#First of all. How dare you. Second of all. Just because a score is Memorable doesn't mean it is Good

[chicago-geniza]

BETRAYED! By my FRIENDS! At classical music radio (they're playing the Harry Potter OST)

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ let him — j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x f!reader genre and content: toxic relationship, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, second chances that shouldn’t be taken. angst. mdni. wc: 2.5k

loving jaehyun felt like the safest thing in the world. he kissed you like he’d waited lifetimes. held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him steady. every message came with hearts, every touch with intention. you were always laughing. always close. you memorized every line around his eyes, every dimple, every sleepy sigh. you wore his hoodie more than your own. he’d text you good morning, baby before his eyes were even fully open. he told you things he’d never told anyone.

it was soft. golden. like sunlight through a window on a sunday morning. unwavering. like no matter what, he’d always choose you. love that didn’t ask questions. love that stayed. unconditional.

but somewhere along the way, the air got thinner.

a forgotten “good night,” a change in his tone. less smiles. shorter replies. more silences. you told yourself it was stress. that he still loved you, just quieter. but the silence grew louder. and when you reached for him, he started pulling away.

“you’re being too much,” he’d say. “i just need space.” “stop making a big deal out of nothing.”

and you tried. you tried so hard to not be “too much.”

but when he didn’t notice when you stopped smiling. didn’t ask why your voice always sounded like it was about to break. how you’d stare at your phone for hours, waiting for a message that used to come without asking. you started changing, too. overthinking every word. every pause. every sigh. you checked his phone. scrolled through his socials. reread conversations. you tested him. accused him. shut down before he could. you started keeping score. every unanswered text, every forgotten thing, every time he made you feel like needing him was wrong.

you hated who you were around him, but you couldn’t stop. you mirrored his coldness. matched his distance. you screamed when he was quiet, and ignored him when he tried to care. you both were hurting each other, over and over, like it was the only way you knew how to be close.

one night. he came home late. again.

you were already angry. already on edge. every word landed like a blade.

“where were you?”

“out.”

“that’s all you’re gonna say?”

“i’m not in the mood for this.”

you asked why he didn’t answer your messages. he rolled his eyes. you said you felt like he didn’t care. he scoffed.

“you always do this,” jaehyun muttered, tossing his jacket on a chair. “you always make me the bad guy.”

you blinked. “i’m just asking for a little effort.”

he laughed, low and bitter. “you mean control. you want to control everything. when i text, where i go, what i feel—”

“don’t you dare,” your voice dropped. “don’t turn this around on me.”

his voice rose. “i’m tired, okay? i’m fucking tired of walking into this house and feeling like i’m already doing something wrong.”

and suddenly, you snapped. “because you are!” your throat was raw. your chest felt like it might burst. “you shut down, you pull away, and then you make me feel crazy for noticing.”

the yelling started. messy, ugly. you called him a liar. he called you suffocating. he said he was exhausted. you told him he was killing you.

he turned away from you, dragging a hand through his hair. “jesus. i can’t breathe with you anymore.” he finally said, louder than he meant to.

you stood there. humiliated. burning. your heart dropped. “then leave,” you whispered. “if it’s so hard to love me, leave.” you didn’t mean it. not really. but part of you wanted to see if he would.

he looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time in weeks. then softer: “baby…”

you flinched at the pet name, he noticed.

“i didn’t mean that,” he said, gently now. “you know i didn’t mean that.” he stepped closer. slowly. carefully. his voice softened like the calm after a storm.

you didn’t move. your anger had collapsed into sadness. your arms were crossed, lips trembling. “you don’t look at me the same anymore.”

he stepped forward, cupped your face with both hands. eyes wide and wet, not crying, just guilty.

“i know. i’m sorry. i don’t want to fight like this. i’ve been stressed and i take it out on you. i’m sorry, baby.”

and you hated how easily those words melted your anger. how quickly you let your guard down when he spoke like that. like the old jaehyun. your jaehyun.

his forehead rested against yours.

“can we just… not tonight?” he whispered. “can we just be okay?”

you nodded. you always did.

you let him kiss you. because his lips still felt like home. you let him hold you. because love, even broken, is hard to turn away from. you let him whisper that he still loved you. and you believed him, even when it didn’t feel true anymore.

and you told yourself this time would be different. that he meant the apology. that love like this, loud, broken, messy, was still worth saving.

but it wasn’t.

days passed. then weeks. things didn’t get better. just heavier. colder. and deep down, you knew. you knew you were losing him. and you were losing yourself trying to hold on.

he had barely said a word all day.

you felt it before he even opened his mouth. the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes. the way he sat on the edge of the couch like the air was too heavy to breathe.

you stood by the kitchen sink, your fingers curled around a glass you hadn’t taken a sip from. your chest was tight. something inside you already knew.

he exhaled slowly. rubbed his hands together. cleared his throat like he was practicing the speech in his head.

“i think,” he began, “we both know this hasn’t been working for a while.”

your heart cracked right down the middle, but you didn’t let it show.

“so that’s it?” you asked, voice low. brittle.

he looked at you then. and it was the kind of look you never forget, the look someone gives you right before they stop being yours.

“i don’t want to keep hurting you,” he said. “i don’t want to keep pretending that i’m still in love when i’m not.”

you had imagined a thousand endings. maybe a final fight. maybe infidelity. maybe silence. but not this. not him sitting there and admitting out loud that he just… didn’t love you anymore.

you blinked fast, trying to keep it together. your hands were shaking.

“when did you stop?”

he looked away.

“was it when i started crying more than laughing?” you whispered. “was it when i stopped being easy to love?”

“don’t do this,” he said. “please.”

you laughed, bitter and broken. “why not? we’ve done everything else. why not ruin each other one last time?”

he stood. walked toward the door. for a moment, you thought he might turn back. might hold you one last time.

but he didn’t.

he just grabbed his keys. said, “take care of yourself.”

and left.

no last kiss. no apology. no closure. just the sound of the door closing behind him.

and you? you sank to the floor and let yourself break in all the ways you never did when he was still around. because that’s what grief is. not loud. not cinematic. just quiet. endless. a weight you learn to carry.

the days after were a blur. your bed felt too big. chest too tight. you stopped listening to music. stopped answering texts. you would reread your old conversations until the words turned cruel.

he didn’t check on you. didn’t ask if you were okay. and maybe that hurt the most. you hadn’t heard from him in 97 days. not that you were counting. (not that you weren’t.)

he became a ghost in your world. you stopped going to the places he liked. muted his name everywhere. you tried to erase him, but love doesn’t delete like that. you hated him. you missed him. you hated yourself for missing him.

and then, at 1:42 a.m., your phone lit up.

jaehyun: hey. can we talk?

you wanted to throw the phone across the room. wanted to say no. to tell him to go to hell. but your heart whispered what if.

you stared at the screen. yeah. you answered and sat in silence until the knock came.

you opened the door and there he was, he looked the same. same face. same tired eyes. same scent that lived in your sheets long after he didn’t. “you look…” he started, then paused. “different.”

you did. you weren’t the same desperate girl he left behind. but you weren’t quite whole, either.

he stepped inside like he still had a right to. sat on the couch like it remembered him. looked around like it was a museum of what used to be his life. “i’ve been thinking about you,” he said.

you didn’t answer.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i missed you.” he said it like a confession. like it cost him something to speak the words out loud. he moved closer. slow. cautious. like approaching something fragile. “you can tell me to leave,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “i’ll go.”

you didn’t. you should have. but you didn’t.

because yes, a part of you hated him. but the other part, the weaker, had been starving for this. for him.

he raised his hand and touched your cheek, gently, like he thought you might disappear. and when his fingers brushed your jaw, god, it was all it took. something inside you broke open, sharp, aching, hungry. he leaned in, and you let him.

the kiss started slow. unsure. but it didn’t stay that way. it turned desperate. like he was chasing something in your mouth that he couldn’t find. your breath caught in your throat. your fingers gripped the back of his shirt. his mouth was warm and familiar and wrong and right and everything you had both tried to forget.

you let him press you down onto the couch, his body covering yours, soon his hands were in your arms, on your waist. shaking just slightly as he touched you, pulling you into him like he was trying to remember all the parts he used to know by heart, but didn’t know if he was allowed to anymore.

and still, you let him.

his hands were under your shirt, pushing it up slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. you let him. he’d peel your clothes off like nothing had happened. like he hadn’t left. like he hadn’t shattered you and vanished into silence.

your breath caught when his fingers brushed over your stomach. he waited, then moved lower. you didn’t say yes. you didn’t say no. you just pulled him closer. his lips trailed down your neck, warm and familiar, the stubble on his jaw scraping against your skin.

you gasped when his tongue flicked across your collarbone, when his hand slipped under your waistband and cupped you with that same quiet certainty he always had. you arched into him, your body betraying your mind. you hated how easy it was to remember, how good it felt.

you tugged at his shirt and he pulled it off, your hands gliding over his chest like they used to, fingertips tracing the lines you had memorized in another lifetime. his mouth was on your breasts, sucking gently, teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you moan. you felt yourself pulse under his touch, heat pooling low in your belly, that ache you hadn’t felt in months returning like it never left.

he whispered your name once. just once. then pushed your legs apart, settling between them. you let him. his fingers slipped into you first, slow, deep. you grabbed at his shoulders, breath stuttering as he worked you open. his hands moved like they used to, confident, familiar, like he never forgot how.

and next, he was inside you. so slow it hurt. like he was trying to feel everything. every inch. every second. your bodies moved in sync, rhythm remembered, sweat-slicked and breathless. you held him tight, fingers digging into his back, thighs trembling around his hips as he thrust deeper. his lips traced the curve of your shoulder, your neck, your chest, like muscle memory. but after all that, you felt it.

the absence.

he was there. his skin against yours. his breath hot on your neck. but he wasn’t really with you. not the way he used to be. and god, it hurt.

you buried your face in his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t hear the way your breath hitched. you kissed his throat to keep from crying. let your body lie for you, while your heart whispered don’t do this, don’t do this.

you came first, with your head buried in his neck, tears slipping down your cheeks before you even noticed. he followed not long after, with a low, broken groan against your skin.

afterward, silence. just the sound of your breathing, uneven and raw and his weight on top of you, heavy and familiar and unbearable. he stayed there for a while. but eventually, he sat up. pulled on his shirt in silence. his fingers lingered on the collar like he was stalling.

you hated how fast the cold returned.

you turned your head slowly, watching the side of his face. he looked calm. almost peaceful. like he’d gotten what he came for. but you hadn’t.

you already knew what was coming next. you saw it in his eyes, that haunted distance. the words came. softly, carefully, as if that would make it hurt less: “i thought maybe… it would feel like before.” your stomach twisted. he looked at you then, finally. “but it doesn’t,” he said. “i don’t think it ever will.”

his words hung in the air like smoke. toxic. suffocating.

you didn’t say anything. what was there to say? you already knew. you had known since the moment you opened the door. he stood. walked to the entryway slowly, like part of him hated this too. but he didn’t touch you. didn’t kiss your forehead. didn’t ask if you were okay.

he just whispered, “i’m sorry,” and left.

but this time, when the door clicked shut, you didn’t cry. you just laid there. naked. still warm from him. but colder than you’d ever felt in your life.

[noirflms]

FIRST DATES + blue lock

—- main m.list !

. ° 𖤐 ₊ CHIGIRI HYOMA !

the first date of yours with chigiri was certainly memorable , because it was during the time cherry blossoms bloomed. he asked you out after scoring a goal in a school tournament , his eyes set on you and so his question was thrown and who were you to even disagree with him. hand in hand — you remember — you and him walked through the park , the cherry bliss trail a beautiful sight , you do not know of his heart that races within his chest. you were teary eyes when you had also found out that chigiri had set up a small picnic for the two of you , sheet laid on a grassy land as cherry blossoms fell behind , and the view was a sight to see. your first date with him had become a memory you cherished so much.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ ITOSHI SAE !

his pinky linked with yours and he pulls you through the streets of Spain — you were an exchange student. your first date was highly talked about , since sae always bragged about it in interviews and who were you to lie about it — you bragged about it too. it was during the time of la tomatina and you wouldn’t have believed that the silent and introvert sae would put the idea of going on a date to the festival of la tomatina. your feet rush through red grounds , tomatoes squishing under your feet as you and him rush in the bustle , laughter erupts from the two of you and sae was certainly proud of his idea , and this is why he still brings it up in interviews.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ NAGI SEISHIRO !

your first date ends up with him and you being at the arcade. his wins most of the games , prizes all dedicated to you , pressing kisses upon your forehead when you win , his hands at all time intertwined with yours. nagi finds the first date to be a success in his mind , for he had been trying to ask you out for the longest time , sat with reo to discuss of places to take you , but it ends up with a small stroll around the city and into the arcade. he takes you to his favourite restaurant , tell you to order ‘anything’ but you had no heart to order anything after looking at the prices , but you do settle for your favourite. nagi seishiro even ends up walking the opposite direction just to drop you home , and scored a kiss to the side of his lips.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ MICHAEL KAISER !

the date was a dare , it was you who asked him out ( silently muttering to him to reject you , but he agrees ) and he accepts without a second thought — for it was that very person he had been longing to go out with. the first date with him is at the aquarium , your hands clasped in his , a silence surrounds the two of you , and amidst that you confess to him that this was a dare but he only answers with an ‘i know’. kaiser never had a heart to reject you , after all you were his first ever crush , more of a love at first sight for since the day he saw you at football practice , his heart was already yours. the date turns to be fun , the aquarium becomes a beautiful comfort place and for kaiser — he had come to thank gods for this opportunity.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ OLIVER AIKU !

you never hated his guts , you just found him absolutely disgusting because of his antics , but the day he oh so seriously asked you out , you had no heart to decline. he takes you to the amusement park — you never expected it but he did , he took you to the one amusement park he so dearly loves and never takes anyone else. you joke around with him of how he must have brought his other partners here but he only answers with a ‘you’re first’ , and your heart skips a beat but you control yourself. to oliver , you have been the one thing that he will always desire , so having your arm looped with his , and walking around and doing rides in the amusement park , he feels at ease , he feels like a winner. you realise you had fun and you thank him for that , his eyes soften at you and in the moment you feel to know more about the mystery oliver aiku.

i love these boys with a heart , that doesn’t beat for real men/boys.

NOIRFLMS 2023 ! All rights reserved. Plagiarism is a crime. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

[alreadyblondenow]

Love is not enough

– Jaehyun x female!reader  – High school au, SMUT, FLUFF, angst?  – 3,984k (this is a drabble for me, don’t expect) – Older Jaehyun by a year, Alcohol consumption, truth or dare, heavy cheating, protected sex, slight nipple play, jaehyun likes tits wbk, fingering, break up, virginity loss, hope I didn’t miss anything. 

The blaring music from your brother’s birthday party disturbed you from your nap… but in a good way because you have a lot of readings to do and you’re planning to pull an all nighter. 

“Y/n it’s me, are you awake?” 

And up you go to your door but you didn’t open it yet, “Yes. I’m awake but I’m studying” you said, teasing the man from the other side of the door. “Go back to the party, Jae. You’re drunk” you tease further. 

“I’ve been drinking soda the moment I arrived- Will you please open the door, I miss you” he sounded sincere, and honestly you wanted to know if he’s telling the truth about the soda. So you opened your door slowly… and see the handsome man leaning on your door frame. Smiling so sweetly and happy to see you in your… shirt and panties only. 

“Can I come in?” he asks nicely and you opened your door widely to welcome him. It was dark and only your lampshade was on. He saw your books on your bed, thinking maybe he really did disturb you. 

“Now what do you want?” you sat on the edge of your bed, him too. He looked so handsome in his simple clothes as always. He giggled and put his hand on top of your knee, slowly making its way up to your waist to pull you closer to him. You still can’t believe you scored someone so handsome and gentle like Jaehyun. 

“I want you. As always.” he said before he proceeds to kiss your neck, making you moan using his lips and showing you how much he misses you by the way he kisses you. Tasting a hint of coke from his lips, now you know that he was telling the truth about the soda.

“You know we can’t. My brother is downstairs, not to mention it's his birthday” you moaned when you feel him open your legs, pushed you down the mattress and stayed in between your legs while kissing you. 

“Liking someone older than you is not a bad thing Y/n, and your brother knows that” he said and lifted your shirt to expose your boobs to him. Sucking your left nipple immediately while kneading the other. Jaehyun’s touch always makes you crazy and lose control, it’s very luring and the next thing you know you’re asking for more. So you reached for his hand, sucked two of his fingers, and from there he knew what to do. 

Pulling your panties to the side and teasing your wet slit with his thumb before he inserts the two fingers that you sucked. Jaehyun reached deep, curling his fingers and pulling them in and out to make you crazy even more. Gradually, he finger fucked you faster, building the momentum but to be honest he just doesn’t want to end it so soon already. But too late, because you’re closing your legs and reaching for his hand for him to stop. 

While you were shivering and your legs are shaking, he pulled out slowly and made you decent again. He really wanted to fuck tonight but he respects your decision. If you’re not ready then he can’t force you. 

“You know it’s been six months since we started seeing each other… secretly. Why can’t we make it official- you know I love you.” He whined and used your tummy as a pillow. Feeling the vibration of your body whenever you talk.  

Was it really six months already now? Did he really ruined your innocence six months ago and since then, he always came back for more even though you always refuse to fuck? 

“Do you still remember the first time I touched you?” he asks. 

“Of course how could I forget?” you smiled and raked his soft hair away from his face and traced his handsome features with your fingers. It all started because of a stupid dare. A stupid dare that changed your lives.

He may be older by a year and you may be his best friend’s sister, but that didn’t stop him from liking and loving you. Sure he had a fuccboi reputation, but he proved to you that he can be serious when it comes to love. 

Six months ago 

It was dark in the closet room and the time is running. Jaehyun was really drunk and you weren’t. That’s why you said yes to the dare. A chance to be in a closet with the hottest, most handsome man in school? Who would say no to that? 

“Well you look innocent, are you scared?” even though he’s drunk he can still be a real gentleman. 

“A virgin but not scared, just kiss me and get it over with” you whispered to him, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer. 

“Time is running. Let’s do something new, something more exciting than kissing and, make this memorable for the both of us, shall we? Just follow my lead” he says and planted a soft kiss on your lips. 

Before the kiss heated in no time and you feel Jaehyun’s cold hands going inside your shirt and knead your clothed boobs. Lifting your shirt slightly so he can see your boobs and pull your bra cups down, kissing your neck all the way down until he reaches your sensitive parts. 

“Fuck” you moaned but Jaehyun didn’t stop kissing your boobs. 

“Were not on the best part yet,” he said, smiling through the kisses while kneading your boobs and making you dizzy because of his touch. And just like that he put your right nipple in his mouth and sucked it. Licking it from time to time, squeezing it, and biting it slightly. 

Then the timer went off and that completely ruined the moment. “Okay times up-“ 

“Don’t fucking open the door!” Jaehyun yelled so loud that everyone from the other side went silent. “Sorry about that, you just looked so ruined. Here let me help you,” he put your bra cups back and pulled down your shirt. Patting your head and helping you fix your hair. “There, you look innocent again” he smiled and kissed you one last time. 

After that night, Jaehyun always looked forward to seeing you and has been asking you around. But being his best friend’s sister just put him in a more complicated position. 

One Friday night, your brother threw another wild party again and Jaehyun searched and searched everywhere for you, even asked you around but you’re nowhere to be found. “Try upstairs and don’t fuck her” your brother said and Jaehyun was smiling from ear to ear the moment your brother let him see you. 

With a beer in his left hand and a soda on his right, he made his way in front of your room and bravely knocked. “Second floor is off limits! Have sex in my brother’s room” you said shouted and continue typing for your paper. 

“I- uhm. But I don’t want to have sex in your brother’s room,” Jaehyun said awkwardly. He could have said ‘it’s Jaehyun and I’m here to see you’ but he didn’t because he was nervous. Then he knocked again. A little longer this time and now he’s really getting on your nerves. 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

But to your surprise it was Jaehyun. Smiling awkwardly and shyly. Where did the proud and mighty Jaehyun go? 

“I brought you a soda,” but he handed you the beer. “Oops. Sorry. I was nervous,” and he’s telling the truth because he can’t look you in the eye and you can see his hands shaking. 

“You’re not here for sex?” you blurted out. 

“No. I’m here for you,” he answered without hesitation and with all honesty. 

That night, you and Jaehyun talked comfortably in your bed until no one noticed that your bodies were incredibly close and you’re keeping each other warm. You don’t remember who initiated the kiss but you make out and touched each other before he leaves you. Leaving with a promise that he will come back tomorrow, even more sober and more confident he said. 

Day after day, your brother comes home with Jaehyun and your boyfriend comes bolting to your room the moment he steps inside your house. Kissing you like how he misses you, touching you like how he craves for you. 

And whenever your brother throws a party, you and Jaehyun stay in your room and spend time together. Sometimes when his friends want his full attention, he will sneak out and head over to your room and suck your tits for some time, make out, and flirt with you then he will go back to the party as if he didn’t just make you cum using his tongue or fingers a few minutes ago. 

But sometimes, there are quiet nights with Jaehyun where you just eat pizza in the kitchen in the middle of your Netflix marathon. 

“Let’s make it official,” he said while chewing his pizza. 

“What are you talking about? We are official,” 

“That’s not what I meant. Let’s go out publicly, let’s have a date without your brother- do you really love me?” 

“If you’re going to ask something that’s too much for me and then you’re going to doubt my love for you, then I think you should go home Jae-“ 

“Fine, I’m sorry I’m being too demanding again,” then he stopped and cleaned off the pizza crust from his hands. “You know asking you to have sex with me when I completely know that you’re not ready, is too much. That’s too much Y/n,” he said sternly, walked towards the door and went home. 

And that was your first misunderstanding with Jaehyun. It’s not that you don’t love him. High school is just… high school and you don’t want the school gossiping about you winning Jaehyun because you let him suck your tits. He doesn’t care about those kinds of things but you do.    

So he broke up with you.

And regret it every single day. But Jaehyun was really in love with you and reached out to work things out. Good thing you’re really in love with him too so you gave him another chance. From there on the breakup made your relationship stronger because you both learned a lot. He stopped being demanding and you start talking things out with him. 

Six months later 

“Will I be really leaving for college without having sex you?” he pouted like a kid and lie comfortably beside you. 

“Oh Jung Jaehyun shut up, you’re so demanding,” you whined and turned your lampshade off, making your room really dark and cold. Then you started whispering, “but I love you,” you said and kissed him in the dark. Feeling him smile through the sweet kiss. 

He waited for you to fall asleep before he goes home. Didn’t really want to leave but he knew your brother will kill him if he stays over. Locking the door silently, Jaehyun went back to the party and spend some more time with his friends before he comes home. 

The night finished how Jaehyun planned on doing it. Have a couple of beers with his friends then go home and rest. 

But he didn’t expect someone from his past to send him a text in the middle of the night. He wasn’t stupid, he knew it’s a booty call and fuck he’s having a hard time ignoring her texts. 

It’s been months since his last fuck, specifically the night he met you he stopped fucking other girls. But this time, he’s craving for it and he’s about to do a stupid decision. 

In the end he invited her over and they fucked until the sun comes up.

“You know the way out, right?” The girl nods while she continues to wear her clothes. “I have a girlfriend now, just so you know. And I love her. So much” 

“Couldn’t care less Jae, I’m here for your dick not for your heart. But why did you invited me if you love her so much?” she asks. 

“I haven’t had sex in six months,” she snorted and laughed. 

“Well that explains everything. You were a beast the whole fucking time. Anyway, thanks for tonight....and for this morning” she said and left him. 

Even though he poured out all his lust and frustrations during the sex he still feels incomplete and now the heavy feeling of cheating is crushing him. 

The next day, he went to your house with flowers which you don’t know what’s it for. He just smiled and told you that he just wanted to treat you more like a girlfriend even though you’re dating secretly. 

It was a good day for the two of you and as usual, you spend the day either watching movies or talking nonstop while you two are in bed, cuddling close. 

Jaehyun became extremely sweet the following days and maybe it’s because he knew he’s moving away soon for college and he’s not planning to waste even a second he can get with you. “Do you want to go to a party tomorrow?” you blurted out while you help him sort out his Vinyls. 

“Sure. And if people ask if you’re my girlfriend I’d say ‘no I was just accompanying my best friend’s sister’” he giggled. 

“No. Tell them the truth,” you finally said it but you didn’t make eye contact. “Tell them I’m your girlfriend” 

Your boyfriend then put down what he’s holding and attacked you with kisses until you’re lying on the floor and he’s towering you. Obviously, he’s happy, so happy that he’s in tears. 

Little did you know, Jaehyun just feels so bad because he cheated on you. Now he feels unworthy. “Don’t cry stupid, “ you said, raking his hair away from his face and kissing him so you could express your happiness. He returned the kisses and even deepened it to the point that you’re both horny already and you’re moaning. 

“We should stop, I think I’m losing my self control lately,” he said. 

“Then don’t stop,” you said and removed your shirt. Completely startling your boyfriend and shocking him because you’re removing your clothes, “Do you have a condom somewhere?” and that made him shake in nervousness. With quick and panic movements, Jaehyun went to his bathroom and looked for a condom. You on the other hand continued removing your clothes until you’re naked and went under his thick sheets. 

When he came back, he threw the condom on his bed and removed his clothes in front of you, leaving only his boxers briefs because he thought you’re still in your underwear beneath the sheets. Joining you in bed and slowly pulling his thick sheets away, to his surprise you’re naked already. 

“There's really no going back? Are we really going to do this now?” he asks. Crawling to your side and admiring you. He has never seen you fully naked even though you both fool around a lot. “This will hurt, I should warn you” he said and pulled your body closer to him. “Now that we're about to do it, I just want to admire you. You look beautiful,” he placed a kiss on your shoulder and slowly making his way to your neck, whispering more praises to you that makes you shy and giggle. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, now I can understand why girls like you,” you said and he shook his head and rolled his eyes playfully. “But this is about us right?” you said and pulled him closer, telling him to go on top of you. 

You watch him put the condom and shiver when he finally touches your knee to spread your legs open and ran his cold fingers on your wet slit. You stopped yourself from looking at him so instead, you were looking at his ceiling and avoiding eye contact as much as possible because you’re becoming shy. 

“Why are you shy?” he kissed you on the lips and reached for your hands, “Do you want to hug me while we fuck?” You nod without hesitation and Jaehyun hooked your arms around him. “I need you to calm down first, you’re so tensed” and his way to calm you down is to spread kisses on your body, kneading your boobs, sucking your nipples, giving your pussy a few kitten licks. All these so you know that it’s your boyfriend touching you right now. 

And when you’re finally ready, he lifted your legs and spread them open. You always knew that Jaehyun is big and you always knew that first times always hurt so you’re beyond ready now. 

He pushed in. Slowly. The head of his cock is already inside when you looked down, then you see your boyfriend struggling to push in because you’re so tight. 

You were breathing in and out heavily, gasping and groaning while you close your eyes shut and feel Jaehyun push his cock deeper. And when he’s finally in and you feel really full, he pulled out only to push back in a little harder but this time he’s kissing you. “It’s okay, you’re doing great,” he said and made sure that you’re still okay. 

After a few slighty hard and deep thrusts, Jaehyun now can thrust in and out smoothly. Although you’re still groaning and breathing heavily, but the pleasure is there now. Every thrust Jaehyun gave you was incredible and whenever he goes in deeper he made sure to look at you, watch you lose your mind. 

“Tell me if you’re close okay? I want to see you cum because of my cock for the first time,” and all you can do is nod. 

He sucked your boobs while thrusting deeper and harder now, groaning deliciously beside his ear from time to time and keeping him closer to your body. 

“Jaehyun I’m close,” you croaked and you started breathing faster. 

He doubled his pace and pulled his body away from you so he can watch you beneath him. Oh he loves how your eyes are closed now and your head is moving side to side, furrowing your brows and parting your lips. He felt you clenched and it felt fucking good around him that it made him, accidentally flop on top of you and crush you with his weight but you’re alright. 

He thrust faster and harder like an animal to the point that you're pushing his hips away because it's too much already. But the man above you knew what he was doing. The fast thrusts were replaced by slow and deep ones when he came already. 

Lips to lips and body to body. He kept you close while he shoots his cum in the condom and asks if you’re still okay before he pulls out. 

“More than fine,” you said and kissed his sweaty cheek. 

After he discarded the condom and brought you an oversized sweater, he was quiet the whole time while drawing circles on your thigh. “You okay Jae?” 

 You waited for his answer. 

“You were so beautiful while I was fucking you. Beautiful and special,” he blurted out. 

“Well that came out of nowhere. Stop making me shy,” you hide on his chest, you feel him snort and then pulled you in for a hug. 

 The whole summer before he leaves for college, you and Jaehyun spend your remaining days showing everyone that you’re together. Having dates and spending a lot of time outside, going to parties hand in hand, going to parties with Jaehyun’s jacket protecting you from cold. Everyone envied you. And when it comes to sex, you and Jaehyun fucked like rabbits but always in his house. 

It was the perfect phase in a relationship when you both thought you're never going to break up. Everything is fine, and you're going to be forever. And then suddenly someone or something will fuck everything up and ruin everything you both built. 

“Bough us a new box,” he was talking about the condoms. “Thin ones, this feels like we're fucking raw” he explains but you just stare at his phone when you finished reading something you didn’t expect to find. 

“Since when did we stopped respecting each other’s privacy?” He grabbed his phone from your hand and lowered himself so he can see your eyes. 

You were sitting on the edge of his bed and you keep your eyes on the floor. “Please look at me, I’m sorry I fucked up- but can you just please look at me so you know that I’m sincere!!!” He was getting even more frustrated that’s why he yelled at you. You weren't saying anything and you haven't talked about it yet, but he felt that he already lost you. 

So you look at him with angry eyes. Suddenly he forgot what he was about to say. 

Then you slapped him. You slapped him hard over and over again, but he didn’t complain or flinched. "Hurt me more. I deserve it. Punch me, I don't care. Come on," he forced your hand to slap himself, and now you're both in tears because you can see how your relationship is crumbling before you. 

"Hurt me but please don't leave. I will change," he said but it's too late for that. You slapped him one last time, so hard that he fell on the floor and can't do anything else when you stand up and gathered your stuff. Leaving his room and banging his door. 

Jaehyun never hated himself so much. 

Weeks before his graduation and your brother’s graduation, he begged and begged you to come back. Calling your phone every hour, texting you with long messages every day, and even reaching out through your brother. But Jaehyun is not welcomed in your home anymore, so he can’t see you and talk to you too. He can always approach you in person at school, but he's afraid that will only make things worst and he doesn’t want to make a scene at school because that can put you two in trouble. 

He was helpless and he's running out of options on how to win you back. 

One Friday night, you went home pretty late alone and Jaehyun waited for you to come home. He was standing beside your gate and you just ignored him and walked past by. But Jaehyun grabbed your arm tightly. Not because he’s mad but because he’s scared of letting you go.

“How can you come home alone this late? You could have called me, I can pick you up” he said, you didn’t care. “Please talk to me, I don’t want us to break up. I made the wrong decision and I promise it won't happen again, please Y/n.” 

Then he bravely hugged you. 

"This shit that I put you through it's my fault, you're heartbroken because of me. Please let me fix this, I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up" For a moment there he felt you melting in his embrace. And honestly, you were because you knew that he's sincere and he will be dead serious about him fixing your relationship. 

But you were hurt. And you don't know if you can handle fixing at this time because what he did to you was a whole new level of cheating. You saw the messages, he was the one who invited the girl. That means he chose to hurt you secretly that night.

You love him. So much. But you don't know if love is enough reason for you to give him a chance.  

“You’re forgiven,” you finally said it and returned the hug, which finally made him smile and was about to kiss you but you refused. 

“You’re forgiven but I’m still breaking up with you. Happy graduation. I- uhm... I guess I'll see you around” 

And that’s how Jaehyun lost you. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: NHS non-fatally qi deviates. How do NMJ and the others take that?

ao3 

Untamed

It had always been something of a behind-closed-doors debate – a chicken-and-the-egg problem, what came first, what was the cause and what was the symptom.

Was the Nie sect’s atypical cultivation method the reason behind the notorious Nie temper? Or were they born with the temper, and the cultivation method merely built upon that? Which one was the reason for their clan’s tendency towards early qi deviations?

Nie Huaisang usually threw his money on the “blame the cultivation style”, almost entirely for the sake of pissing off his brother.

He was starting to think, though, that he’d been wrong.

Aituan wasn’t even anywhere nearby, after all, when he started bleeding out of his qiqiao, his qi disordered and violently raging inside of him and still somehow, somehow not enough to assuage the rage in his heart, in his head –

“Nie-xiong! Nie-xiong! Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang turned with a snarl, but Wei Wuxian was already holding up his hands in surrender, Jiang Cheng quickly following suit a second later, and in the end he wasn’t really angry at them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re done,” Jiang Cheng said cautiously. “You’re – you are done, right?”

“I dunno,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “I don’t think Wen Zhuliu is entirely paste yet – there’s still a few bones Nie-xiong hasn’t crushed down into dust…”

“Shut up.”

“I will not.”

The familiar bickering was soothing, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a tough day – like arguing with his brother about silly things, scoring a clever point and getting one of his brother’s rare smiles. Nie Huaisang felt his shoulders relax a little, and he lowered the stick –

“Why am I holding a stick?” he asked blankly, looking down at it. He didn’t remember picking it up at any point. “And why is it…uh…”

“Covered in the blood and guts and possibly brain matter of your enemy?”

Nie Huaisang swayed, suddenly light-headed. “…that,” he agreed, voice weak.

He slowly became aware that there was something squishy and wet under his feet, soaking into his shoes, and he very carefully did not look down.

“What happened?” he asked faintly. “What did I – actually, on second thought, don’t tell me.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression was a strange mix of being impressed with him and pitying him, and honestly Nie Huaisang preferred the pity. No one was impressed with him, not ever, and in retrospect he rather liked it that way, if the alternative was…

“You defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat,” Wei Wuxian said. “Congratulations.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“Don’t you remember?” Jiang Cheng said, blinking at him. “He said something about your brother, and you suddenly lost it –”

Nie Huaisang remembered, suddenly, and he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as his vision flickered red around the edges again, and he imagined he could hear Aituan shouting his name from thousands of li away. How dare that man, that stone-face bastard who looked so long-suffering and yet underneath it all was so cruel and unfeeling – how dare he say such a thing about his da-ge –

Nie Huaisang had been angry the entire time he’d been here at the indoctrination camp.

Really angry, not the silly little temper tantrums he usually threw back at home or the occasional shouting matches he had with his brother to vent steam. He hated it here. He hated the fact that he was here in the Nightless City, the one place his brother had always refused to bring him no matter how embarrassingly impolitic it was, the place Sect Leader Wen had murdered his father over a stupid dinner table conversation. He hated the fact that his brother had tried to protect him, and failed only because he’d gotten distracted by Meng Yao of all people.

(He hated the fact that he’d had to learn that fact from one of his retainers, weeks too late and him already gone to the Nightless City, too late to apologize or make it up; hated the fact that the last words he’d said to his da-ge on the subject were cruel ones, blaming him for sending away his friend, when in fact his friend had torn off his face to reveal something dark beneath. He hated that his brother had just taken those cruel words from him, suffered under his accusations, without defending himself from them, because he blamed himself for – for what? For being just, the way he was supposed to be?  For protecting him?)

He hated the Yin metal, the vile corruption he could feel for all that they were in a different part of the palace. He hated Wen Chao making them memorize and recite, which he was terrible at, and he hated him for making them do it outside in the hot sun and the hot earth until he fainted from heatstroke, his weak golden core insufficient to protect him the way the others did them.

He hated Wen Ruohan, he hated Wen Chao, and he hated, hated, hated Wen Zhuliu.

Most of the boys at the indoctrination camp had gotten the idea that he wasn’t that bad, for all that he was terrifying, because he always looked so bored about everything, like he was having to fulfil all of this as a torturous duty instead of a pleasure, but he’d been the one to carry Nie Huaisang back inside after he’d fainted and he’d said some things about his brother then, when Nie Huaisang was too weak to do anything, and today he’d come by, watching Nie Huaisang struggle to set up the small tent he’d been given for their travels, and he’d said them again…

“He wanted to steal my brother’s cultivation,” Nie Huaisang said through numb lips. His hands were clenched, quivering with rage that was impossible to bury down in his heart – was this how his brother felt all the time? No wonder he was so straightforward about most things; forget scheming, it was amazing he could even think. “He wanted – he didn’t even think of him as a person. Just dirt beneath his feet, fruit ripe for the plucking, some animal he could slaughter as a prize to give to his wretched master –”

He’d even said, today, that they could use what was left over as a corpse puppet, and chuckled when he thought of what the great Chifeng-zun would have thought of that.

Nie Huaisang had been angry ever since they’d arrived, full of bile and choler and rage.

His family never did handle their rage well.

“You had a minor qi deviation,” Wei Wuxian said solemnly, looking at him. “You’re still bleeding – your eyes, your nose, your ears…We need to get you to a doctor.”

“We need to hide the body before anyone finds it, that’s what we need to do,” Jiang Cheng said.

“We can do both! Multitasking!”

He was very lucky to have such good friends, Nie Huaisang thought to himself, and toppled over.

He woke up back in the sorry excuse for a camp, with Wen Qing acting as his doctor and Wen Ning as her assistant, taking care of him (it had taken an embarrassingly long while before Nie Huaisang remembered their names, for all that they’d come to lessons at the Cloud Recesses, too, both of them, and even though they’d all gone on a whole mission to the village with the goddess statute together afterwards, but in his defense he was really bad at memorizing - anything), and while Wen Qing kept herself nice and professional, Wen Ning kept shooting him extremely impressed looks that Nie Huaisang didn’t think he deserved.

He hadn’t actually defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat, no matter what Wei Wuxian said. He’d launched a surprise attack at the back of a man who wasn’t expecting it, because no one ever expected anything from Nie Huaisang.

“You have remarkable arm strength,” Wen Qing said (she had looked amused when he asked about her name, blushing with shame), sounding casual but clearly fishing a little. “It’s hidden by your thin frame, and even further minimized by your choice in clothing, but actually you have significant muscle there.”

“Saber practice,” Nie Huaisang explained. “Sabers are heavier than swords, and rely more on brute force. At home, you train a lot with heavy things even before you get your own saber, just to make sure you can wield it properly – you have to have a good arm.”

He’d been barely mediocre by his sect’s standards, and even that level he’d only achieved through years of nagging, threatening, and occasional bribery on his older brother’s part. He shouldn’t have been able to win, but Wen Zhuliu hadn’t even been looking at Nie Huaisang when he’d said what he said, hadn’t seen the moment he’d snapped and attacked, his disordered qi giving him extraordinary strength even as it turned against him to destroy him internally, and if there was one thing that saber style taught you it was not to let someone who’d fallen to your blade get up again.

(Had his brother brought out Baxia against Meng Yao, before deciding to let him go? He couldn’t help but wonder – it was bad luck if he had, a severing of the relationship in an unfixable way, but he wasn’t sure his brother would be strong enough to resist trying to repair it if Meng Yao ever came back. Where was Meng Yao, anyway?)

Attacking a man from behind wasn’t really honorable, he thought glumly, and he thought he understood for the first time why his brother was so strict about such things: it didn’t feel good to have done it this way. It felt like cheating, made every approving gaze feel like a lie, like something he didn’t deserve.

“So what happens now?” he asked, and Wen Qing shrugged a little helplessly. “Does, uh…”

“Wei-gongzi and Jiang-gongzi are hiding the remains,” Wen Ning volunteered. He looked way too cheerfully when he said ‘remains’. Possible budding mass-murderer? Or maybe he’d just been a doctor’s assistant for too long. “Wen-er-gongzi hasn’t noticed yet – he’s still with Wang Lingjiao.”

“But he will notice,” Nie Huaisang said.

“As long as he doesn’t blame any of you, does it matter?” Wen Qing said.

“…if you have an example of Wen Zhuliu’s handwriting, I can probably forge it to look like a note saying he was summoned back by Sect Leader Wen.”

Wen Qing and Wen Ning exchanged looks he didn’t quite understand, but they brought him what he needed, and by the time they got trapped in a horrible underground cave with a gigantic man-eating Xuanwu the next day, Wen Chao still hadn’t figured it out, though he’d been in an awful mood the entire time.

“Why are you sitting down?” Jiang Cheng scolded him even as he dashed around fighting Wen sect soldiers, and see, this was why Nie Huaisang didn’t ever fight. It only made people expect him to do it more – Jiang Cheng hadn’t scolded him at all for hiding behind things before…

Before.

“Leave him alone,” Jin Zixuan said. He hadn’t been there, so he still looked disdainful and dismissive; it was amazing how much of a relief that was. “He can’t help anyway.”

“But –”

“My head hurts,” Nie Huaisang said plaintively, and it had the benefit of being both true and working very effectively to get Jiang Cheng to head as far away from him as possible in a sudden rush. After a while, he got up and picked up one of the swords some unfortunate Wen sect retainer had dropped.

“I have no idea what I’m doing with this,” he said, very seriously, to yet another unfortunate Wen sect retainer, before lifting it and bringing it down, saber-style, the way his brother had all but beaten into his head.

That one didn’t seemed like he was expecting it, either, even though Nie Huaisang was right in front of his face and everything.

It felt a bit better, though – Aituan didn’t like the Wen sect one bit, he thought a little muzzily, and wondered why he’d thought that, since after all Aituan was all the way back at home – and he was a little less ashamed to stand with the rest of them as they tried to figure out a way out of the cave.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” he said to the Lan disciple who picked up a bow and was trying to aim it at the Xuanwu. “You’ll miss.”

The Lan disciple glared at him.

“Not as bad as I would, mind you,” Nie Huaisang said, looking at it. He felt as though he was standing behind a pane of glass and nothing could touch him - not pain or fear or anything, anything but rage. “I’d probably miss the turtle entirely. I’m just saying that it’s angry now, so the shot’s a lot harder to make; maybe five people could make that shot.”

“Lan-er-gongzi could make it.”

“Yes, well, Lan-er-gongzi isn’t human,” Nie Huaisang said, quite seriously, and the Lan disciple’s lips twitched. “Seriously, don’t waste your time – or your arrows. If you’re anywhere good enough at archery to even think that you could make that shot, you need to keep them to protect me.”

“Are you in need of protection?”

“Oh, always,” Nie Huaisang said blithely, the way he always did, then paused and grimaced. “Most of the time, anyway. I got sick, earlier.”

He was pretty sure the Lan disciple didn’t understand what he meant by sick.

“You don’t really want me to protect you,” the disciple said, frowning. “Do you?”

Nie Huaisang wanted everyone to protect him. He never wanted to fight again in his life.

But the Lan disciple looked like he was a little pleased to have been asked, like no one had ever asked him before, and Nie Huaisang suddenly felt a sudden stab of empathy hitting him straight in the heart.

“I do. I’m pretty sure all the other Nie disciples here are short-range fighters –” His brother had sent as few of them as he could manage, and only sent any at all because he wanted someone there to keep an eye on Nie Huaisang. To protect him. “– and they’re mostly hotheaded idiots –” That was definitely true. “– and I really, really don’t want to end up in another situation where I get sick again, because my brother will never forgive me. So I could use an archer.”

“…okay,” the Lan disciple said. “I’m Su She.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I promise to apologize to your sect later on for taking up your time.”

He managed not to be sick the entire journey home.

Maybe it was an aberration, he thought, maybe –

When he got home, his brother was holding Aituan in his hand instead of Baxia – she was in her sheath on his back – and he rushed over to him at once, presenting the saber to him before he did anything else; confused, Nie Huaisang accepted his saber, wondering if he was going to need to go practice or something, and the second his hand wrapped around the hilt –

Oh.

Oh.

His head abruptly cleared, the fog he hadn’t even realized was there finally lifting, the rage draining out of him and back into Aituan – not an especially angry saber, as they went, but still a Nie saber with all that entailed. His qi finally, finally straightened out, stabilized, and he felt like he could breathe again, his mind free and clear now that he had a saber in his hand.

Like all the other Nies before him.

Doomed.

And then he was in his brother’s arms, being held tight.

“Oh, Huaisang,” his brother said, and his voice sounded raw and broken, almost as if he’d been weeping. “I never wanted this for you.”

Nie Huaisang hugged him back.

“It’s okay,” he said, and the buzzing in the back of his head that was Aituan agreed with him. He’d been there the whole time, ever since the first incident; it didn’t matter how far away from each other they were. “It was a small one, it passed, it’s fine…”

It wasn’t fine, and they both knew it – Nie Huaisang might not know the details of all their clan secrets, but he knew enough to know what it was he was so carefully not knowing – but what was there to say?

It was still his family. It was still his heritage.

(He wondered what Meng Yao would say, if he knew. He wondered if he would pull his saber back the way his brother had, if Meng Yao ever betrayed him.)

“At least I can help fight now,” he said, joking, and his brother glared at him.

“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re going to go somewhere safe. You can go with –”

“Su She.”

“– with Su She back to the Cloud Recesses; it’ll be more secure there than here.”

It was about what Nie Huaisang had expected.

“Okay,” he said. “But not now.”

His brother’s eyes flickered down to his saber. His lifeline.

“No,” he said. “Not now.”

[howdoyousleep3]

Miss K! Have you seen ozarkthedog’s edits of silverfox Senator Chris??? Reminded me of silverfox Senator Rogers oh god and I just know he’s gonna treat little itty bitty baby Intern Bucky so right 😍

YES I am finally getting to this, wowza. First, we must quite literally soak in @ozarkthedog​‘s gorgeous edits, let us drool.

W O W. 

Okay, so keeping those in mind here are some Intern Bucky and Silver Fox Senator thoughts...

This Senator Rogers has known he’s wanted Bucky since the interview, fresh eyes and bubbly spirit and sharp tongue, “You’ll bring somethin’ special to this team, kid…”

Mr. Rogers is all direct touches, wandering eyes, slick lips. He is squeezes on the back of Bucky’s neck, hot praise on his ear, proud eyes. The Senator is obvious, so much so that Bucky questions if what he is experiencing is indeed what he thinks it is or if this is the same treatment everyone else receives

It isn’t

One late evening proves just that. A one-on-one meeting, a lingering hand on Bucky’s waist that pulls him in tight between Senator Rogers’ thighs after a few tense seconds

A whispered, “Hear an awful lot’a hissin’ and spittin’ comin’ out of that mouth, Barnes. I’ve been wonderin’ if it’s possible for it to be sweet. God, it’s gotta be sweet sometimes, right? Look at it…” and a swipe of a thumb along his bottom lip is all it takes for Bucky’s insides to crumble and fall apart

He didn’t stand a chance against such an advancement

It was the, “Feisty bratty boys like you love callin’ a man like me ‘Daddy’. Ain’t that right, honey?” that sent him dick-first into this whirlwind secret physical relationship with Senator Rogers

Getting involved with his much older boss is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened to Bucky. He is both the dumbest but the most well-fucked he will ever be in his life

Bucky earned this scholarship and position, fought for it with his test scores, his grades, his involvement in the community and at school. He has tenacity, shows grit, fights for all things just. But get him on his knees in front of Senator Rogers and that rich and smooth voice, skilled hands, and high expectations, and Bucky is one dumb fuck

Mr. Rogers, Daddy, has rules, has expectations that he will not waiver on, will not soften on. Steve is a hard Daddy, only gives Bucky praise and reward when Bucky deserves it, tells Bucky to do better when he doesn’t. He runs a tight ship, both within this thing they have going and outside of that realm, in his career and office

Bucky’s favorite rule, and the one he has trouble with the most, is eye contact

No matter what Bucky is doing (sucking the Senator off as he continues diligently working at his desk, going sweet settled between those thighs with his mouth full, bouncing in the Senator’s lap and fucking himself on that fat cock) Mr. Rogers always expects Bucky’s eyes to be on him

“Wanna see you lookin’ at me any time I look at you. Daddy wants to see what he does to you, baby. Can you do that for me? Hmm, practice?”

Bucky tucked between the Senator’s legs behind the older man’s desk, putting his mouth to work, lazy and long strokes and suckles just like Mr. Rogers said he wanted. Bucky’s eyelids so very heavy, whimpering each time the Senator clicks his tongue or snaps his finger, pinches Bucky’s ear

Senator Rogers says training Bucky is his “goddamn favorite” because Bucky always wants to fight, is quick to retaliate, wants to snap and bite and throw a fit, “but with Daddy you wouldn’t fuckin’ dare. Know you’re gonna be sweet just for me…”

The Senator training Bucky to properly deepthroat his cock was remarkably memorable, something that Bucky touched himself for weeks and months to come, something that was so very intense

Daddy is big, and Bucky can take big, but Daddy is thick, very much so, toe-curlingly so. Bucky had made the mistake of scoffing, of rolling his eyes and dismissing Daddy’s warnings

He ended up sputtering around a mouthful of cock, drool on his chin, tears in his eyes, Daddy telling him to “hold it, hold it. Whats’a matter, sugar? Thought you said you could take it...” 

Bucky has never wanted to be good for anyone. He prides himself in his confidence, the fight that courses through each and every bone in his body. He’s never met someone that makes him yearn to be good, to be sweet, but Bucky wants to do everything right for Mr. Rogers

There’s nothing better when the Senator purrs, hums, when he curses low under his breath, when Bucky makes him come just like the older man told him to

There’s nothing sweeter when he refers to Bucky as “kitten”, when Bucky gets cockdrunk and his sweet lil’ brain dissolves like cotton candy in a puddle 

“S’a boy, there you go. Just love keepin’ Daddy’s dick wet, don’t you? Look how dumb you are for it. Yeah lemme have you, lemme have all’a you, come on…”

Nothing but the best for Daddy, absolutely nothing less, taps on Bucky’s cheeks, his thighs when he is caught slipping up 

Which happens a lot because Daddy can last so fucking long

This Daddy has stamina, this Daddy fucks for pleasure, prolongs it as long as he can. He has such control over his body that it makes Bucky’s own feel like it’s been put through the ringer after Daddy is done using it 

“Look at that,” Steve tends to say, hands spreading Bucky’s ass cheeks apart, a looker. “That’s a happy boy pussy right there, ain’t it, Buck? All that pretty pink, tight and warm all for me, huh? Yeah, know it is, s’right. This pussy hungry? S’it ready to be fed, is it ready for Daddy to fuck it full?” 

There is absolutely nothing Senator Rogers loves more than seeing the aftermath of their fuck. He never fails to grip Bucky’s chin, to give him a good once-over and a hot kiss, after he pulls himself out of Bucky’s body

Bucky is well-trained, knows to stay where he is once Daddy pulls out, no matter how messy he feels

Daddy’s purrs and sighs and curses as he sits and watches his come drip out of Bucky’s pussy, down his balls, down his thigh, bring Bucky far too much joy

"Fuck, that’s nice. Show me, show Daddy all of it, c’mon. You know what I like to see,” are shamefully Bucky’s favorite moments, where he lays in whatever position he is in and works the Senator’s come from his ass, where Steve rumbles and plays with him, plays with Bucky’s bitty hole and his own come, occasionally dropping his head down and using his mouth to continue to savor and enjoy the remnants of their fuck

This tends to be Bucky’s favorite moment for another reason as well, where he’s rewarded if he’s done a good job. Sometimes Senator Rogers leaves him waiting, leaves him hard, but other times he touches Bucky, hot and heavy, tells him he can come for being so good 

Bucky is to always say thank you as he comes, always squeals it as Daddy milks him for what he’s worth, “thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy...!” 

There’s always a debrief, always skin-on-skin contact, always a discussion of what was acceptable and what can be improved upon. It always leaves Bucky wanting to do better, looking forward to the next time the Senator gets to coach Bucky through a fuck...

Lord have mercy this got away from me. I hope these thoughts suffice! Similar yet a little different than my normal Senator. A little more filthy but more strict, hehe. No projection here, no no...👀 Thank you, nonnie! Also, another thank you to @ozarkthedog! 💕✨💖

[kuroos-moon]

Tetsuro’s Not-So-Secret Admirer

desc: You’re his biggest fan and shame on you for thinking he doesn’t know. When you disappoint him by not showing up during his match, secrets unfold just right after. 

wc: 1.5k 

warning/s: none 

a/n: ik this isn’t a request but it’s his birthday and i love him to the moon and back i’ll literally sell my soul for him 🥺also, i rlly enjoyed writing this pls give it a shot <333 

They won; they were going to nationals. Nekoma’s captain had all reason to be happy— ecstatic even; this wouldn’t be his last game and they actually have a shot playing Karasuno. Weirdly enough, he was in too much dismay to enjoy their victory, ordering his team to line up in front of their schoolmates who came to cheer them on.

His fan club was there, but you weren’t. He knows you didn’t attend his game; his eyes would always scan the crowd at every timeout and your absence would disappoint him each time, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he tries to figure out why you didn’t come to support him.

You were his number one fan, right? He pretended to not know and be nonchalant about how you ‘subtly’ admired him, but oh, he knows— and you’d be embarrassed to know how he found out. One last time, before leaving the court, he looks up at the stands; and still, you weren’t there.

Maybe he was twisted or obsessed, but spiking a ball, scoring off a block or amazingly digging a seemingly impossible-to-receive ball just didn’t feel as exhilarating despite the constant cheering of his name. Pride didn’t course through his veins all throughout the match wherein he led his team without flaw and he blames you for it.

He never got to see the head-over-heels look in your eyes, didn’t hear you shout his name or clutch at your chest anxiously at a long rally, and most importantly, you weren’t there to approach him after such a hard-earned and awaited victorious match. If you were, he just knows it was the time to ask you out on a date instead of settling for the ‘let’s like each other from afar’ relationship.

“Kuroo,” Kenma mutters under his breath, making the disheartened captain look up from his own shoes. He wonders why they’ve stopped, the bus was waiting, but when he sees you standing before his team, he’s rendered helplessly speechless.

You stood self-consciously aware that all of them were staring at you. Not that that mattered much, what really made you become a jumble of nerves was Kuroo’s passive stare. How could you even look at him in the eyes? The answer is you can’t, he was too glorious you’re bound to go blind. His hair was messy as usual and his tall figure made him stand out, black shirt beautifully sticking to his body and his red shorts just not long enough to shield your sight away from his thighs.

“The bus is waiting, let’s hurry up,” Kuroo nonchalantly says to his team, your heart sinking for some reason. What did you expect anyway? You were just another one of his fans and your unwavering feelings for him won’t magically make him like you back.

You just want to see him a little longer, cursing yourself for waking up late and not seeing his game. Before you knew it, one of them passed by you, and another, and another until finally, he walked by you as well, the momentary closeness of Kuroo Tetsuro just when he was beside you making your knees weak and your heart ache with longing.

Unrequited love is hard and being his fan is hard though it’s one of your greatest joys. Seeing him happy, knowing that he had aced another test and witnessing the grin on his face as he focused on something he loved to do made you ultimately content and happy, and that was enough.

But were you sincerely content with it or was it just a lie you told yourself to erase the pain of being a mere fan among many?

Screw loving him from a distance. “Kuroo-senpai!” You call for him, turning around with your body set on sprinting towards his bus if you have to. You were so sure you would confess today, in front of his team if you must without fearing his rejection; but what were you supposed to do when you’re met with his chest the moment you turn around?

He was right in front of you, hands inside the pockets of his unzipped red Nekoma jacket. You lose your voice and bravery, pathetically unable to move or even look up at him as you internally go into panic. He is looking at you and you know that he knows you’re flustered.

“I’m right here,” he quietly says and you gulp. “Weren’t you going to say something?”

For a second you doubt that they won, he just seemed so glum and scary. “It’s nothing, I- I’m sorry, I should go,” your strings of stuttered words were barely audible and your rushing to leave made him all the more frustrated, “after skipping my match like that you’ll run off so soon?”

You look up at him in surprise, “how do you know I wasn’t there?”

“Where were you?” He ignores your question, but you were more curious. “Why do you care?”

He involuntarily cracks a grin, just a second ago you were hardly coherent and you were obviously nervous but now you’re answering his question with another question without breaking a sweat. “I don’t have to answer you if you’re not telling me what it is you wanted to tell me earlier.”

You raise a brow at him, “I said it was nothing.”

“You called for me as if your life was on the line, I’m sure it was nothing,” he sarcastically says. You weren’t sure before, but now you’re positive that he was teasing you. He’s lost the depressing aura he had earlier and wore the cutest grin you’ve seen on him as he stares back at you.

You silently commend yourself for not breaking eye contact but now you don’t even know what to do, feeling cornered and restless. Now is the perfect time to confess, there won’t be another chance like this because you know you’re too chicken to go through another nerve-wracking encounter with him.

“Kuroo-senpai,” you softly say, and he subtly bites the inside of his cheek to fight off the smile that threatened to show upon hearing you say his name. “I- I think I like you,” you mutter, biting your lip as you immediately look away.

“You think?” He taunts, taking a daring step closer to you and smirking when you squeak instead of taking a step back. He’s got you wrapped around his finger and he knows it, “you sound unsure, and that’s not good enough.”

“Good enough for what?” You can’t fight it anymore, you just had to look back at him, wanting to touch him all the more that he stood this painfully close. “Good enough to be more than just my silly fan,” he chuckles, before stepping away.

“I have to go, and since you missed my game earlier,” he trails off in thought but you fail to register a word he just said because you were just so mesmerized at the sight of him. He genuinely looked happy and carefree, his eyes twinkling with excitement and his lips pulled up in a playful grin.

His victory earlier caught on to him but what really made him this euphoric was your confession. “Since you missed my game earlier, you could make up for it by going out with me.”

“What?” Your jaw drops, and his grin widens. “Text me later kitten,” he winks, slowly backing away as he takes steps back, his gaze still not leaving yours, “I assume you have my number.”

“I don’t.” You lie.

“Kuroo-senpai, you don’t know me, but I’m your biggest fan and I hope you ace your test today,” he playfully says, looking back at your horrified expression with a smug smirk.

He takes another step back, “senpai, it’s me again. I’d love to run my fingers through your messy hair, oh and you looked really dashing today in a lab coat.”

Another step, “Kuroo-senpai, you haven’t been sleeping well, I’m worried and I hope you start taking better care of yourself.”

“Stop!” You hiss.

His smirk falls off, replaced by a serious but soft look as he stares back at you, “senpai, you were really amazing today, but I don’t like you just because you’re tall, or handsome or an insanely amazing volleyball player and captain. I love how you care for everyone around you; I love how you’re always so eager to study for chemistry and I definitely love how you kindly flash a smile of gratitude towards your fans after every game. It makes me happy; I just like you very much, Kuroo-senpai, and I’ll support you at your every match since that’s the only time I could express how I feel for you without being discovered.”

“You even memorized that?!” You shriek, words couldn’t even explain how embarrassed you are right now as you cover your face with your hands; you’re pretty much close to crying at this point.

“You... broke off your promise, you weren’t there to cheer me on earlier,” his lips press into a thin line before he cracks a grin, “that was how I expedted your confession to go, but it’s fine,” he snickers.

“So all along you knew that was me?”

“I know you thought you were anonymous when you sent me those texts but I had your contact saved too, I liked you first you know,” he chuckles, “and for the record,” he bites his lip, hesitant to continue but he does, “I don’t even look at anyone else after a match—  I don’t flash a smile of gratitude to my fans y/n, I smile at you.”  

Giving you one last soft smile, he finally turns around and walks away. Who would’ve thought the man of your dreams had you in his every night far longer than you?

General Taglist: @noyasbitchh @dinablossom @haru-the-secret @strayczennies @lalisbitch @tinymidgetsstuff @animebs @sunshine-hina @kittykitkatstrawberry @hajimesbbygrl @kellesvt @24hr7dysdizzy @arnxldss @elianetsantana @vicassa @floraraine @beanst0ck @leinnah @kageyamasgirl @deafeningart @minibobabottle @franko-pop @moonlightaangel

[moldisgoodforyou]

break up songs

a fun lil story in which sophie and the gang drive to michigan for a basketball game. no one asked for this lmao oops to the requests i have in my inbox

wordcount: 2k

“Why do you always sing the breakup songs so loud in the car?”

Sophie paused her Spotify, midway through the chorus of All Too Well (and honestly, how dare he), and raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

The group was on a three-hour road trip to Ann Arbor for the Ohio State vs. Michigan rivalry basketball game. Rafe insisted on driving (though not before unscrewing the Ohio State license frame from the car), so Sophie naturally got the passenger seat. James and Colin had been asleep in the backseat for the last hour, Colin slumped adorably onto James’ shoulder, despite both of them insisting on not taking the middle seat, but they slowly woke at the jarring silence in the car.

“You have that playlist, that one with the little broken heart emoji, and that’s your go-to every single time we go on a longer drive. Why?”

When Sophie glanced over at Rafe, she noticed a small pout on his lips and he tapped his fingers on the wheel, impatiently waiting for her response. A small smile curved up on her own lips and she held back a giggle. “They’re just songs, Rafe.”

“Well, it’s kind of a shitty reminder.” He paused, really trying to drive his point home. “Of when you broke up with me.”

“Oh my god.” She rolled her eyes and James and Colin perked up in the backseat, interested to hear the transpiring argument.

“C’mon, Sophie -”

“I did not break up with you -”

“Did so!” Rafe insisted, reaching over to poke at her side.

She grabbed at his hand, pushing it back to his side of the car. “I did not! You offered a break, and I took it, but we never actually broke up.”

“Ooh, Mom and Dad are fighting.” James stage-whispered to Colin, but still loud enough so everyone in the car could hear.

“Eyes on the road, Cameron.” Colin piped up and Rafe simply flipped him off from the front seat, then poked her side again, grinning when she yelped. “Exactly my point, Soph, you broke up with me for two whole weeks. It sucked.”

“It’s true, I’ve never seen him in worse shape.” James interjected helpfully, laughing when Rafe shot him a pointed glare in the rearview mirror. “That’s not true.”

“Is so. Sophie, friend, have you ever seen the Da Vinci Code?” James grinned.

She turned in the front seat, ignoring Rafe’s annoying wandering hands trying to distract her. “No, this fucker won’t let me watch with him.” Once she noticed a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips she quickly pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t say it.”

“Wasn’t gonna say a thing, darling.” He raised his eyebrows at her in a challenge.

“I hate when you call me that.” She grumbled, turning her attention back to James. “What were you saying?”

Rafe caught his eye in the rearview mirror again, expression impassive. “Don’t tell her or I’m telling standards you broke the mirror in the front hall.”

James dropped his grin, sinking back into his seat with a sullen frown. “That’s low, Cameron.”

“That’s fine. Colin?”

Colin laughed, knowing Rafe had nothing on him - at least, nothing that would incriminate him against their fraternity’s standards council. “The female lead’s name is Sophie and he watched it four times. James had to take the DVD and break it so he wouldn’t watch it anymore.”

Rafe scowled. “Four times is an exaggeration. I watched it twice. Maybe.”

“He’s lying.” Colin told her, matter-of-fact.

“I’m not. Anyway, my point is, I don’t want to hear that damn song about the driving girl and the blonde girl anymore. Put on a happy song.”

“Driver’s License is a fucking masterpiece and I’m sorry you can’t recognize that.” She shot back.

“Sophie.” He warned, swatting her hand away as she went to turn up the radio.

“Fine.” Sophie scrolled through her playlist, eyes narrowing, then beamed as she settled on a song.

Rafe groaned as the opening guitar riff of Go Your Own Way sounded through the speakers.

_____

The rest of the drive consisted of the four arguing over what actually consisted of a breakup song, James insisting Rafe pull over the second they crossed the Michigan border just so he could pee in ‘enemy territory,’ and Rafe paying way too much for parking at the Kappa Alpha Theta house at Michigan. (It was closest to the arena so they could walk, and fine, Sophie allowed a little bit of flirting on his end just so he could convince the girl to let her rivals park in the lot.)

Despite Rafe’s protests, Sophie wore her jersey proudly as they walked to the arena, leaving her jacket in the car while the three boys kept theirs dutifully zipped. She ignored every little glance she got, while Rafe noticed every single one, holding her hand a little tighter each time. They made it into the arena without incident and found company with a small group of Ohio State fans also donning jerseys or other spiritwear. 

As the lights dimmed slightly for the intro video on the jumbotron, Sophie dug into her sports bra and surreptitiously pulled out four small shooters - of tequila, no less. Rafe couldn’t help but beam proudly. “Atta girl.” She laughed and handed them out, then ducked down to take hers quickly. “You’re welcome, boys.” 

The four cheered loudly - Sophie, a little too loudly - as the Ohio State players were announced. Soon after, the Michigan players were announced to the tune of their fight song, and Sophie perked up a little at the mention of Brandon Johns. “Oh, hey, I know him.” 

“You do? I thought you hated everyone that went here.” James asked, cocking his head. 

“Oh, I do.” She nodded in agreement. 

“So how do you know him?” Colin questioned. 

Sophie waited until the ball was tipped to answer the question, a few beats too long of a pause. “...We almost hooked up.” She dropped nonchalantly, with a casual shrug. 

“Sorry, you what?” Rafe demanded, his surprise making him too loud for the surrounding crowd, some of who shot him dirty looks. She laughed and nudged his shoulder. “C’mon, pay attention.” 

“Wait, huh? Did I hear you right?” Colin asked, wearing a matching confused expression with the rest of the boys. 

“Yes, you heard me - pay attention, support the team!” She teased, letting out a whoop when Ohio State scored. They went back to paying attention, although a little barb of jealousy poked Rafe every time Brandon Johns got the ball, and he whistled especially loud every time he was up for a free throw. At halftime, they weren’t doing too hot, and James sighed. “Do you have any more alc in that magic bra of yours?” 

“Sadly, no.” She shook her head and Rafe slung his arm around her shoulders, kissing the crown of her head. “Maybe we should have saved ‘em to drown our sorrows.” 

“It’s only halftime, we’re fine.” Colin reassured them. “Besides, I want to hear your story.” 

“My story?” Sophie quirked her brow and James nodded. “Oh yeah, I forgot, I want to hear about Brandon.”  

“Do we really need the story?” Rafe grumbled, getting all protective. 

She laughed and ignored him, clearly loving the opportunity for attention. “There’s not much of a story. He was in town for the rivalry game last year, the night before the game. I was a little drunk -” 

“A little?” James smirked. 

“Well, okay, maybe more than a little. I didn’t recognize him in the bar when he was flirting, I just noticed he was fucking giant, but didn’t really put two and two together.” She paused, sparing a glance at Rafe as her cheeks turned a little red. “I was about to, um, take him home, but he mentioned he wouldn’t be able to stay that long while we were waiting for the Uber.” 

“Because of the game.” Colin deduced. 

“Yeah, exactly. Then some kid came up to him, asking for a picture, and I realized who he was. So I took the Uber home alone and left him on the sidewalk.” 

“Cold, Soph.” Rafe grinned, pleased the story ended there. He wrapped both arms around her from behind, pulling her to lean against his chest.

“Well I wasn’t going to be a traitor. Also, he’s not the best kisser. The height was kind of awkward, you know?” She shrugged and Colin and James cackled while Rafe put his hand over her mouth. “Okay, stop, I don’t want to hear about you with other guys.”

“Nothing happened, and I’ve sure you have your fair share of stories too.” She pointed out. 

“Not quite.” James mumbled, turning away with a small smirk as Rafe shot him a warning glare. Sophie was about to question it until she felt his arms tighten around her a little more, and decided not to push it. 

“You think he remembers you?” Colin asked, laughing as Rafe yelled even louder as Brandon went up for another free throw, his nose wrinkling when he made the shot anyways. 

“Probably not, he probably hooks up with some girl at every away game.” She shrugged.

“You’re pretty memorable.” Rafe argued, pressing a kiss to her temple, arms still around her waist as she leaned against him. 

“You two are different, Cameron, you pined after her for years.” James pointed out and Rafe rolled his eyes but smiled. “Yeah, well, can you blame me?” 

“Sap.” She accused, elbowing him gently in the stomach. He grinned and ghosted his fingers along her side, making her shiver. “Just for you.” 

“Okay, lovebirds, tone it down until we’re home. Rafe, you’re fucking whipped.” Colin teased. When Sophie laughed, he raised his eyebrows. “You're bad too, the two of you flirt daily like you’re trying to get in each other’s bed for the first time.” 

“Lighten up, Colin, it’s young love. Go get laid and you’ll understand.” James chirped good-naturedly. By the end of the game, they were all hoarse and worn out, disappointed by the close loss. Rafe insisted upon Sophie wearing his jacket on the way out and walk back to cover her jersey, just so she didn’t get any unnecessary comments yelled at her (though he was more worried about her trying to snap back at them than whatever they might say).

“I call shotgun!” James yelled once they got close enough to the car, racing Sophie to the door and elbowing her out of the way. Colin laughed and held out his hand. “Want me to drive?” 

“What, Colin, you don’t want to nap with me in the back?” Sophie teased, sliding into the backseat. Rafe handed over the keys and pulled her into the middle seat so she could lean on him on the way home. “Not on my watch.” It only took twenty minutes and a few chill songs from James’ playlist before she was nodding off, curling into his side. 

Rafe eventually contributed less and less to the conversation up front, trying not to wake Sophie, until he caved and fell asleep with his head resting on hers. Naturally, the boys took several live photos of them for blackmail, especially when Rafe grumbled in his sleep and pulled her closer to him. 

Sophie reluctantly kissed him goodbye and waved to the boys once they dropped her off at home, still half asleep. In the short time it took her to get ready for bed and crawl under the covers, she had received a couple texts from Rafe. 

Rafe: Today was fun 

Rafe: I’m glad you’re friends with my friends 

Rafe: *link to Spotify* 

She had to laugh when she clicked on the link to a custom playlist by him, aptly titled ‘songs you’re allowed to sing in the car with me.’ Only one song from her breakup playlist slipped through, because it was one of Rafe’s favorites - Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. 

[rebamacncheese]

THSR Designer’s Notes: The Suit

This is the fourth in a series of posts where I break down the design choices I made for my illustrated Frozen 3 fan-script, True Hans Soul Rebel. Link here if you haven’t read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113293/chapters/66207733

Without further ado, Marie’s suit. 

This suit is next level. Big brain. Peak Marie, as a character. This is when she decides to live bravely - face what she actually wants for the first time in her life, and experiment with self-expression beyond conformity. 

Now, before I go much further on this vein, I should acknowledge that everyone’s gender journey is different. While I like to think Marie’s story has some universal appeal, she’s not meant to, and could never, represent everyone’s experience. Many MTF people glow up from a masculine presentation to a high femme one, and that’s how they live their truth.

But for this story, and this character, I couldn’t see her going from one box of binary expectations to another and finding much happiness that way.  With the suit, she reclaims masculinity - and begins the end of an arc about reclaiming her past actions, her life and all its contradictions. 

Lets break it down. 

The concept of the suit was one of the earliest visual ideas I had for THSR. Here’s a draft, which predates me figuring out what to do with Marie’s sideburns, and most of the plot:

And here’s a slightly later, post-burns draft, which also predates Elsa’s ruffle dress:

Minor color changes and shaping aside, the outline is basically there. All the same things about the fairy tale prince wardrobe that made Hans the most conventional thing in a room make Marie the least. The masculine wear is offset by feminine adjustments to the silhouette - the hair bun, the cinched waist, and the heels. On shaping, Marie’s asymmetrical lapels are a whole choice as well, adapting the boxiness of Hans’ suit jacket for something fragmented, angular, and flattering to Marie’s chest. Gnc af, no attempt at all to appear straight, or even really cis. 

A major inspiration was, of course, Revolutionary Girl Utena. Especially in the waist shaping, themes of defiance, and the palette (we’ll get to colors in a bit)

The whole ball scene, really, is just Beauty and the Beast by way of Utena. Watch out for falling petals, folks!

I ended up changing the skirt-like flared coat tails in the final to a cut that drew more attention to fact that Marie is wearing pants. The pants are going to be a plot point, how Marie’s accidentally clocked by the trolls, so it’s important that they’re uncompromised. 

You have Captain Amelia, fellow sideburns queen, to thank for the new cut:

You also have her to blame for the heels, likely. The heels are impractical, a stretch for the soft butch look, and are really there because I thought they looked foxy. There is some gender-significance to them, if you’ll bear with me. At ~5′10″ (my estimate), Hans was a respectable height for man, while Marie is uncommonly tall for a woman and it’s a source of insecurity for her. Wearing four inch heels anyway, which elevates her a little taller than Kristoff, is a bold flex in that context.  And in Marie’s defense, she didn’t expect to be in action scene that evening. Come the third act, I’m sure she’s grateful that she gets to spend most of the final battle with her feet off the ground. 

The hair bun was, like the best decisions, so simple and something I just did because it felt right, intuitively. But it really makes the look, the capstone if you will, and so I want to talk about how that happened. First, I was watching a lot of Gentleman Jack at the time, and though the bun is just the period, this was in my mind as Victorian Butch Lesbian chic: 

Second, the high bun makes Marie’s profile very reminiscent of the first Disney makeover:

The effect with the suit ends up being a mashup of Prince Charming and Cinderella, effectively Disney canon’s Adam and Eve. 

A note on hair, this is the line I had to walk. I wanted the length to be long on a man, but short for a woman - while still long enough to be bun-able. In other words, Mulan length: 

What are buns? How does gender? Is hair a society?

Moving on. Color!

From the beginning, I wanted the dominant color of the suit to be black, or something very dark. This is in line with what makes Marie romantic to Elsa - she’s brooding, mysterious, anti-heroic. The specific shade I landed on, with midnight blue highlights, matches Elsa’s ruffle dress and ends up matching the black ice of THSR’s title cards. And it pops nicely in the green spring palace. 

The final dark-on-light scheme is an inversion of Hans’ main ensemble in Frozen 1:

And takes the red and gold accents from Hans’ off-white ball ensemble:

This shot is like, the rosetta stone for Marie’s characterization and ancient hansoglyphics btw. 

I see all of the Hans references in the suit design as character-driven on Marie’s end. A part of her walking right up to the line of what she can get away with. She’s almost daring Elsa and Anna to recognize her. 

Earlier versions of the suit played with warm colors more to break up the blocks of black, finding a way to rework the feminine magenta maybe. But, simpler is often better for something memorable, and the suit also has to look good with fiery wings later.

The suit will be destroyed in the end, as it must. 3/3 outfits burned in three days - perfect score, Marie. I do think that after the dust settles, this soft butch style is what she sticks with day-to-day going forward. 

Here’s a version for a christmas special I may or may not get around to:

THSR is a fantasy - on many fronts, including a queer power fantasy. A fairy tale - where my heroine is pressured into a classic feminine makeover, says “fuck it” and shows up to prom in tux. And then the fairest woman at the ball, a goddess in a gown like a waterfall, looks her and thinks “She’s so beautiful, I don’t know how to speak to her”. That’s what the suit is all about, to me, in the end. 

But, y’know, with all the gay, sexy, morally compromised fun we’re having, it seems somebody has gone overlooked, overshadowed. Neglected. What about Frozen’s first heroine? What about Marie’s antagonist?

Next time on the THSR Designer’s Notes, Anna gets off the bench. Watch this space :)

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Happy Birthday Whelm!

@detectivedamian  your birthday gift is a damijon ficlet. enjoy.

For the life of him, Jon couldn’t really understand why Damian liked football. Jon himself had grown up with the game, playing with Clark and Kon. Clark had laughed loud and bright as he tossed the ball around in the farm. Kon had challenged Jon to a high-stakes game that combined four different games using the football in the air. (Jon suspected Kon’s game was secretly a training exercise. The guy had been spending too much time around Tim.) He was on the team in middle school, and he’d been the captain of the high school team for the past three years. The training, the drills, the thrill of the game, the feeling of team: these were things that Jon lived for. Other than fighting, nothing else quite made his blood sing. 

But Damian? Jon had never expected Damian to take to it the way he did. Damian had scoffed at most American traditions and values, insulted people to their face, and complained about the school system enough times that Jon had the lecture memorized. (He was ahead in almost every class due to Damian’s passive-aggressive tutoring, though, so he’s not exactly complaining.) 

Maybe it was the strategy behind it, the different plays and plans Coach had lined up. Tim was the best at that kind of stuff, Jon knew that firsthand, but most people seemed to forget Damian had been trained in strategy and war games in the league. And “war games” was exactly how Damian seem to take this. Ever since Jon had let Damian watch one of his football practices and Damian had stopped the team in the middle of a play to plot out three different holes in their offense, Damian had practically become an honorary team member. Unless it was calculated, the team hadn’t lost a single game. And Damian was determined to keep it that way.

Tonight, just before the final game of the season, Jon’s team was facing off against Central City. (Which? How did they even get to finals in the first place? Central was known for their all-star track team, spanning generations of Allens and Wests, but football? That was a new one.) Damian had given the coach a particularly loathesome glare, and the other team looked terrified without even starting the game. Sometimes Jon forgot how scary Damian was, but it situations like this, it was useful. They had their game plan mapped out, Damian had given each one of them a talking to, Johansson don’t you dare leave your place, Zizka we’ve been running drills so don’t lose your speed, Williamson stop hesitating, you’re on offense for a reason. 

Jon had come up to him cheekily and asked what he needed to do. Damian had raised an eyebrow and said “Don’t suck as much as you usually do, Kent.” His lips were in a half smirk, though, and his tongue curled viciously around Jon’s last name and Jon had to swallow and take a step back.

Regardless, here they were. The big game. Either they won this, and Jon left senior year a happy man, or Damian would never ever let him live it down. There was really only one option here. Jon made eye contact with Damian, who nodded, once. Then, the whistle blew and the game was on.

Things were going good. No, that’s an understatement, things were going great. They ripped apart the opposing team’s strategy like paper, leaving the shredded pieces on the ground as they went through play after successful play. Jon could practically feel the other team’s hopelessness, could taste the sweet, sweet victory in the air. Halftime came and Jon’s team was soaring high. Don’t get overconfident, Damian warned them, but a proud grin was tugging at the edge of his lips. 

The third quarter is when it all went wrong. Williamson went down, hard. Jon heard the crack from across the field, and hoped the injury wasn’t too bad as he chased after the ball, desperate to keep it out of enemy hands. It was too late, though, the other team was in possession. He could feel Damian’s furious scowl, see his dad’s worried eyes fixed on the game even as his mom shouted in Central’s general direction. The third quarter ticked by, losing most of the ground they had gained.

The fourth and final quarter came, the team abiding by Damian’s quickly thought out plan, hesitantly regaining their footing. But it was too little, too late. They weren’t going to make it. The clock swallowed up seconds, and Central gained the lead, though Jon’s team clawed and fought their way to make sure it was only by a little. There were thirteen seconds left on the clock, and Central was 5 points ahead. The play was at the far end of the field.

The only way for them to win was for someone to run across most of the length of the field and score a touchdown. And as the ball came hurtling towards Jon, time slowed down, and he contemplated doing just that.

He could make it, he knew he could make it. A touch of superspeed, a hint of strength when pushing the other players out of the way, and they’d win the game. And Jon was only using his own talents, right? But that felt wrong, it felt so wrong. It felt like cheating. Abruptly, Jon remembered all the drills Damian had put him through, for both football and hero-ing, how he had told Jon you can’t always rely on your powers. He remembered the determination in every line of Damian’s body, whether it was in the sidelines of one of Jon’s games or standing back-to-back with Superboy as Robin, facing down impossible odds yet again. Damian had trained him for this. He had trained for this. He could do this.

Jon dropped his invulnerability, tapped out of his strength, tapped out of his superspeed. Time returned to normal. This was it.

The ball flew into Jon’s outstretched hands like it was meant to be there, and the minute it made contact, Jon took off running. Feet pounding the grass, heartbeat thumping in his ears, the bright lights overlooking the fields. Jon ducked and weaved through the other players, pushing himself to go faster, faster. The people in the stands were building up a roar. The clock was ticking down. He just ran and ran and ran until-

Jon crossed the end zone line and slammed the football on the ground with every bit of normal strength he had. The buzzer went off: time was up, the scores were in.

They won the game.

The crowd was bursting up and cheering. Jon could hear his mom’s screams, his dad’s wolf whistles. The team crowded around Jon, yelling and jumping, their faces overflowing with joy as they clustered around him. Coach had the trophy, and he held it above his head, pumping it up and down, whooping his pleasure. He handed it over to Jon, and wow. It felt solid, heavy, almost unreal. Jon held it up so everyone on the team could put their hand around it. 

Then, for some reason the crowd around Jon parted. Jon was confused, because there was practically nothing that could separate the team at a time like this. Then he looked up, and understood. Damian stood there, a wild and reckless grin on his face, and Jon’s breath caught. He was wearing Jon’s football jacket, the fabric clinging to his shoulders over his tight black turtleneck and proclaiming a statement as bold as night. He walked over to Jon, confident and sure, and looked up at Jon, pride in his eyes.

“You won.”

“Yeah, we did.” Jon’s voice was breathless.

Damian’s grin widened. “Congratulations.”

And then he was pulling Jon in for a kiss, hard and fierce and unforgiving. Startling for just a second, Jon drew Damian in, surprised but pleased when he came willingly. He kissed back with the same passion that had his feet pounding the ground, the same fervor that had his blood singing all throughout the game, reveling in the feeling of Damian pulling him to the ground, biting his lips, claiming him.

He drew back and gasped in air, wide-eyed and lighter than air, as the whoops and catcalls of the team around him filtered into Jon’s brain.

“I-you, you kissed me.”

“You deserved it.” Something in Damian’s tone let Jon knew that Damian knew. He knew what Jon was thinking on the field, knew he was about to use his powers, and knew that he ultimately decided against it. He knew that Jon put every ounce of his determination to win this game by himself, and Damian was proud.

Yeah, football brought out the best in Jon. And maybe that was why Damian enjoyed it so much.

This was cheesy as FUCK oh my GOD. I have no knowledge of how football works, don’t hold it against me. Once again, happy birthday Whelm! tag list: @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @comicsandhoney @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg @thebatsandbirdsofgotham @astroherogirl @subtleappreciation

[xbaepsae]

the ebb and flow | part six

“You’re trying really hard not to laugh. But it’s difficult to suppress laughter when the situation calls for it. So, for probably the first time ever, you laugh in front of Jeon Jeongguk.”

[demigod!jeongguk x demigod!reader]

genre: percy jackson!au, mythology!au, demigod!au, enemies to lovers!au

word count: 2k

rating: pg-13

warnings: language, the usual character tension, a brief moment of softness??

a/n: hi it’s been quite a while since my last update. but i really hope you enjoy this chapter :) xoxo

→ series masterlist!

the fourth summer – in which there is an inspection

The last week of summer at camp is always a memorable one—be it the late nights by the beach or the insane amount of chaos that seems to ensue every year.

For example, last summer, there was a monster that managed to break through the barrier. Fortunately, everyone was able to react promptly, and the monster was sent to Tartarus; at least, that’s what you think happened. At the end of the day, you’re just happy it hasn’t happened again since then.

This summer as the new camp counselor for your cabin—after Jinyoung so graciously handed you his title before heading off to New Rome—has been an interesting one; and least to say, you’re going to miss your little legion of cabinmates. It’s been fun leading them around—to greatness, of course.

But before summer can truly end, you need to make it to your last Senior Counsel meeting of the season.

Running to the Big House, you rush into the Rec Room with hopes that you’re not the only person who’s behind schedule. You hate that the one morning you oversleep is the one morning you have somewhere to be. In the Rec Room, you notice that all of the other Head Counselors have already arrived.

“Why, y/n, thank you for joining us,” Mr. D’s mouth curves into a frown.

You wince. “Sorry for running late.”

“You’re only a few minutes late,” Chiron waves his hand. “Take your place, y/n.”

Bypassing your grumpy camp director, you take your seat in-between Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok around the dingy ping pong table. The son of Ares offers you a narrow look—probably still upset you snatched his flag from underneath his nose last week—which you return with the same enthusiasm. “Can I help you, Park?”

“Don’t mind mister grouchy-pants over there,” Hoseok suddenly speaks up. “He clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Not all of us can wake up as chipper as you, Hobi,” Jimin uses the son of Apollo’s infamous nickname.

“Well, I can’t help it if the sun makes me happy.”

“Everything makes you happy. It’s quite sickening, actually.”

Quickly, you realize that this little banter could seriously get out of hand. Luckily, you’re not the only one. Chiron takes a quick look at them and clears his throat. “That’s enough you two; we only have one week left of summer.”

“And there’s much you heroes have to do,” Mr. D adds, popping the tab of his Diet Coke. “I cannot wait for you little vermin to be gone; except for you, y/n…you never seem to want to leave.”

“I would if I could,” you roll your eyes. “I guess we’ll just be stuck here together.”

“Speaking of things to do,” Chiron changes the conversation, “there is one major thing left to be done before the end of summer.”

“Are we throwing a party?” Kim Seokjin asks, hair and face looking as perfect as ever.

Chiron frowns. “No, and there better not be anything of the sort happening in Cabin Ten.”

For a moment, you swear the son of Aphrodite’s eyes are shimmering. “Of course not, unless you want to throw us a party. A party seems fun.”

“A party does seem fun,” Chiron suddenly agrees. “We haven’t had one of those in a while…”

Seokjin’s eyes grow wider. “I want huge balloons and an extravagant display table. Also, is there any way to hire a DJ? No offense, but lyre playing is so ancient.”

“That could probably be arranged…” Chiron trails off, like he’s not even aware of what he’s saying.

“Cut it with the Charmspeak, Lim Sejin.”

The son of Aphrodite’s eyes whip to Dionysus. “It’s Kim Seokjin, Mr. D.”

“Lim Sejin, Kim Seokjin—same thing,” the god of wine rolls his eyes. “But seriously kid, cut it out. We’ve got serious business to attend to.”

“Fine,” Seokjin crosses his arms. “As you were saying, Chiron?”

Chiron blinks a few times. “Oh, yes—the major thing that must be done is cabin inspection.”

The entire Senior Counsel seems to tense at that. It’s not that everyone is a total slob, but cabin inspection is so tedious. There’s a reason it’s only done once in a while. And sometimes, you do end up finding some disgusting beds. The Hermes Cabin is always questionable. You’ve never had to do cabin inspection, and you don’t plan on it.

“Are there any volunteers?” Chiron continues. “You all know two counselors need to perform the tasks.”

As Chiron says that, everyone starts to look at Kim Taehyung. When he realizes that you’re all looking at him, he begins to shake his head aggressively. “No way—I did inspection last time. Besides, I’m busy with the Pegasi—I don’t have time to check all the cabins.”

He is right—the son of Zeus does have a lot of other responsibilities. But you all looked at him first because he is just so good at taking on different tasks.

“Okay, so excluding Taehyung…any volunteers?” Chiron asks again. No one dares to look at him. “Come on, heroes. There are worse things to do here.”

While there is some truth to that statement, no one budges. But for some reason, you feel compelled to offer your service? The thought of coming into contact with stinky socks is less than ideal, but you want to prove to Chiron and Mr. D that you’re serious about being Head Counselor of your cabin. And you want to make your mother proud.

So, almost subconsciously, you raise your hand. “I’ll do it, Chiron.”

Everyone’s head swivels toward you. Surprise and interest simultaneously mares their faces. Even Mr. D looks shocked that you spoke up—his Diet Coke spilling from his hand.

“Great, y/n!” Chiron exclaims. “Anyone want to join her?”

“I’ll do it.” For the first time today, your eyes look in his direction. Jeon Jeongguk stares back at you with his signature smirk plastered onto his dumb face. “I’ll help y/n out with cabin inspection.”

Chiron hums, probably wondering why your sworn enemy is offering to assist you. “Interesting. You may join her, Jeongguk.”

“I’ll gladly take anyone else but Jeon,” you groan. “Chiron don’t make us do inspection together. Please.”

“You’ll be fine, y/n. It’s just one day of cabin inspection. It’ll be fun.” Chiron says as he moves onto the next topic, something about the dining pavilion.

“Come on, y/n,” Jeongguk taunts with a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

***

It’ll be fun, they said.

Walking towards Cabin One with your clipboard, you turn around and watch as Jeongguk slowly follows behind you. In his hand, he carries his own clipboard and pen. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Sure, captain,” he mock salutes you, pen now hanging out of his mouth.

You roll your eyes and continue towards Zeus’s cabin. Once you’re in front of the white marble structure, you take in the columns and bronze decorations. Cabin One is the biggest of all the cabins—to reflect Zeus’s position as King of Olympus; you don’t think you’ll ever get over the robust columns and cold exterior.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“Shut it, Jeon,” you order, knocking on the door. It opens mid-tap, revealing a smiling Taehyung. He opens the door wider, allowing you both to walk in.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the son of Zeus says, revealing a pretty empty cabin.

You notice a few beds in the corner, but that’s about it for the furniture. In the middle of the room, boasts a rather intimidating statue of the god of thunder himself. The statue seems to stand ten feet tall, and you wonder how Taehyung can even stand to live in such a space. You voice this thought out loud, to which only seems to make the son of Zeus rumble with laughter.

“I’m just used to it, I guess. The others don’t mind either.”

Walking around the room, you can’t help but give Cabin One a perfect score—if anything, you feel like it’s almost too pristine in here. Looking over your shoulder, you notice Jeongguk giving the same score.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” you ask, not waiting for Jeongguk to give you an answer before you’re walking away.

The two of you bypass Cabin Two—which belongs to Hera herself and means no one lives there—and make your way towards Cabin Three. You allow Jeongguk to walk in front of you—since this is his place, after all—and you don’t miss the way sweat begins to bead along his brow.

“I hope for your sake, the cabin’s clean,” you remark, to which he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sure my siblings cleaned up…” he trails off, seemingly unsure of his own words.

Jeongguk opens the door of the gray sea-shelled building and reveals a dark interior. His half-siblings are nowhere to be found, probably off doing their activities. You follow Jeongguk inside and watch as he switches the lights on. For the first time, you take in the glowing walls and the ceiling that makes the cabin appear as it’s underwater. There is also a fountain that looks like a fish in the room; and as you’re staring at the water sprouting from its mouth, you see it.

The last bed in the row is trashed—the sheets have been haphazardly thrown everywhere and clothes hang from each corner like a monster rolled through the space or something. On the floor beside the bed, there are even more clothes and random things; like miniature figurines of Hippocampi and other sea creatures.

You don’t realize it, but your mouth had dropped open. “Styx…who’s bed is that?”

Slowly, you turn to face your enemy. You expect him to be ready with a snide comment, except he seems at a loss for words. Jeongguk’s face is devoid of color and he looks absolutely horrified. You put two and two together, realizing that the trashed bed belongs to him.

“I am going to kill them,” he barely says above a whisper. For a second, you almost feel kind of bad for the son of Poseidon; then again, why should you feel bad for him? You don’t even like him. “When I asked them to clean up, I didn’t mean for them to give me all of their shit!”

You’re trying really hard not to laugh. But it’s difficult to suppress laughter when the situation calls for it. So, for probably the first time ever, you laugh in front of Jeon Jeongguk. It starts off as simple air passing between your lips, but soon morphs into something full-bellied as you feel laughter vibrate throughout your whole body.

He looks at you with wide eyes—probably thinking you’ve lost your mind—but you can’t help it. You can barely muster the words, “T-This is gold.”

As you shut your eyes, tears practically fall from them as you continue to laugh, you miss something. You miss the way Jeongguk’s wide eyes soften a bit as he continues to stare at you. The softness doesn’t last long, and you probably wouldn’t have caught it because his gaze becomes sharp in a blink, but it was there. It was real. Though he would never admit it to you.

“Shut up,” he says instead, which gradually sobers you up. “This is humiliating.”

You nod. “Oh, absolutely.” This causes Jeongguk to frown. “And I am so giving you a terrible grade for this.”

Focusing back on the task at hand, you give Cabin Three a big fat one out of five—much to the disappointment of a certain cabin member. As Jeongguk grades himself, you raise an eyebrow when he gives himself a modest score of three.

“What?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

“Three? C’mon, Jeon,” you roll your eyes. “You must see the destruction that is your bed.”

He scrunches his face. “But it’s not even my mess!”

You give him a look; one that says don’t fuck around right now. And it seems to work because Jeongguk, albeit begrudgingly, changes the three next to his cabin to a one. By the time he looks up again, you’re already halfway out the door.

“Come on, Jeon; we don’t have all day!”

[aion-rsa]

Ranking Cinderella Adaptations

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A dream is a wish your heart makes, and if your wish is to see countless takes on the beloved fairy tale of Cinderella, then consider your dreams having come true many times over—including this year, with a new Cinderella by way of Amazon Studios. This latest adaptation seems to have combined qualities of many of its predecessors: it’s playfully anachronistic and eschews the traditional Disney or Rodgers & Hammerstein songs in favor of a tracklist of modern pop covers; it also engages with Cinderella’s career aspirations beyond fitting her foot into a glass slipper.

But this Cinderella owes everything to the other soot-stained girls, animated and otherwise, who wished with all their hearts for decades before her. How does the new adaptation compare to the modern fairy tales, animated classics, and another fairy tale riff with an outstanding Stephen Sondheim tune? Check out our ranking of Cinderella adaptations, from worst to best.

10. A Cinderella Story (2004)

This cult classic is a clever retelling, with peak early-aughts casting of Hilary Duff and Chad Michael Murray as the star-crossed, Cyrano de Bergerac-inspired lovers: Sam toils away at her late father’s Southern California diner, under the heel of a delightful Jennifer Coolidge as her vain stepmother, while Austin is the closest thing to high school royalty as the quarterback with a sensitive side. Regina King as the longtime diner employee-turned-metaphorical fairy godmother who gets Sam to the homecoming masquerade dance is the other key bit of casting, but you’d have to really be a fan of the “fairy tales in high school” subgenre to get on board. Plus, the stable of derivative direct-to-video sequels makes the sparkle wear off with each new, formulaic installment released.

9. Cinderella (2021)

Kay Cannon’s (Pitch Perfect) progressive plot urging entrepreneurial dressmaker Ella (Camilla Cabello), her bitterly materialistic stepmother (Idina Menzel), and other original female characters to choose themselves over the supposed security of marriage is not quite enough to balance the cringey modern soundtrack and anachronistic witticisms. It’s too bad, because this Cinderella puts forth ambitious ideas, and any production with Billy Porter as the fairy godmother should be nothing but fabulous. Compared to most of her predecessors, this Cinderella is a distinctively fresh role model for the next generation of kids, but adults won’t find much magic in her story.

8. Ella Enchanted (2004)

This is a tough one, because the source material—that is, Gail Carson Levine’s 1997 middle grade novel—is unquestionably one of the very best Cinderella adaptations: Ella’s curse of obedience is an apt commentary on manipulating young girls into giving up their agency under the guise of people-pleasing. But the film—despite its adorable, baby-faced stars Anne Hathaway and Hugh Dancy—overcomplicates an already daring plot with a throne-stealing subplot (that Cary Elwes, as the unnecessary evil uncle, can’t save) and an unforgivably cheesy cover of Queen’s “Somebody to Love.” Hathaway’s voice is sweeter than Nicholas Galitzine’s rendition in the new Cinderella, but the giants dressed in early-aughts miniskirts strain even the most loose definitions of fantasy. Despite all that, it (mostly) sells Ella struggling against abuses of her obedience in a way that’s still more revelatory than many straight adaptations. Still, you’ve got plenty of better movie choices; forget this adaptation and just read the book.

7. Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1965)

Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II originally wrote their classic musical for television broadcast instead of the stage, though it has found its way to the latter. CBS’ second TV production (following the original 1957 version starring Julie Andrews) introduced a bright-eyed Lesley Ann Warren (a.k.a. Miss Scarlet from Clue) as Cinderella, and unlike its predecessor was able to be recorded in color. Between the vivid hues, Warren’s expressive acting, and the array of sets, it all contributed to the feeling of watching a taped performance—an incredibly charming one, at that. But the effect does come off as overwrought at times, making it the lowest of the three specifically Rodgers & Hammerstein adaptations on the list.

6. Cinderella (2015)

While visually Kenneth Branagh’s live-action adaptation of the animated Disney classic hews so closely to its source material that it feels like a lost opportunity to be more original, there are some sly plot tweaks. Lily James’ Ella is not hopelessly naïve about her abusive home situation, yet manages to keep up the mantra of “have courage and be kind” through even the worst mistreatment. Streamlining the classic songs to score strengthens the plot, with Ella’s rare occasion of singing being what ultimately saves her. Fans of the blue dress and romantic vibe will have much to swoon over, even if they’re not surprised.

5. Into the Woods (2014)

Or, then, what if I am? / What a Prince would envision? / But then how can you know / Who you are til you know / What you want? Which I don’t… Anna Kendrick brings us a relatably existential Cinderella in this movie adaptation of Stephen Sondheim’s musical about various fairy tale characters who wind up with questionably happy ever afters—including Cinderella, who decides “not to decide,” then ends up with a philandering Prince. It’s not a complete Cinderella story, but it’s a more memorable performance in a handful of scenes than entire movies have attempted.

4. Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1957)

Despite only surviving in black-and-white form, CBS’ original TV broadcast shines thanks to its star: Julie Andrews, then performing My Fair Lady on Broadway, who makes this Cinderella both an amalgamation of her then-current and future roles and a performance all its own. You can see glimmers of her comic talents as Maria in The Sound of Music—this Cinderella also has more wit than other versions—but it’s her voice that elevates Rodgers & Hammerstein’s adaptation of Charles Perrault’s fairy tale into something timeless.

3. Cinderella (1950)

Few Cinderella adaptations have achieved the same sweeping sense of sheer romance in the Disney animated classic: the painted backgrounds, the dreamy sequences reflected in soap bubbles and sparkling through the palace gardens, the surprisingly high emotional stakes that make the resolution all the sweeter. And while it’s become a common Disney trope, the requisite scene in which the stepsisters cruelly rip apart Cinderella’s dress adds a layer of wickedness not present in the Rodgers & Hammerstein adaptations, nor successfully recreated in any of the live-action versions. The same goes for the goofy mice singing “Cinderelly, Cinderelly”—every subsequent CGI mouse lacks the warmth that goes into a believable animal companion. That said, the animated movie’s legacy is somewhat marred by its direct-to-video sequels of diminishing returns, though you also have to give them props for pulling an Avengers: Endgame 12 years earlier with Cinderella 3: A Twist in Time.

2. Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1997)

For many of us, Disney’s animated Cinderella was a childhood classic, but The Wonderful World of Disney’s ‘90s production was the first time the story truly felt magical. Rodgers & Hammerstein’s songs were updated with contemporary beats, bridging the forty years between the first broadcast and this version: “Impossible” is one of the best songs from the show, but it hasn’t been truly sung until Whitney Houston is belting it out to a starry-eyed Brandy. The production’s effortlessly diverse casting—Whoopi Goldberg as the queen, Paolo Montalban as the prince, Bernadette Peters as the stepmother—only amplifies the universal nature of the story. Almost twenty-five years later, this adaptation still feels like the television event it was when it premiered.

1. Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998)

A truly successful adaptation is one that doesn’t have to feel beholden to its source material. By opening with the Brothers Grimm explaining the inspiration behind their own interpretation of Cinderella, Ever After rewrites all of the familiar themes into a historical fiction—specifically, Renaissance-era France—context. Danielle’s (Drew Barrymore) misfortune as an orphan servant girl is so believable thanks to the cruelty of her stepmother’s (Anjelica Huston, a legend) abuse, but so is her determination and ingenuity to rise above her station. While Disney’s animated Cinderella is romantic, Ever After is a romance: Danielle disguises herself as a comtesse in order to spend time with Prince Henry (Dougray Scott), and they develop an actual relationship, complete with rejection once her subterfuge is revealed. Plus, Leonardo da Vinci is there for comic relief and an unintentional fairy godmother assist! If you want your Cinderella story with a compelling feminist arc but you’re also burnt out on the songs, this is your happily ever after.

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Cinderella will begin streaming on Amazon Video on September 3rd.

The post Ranking Cinderella Adaptations appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Final Fantasy VI Review

Year: 1994

Original Platform: Super Nintendo (originally released as Final Fantasy III in the West)

Also available on: Playstation One (Final Fantasy Anthology), Game Boy Advance, Android, iOS, Steam

Version I Played: Game Boy Advance

Synopsis:

Terra is a slave used by the Gestahl Empire because of her magic powers. The Gestahl Empire seeks to hunt down espers (summons) and harness their powers too, effectively killing them. Terra escapes their clutches and falls into the hands of the Returners – a small band of rebels hoping to return freedom to the world.

Gameplay:

Final Fantasy VI doesn’t exactly add anything super-new to the gameplay unlike its predecessors. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong or boring with it. It has an ATB system and each character, like in Final Fantasy IV, specialize in certain jobs. Therefore, each character has a special unique ability that no other character can perform.

I find the style of the game unique for its time because you can easily split the game into two parts. There's a pivotal point in the story that changes everything. The first half is a typical story-driven RPG. The second half is actually more open world. With a huge cast of characters, you are not actually required to end the game with all of them. The second half of the game offers a unique style where you can take on the final boss with what you’ve got, or hunt down the rest of the cast members and then take on the final boss.  

 Graphics:

This is the SNES in its prime. Character sprites are much bigger, and the world looks so much more detailed and vibrant. Shadow looked weird though. Sometimes you had to squint to discern what his face actually looked like. Other than that, the game looks great! It’s notable for utilizing more graphics power from the SNES in some cutscenes, and also when you fly an airship.

The PlayStation One version again has a FMV sequence that hasn’t aged well at all. Okay, maybe it’s a tad bit better, but that’s not saying much.

Story:

One of the biggest debates in recent Final Fantasy fandom is asking whether Final Fantasy VI or Final Fantasy VII is better. While I won’t get into Final Fantasy VII much now, it was always the most popular game in the series. It seems that in recent years, gamers have retroactively judged Final Fantasy VI as the best Final Fantasy game of all time.

I wish I had appreciated more when I was a kid. When I first played it then, I actually despised it. I was much more critical about stories back then. For whatever reason, I didn't think the world building was coherent. I also wasn’t used to Final Fantasy games by then.

I finished Final Fantasy VI about four years ago, and that time I was taken by it. I became enlightened and completely changed my opinion of it from sour to sweet. I wish I could erase my memory on playing it only so that I could experience it for the first time and appreciate it for the first time. I had already known most about what happened in the story, so I really wish I could experience the shock and awe of it brand new. Final Fantasy VI does things with its story that no other Final Fantasy game has done. It has drama, it has brevity, it has an amazing cast of heroes and villains. To date, it has the most playable characters in a Final Fantasy game.

The plot even incorporates a little opera that you sit through.

 At first glance, Final Fantasy VI seems derivative. There is once again an evil empire seeking to control the world, and there is once again a rebellion. People often make the parallel to Star Wars, much like Final Fantasy II. The name “Returners” doesn’t quite stick with me personally as the name of an epic rebellion. Final Fantasy VI also created the recurring characters Biggs and Wedge, a further nod to Star Wars.

But you have to look past the simple setup of a ragtag rebellion fighting an evil empire. First of all, the steampunk setting is one of the most original in a Final Fantasy game to date, and hasn’t really been revisited. The world dabbles in late 19th century architecture, with fine arts and opera. The empire is only beginning to realize the ancient power of magic, and combines it with technology to make “Magitek”, starting a sort of “industrial revolution”. The opening scene to this game is one of the most memorable. Terra, under the empire’s mind control device, in her magitek armor with Biggs and Wedge, trudging through the snow as the opening credits roll by, comes off as a real live-action movie.

 While the official creators say that there isn’t a main character, I still say it’s Terra. If not, she’s at least the most important. She propels the plot forward. She’s one of those rare great female protagonists in a video game RPG. She’s more than just “a strong female character”. She has depth as she tries to find her place in the world, and other characters, such as the thief Locke, try to help her.

 Also, just like Final Fantasy V, Final Fantasy VI has its own villainous goofball - Ultros.

He’s not quite as charming as Gilgamesh, but he acts in the same manner regardless.

 Each character has their own story – no matter how small or big. They’ve all lost loved ones, or suffered hardships, and the central theme about the entire game is really about grief and dealing with it even in the face of nihilism.

 Nihilism comes in the form of Kefka - Emperor Gestahl's court mage. Kefka did the whole nihilistic evil clown thing before Heath Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight. Kefka retroactively rose to popularity, rivaling longtime favorite villain Sepiroth from Final Fantasy VII as the best Final Fantasy villain.

 Final Fantasy VI deals with heavy topics. I was shocked that it even dared to show a scene of attempted suicide. Things get dark. Really dark. But Final Fantasy VI deals the darkness with such elegance. I admire its ability to treat such heavy plots for basically children.

The ending to this game is probably the most epic out of any Final Fantasy game. I can gush with details but this is meant to be a spoiler - free review. I just have to say – E P I C. But the most admirable thing I just have to say is that it treats Terra’s journey with the utmost respect and tact. It doesn’t try to define her by having some hokey romantic subplot.

Music:

Another legendary score. Given the tone and atmosphere of the story, the score reflects something darker. Right away, the opening titles before you begin is accompanied by foreboding music. With the exception of battle themes, the story demanded that Uematsu put away most of his drumming and rock undertones for a more conventional, instrumental score with pathos. It sounds most like the score to an actual fantasy movie, very operatic and Wagner-like.

Shadow’s theme sounds inspired by typical Western movie fare, being that he is a drifter. In fact, Final Fantasy VI’s score is diverse in tones with its character themes, which is obvious once you think about where all the characters come from. Cyan’s theme has Asian influences. The theme for the Veldt, a stretch of wilderness, has a jungle beat. Then of course there’s the opera music. Many Final Fantasy concerts, such as Distant Worlds, play the opera about the fictional characters Draco and Maria. Kekfa, the villain, has a jovial but sinister theme scattered throughout. Terra’s theme is practically the main theme of the game, and it too is referenced throughout.

The end credits song is a whopping 21 minutes and 36 seconds. It goes through every single character’s theme and more. The entire soundtrack is 3 hours long. I don’t think any other game at the time had a soundtrack that long.

 Notable Theme:

 “Dancing Mad”

To me, Dancing Mad is Nobuo Uematsu's magnum opus. It is a sprawling 8-minute epic for the final battle.

Verdict:

A must-play. Any RPG fan will love this game. Any RPG fan SHOULD play this game. There’s nothing obnoxious or vainglorious here. Every subsequent Final Fantasy game tried to live up to its drama and scope, but with all of them falling short ever so slightly.

Direct Sequel?

No. Thank God.

[fenweak]

High School AUs

College/University AUs

⭐ A+ fics (imho) | All of the recs

High School AUs

High Scores by popfly ⭐

Kaner is a DDR master, Jonny is ultra-competitive. Bollig just wants to make out with Shawzy.

Dynamical Systems by jezziejay ⭐ - math geek patrick! jock jonny!

Jonny’s plenty smart, but there’s hockey practice just before a double math period every Tuesday and Wednesday morning. He gets to class on time. Physically, he’s there. But his mind is still on the ice. Throw in a kidney infection that keeps him home for two weeks, and Jonny’s struggling. Not failing, but that C is dragging his GPA down, and his mom is making clucking noises. The same noises that mean hockey time is coming up for review.

There’s a note on the student boards advertising tutoring.

promise i'm worthy (to hold in your arms) [One and Only series] - teenage angst and american douchebags ft. ryan kesler

"So come on and give me a chance to prove I am the one who can walk that mile."

love is a contact sport by hazel, mermaid  ⭐ - high school soulmates!

"And the tragic reality of Patrick's life is that even though they broke up over a year ago, he and Johnny still play beautiful hockey together."

A high school AU, featuring dream-fish, bad movie dates, and a little bit of magic.

Movie Nights or Five Times Jonny Wanted Popcorn (and One Time He Didn’t) by CoffeeKristin

Patrick had only been working at the movie theater a few weeks when a noisy bunch of boys from his high school burst through the doors just before the last showing of Captain America: Civil War and come tumbling into the lobby, whooping it up. He sighed and put down the containers of popcorn he was counting, mentally preparing himself for the asshattery he was likely to endure.

“What can I get you?” he asked the crowd, and true to form, no one was listening so he waited another moment. Finally one of the boys got pushed to the front, stumbling into the counter. “Fuck, Duncs, not so hard,” he said, and oh. That was Jonathan Toews: Captain of the high school soccer team, president of the student council, son of the mayor. Basically, everything Patrick wasn’t.

do it how you want it done ⭐

(very vaguely) grease-inspired high school au.

yeah, i went there.

kissing your honeyed eyes by forochel

The one that's the British boarding school AU.

This Is What A Love Song Sounds Like by fourfreedoms  ⭐ - reunion fic but god the flashbacks! the angst!

When he came out after his freshman year of college his mother said she’d always known, and he’d had to fight down the bizarre wave of paranoia that maybe everybody knew, maybe they’d all just been letting him sweat all those years. It was crazy of course, there was only one person who’d known, who had any idea.Patrick Kane.

Ten years after they fucked around in high school, Patrick and Jonny meet back up at their high school reunion.

roll with it by hazel  ⭐

The one where a bunch of Blackhawks inexplicably go to boarding school, Tazer is the world's meanest DM, and Pat doesn't know why anyone would think cutting the head off a hydra was good idea.

Light Me Up by sahiya - where they both went to Shattuck!

Being serious about hockey always meant Patrick would have to leave home. For a long time he thought it would be for juniors and a billet family. But things don't go as planned, and he finds himself at Shattuck-St. Mary's.

His roommate's name is Jonathan Toews. He can't keep his water bottles on his side of the room, and he's unfortunately, stupidly hot. Because Patrick's life sucks.

boot theory by mentalistecbm - teen angst, break up

Everyone knows that they're broken up.

glory days by liketheroad ⭐ - soulmate, teen angst

He never expected his destiny to involve anything but hockey, never thought it would show up in flip flops, but when Patrick smiles at him across the locker room, quick and surprised, Johnny lets his priorities shift and change without a hint of reluctance or regret.

There's Only Blood Running In My Veins by mikarala - pwp

Patrick and Jonny are making out in Patrick’s bedroom when Jonny says it. “I--I,” he stutters out, in between a moan, “I want you to fuck me.”

Gold Seeking Ends by liveinfury - Flipped AU

“Wanna go on the tire swing with me after?” Jonny asks.

“No,” Patrick answers.

“Oh,” Jonny says, looking deflated. “What about the jungle gym?”

“Nope."

“Um, okay,” Jonny says, shrugging before walking away.Sam giggles some more. “I can’t believe Jonny, the dirt eater, likes you.”Patrick smirks at him. “Everyone likes me.”

(or Patrick and Jonny meet in the second grade. Jonny's instantly smitten, Patrick is...not. Ten years later, things start flipping.)

Keep Calm and Don't Think of Star Wars podfic by exmanhater ⭐ - A Clueless AU

After I once again assure Abby that Johnny and I are not, NOT related (by googling the difference between half-brother and stepbrother because jesus fucking christ am I am the only knowledgeable one around here?), she agrees to help.

but i can write a song 

“We’re not going to be called Jonny and the Patricks,” Jonny says, sounding entirely too put upon  about a name that’s clearly awesome.

[or; the high school band au you probably didn't ask for]

lost in brightness - pat, jon and a crowded train

“You’re gonna get caught one day,” Jonny sighs, herding Pat in front of him as they squeeze onto  the train, the crowd thicker than usual. It’s been raining on and off, fall well and truly taking the city in  its grasp. Jonny’s already looking forward to meeting Pat by his house every morning, red-cheeked  and rugged up, his face barely visible between his toque and scarf.

you're mending what's broken - a stats nerd Patrick story

The guy who sits behind Jonny in AP Stats wants to know how  many shots on goal he had last Tuesday. Or at least, that's how it starts.

A high school AU featuring stats nerd Kaner and his Tragic Hockey  Backstory (TM), without much time or inclination toward actual tragedy. Instead there is  discussion of Corsi. And kissing.

Examine Other Beauties by kiwoa - theater kids!

"I," Jonny says, and he slips his headset up from around his neck to nestle over his ears, "am not an actor."

"Good thing I don't need you to act."

"No."

"Jonny."

"Patrick."

"Please?" Kaner cants forward and tilts his face up to blink at Jonny. In the fluttering light that filters in from the stage, his eyes look unnaturally pale. "Just read the lines, okay? I want to see how well I've memorized them."

Jonny scrubs a hand over his face. The motion knocks his mike askew. "One scene."

A/S/L  ⭐ - 90s teenaged kids meeting on webcam omg

The internet is a dangerous place, or:

Patrick and Jonny meet, lie through their teeth, and fall in love. Mostly that last part.

Actual Prom King Brandon Saad by popfly  ⭐

Patrick might be a little jealous of the new kid.

Sure Brandon is basically the prom king from every feel-good teenage movie Patrick’s sisters have made him watch, but that doesn’t mean Jonny wants that.

Sign it with your heart by tictactoews + podfic by exmanhater  ⭐

Patrick loses a bet and is dared to plant an anonymous love letter into a random locker. It just so happens that the locker belongs to one Jonathan Toews, captain of the school hockey team.Meanwhile, Jonny finds himself in need of a math tutor, and following the advice of his teacher, he asks the new kid, Patrick Kane, for help.

a complicated kindness by liketheroad - young and figuring out d/s  ⭐

Patrick still remembers how scared Sharpy looked, just for a second there. He remembers not understanding why anyone would back away from Johnny when he was like that, why they wouldn’t want to strain closer, pushing to see how much further he’d go.

What Comes Easy by impertinence - summer camp of angst

Kaner's determined to never grow up; Tazer's determined to grow up as quickly as possible. Over eleven years of summer camp, they learn to meet in the middle. Set in stlkrchk's Camp Quaquanantuck universe.

mathletes are totally athletes by ukiyo91, yukonecho

Mathlete Patrick Kane never thought that when he was assigned to tutor hockey jock Jonathan Toews that he would be swept up into a new sport...or into Captain Serious.

Toews was like the guild leader Patrick had always aspired to be in WoW, but more of an asshole.

i'll be the embrace that keeps you warm by longtime_lurker - huddling for warmth

It is like death, but it is not death; lovelier. / Cold, inconvenienced, late, what will you do now / with the gift of your left life?

Clumsy by CoffeeKristin - a short first kiss fic uwu

“Knock it off,” she hissed at him. “He’s looking at you!”

“Who?” Patrick said, his head swiveling around, resulting in Erica smacking him again. “Hey! Quit hitting me!”

“Then quit being an idiot,” she huffed. “Jonny Toews, you dunce. He’s looking over here, and you’re biting on the string of your hoodie like a moron.”

look around once in a while by achilleees

One man’s struggle to take it easy.

Based off of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” but instead of girlfriends and daddy issues, there’s hockey and pining. And daddy issues.

Summer Lovin' by CoffeeKristin - est. relationship insecurities

Patrick's home from summer camp, and Jonny's first on his list of to-do's. Somehow a little actual angst/plot worked it's way in. But mostly it's just porn.

Ninety-Nine Point Three Percent by jimtiberiuskirk - best friends mutually pining

The problem is, is that Patrick is 99.3% sure that Jonny knows all about his giant, embarrassing man-crush on him.

bring it if you really want it by staraflur - harry potter AU

It starts like this:

Well, okay, Patrick has no idea how it actually starts. But as pertains to him (in other words, the important part), it goes a little something like so:

America, being a nation composed in large part of a melting pot of immigrants who may or may not have taken over land already owned by others using less-than-savory means, doesn’t have much of a magical national identity. Much less a magical continental identity. There’s no grand heritage going back thousands of years. Magical families home-schooled all their kids until, like, the 1800’s, and tough for the muggle-born, apparently. Hopefully you got noticed by someone who knew what to do with you before you got burned at the stake. Since you probably can’t control your powers, sport.

(if you're feeling down) i can feel you up by hawkeytime

"Hey," Patrick said appreciatively from behind where Jonny stood, stoic as always, by the side of the pool. "Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Because you have a sweet ass.”Or: How Patrick Kane spent his summer hitting on the hot lifeguard with the help of some inspired (read: awful) pickup lines.

kiss and tell by hawkeytime 

“Trust me,” Sharpy says, “this will be good for you.”And then, he shoves Jonny into what appears to be a mostly empty coat closet and slams the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck, Sharp!” Jonny calls, pounding at the door which is, of course, locked.

“Enjoy your seven minutes in heaven, Tazer,” Sharpy singsongs.Then, the bare bulb mounted on the ceiling flares to life, illuminating one Patrick Kane.

Fuck.

i know you are (but what am i) by booktubelover7 - always a girl!pat

Pat throws up her arms in celebration after Toews makes a beautiful goal off of Pat’s assist. She crows in celebration as Toews slams into her, shouting in her ear.

Pat’s playing, she’s playing, she’s playing. Not just that, but she’s winning too.When her line gets back to the bench, Pat leans over to speak into Toews’ ear. “Thank you,” she says. Her teammate just turns his head to look at her, a grin spreading across his face.

Love or Torture - a/b/o

Patrick Kane is too short, too Omega, and his heat too delayed for him to play hockey. Jonathan Toews has a plan to bring glory to both of them.

keep buying the stars by medusacascade22- teacher!Jonny 

“Fuck,” Jonny groans. He props his elbows up on his desk and lets his head fall into his hands. It’s going to be a long fucking year.

(or, in which Jonathan Toews is Patrick Kane's teacher, and shit gets real.)

College/Uni AUs

cello suite no. 1 - THIS IS ONE IS A CLASSIC 👌

The first time Jonathan meets Patrick Kane is because he hits him with a lacrosse ball.

In Jonathan's defense, he threw a perfect pass to Seabs, who failed to just reach the one or two feet above his head to catch it.

"Oh shit," Jonathan says when he watched the ball arc across the lawn and whack a blond kid squarely between his shoulder blades.

"Heads up!" he calls belatedly.

this is how we do it series by staraflur ⭐ - frat bros AU!!!

He doesn’t think Zeus is supposed to have a sword, but their Zeus does. So now Jonny does, because of course he’s in charge. He looks, Patrick is drunk enough to acknowledge, far better than anyone has a right to in a grody old Halloween costume that’s probably soaked up the butt sweat of dozens, if not hundreds, of Theta-presidents past. Jonny wears it, Patrick gets the sword. Win-win.

AKA that time there was a frat AU (of course).

This Heart Is Not For Wasting by fourfreedoms - oblivious best friends

Patrick puts his head in his hands. “How could this get any worse?”

“Wait, it’s not like, a big deal is it?” Duncs asks, looking at him and Jonny in turn. “The way you and Jonny are weird about each other? She’s gotta have made her peace with it ages ago.”

A college AU.

love song for love songs by boodreaus  ⭐ - angst, internalized homophobia

“Right,” Jonny says. “Cool.” He seems to hesitate, pausing when Patrick goes for the door handle, and then, right as Patrick’s bracing himself to run for the house, Jonny says, “You should come.”

Patrick turns back at him and is handed a piece of paper. “To our next show, I mean,” Jonny is saying as Patrick examines what turns out to be a flyer, thick black lettering taking up every square inch of space on the brilliant sunshine-colored surface. “It’s tomorrow night, at the showcase. Feel free to say yes or no or whatever. If you don’t know, it’s cool.”

“I’ll,” Patrick starts, and then stops, blinking up at him. Jonny’s just watching him, kind of, elbow resting on the steering wheel. “Maybe,” he finally says, and Jonny smiles.

yet we will make him run - some more angst, except more erudite

Kaner the English Lit major AU.

Sigma Chi series by hatrickane - frat bros hook up and then angst about it

Jonny and Patrick run into each other at a frat party. Patrick proposes a way to pass the time.

Can't Wait by LouLa - first time pwp

Pat's on a hair trigger.

when you flex like that - hookup in a frat party

Johnny isn’t drunk, but he does let Sharpy and a couple of frat-looking guys he doesn’t even know talk him into a contest of shots. It’s Sharpy’s fault — he appeals to the competitive side he knows Johnny can’t let go of at the best of times, and one of the guys, blonde curls, a lazy smirk of a grin, picks up on it pretty fast too.

Hope you don't mind by haroldslouis

“Oh, sorry, man,” the guy says, giving him a quick grin. “Thought you were someone else.” He taps the visor of Patrick’s snapback and just like that, he turns around and disappears into the crowd.Patrick doesn’t know how long he stands there, just looking at the general direction he disappeared in.

or, 5 times Jonny mistook Patrick for someone else + 1 time he definitely didn't

Room 4 Rent

Patrick stares at the ad for a while, clicking back and forth between the Craigslist page and his  fantasy hockey league, chewing on his bottom lip.

3 bedroom apartment near Loyola. One room available, others occupied by two male students.  Shared living room and kitchen. Two bathrooms. Rent split three ways. Email tazer19@gmail.com  or call 773-639-7812 for more info. No texts please.

are you buying what i'm selling? - frat party buddies

The Sigma Chi Halloween Bash is in a week, Jonny’s holding two tickets, and he has nobody to go with.

He had a somebody to go with, until that somebody decided Jonny’s student athlete life wasn’t worth  hanging around for. Their relationship was already tanking anyway; Jonny’s more upset about  potentially wasting a $40 ticket than that shit ending. Whatever.

Just A Spark by heartstrings  ⭐ - magical realism!

In a desperate attempt to hide his feelings from the object of his affections, Patrick accidentally drinks a love potion that causes the people around him to fall for him. Too bad it seems to work on everyone but Jonny.

do you know who you are? by liveinfury - frat bros

“Sure, Cap. I’ll try to keep it quiet.” Patrick winks at Jonny. “But be honest, you like the noises I make, huh?”

“What? Of course not!" Jonny sputters. "I’m not gay!”

(or where Jonny can't figure out why he feels so uneasy when Patrick brings guys home to their frat house).

The Great Desk Assembly Project - they were roommates

“I’m going to nail some shit,” he says. “Jonny, come watch me nail some shit.”

“We share a room, I don’t need to watch you nail anything else.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Pat says with a laugh in his voice. He reaches back  behind him and punches Jonny in the shoulder for good measure.

No, It's Not A Secret by SimoneClouseau ⭐ - always a girl Jonny 

Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your boyfriend. No way, no way. I think you need a new one.

Jehanne Toews is dating a loser. Sometimes it takes a ridiculous awesome young star on the Blackhawks to see the light.

good form - always a girl Pat!  ⭐ 

“Best head of your life?”

“Yes, he was better than you, you competitive motherfucker.” Hayds says it like it’s a joke, like it’s funny, like it’s not the single most devastating thing a girl could say to Pat.

“A hockey bro gave you the best head of your goddamn life? Am I in the fucking Upside Down?”

“Believe it, baby. Jonathan Toews: hockey bro and magical pussy-eating wizard.”

forever i'll try for you and i by staraflur - always girls Jon and Pat!

It’s extra great—whenever Jo’s losing, she always makes like their running point tally competition isn’t real. Tonight’s true to form: when Trish holds up three fingers and points at herself, then two before pointing at Jo, Jo actually scoffs as she pokes at a couple chicken breasts with the tongs, trying to find the best one.

remedial at love - jonny ‘i'm great at math but the math tutor's really hot so i'm gonna pretend i'm not' toews

There have been a lot of things Kaner’s done that could be considered suspect. He chose the  Backstreet Boys over Nsync for the Kane Dance-Off Championship when he was 15. He opted to go  to Disneyland instead of Disney World for his high school graduation present. He frosted his tips after  coming out in 12th grade because he thought that was like, the obvious thing to do until he realized  this was not, in actuality, the 90s.

But this one. Calling up ‘Jtoews’ and requesting tutelage in math when he was a fucking wiz at math  was -- the most highly suspect of all.

Drink yourself under, fuck yourself over by Mythisea

Jonathan Toews is the sophomore captain of the college hockey team. Patrick Kane recently quit hockey before coming to college.

Jonny thinks Patrick would be perfect on his wing. Patrick would rather be drinking. Jonny does not approve.

Make The Moves Up As I Go by agirlnamedfia - tutor!Jonny with a dash of angst and pining

Patrick has his first Econ 202 class on the second day of the spring semester. It doesn’t exactly go well.

how to make boys-next-door out of assholes series by bessyboo, thisissirius - textfic

Yo man, Sharpy's having a party tonight. You up for it or you gonna be a boring shit and study???

it's only you and me by crystaljules - graduation blues

"We're so fucking stupid."

Overdosed on Confidence by runphoebe ⭐ - fwb, internalized homophobia

“Someone could -,” Jonny starts, breaking off when Patrick ducks down to draw Jonny’s lips against his, kissing him fever-hot and wet and desperate. Jonny’d be embarrassed by how hungrily he responds, but he knows Pat’s into it, moaning unashamedly into Jonny’s mouth when he tightens a hand around Pat’s neck. “Someone could see,” he finally gets out, voice rough, when Patrick pulls back, as if Patrick’s supposed to believe that that’s any sort of protest.

Patrick licks his lips, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of them in that familiar way like when Patrick's got a particularly bad idea on his mind. “Guess you better be quick then, huh?” he says cryptically, waggling his eyebrows at Jonny. Jonny’s a second away from rolling his eyes and asking what he means when Patrick slithers off Jonny’s lap and onto his knees on the floor beneath Jonny’s table and - oh. Oh.

Silence Gives You Space by liveinfury - pining, misunderstandings

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“’Course not,” Patrick says. “I’m just letting you do your own thing.”

“My own thing?”

“Yeah, didn’t want to crowd your space,” Patrick blurts out. Fuck, he didn’t mean to actually say that.“You’re not…”

“Cool.”

tuck you in - getting together

“You sexiled again?" He smirks and stuffs down the fondness that rolls  through him at theway Jonny’s hair is rumpled and a little bit wavy.

Jonny sits up slowly, groaning. “Yeah. Fuck, this is the third time in a week  and a half.”

obvious from the start - radio DJs Pat and Jon!

It’s not like Patrick even likes radio, because he hasn’t really listened to  anything that’s not on his iPod or his Pandora stations in years, but when he notices the red and  white flyer advertising the student radio station on the ground, he picks it up with the  excuse that he’s trying to be environmentally friendly.When he played hockey they told Patrick that he was too small, too short to  be a hockeyplayer; that he’d never make it because of his size. Hockey is, was, his heart  and soul, and he’d put years and years of his life into the one thing he knew he was good  at; threw his very being into the best he could be to prove that he can do it, be the best,  even if he was small.

Patrick supposes maybe he'll find something else that he’s just as good at.

stupid college boys series by 19trash88 - Jonny is the cute guy from Econ class

Patrick’s not one to wax poetic about a penis, but if ever there was a reason to, Jonathan Toews’ cock would be at the top of the list.

Green Light by heartstrings - friends to lovers

Patrick knows two things: he likes sex and he likes Jonny. If Jonny's newly single there's no reason not to combine the two. Right?

Everybody Wants to Touch Some(body Paragraphs) by Kerfluffle  ⭐

Wherein Jonny writes the worst essay ever, and weirdness abounds.

Motivation by somethingnerdythiswaycomes  ⭐ - pwp

Only Jonny could keep working on his LIT-110 paper while Patrick was getting himself off next to him. Fuck, but Patrick loved him so much.

Muse series by by somethingnerdythiswaycomes

So Jonny had applied for every damn job he was qualified for, even the "life model" one TJ goaded him into.So Jonny had received an email the next day asking for his availability to come in for a session.So, as it turned out, it wasn’t some random chick that was going to draw him. It was some random dude.

So "life model" apparently meant "nude model."

You Love Me, I Love You Harder So by leyley09 - overly competitive boys on the hockey team

Patrick circles around him at center ice. “Jonathan, my team is going to kick your team’s ass so hard your parents will be embarrassed without even knowing why.”“I’m gonna give you a lesson in goal scoring you’ll never forget.”“Toews, you couldn’t give me a lesson in long distance spitting. Anything you can do, I can do better.”“Oh yeah?”“I can do anything better than you.”

Jonathan Toews is used to be being the best. He has zero clue what to do with competition.

Especially when the competition is cute.

middle ground by boodreaus - college road trip, friends to lovers

Jonny, Patrick, and an excellent adventure.

Who Knew by themistrollsin

Jonathan and Patrick meet after they're forced to go to a party by their best friends (Adam and Brent respectively).

Night Moves by heartstrings - meetcute

After a series of unfortunate drunk events that lead him from falling into a snowbank to being laughed at by the police, Jonny meets Patrick in an elevator.

Ignite My Fire, Object Of My Desire by ThalassicThedes ⭐- theater boys!!!

A good ol' fashioned College Au in which the college itself is hardly even mentioned. Just... make of this what you will.

absolute beginners by heartstrings, thundersquall

That time Jonny walked into a diner and accidentally got himself a temporary fake boyfriend.

Like A Classic - royalty!Jonny

So: due to a series of complicated and improbable events involving some sort of life debt and signed promise from two generations ago, it was decreed that Patrick had to marry the Crown Prince of Canada.

Captain Oblivious by wantstothrill - royalty!Pat

Why would Jonny care about the American royal family visiting his university? He's Canadian. He hasn't paid any attention to Prince Patrick since he was a teenager. He's more concerned with the very hot guy he's just run into, who's name also happens to be Patrick. What a coincidence.

+

check out the high school AUs tag aaand the college AUs tag @ 1988rebloggedfic!

[inlovewithdisaster]

“so! i’ll start,” zoey says, trying to ignore the still-sobbing ursula in the background. “i think you all will find it no surprise that my judge’s choice award goes to LEON. your performance perfectly encapsulated everything that this contest was supposed to stand for--reconciliation, forgiveness, moving on, and of course, since this is valentine’s day, unbreakable bonds. while i did have some minor criticisms, that doesn’t take away from the fact that your performance is quite easily the most memorable and uplifting of the night. you couldn’t have picked a better time to send this message, and it’s one i’m sure will resonate with your fans for many years to come. well done!”

the audience applauds in approval. tobias is next, but he’s taking his sweet time waiting for the applause to die down. with leon netting that +15 bonus, he’s pretty far ahead--so the real contest, he supposes, would be for second and third, and if he’s to achieve maximum saltiness from ursula, he really has only three choices: birdy, jules or fabien. well, 15 points isn’t enough to put jules in the running, so she’s out…hm, which would piss ursula off more? birdy being lifted to second place? or fabien being lifted to the top 4, a scenario in which both appeals aimed at ursula would receive awards? choices, choices……

as soon as the applause dies down, though, he seems to have made up his mind.

“an excellent assessment there, and i’d give my bonus to leon as well, but i want to give some love to a performance that’s been rather underappreciated,” he says. “one that clearly drew its attention to the past events of this contest, the tangled history of the sweet love soiree. one that leaped to new heights in its defiance and daring, representing a victory not only moral but personal over the abuse rained down by an uncaring world. i was truly moved by the performance of which i speak, and i can tell it’s one that the audience will never forget. and so, it’s my great pleasure and honor to award my judge’s choice bonus to FABIEN!”

“HUH?????” ursula yells. “are you trying to screw me over again?”

“name the first time i tried to screw you over,” tobias says airily.

“well--that’s--” when you made a fucking group chat just to hate on me, she wants to say, but she’s barely managing to save that exposé for when the time is right. “who cares? you obviously only picked fabien just to piss me off. just like you only gave him a good score because he tried to piss me off!”

“excuse me?” tobias says, flawlessly feigning offendedness. “that sounds like the sort of shoddy judging you would do, ursula. don’t drag me down because you think i’m just as bad.”

“well, i don’t believe you,” ursula snaps. “if you get to pick someone just to piss off another judge, i get to do that too! and so, my judge’s choice award goes to TOBIAS!”

“what?!” lobias looks more confused than angry.

“’cause he’s not your friend anymore. how’d you like that?” she says smugly.

“well, if you were looking to make a supereffective hit, let’s just say i’m actually immune,” he grumbles. but no. he’s so not immune. he can’t stand the thought of an ex-friend getting those precious fifteen points.

“ursula, please reconsider,” zoey says, rubbing her forehead. “why don’t you give those points to wallace? or spirit? or kamui? you really seemed to like those three…”

“NO. TOBIAS. ONLY TOBIAS,” ursula huffs.

“ursula, stop being unprofessional,” lobias says. as if he’s any better.

“well, if we wanna talk professionalism, what about the fact that three people did performances just to upset me in the first place? isn’t taking out your grudges on a judge the most unprofessional as you can be?”

“i’ve already commented on how i think that’s wrong. but that doesn’t give you license to do the exact same right back,” zoey sighs. 

“UUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” she groans. “you know what, if you’re gonna be like that, i’m going to go backstage and i won’t come back out for the ending until you let me keep my score!” and with that, she runs offstage.

“wait! ursula! come back!” zoey cries, running after her and leaving lobias alone at the table.

“there’ll be no convincing her, clearly, so i guess that settles it,” he says with a shrug.

Congratulations to Leon / @invictarre​, Fabien / @imbicilite​ and Tobias / @drkvoids​!

[mor-beck-more-problems]

When Death Comes || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Before the mushrooming

LOCATION: Hambry Park

PARTIES: @deathduty, @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan wants something more from her death.

CONTAINS: discussions of death and dying, soft goth girlfriends

“...When it’s over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.” Morgan punctuated each line break in the poem she read with a kiss to Deirdre’s spine, climbing up the vertebrae, colored auric and purple-shadow by the golden hour, until she was mouthing the final lines into the nape of her neck: “I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.” The poem finished, Morgan set the book aside and wrapped herself around her love’s body, pressing in until they tumbled sideways onto the blankets and pillows they’d spread over the grass. “It’s your turn, my love.” Morgan said. “How do you feel about reading with a zombie on top of you? While also eating pie? You still have your slice, you know.” As she spoke, Morgan finagled their bodies so she was resting against Deirdre the way she liked best, tucked against her side with her face cradled between her neck and the gentle slope of her chest.

Hambry Park was gilded all around them by evening light. Even the most weathered angel monument or the most moss ridden death’s head icon turned lively in the glow. Red wildflowers, weary from a day’s worth of swaying with ghosts, folded down to brush their petal cheeks against the earth that held the dead. Morgan pressed a finger into the ground with them, wondering not for the first time what it would be like to be held that way too. “I wonder who designed these things,” she said, thinking out loud more than anything else. “Like, did the person who died say they wanted cherubs, or a bible verse, or a cute little flying death head? Or was it their family? Or some funerary designer? They’re so beautiful, and they’re all a little different, right?”

There was some measure of amazement in hearing the same words said a dozen times, not tiring of them. How many times had Deirdre heard that poem exactly? And yet, it was always a treasure to hear it said again by Morgan’s tongue---as though she might have been reciting scripture from her heart instead of a poem from another’s. The poem ended (too soon, always too soon) and they tumbled away, bubbling laughter erupting from Deirdre’s grinning mouth. “As if I’d want it any other way.” Her fingers tangled into Morgan’s hair, playing absently with the strands as she reached out for the book (the picnic basket with the pie was too far, and she would never dare have them separate, even for a second). Thumbing through the pages with one hand in search of the right poem to recite, was no easy task. She had to thank the flimsy paperback for being flexible to her stubbornness, but in the time it took her to flip the pages, a breeze rolled over their picnic and claimed all of Deirdre’s progress in navigating the book. “Hm?” She abandoned her search in favor of tossing the book down to air her irritation with the wind. “You mean the graves?” Deirdre couldn’t quite make them out from her angle, but she’d been to Hambry enough to have the scenery memorized.

“Depends. Some people plan these out; funerals can be expensive, and picking out and saving for a headstone can be a weight you alleviate later on. Some people never think to decide, and so the family might pick through catalogues and displays--fighting over what Bible verse they think suits grandma better. Some people are...even less fortunate than that. But Hambry is on the nicer end, and anyone buried here undoubtedly had money, so it wouldn’t even surprise me if the headstones are custom pieces.” Another gust swept over them and the book flopped out of reach. The poems were a lost cause now. Deirdre sighed. “Why do you ask? Thinking of buying a headstone?”

“I know all that,” Morgan sighed, pulling down the ends of Deirdre’s hair and starting to arrange them in a loose eight strand braid. “When it was time to bury my mom, she had everything set out, like a really...awful, morbid, pop-up book. With lots of fees and fines. I opened the lid of the storage box she’d shoved everything into and a brochure literally flew out at me. And then they didn’t make the coffin she’d picked out anymore, so I had to pick out another one almost at random.” She smirked sadly at the memory. “But I wondered if things might’ve been different back in--” Morgan squinted at one of the gravestones she could see from her place. “19-0--something.” She kissed her love’s clavicle and wrapped them tighter together. “Maybe I do want one, though,” she shrugged, as if she were thinking about getting a new dress. “I mean, that would be kind of ridiculous, because where would it go, right? And then a whole plot of land doing nothing, just being there? But, I don’t know… I mean, a girl should get to have something for dying and mostly coming back.” Even flowers could be dried or pressed to commemorate what they offered to the world. Even the dead remains they’d burned in the woods had ash and bone that now lay comfortably at the bottom of Dark Score Lake. Animals, at least, had bones to leave behind and flesh to be devoured or return to the earth that had helped feed them. Her death didn’t even make the paper; it couldn’t. And if anything happened to her permanently, who was to say her remains wouldn’t become goo in a few days? Morgan bristled at the thought. It wasn’t even her dead self she wanted to lay in the ground; she had made it far enough out of the pit to not long for that anymore. But she wanted something. “It doesn’t feel right that everything I used to be has to be invisible, or written over. Does that make any sense?”

Deirdre’s brow quirked up, silently asking why, then, Morgan was wondering about it. She didn’t have to wait long for her curiosity to be answered. “It could go anywhere you wanted it to, my love.” Deirdre paused her brushing of Morgan’s hair, considering it. Morgan had died, and she had lost parts of herself, but it never felt that way to Deirdre. What was there to bury but memories--and those could always be carried just fine in the heart. But she knew Morgan missed herself; missed her magic and her heartbeat and the ways she connected to the world--now forever changed. Deirdre sat up slowly, not wanting to push Morgan off her chest but wanting to look at her a little better as they spoke. She reached a happy medium of propping herself up on her elbows, half-raised. “I wouldn’t say it’s invisible, or written over. They’re still a part of you; in my mind, at least.” She stared out at the rows of gravestones and statues, claimed by nature. “You never did get to have a funeral. You could always have some memorial, some way to remember yourself as you did--or put those parts to rest. If that’s what you want.” Deirdre pushed herself up to sit properly now, urging Morgan back in her arms so she could hold her tight. “...is that what you want?”

“Only a few people even know I died at all, I think that counts as pretty invisible,” Morgan said. Of course, some part of her had always been partly a secret and always would be. But for some reason, hiding her death seemed even worse than her species. Even nobodies got obituaries, or a funeral director to process their body and give it one last look before burning up into ash. Even the supernaturals who were not more than parts in that storage units had her, Lydia, and Deirdre to watch them, to try and carry their pain. “I had to tell everyone at work there was a death in the family, and then make up some distant cousin, because everyone already knew I didn’t have any family. I didn’t even bring home all the bereavement cards. And I’m never going to be--” She swallowed, voice growing thick, and sat up with Deirdre. She crawled into her arms as she beckoned, nuzzling her way into her grasp and finding the right place for her arms so she could squeeze her tight or rest almost effortlessly if she wanted. “I’m never going to be just the way I was. I’m never gonna warm you up, or make anything beautiful just by willing it. Or enjoy fish tacos. I don’t know if I’ll ever have patience or belief or hope like I used to. You love me the same, maybe even more, but I’m different. And I-- want a place for that...stuff. That missing stuff that just belonged to Alive-Me.”

Deirdre looked back at the gravestones, overtaken by nature, forgotten by time--pillars of memory. She knew enough lonely ghosts to fill her own obituary. She’d seen enough deaths that would remain unanswered to know the great tragedy of one gone unmourned. But it didn’t work in black and white. The gravestones were relics practically, if there existed a soul who cared about the names written on them, they hadn’t visited. The ghosts thought it worse that the flowers left at their grave slowly dwindled over the years, just as the memory of them faded. And every loss was mourned, even if the person they were mourning wasn’t dead. Death was both never invisible and always, but she knew that wasn’t Morgan’s point. “Where would you put her? Your alive-self. Where would you bury her?” Deirdre longed to tell Morgan that she still warmed her, that she always made beauty, that her hope hadn’t left at all---but refrained. Morgan would always miss herself, how could she not? It didn’t matter how perfect Deirdre thought Morgan was, it wouldn’t bring anything back. And it wouldn’t stop Morgan’s rightfully deserved mourning. “Would you want a ceremony? We could do something...whatever you want. We could burn everything, bury it, I can buy you a plot of land and the best headstone any cemetery has ever seen. Tell me what you want it to be like.”

Morgan gave a wet laugh and squeezed Deirdre tight. She wasn’t sure why having Deirdre’s support, her tender questions and touches struck her with the kind of gentleness that melted and stung. “Oh. Um--I didn’t think that far. Well, not realistically. I thought, alive me liked those dates at the beach we had, so maybe I should put something in the sand or float it off to sea. Or she could go in the back yard, in the flower beds, and she could pretend like she was helping to grow the flowers Moira likes to play in. Or, um, gee, if I actually left behind a body, I’d get to have the fun debate of whether to get buried in Texas or get buried here. And, maybe my bereaved girlfriend would get me one of those big fancy statues goth kids take pictures under, but like, more pagan, because judgey angels aren’t really my thing, or our thing. Or maybe there would be a pyre, like we had in the forest, and someone could say...here burns the Morgan that was. She made crystals out of dirt and trash and sold them for tens and hundreds of dollars on Etsy. She cried over dead deer, and the cats that spent their lives in animal shelters, and the parts in Grey’s Anatomy where they saved lives in the nick of time, and sometimes herself, because no one else would. And um…” Morgan shrugged, laughing now in the kind of way that hid tears. “...For a while her only real friend was her cat Anya, but she came to...stupid, probably-cursed White Crest, Maine and almost made everything different for the better. She had friends, and roommates, and a job she didn’t hate, and big, dramatic love, and there were even days when her magic was actually good for helping people. She believed, more than anything, that she could make things different. That she...had a better life, just around the corner. And it never felt closer to it than when she…” Morgan pulled away to scrub her hands over her eyes, breathing tenuously through the sobs that wanted to break through her chest. “She had so much hope, she died thinking she could say ‘I love you’ one more time, even though her lungs were probably filling up with blood. It was so stupid, but she really...thought she could…” She tried breathing again, but the sobs she was holding in broke and she couldn’t make herself say any more.

Deirdre reached for Morgan again, anchoring her back as she pulled away. She wrapped her arms around her; tight, secure, as if she knew nothing else. Hearing Morgan's sobs rack her undead body, spurring to life dead lungs, and a eulogy spoken with shattering honesty, Deirdre made poor work of trying not to cry. For all the love she held, she could not take this pain away. But she kissed her like she could, pressing her lips to every exposed inch of skin she could reach—urgent, rough and desperate.  Between each breath she spilled was an unspoken declaration of love, and ending each quivering sob was one of devotion. She gathered herself together just enough to speak. "Texas, obviously. Your family is there. I'd fly every one of our friends out to see you there if I had to. And I'd get a monument here too; I don't know why you'd have to be remembered in just one place. I obviously deliver a eulogy that makes everyone cry—I'd tell them all about how amazing you are, how much love you put into the world, how strong-willed, how you fight even when you don't have a fighting chance, and how brave you are. How unfathomably brave.” Deirdre sniffled, memories of Morgan’s death surged through her mind. She could remember where the rod was, which parts of Morgan hadn’t been stained by blood, the way her legs bent. “I’d tell everyone how much I love you. How much I’ll always love you. And how lucky I am, to have been loved by you too---how lucky I am right now.” She leaned down to kiss her again, whining as her lungs burned and forced them apart. “But you’re here, Morgan. You’re here and you get to decide how you want to remember yourself, how you want others to. And you get to say ‘I love you’ as many times as you want now.” She breathed out, trying to calm her rapid heart, which was only trying to adjust for the way her stiff body resisted crying more than she already did. “What do you want to do right now? We could...have a mini-ceremony...for now. Anything. Whatever you need.”  

It was almost a relief to hear Deirdre cry. The last time Morgan had declared how dead she was, Deirdre had been too intent on holding her together to cry for any of it. But there was an ache to the words she gave, to the way she fastened her against her body. Maybe Deirdre didn’t miss Morgan the way she missed herself, but she hurt for her, cried for her, and still carried a wound from that awful day. Morgan imagined that their hurt throbbed in synchronous harmony, that something was missed together, even if they felt it differently. Morgan didn’t know the word for it, she could only think of it as a kind of magic, two disparate parts brought into the same vibration and bound closer until they looked like one. As Deirdre held her, there was no rush of cold, no illusion of being submerged into her deathly calm. But there was still the weight of her, steady as gravity, keeping her fastened to the earth, to the life she still reached for, no matter how far away it drifted. Morgan pressed back into her, filling her hands with as much of Deirdre as she could fit.

She could imagine everything Deirdre said so perfectly, that even if she’d stayed sleeping and broken, Deirdre would have done everything for her. She would have found out where her family was, she would have brought her down to be with her family and made a place where they could be together. Even if she had stayed dead, there would have been a way to stay close to her. She turned to look at her love as she heard her cry, and stoked back her tears. “I love you,” she stammered, gasping through cries of her own. “I love you, Deirdre. I love you so much.” She sniffled. “Even if I hadn’t pulled myself together this much, it’s pretty good, to be able to tell you. That I--” Another sob heaved out of her and she hid herself back against Deirdre’s body, aching for the soothing wave of cold being this close used to give her. “Breathe, okay? Breathe for me, my love,” She sniffled and tried to remind her lungs how to work too, wheezing for breath as she struggled. “You. You saved me, when I came back. And I love you, and I want you with me. And I want...something, even a small something that...that proves what happened to me wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t nothing. Everything’s been so hard ever since, it wasn’t nothing. Do you think...we could bury something I kept? A crystal, or something else I made, or can’t use anymore? It can be at home, or on the beach, or anywhere else. It doesn’t really have to be some...gothic statue. It can just be...something that can rest. I want that. If those parts of me can’t come back, they can at least rest somewhere. I’m not going to be able to anytime soon, you know? But, when we get home. For now, we can just lay here for a little while. If you want that too--?” She mumbled most of her words into her shoulder and held on tighter.

Deirdre held Morgan tighter, with great fanatical desire to meld their bodies together—hold her pain inside of her, take it away and give her all of the love that bloomed instead. She imagined that in her arms held her gratitude, for whatever God there was, or whatever twist of fate it might have been that allowed Morgan to speak those words as many times as she wanted. For each 'I love you', Deirdre swelled with her own 'thank you's—to Morgan, to the world. "You're one to tell me to breathe," she laughed, pressing a kiss to Morgan's forehead. Her lungs might have protested, and her heart might have had an argument or two lined up, but she knew how important being able to hold Morgan—kiss Morgan—the right way was. Not just for Deirdre's sanity, but for the desperation to feel she knew coiled inside of Morgan. She must have read Morgan's letters and words about her cold body a dozen times, she must have asked to hear them a dozen more, but she never dared ask if Morgan missed it. She knew the answer, and Deirdre had a response of her own. She held her tighter. Closer. Her head against her chest, flush to the slow pounding of the heart that beat for her. She might have frozen her body if she thought it'd bring back the feeling for Morgan, but there were better ones she could make. That she was learning how to make. "If I saved you, then you've saved me a thousand times, Morgan." Deirdre smiled and nodded. "Okay. As soon as we get home, we'll do that. We'll find the right piece, and the right spot. And if you want some pillar to remember where it rests, we'll do that too." For her arguments—that all of Morgan, and especially those parts she thought she lost, had never left—she shook them away. This wasn't about that, she knew it. Even as she ached to reassure her, to tell her love of all the beauty she had never stopped seeing—all the magic that existed inside of her; in her smile or her eyes or the delight of her laughter. "Do you miss her?" Deirdre asked after a moment. She knew the rudimentary answer to the question, and she'd inquired down similar paths before, but she asked knowing time had passed since her last query and she always loved to hear Morgan's thoughts anyway. Even if she heard them a hundred times before, even if she knew them by heart. "Yourself. As you were before you died. Do you miss her?"

Morgan sighed into all of Deirdre’s kisses and touches, soaking up each cotton brush of ghost feeling as if it fueled the magic keeping her alive. She whined, wordlessly asking for more, and brought them down to lay on the blanketed ground. She could touch more of her at once this way, and if she closed her eyes, it even seemed like her romantic fantasy of alchemizing themselves had come true, the two of them, distinct and dissolved at once. “I miss getting goosebumps when you touch me, and the way it was like falling into melting ice water when I put my head against you. And I miss pasta night, and tacos, and pie, and Al’s. I don’t care about it anymore, but even that was nice. And I miss the way you made fun of my hair when it was all flat and sticky after sex. I miss falling asleep in your arms, and naps in the afternoon with Anya.” She sniffled, remembering the little black cat and how they used to pad around the house together, enough that she would sometimes call Anya her shadow. She kissed Deirdre wherever she was closest, passing back whatever vitality, whatever warmth that went beyond physical sensation. Back and forth between them, in such a balance that they always seemed to be bursting with an abundance of feeling. “I miss breathing. And my heartbeat. And getting sweaty. And being so tired I could practically fall over. And smelling my own cooking, and...my magic. There were years when the Universe was the only one who would really hold me at all, when it was just me and my magic and trying to break the curse. I could just make the world prettier with a touch of my fingers. And patience. Alive-Me would never have lost my temper at you, not the way I have since I died. And she never threw a real punch in her life. She thought she could power her way though anything, and that habit is still there, but it’s hard not to second guess or feel like an idiot when I know that it’s just the kind of thinking that helped get me killed. And sometimes it feels like...those parts of her couldn’t take it, and that’s why they stayed behind. She was so naive because it just hurt too much, after everything awful that had happened, to realize that’s what most of the world was going to be. She thought she couldn’t find that happy other side because of her curse, but there’s just...more mess, and more unfairness from people who don’t care enough to make things different. We have to make our own good. It was never gonna fall out of the sky like some weird Christian angel light.”

She shifted on the ground to look at Deirdre and brush away the wetness on her cheek. “Do you miss her too? You can say, if you do. I know you love this me too, and you’ll love me longer, just by, you know, how math and linear time works. You can tell me, Deirdre.”

Just as Morgan spoke, memories were breathed into existence. Deirdre closed her eyes and allowed them to filter through her mind. She knew the way Morgan shivered to her touch and the delight that curled up her own lips at the sight---she was different from all the humans that flinched or shrieked, she seemed to like the cold just as much as Deirdre. She remembered nights of fighting Anya for Morgan’s affection--some happy medium was reached with Anya in Morgan’s lap and Morgan in Deirdre’s--with their plates stained by pasta sauce sitting unattended on the table (Deirdre would pick them up later, but it always spurred a whine to be pulled away from Morgan). Plans of a breakfast at Al’s would be shared between them, right before Morgan fell asleep in Deirdre’s arms---she always waited to hear her breathing to lull her to sleep. She knew well the way that sweat built on Morgan’s body, the places she’d grow the warmest in, and the way her hair stuck flat to her reddening face---she remembered each time she brushed that hair away, pressed kisses to her burning cheeks and watched with awe as Morgan caught her breath. Deirdre opened her eyes. Lazy rolling clouds above greeted her. “For each moment that will remain a memory, there are new ones…” She sighed, speaking to herself. She might not have been able to watch Morgan shiver, but that didn’t matter much when she could feel every bump and curve for herself. Moira would wiggle her way between them. Morgan watched eagerly for her reaction to her latest cooking venture, unable to taste for herself. Deirdre slept now to the sound of Morgan’s voice, holding her love tight in her arms, and woke just the same way. They didn’t go to Al’s anymore, but she wouldn’t replace their morning jogs for anything else. And sex--well, now the only limitation was Deirdre’s abundant stamina.

“That’s why I don’t miss it. I don’t miss her.” She smiled, quickly catching up to explain herself. “I don’t see you as lacking anything, you know that. And if that’s how I think...there’s nothing for me to miss. I love you, just like this. Just as you are, always. I don’t want to be thinking about anything else, I don’t want to look at you and think about the things that aren’t. You’re perfect to me. You always have been, and you always will be. So, no, I don’t miss it. I...well--not like how you miss it, at least. I don’t want to, and I won’t allow myself to. What kind of a person would I be if I thought that way? If I missed what I have?” She tilted her head down, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s nose. She wouldn’t be sure she was making sense, and she figured she probably wasn’t--even for as impeccable Morgan was at deciphering her thoughts--but she felt it in her heart. To claim she missed something was to say there must have been an absence, and there wasn’t. Morgan wasn’t less to her, she never would be. Morgan might have mourned the pieces of her that were gone, and she should, but Deirdre never would allow herself that. She never would indulge the idea. “I miss you when you’re gone from me. I missed you that one day I had to wait for you to wake. I miss you when I’m at work. I don’t miss the things we used to do, I remember them and I’m happy they happened, and I love what we can do now just the same. How you were when you were alive...to me that’s still you now. I just won’t do it. I won’t miss you when I have you.” She paused. “But I know you miss it. I won’t stop you from doing that, and I’ll always be here if you want to talk about it--or remember it. But every trip to Al’s we don’t take, we’ve replaced with hikes and picnics and graveyard visits or movies at home. And I love that. And if that changed, if we had to replace those moments with something else, I won’t miss them either. Because I’ll love what we do next, and I’ll always love whatever it is we do next. However it is we change. I would have loved you as an old woman, I’ll love you as an immortal. I don’t miss it. I have you.”

Deirdre closed her eyes again. “I think Alive-You would have lost your temper at me all the same. Alive-You might have grown to learn more painfully about the world. She might have thrown a good punch one day. She’s not so different from you. She was just alive.” When she opened them, the cloud had shifted and somewhere beyond them she knew a world continued to turn. Change was inevitable; to the living and to the dead. But it wasn’t so bad to mourn what changed. “Your optimism isn’t what got you killed. That was Constance.”

Morgan thumbed Deirdre’s cheek as she spoke, watching every turn of her expression, trying to follow her down her maze of thought. She liked their life, which had grown around her death like weeds bursting through asphalt. She was stronger since she died, and maybe even before then, without all of the extra curse-related anxiety and running for her life. There were hunters, still, but she was learning how to handle that, and they were so much easier to get rid of than a ghost or a curse. But she was still drifting in a strange form that kept her at one degree of remove. And yet to hear Deirdre speak of her, it was as though nothing had been severely disrupted, as though their life had merely taken an unexpected turn in its ever continuous growth towards abundance. “You can let yourself miss something,” she whispered, confused. “You don’t have to lock that away…”

But Deirdre was so confident, so gentle and firm with her estimation of the past and everything that had changed shape around their present, their future. From Deirdre’s lips, their life was a wonder, something to be faced with the same curiosity she approached a freshly gored corpse, its bones shining with promise. Morgan couldn’t imagine taking the ache of the pieces they’d left by the wayside. There were days when everything different she did felt like a desperate excuse to cover up what was missing. No damage! Nothing to see here! Morgan even tried to imagine how she might approximate her new self into those spaces she’d left behind. What if she could go for a burger and not feel alienated out of her existence by not being able to taste it right? The thought of having to shift again for the sake of some other cataclysmic change frightened her. She had just gotten morning jogs and bone crafts. She didn’t want to jettison those too someday. But the years ahead of them were long, and if she dared to look at them, she would know that it was all but inevitable. But she kissed Deirdre tearfully instead, and brought them tight into each other’s grasp once again.

“W-wow, I really don’t deserve you, babe,” she whispered, trying to make her voice light. “But I am so glad I have you. I mean, keeping me around even when I was old and decrepit? That would’ve been a lot to take on. I will, hypothetically speaking, have a lot of fun poking at your gray hairs, but that would be a long way off, obviously…” Morgan’s voice caught, unable to keep up the game she was playing with herself. “Why do I feel so different if we’re the same? What Constance did to me--she-- Why are there days when there’s even less of me than there is right now? And you don’t know that Alive-Me would have stormed out or yelled. Apparently multiple zombies have written that they feel more aggressive after they die, more prone to being...awful, and--” Morgan brought her head down to rest on Deirdre’s shoulder. She didn’t know why she was trying to convince her that things were worse or less than before now. She cherished the survival of their love more than anything else she had managed to keep, though the list felt pretty short. “I don’t know what I’m saying anymore,” she mumbled into her skin. “I love you. I want this to be good. I want to be here, and feel more okay. If I could just skip to the part where none of this hurt and we’re good and doing our best, that’d be really great.”

“I’m not locking it away. It just---even if I try to think about the things we can’t do anymore, I just remember all the new things we do instead. And I get excited for everything else we might do in the future. It’s not--life is a stream, as I see it. It’s hard to swim up-river and say I miss it. I--does that make sense?” Deirdre grimaced at herself. It probably didn’t. She watched Morgan consider it, her thoughts flickering across her face in the turn of her expressions. When she spoke next, Deirdre shook her head. “I could say the same thing about you…” She leaned into the quiver in Morgan’s voice, matching it was a steadiness in hers. If only she could make things better with just the sound of her gentleness, or the pressure of her arms around Morgan, or her words or any number of the things she did that made her wish she could pull Morgan’s pain away. “I would do anything for you, my love. I would then, I would now.” And yet, there was only so much she could do. She couldn’t kiss Morgan like a lullaby to sleep any more than she could love her heart to reanimation. Even that hadn’t changed much from before; she couldn’t ease away Morgan’s curse or the trauma it wrought. The feelings of love never shifted, the desire for care never wavered. Morgan’s pain, in the same way, had only turned to another source. Life was cyclical, wasn’t it? “Because you died. You died and nothing can change that fact, but you’re not some new person--not entirely. I--you died, Morgan. Of course that feels...different.” Deirdre frowned, clumsily stumbling through her explanation. “You don’t know that she wouldn’t have. Isn’t anger just a natural reaction to pain? And you have so much pain. I don’t---none of this is bad to me, Morgan. But I understand how terrible it must be for you. You don’t have to see it the way I do; you’ll figure it out your own way, I know you will.” Deirdre laughed gently, a sound bred more out of a need to prevent an onset of tears than some kind of joy. “It’s okay. You can say whatever you want, whatever you’re thinking. I want to know, always. And I’m forever glad you share yourself with me like this.” She shifted, urging Morgan’s head up with her hands, just enough so she could kiss her better. To kiss her like sacrament, offering prayers of a brighter future and present--to absolve pain and allow it passage to what existed beyond it. “It’s fine. Whatever you are--now, tomorrow, forever--it’s okay, I’m sure I’ll love her too. Don’t worry about...being anything else than what you are, Morgan. Just feel...however you want to feel.” She kissed her again--the benediction.  

Only Deirdre could have spoken so calmly and perfectly of rivers and tides and in doing so washed away the harshest sting of Morgan’s confusion. Maybe that was why she felt stuck on her worst days; there was a tide trying to carry her one way, and all her pain was driving her the other way. In this moment, with her voice as steady as the Earth’s turn, as the resting hum of the energy in the universe, Deirdre’s voice cut through the stagnation and carried Morgan to safety. Morgan nodded along to her words, as rapt as if they were the gospel of the stars. Yes, she was a babbling mess, and that was okay. Yes, she was in pain, no matter what she did she couldn’t shake or bury her pain completely like she had when she was alive. Sometimes when she could bear to look ahead more than a few days, she feared that pain was all that lay ahead for her. If dying hadn’t been enough to stop it, surely nothing would. And the unfairness and the heaviness that came with this fear made her snap at each new hurt that got added to her pile. That was no excuse, but Deirdre’s silent forgiveness fell over her as surely as any cleansing charm.

Morgan took Deirdre’s face in her hands and kissed her as if she were the scion of salvation. If she drank enough of her in, blessed herself with enough of her touch, maybe she could finally will the strange property allowed her banshee to see goodness and certainty in a world marked with death to come into herself and stick as seamlessly as any alchemy she’d ever performed. Morgan clung to her with all her strength, reaching for that hope with each tug of her lips. What tears she had been fighting to keep back fell harmlessly past her lashes and dried up. Morgan was consumed only by this moment, this needling urgency to taste Deirdre’s conviction in exchange for surrendering all her messy doubts and worries. “I want that,” she murmured between kisses, meaning I want it now. For all the frustration and hurt that roiled silently in her dead body, Morgan hadn’t lost the human need for urgency, and so she pressed Deirdre’s body against hers as if it was that magical horizon in the land of ‘better,’ as if she could make come to her by dragging it over with her bare hands, as if it were magic itself. She pulled away  just as her longing bottomed out into hunger, when hope watered in her mouth like desire and Deirdre’s neck seemed as gratifying as any tomorrow she could ever look forward to. “I love you,” she said, voice cracked and starved for air. “Thank you. I am...trying. I can keep trying. I want everything you said. And you’ll be here? And you’ll take me home? And we’ll… we’ll keep going until we can’t, and we’ll make everything as good as we can.”

Loving Morgan always felt inexpressibly right; a place where everything fit and all the world faded away. It was the two of them, against the tides of the earth, the pull of life and death around them. The two of them, standing together at the frontier of something brighter than bright. Deirdre couldn't explain it. She had tried countless times to commit the feeling to words; to write it down or vocalize it in a signature metaphor, but she could only ever pick at the surface. When Morgan said "I love you", it never was just those three words. When Deirdre said it back, it too was something much greater than she knew how to say. Love to her had been nonexistent, conditional or something dangled in front of her like a goal she might reach if she was just good enough for it—her fault then, if it was never given. But with Morgan, everything was different. She never had the words to explain how much everything meant to her, how much Morgan meant to her. All she could say was— "I love you too." And kiss her back. "One day," she murmured against her, "I'll be able to tell you just how much, with the right words. One day, maybe, I'll just be able to love all of the pain away. I want that. I wish I could right now." There never was an old Morgan and a new one, not to her. Always just Morgan, just the woman she loved most. "I'll be here for you. There's no place I'd rather be. And I'll take you home, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. I love you." Deirdre held her tighter, squeezing her arms around her girlfriend as hard as she could, for as long as she could and far past muscle aches. "No matter what happens, I love you. And if you want to mourn yourself, I'll be here. And, well—maybe I wish we weren't in such a public place." Deirdre laughed lightly, keenly aware that even their intimate cuddling probably broke some modesty rules. "As good as we can…" she smiled, "I like that."