential society. I think there might at least be a lot of wanderers, and they are protected by law and culture. Maybe everyone is expected to wander for part of their lives, like a rite of passage, and there is a very rigid hospitality culture with rules both for guests and hosts.

I think there needs to be a set of rules for everyone in a certain territory, and they also need to be enforced. It has to be fairly democratic, I think, so there also needs to be a lot of transparency, and whoever is enforcing the rules needs to be beholden to something/someone else. I'm not sure how that would work, exactly. I think I'd need to get into history and forms of government more to find a workable solution. Maybe it's like states or territories with a certain set of rules, and if you don't want to live with one set you'd wander into a different territory and settle there for a while.

That reminds me, there can't be too many people overall so as to not overcrowd the land and create too many resource shortages. That means children need to be rare and even more precious. The wanderers and groups need to be able to realistically look out for themselves most of the time, too, so plenty of resources needed there as well. Mostly rural society, I think, but with a strong trade network because of all the wanderers.

Trade will probably also be the main force of advancement. Information trade would be pretty advanced, and also used as a currency. Not sure about the consequences here, maybe there will be newspapers or something of that sort? Also need to be beholden to something here, or they would take over.

I don't know nonny, I would love some kind of fluid society where people can choose to settle wherever they want, and contribute to society as much or as little as they need to survive, and law and culture is built on the understanding that everything is always changing. But it all sounds rather idealistic to me, and I'm suspicious of that. But I also don't want to play into the negative stereotypes here, so I don't know.

How do you think a positive double snake society would work?

[ever-fics]

A Sebastian x Farmer Stardew thought I couldn’t get out of my head....

The farmer shows Sebastian thay the magic he’s lived his whole life is real and adventure is at his fingertips.

____________________

You both were laying on Sebastians little black couch in his little stone basementroom.

You had been together at least a year and a half. Today being one of Sebastians famous comic days... Meaning he got the newest issue. Which resulted in you tucked under one of his arms your head on his shoulders. He had stroked your hair with one hand and held the comic in the other so you could both read it.

There was scilence but it was ....

Comfortable silence. Lovely silence...

The kind of silence where any conversation anything that need to be said didn’t need to be said. It was just known. The way you had just known you wanted it to stay like this... forever. You wanted to marry him. Sure you could have waited around for him to propose but,that wasn’t the custom here. Nor was there gendered expectations of proposals.

Best it was told to you is that only certain people can see the ghost of the Mariner. Best it was told to you it was the responsibility of that person to do the proposing.... so you bought the shell. Keeping it somewhere in your house cuddled in cloth as tightly as you cuddled him now.

There was still one thing you had to do with Sebastian before you could propose... one last thing to tell him...no this would take showing him. So when you had both finished the comic.

“Seb? Can I show you something?” You asked watching his face knit in confusion as to why you even felt you had to ask.

“Sure.” He responded in his usual game for anything attitude.

“Meet me at the farm ok? If I were you I’d look in your drawer at my place to see if you have anything ... durable to wear.” You smirked

“Umm ok... cool see you in 20?” Seb scratched the back of his neck.

_____________________

Sebastian had always loved fictional adventure stories and magic and Dnd honestly. It was one of the major things you loved about him... his open mindedness, his imagination in storytelling, his beautiful unapologetic geekiness and his shy little smile when you complimented it.

Although if Sebastian was in the loop the others had to be as well.

So you texted Sam ,Abigail ,and Seb in the group chat...

You: Come to farm wear something durable be ready for anything...

Sam ,Abigail ,and Seb however had not been ready for anything. As when you greeted them at your door with a sword for each of them. Some healing potions and a map they looked dumbfounded.

“Y/N what’s going on?” Seb questioned.

“I want you all to know me all of me including the fact I really haven’t just been a simple farmer. Also Seb I love you and I want to share this part of my life with you as well... especially as a lot of the time I work late and I would rather you don’t worry about my loyalty to you,my safety, and my love for you so..

I want to take you all to my work...

And before you ask no I didn’t do this before I actually did work at Joja mart.” You explained.

Leading them to the mines.

“So your leading us in like a suprize Larp.” Abigail chimed in.

“Sure... I guess.” You said leading everyone to the mines.

There was a little green Junimo trying to get the dwarves attention.

The Dwarf just cussed loudly in Dwarvish.

“Um...let’s address the elephant in the room ...Holy Shit that’s a dwarf like an actual proper dwarf.” Sam

“Yup... I’m trying to learn Dwarvish to speak to him for now I figure best not although he has seemed please when I bring him Dwarvish relics I find so ...”

“What’s the green thing?” Abigail asked.

“Oh that’s a Junimo they are woodland spirits like will o whisps almost. The wizard in the woods asked me to come to his tower and gave me a potion to communicate with them they help me with things in return for items they want like goat cheese...” you explained.

“The wizard in the woods the WIZARD IN THE FUCKING WOODS!! That’s so cool. This is awesome.” Sam exclaimed.

“That’s what that tower is ... I thought it was some weird Forrest lighthouse.” Abigail chimed in.

“Forrest lighthouse?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her. Causing you to chuckle a bit before ushering everyone in the elevator and pressing level 75.

“So when you say your going mining?” Sebastian questioned.

“ I’m actually going monster hunting.”

You answered.

“And I thought You couldn’t get hotter or more impressive..” Seb laughed to himself.

“Careful I might try to steal her from you.” Abigail winked.

“Fat chance.” Sebastian laughed

“If everyone is done I would just like to let you guys know drink the healing potions seriously you’ll need them.”

The elevator opened to a ghost rushing towards you all as soon as you stepped out.

“Swords up swing.” You chuckled as your friends seemed to have the same thrill you have when you come down. They smashed skeletons and ghosts.

And you found a frozen tear.

When the fighting cleared... you tapped Sebastian on the shoulder although he was listening to Sam who was whispering to him and slipped him something.

“Hey Seb I found this for you and I know they’re you’re favorites so I wanted you to have it.” You smirked.

“This isn’t what you’ve had to do to Bring me those right? Risk your safety in some monster infested mine?” Sebastian felt a pang of guilt.

“I’m a sucker for adventure and a sucker for you so I even thought I didn’t have to I’m sure I would’ve ended up doing this anyway.” You cupped his face with you’re hand.

“I just I thought the cuts the bruises might’ve been from some of the animals getting territorial. I also thought you were a lot clumsier than you are apparently.” Sebastian laughed.

“Hey!” You retorted.

“In all seriousness... Don’t ever risk your life for me like that again. The gems are nice ,but you are the only treasure I’m looking for.Seriously Y/N Stones can be replaced you ... you can’t I’m an introverted person. There aren’t many people amazing enough to be worth the risk.

You have ALWAYS been worth the risk. You listen. You have done more for this town than they give you credit for. You made me realize I am not Mom and Demetrius expectations. That I deserve to be myself. That myself is enough. That I don’t have to give up being a programmer or move to the city to be happy here. Actually I am realizing I’d be miserable in the city because the city wouldn’t have you.” Sebastian explained.

“Seb ....” you reached for the blue shell in your pocket .

“I have a gift for you one that is long over due.”

You smiled.

“And I you.” Sebastian responded which took you off guard.

“Umm... ok then let’s exchange them and open them together on the count of three.” You suggested befor you both did just that.

Both unwrapping paper.

Both revealing a blue shell.

Both cry laughing..

“Marry me?” You asked him.

“You don’t even have to ask I’ve wanted to marry you for a while now I just haven’t gotten the nerve. Thank you foe being the coolest actual adventurer Fiancé ever.”

Seb kissed you

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

wow you read m&m so early immediately after the movie’s release! i came into this fandom relatively late (the start of this year). i’m quite curious, how was the whole fandom experience late 2018-2019? i heard it’s really fun since it was the peak of the queen fandom online among younger people, i’m sure there was a lot of content and it must have felt so crowded compared to now. but i also see comments on how there was a lot more drama back then soooo idk lol. sometimes i come across posts by dead blogs and most blogs in the notes are also dead as well and it’s like i just stepped into a cemetery lol 😬 it felt weird, almost like a liminal space where time has stopped. sometimes i feel sad over the fact that i came so late i didn’t get to witness the golden age of queen renaissance, but also lucky in a way that everyone active now is all amazing and tumblr became a tight knit community where everyone pretty much knows everyone and things travel quick. i’m on tiktok as well and the demographic there is definitely mostly kids and young teens, idk whether they migrated from tumblr or never stepped foot into the tumblr community. they’re mostly great people apart from having some boundary issues and some kids being dumb tactless and inappropriate but i definitely prefer it here lol

Oh, I read about the backlash to the movie, somehow found tumblr blogs talking about Jim, got curious and immediately found the book for free online, and read it all before I listened to a single Queen song that wasn't a single. I'm not kidding. Jim's book fully pushed me off a cliff into this world lmao. I remember my friend coming over a few days later and I said, "Listen, I need to rant to you about Freddie Mercury and his partner" and she just nodded and smiled as I lost my mind.

Anyway lol, my experience was limited since I only followed like, three blogs back then, all pro-Jim and anti-movie, two of which are gone now lol. I was only in the fandom on tumblr, too, and didn't see any of the insta fandom until 2020. From what I saw on tumblr, there was a lot more discourse about the movie, as to be expected, and there were more Jim haters as anons in people's inboxes. There was more Brian hate, too, due to his defense of the movie, which I've talked about at length before. Fan content certainly got a lot more notes back then, and it makes me wish I was drawing as much as I am now so I would've gotten more notes lol. But the fandom was more movie-focused in that people's interpretations of the guys was clearly based on the film and not interviews, you know what I mean? Because a lot of people were only really fans of the movie, and not the band, the fandom got a lot smaller pretty quickly by the end of 2019 as they lost interest, sadly.

The tumblr community is more tightly knit since it's so small, though not everyone is best buddies. That's normal, though. Everything I hear about tiktok makes my organs hurt, and I'd guess they were never in the tumblr community to begin with tbh, especially the kids. The fandom on here tends to be adults with some older teens thrown in the mix.