#THE WAY IT WAS EASIER TO COME UP WITH CONS THAN PROS

[bmpmp3]

when it comes to deep learning style vocal synths vs concatenative synthesis style vocal synths i like and use both, theres pros and cons for each, i adore deep learning synths for their versatility in vocal modes/expressions/appends/whatever and their breaths and of course im a fan of how many have multi-lingual functionality, but one thing they just cant beat concatenative on is the late 2000s-ass NND-ass doujin-ass impossibly fast rapid fire syllable'd japanese pop singing a la disappearance of hatsune miku. to be honest miku barely handles it. thats what the song is about. to me no one does it better than a basic but well oto'd CV utau LOL

[theorist-fox]

Whisky

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: Kyle’s the perfect partner, even when he slips up. And as you come to realize, he slips up quite often—which only makes you love him more.

18+

CW: fluff, smut, drunk sex in established relationship with enthusiastic consent, handjob, cunnilingus, Kyle is cute

Masterlist 🦊

Kyle is perfect. 

He is sharp, cunning—the answer to everything is always on the tip of his tongue. 

Problem-solving is his special skill. He thrives under pressure, not a finger of his so much as twitches even when the weight of the world crushes his shoulders: he calculates it all, pros and cons, risks and benefits, in the span of a minute. 

Self-sufficient, precise, deadly.

He charmed you with a handful of well-placed words, dazzling smile and clever eyes, gentlemanly as few. Opened the car door, insisted on paying for dinner, and kissed you on your third date. His tongue tasted of Moscato and chocolate from the dessert, yours a tick bitter—scotch and brown sugar.

He had you helplessly wrapped around his finger with shocking ease: a smooth talker at dinner, a sex God once home, incredibly selfless and devoted—made sure you came at least twice on his fingers before he even thought about fucking you and giving you more of that high.

With him it's neatly wrapped presents, roses delivered at work, dinner dates and endless, deep, passionate kisses that leave you heaving like you've run a marathon, warm and breathless.

He makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery, and also like maybe you’re aiming too high with your averageness, while he stands tall, spine straight, and a chain of golden candy draped across his chest.

However, Kyle softened up when you two finally became steady. 

It was hard not to notice how cautiously and deliberately he tiptoed around your relationship—until he slowly unfurled and fell into a comfortable pattern, one in which he didn’t have to put up an act, one in which he could turn off his head and have you guide him through the softer motions of the day. He finally relented, dropping the veneer—cracking like fine ceramic, chipping away.

It's then that you truly, really met Kyle.

And that is how you found out that he is, in fact, perfect—a stunning man, kind, brilliant and charming—but he’s so much more than that, too.

Kyle is clumsy.

You have to be careful where you place your shoes at the entrance of your flat because he trips on his own feet. More than once you’ve heard a cheery “Home, love!” followed by the flat door closing shut and a subsequent tumble. Then, a thud. An “Ow” echoing in the living room. An embarrassed chuckle.

Kyle is a menace. For his safety, that is. 

God forbid you initiate a chat while he’s in the kitchen. Once, he got so awfully invested as you spilled the office tea that he slammed his palm on the induction stove. His shocked "No fucking way" had quickly evolved into a dramatic scream.

Lovely night spent at the hospital, that one.

Kyle is forgetful.

You wish you could count on one hand how many times he has forgotten to add the colour catcher in the washing machine.

You can’t. You are currently out of plain white knickers, since they’re all blotched pink or blue. God bless him, he beats himself up every time he’s reminded. You tell him it’s okay, that it can happen, but it always ends up with him apologising so emphatically that you promise yourself you’ll never make him notice again.

All these habits make him more real to your eyes, like he’s not cast with pure gold and melted medals, like you can allow yourself some slip-ups as well. 

And while this is making your home life definitely easier to slip into (despite your lack of underwear), you can tell how hard it is for him to shed the perfectionist uniform—self-loathing each time he makes the most subtle of mistakes.

It's not easy to remind him that he’s human too, but you try until he gets it, until he understands that maybe you love this tangible version of him more than you do the untouchable, polished SAS sergeant.

That you love his vulnerabilities as much as you love his strengths. And perhaps, to your eyes, those things are the same.

That you love how he scratches the back of his head with a grimace when the bacon turns charred, when your sleeping t-shirt comes out of the washing machine two sizes too small and awfully shrunk. 

That you love how flustered he gets when he drinks, because yes.

Kyle is a lightweight. And the cutest drunk.

One Saturday you’d both planned it all: nice dinner out now that he’s home for R&R, stroll through the city, a shared cigarette under the stars, and then a proper nice fuck once home. 

Perfect.

Or it would’ve been—if your plans hadn’t been rudely cancelled by the awful weather.

Which brings you both to now, lazily slumped on the sofa, still wrapped in your fancy outfits, dress shoes and heels shed on the floor. Your backs rest on the opposite armrests, legs meeting and intertwining in the middle. The TV roars with some action movie you chose together, and while you're enraptured by the plot, Kyle has his eyes on you.

Big fingers spread over your shin, occasionally shifting back and forth as if he’s shocked by how soft your freshly waxed legs feel under his palm. 

"Yer pretty," he mumbles, cueing a cute hiccup at the end that makes your stomach flutter.

His mouth is curled in a cheeky smile, plump lips hooking upwards just on one side.

You blink and divert your attention from the film to your boyfriend, spread out on the sofa with one arm hanging out, hand curled around the rim of his tumbler. 

The lazily enamoured look in his eyes prompts you to smile back, already knowing where this is going. "Why thank you, Kyle. Not so bad yourself.”

He smirks in that familiar way he does when he thinks he's said something particularly clever and wiggles his eyebrows.

“All that for me?” He mumbles, nodding with his chin to your outfit. 

You snort, but otherwise hum a soft reply in agreement, hiding your smile behind your glass.

“Ah,” he says, slowly sipping on his whisky, looking straight into your eyes. “Lucky man I am.”

Your cheeks heat up, because even when he’s tipsy he manages to smooth talk your confidence away, turning you into a shy mess. The alcohol in your system doesn’t help.

“Don’t need to flatter me,” you mumble, trying to keep the act up. “M’already your girlfriend.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree, as if you just fed him some new, exciting piece of information.

“My girl,” he echoes, with a smirk that dimples his cheek and settles properly into your chest. “Really like the sound of that.”

A sip. His head lolls sideways, abandoned, eyes glittering with love for yours—you can tell, because yours do the same.

“My girl.” He tests it again, as if he’s never said it before.

"Already, love?" You tease him, but there's no bite behind your words. "It’s the second glass.”

His lazy smile melts into a frown, and then he points an accusing finger at you. 

"You're one to talk. Look at you.” He wiggles his fingers your way. “All wobbly."

You are, in fact, very steady. Steadier than anything.

You cock a brow, cheeks puffed in a smile. With a dramatic sigh, you reply, "Just proving my point, really."

He quirks his eyebrows and shakes his head mockingly at you, echoing your words in a high-pitched tone, before returning the glass to his lips. 

You gasp in mock offence, placing a theatrical hand on your chest.

After a very short but fiercely fought battle of stares, you soften up. Kyle takes the way your shoulders unravel as his own personal victory. He raises his glass at you.

“Cheers,” he says proudly, throwing his head back to down the rest of his whisky in a gulp. 

“Jesus—” You splutter, eyes widening at the sheer courage. And then you burst into a laugh because when his eyes return to you, he is positively wincing—alcohol burning down his throat something fierce, you reckon.

An exasperated rub of your forehead, while Kyle keeps his lips sealed shut to avoid openly coughing. His cheeks comically balloon every time.

He’s such a kid sometimes, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t adore this lighthearted side of him. 

"Lightweight," you singsong, because if he can act childish so can you. 

You bring your own glass to your mouth to hide your smile, though you drink your whisky much more responsibly than he did.

Kyle takes that one personally, it seems. His brow furrows, full lips curling in a pout. Brown eyes hooded and bloodshot. Nose scrunched in that twitch he often has when irritated.

Yep, you stand by the fact that he's a lovely-looking drunk.

Which means you must correct yourself. "Cute lightweight."

He grumbles something under his breath, looking away and crossing his arms like you’ve gone and done it forever. Pride hurt and thrashed.

But you're giggling at this point. 

Okay, maybe you’re tipsy, you’ll give him that.

"Don't pout." You say, pouting yourself. "You're making me feel bad."

He turns up his nose, and, with spite, he sets the empty tumbler on the coffee table. Glass on glass. It clinks, like he wanted to make a powerful statement with that motion alone.

"As you should."

"Kyle."

"Nuh-uh."

"Kyle, c'mon—"

"Grovel."

You burst out laughing, and from the corner of your eye, you see how it manages to make his lips quirk. You decide it's time to apologize for hurting his drunk pride.

Struggling, you place the unfinished glass of bourbon on the coffee table. 

"Kyle," you whisper his name like honey, this time.

His shoulders stiffen, and he steals a glance from you. Good, you got his attention.

On your fours, you start crawling to his side of the sofa, until your knees are digging into the cushions on each side of his hips, your hands next to his head. Back arched prettily, showing off like a peacock to soften him up a little.

Kyle seems to be trying to have the couch swallow him whole as he flushes his back to it. His eyes are wide and big like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if he’s never witnessed this beforehand.

You cock your head—cheeky, batting your lashes and all. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he replies at the speed of light.

You snort. “You sure?”

“Yeah—yeah,” he croaks. Clears his throat. “Yes.”

“Mhmh.” You smile knowingly, letting your fingers draw a line down the buttons of his shirt, rich dark navy. 

He follows the trail with his eyes, tongue briefly darting out to lick his lips. Your nails tap on the buttons, soft brushes of your pads along the cotton down to the waistband of his slacks, where you hook your finger. Tug.

Kyle’s breath stutters. His chest falls back down heavily, as if a rock’s been suddenly dropped on it.

“All this for me?” You ask back, cocking your head to the side.

He catches on. Mimics you, trying to align his eyes with yours. His face is slack, relaxed, but his eyes—oh, his eyes. When you’re this close, with the tips of your noses touching, you see there are hints of green in there. Deep forest trees, speckles of golden sunlight, mottled in earthy brown irises. Investigating ones, studying how the light of the telly catches your skin, as you do the same, following the dotted lines of his moles. 

“Yes,” he replies, voice rough.

Your heart skips a beat. 

He notices, and his hand silently travels to your wrist. He guides your hand down. The heel of your palm catches the bulge in his trousers. Heat pulses at your fingertips—you need them to do something, anything, to release it. Your thumb catches the zipper. Tentatively, you tug it down.

Kyle wastes not a moment more and lifts his head so his lips meet yours.

A deep inhale. His tongue lingers with the smoky aftertaste of whisky, the pleasant tang of alcohol, as you remember how it had burned your throat when you drank it moments before. 

Kyle thinks you taste like the first day he kissed you. Languid tongues intertwining, coated with a sweeter taste, like that of brown sugar and maraschino cherries dipped in your Old Fashioned. How you’d plucked them with your lips, tugging gently at the stem. 

He fell for you that night, he thinks. Thinks it every single day; when he trips over your shoes, burns the dinner, and botches the laundry, while you smile at him with understanding pinched eyebrows.

He busies himself, now, giving you ample space to work with both your hands at the button and zipper. He grasps at your breasts through your dress, squeezes clumsily both fabric and softer flesh underneath, while taking a handful of your ass—fat bugling between the grooves of his fingers. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. A strangled thing between a moan and a gasp.

He wants to be cocky about it, tell you that even when he’s plastered he seemingly has all the faculties to make your heart race and your cunt wet—but alas, he chokes on a groan of his own when you slide under his boxers, setting platitudes aside, and curl your fingers around his sex. 

One would think the alcohol would’ve made it a bit tougher for him to rise to the attention, but the truth clearly lies elsewhere, since he’s hard as a rock in your hand.

“Whisky did this to you?” You quip, though it doesn’t land as funnily as you’ve anticipated, since you sound as breathless as he is. 

Your words brush his lips like petals. Bourbon swims in his head, but he’s more drunk on you than he’s drunk on that. His head is clouded, but there’s still enough willpower to focus on how your mouth slots with his, how your hand starts to gingerly smooth down his shaft.

He pinches your nipple in retaliation. You hiss, shifting awkwardly on your knees like you’re looking for friction, but his legs are keeping your thighs too far apart. 

“Bit chatty tonight, are you.” 

You breathe a chuckle, nudging his nose. 

“Like to get you all fussy.”

“S’working,” he concedes. “But not because of that smart mouth of yours.” 

You stop. Pull back. 

You thought him drunk, but the sharp tongue he’s hitting you with tells you otherwise. Tipsy, perhaps. But not drunk.

You know drunk Kyle, and that one is a flustered mess. This Kyle definitely isn’t.

So, while Kyle might be tipsy, he’s not off his head yet. He manages to tighten his brows in a silent question—why did you stop. 

When you cock your head, eyes narrowed, he matches your stance.

You both smile.

“Are you telling me to shut up?”

A groan escapes him and Kyle rolls his eyes so far back you see a bit of redness at the bottom. He takes you by surprise when he lunges forward, slotting his lips with yours again. 

He’s not gentle when he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“I’m telling you to finish what you started,” he says with playful command, but you know that if it weren’t for the alcohol softening his words, you’d be replying with a swift "Yes, sir".

He takes the lead, if only briefly, and has his hips jump upwards to meet your first stroke.

A breathless curse leaves his lips when your pace starts to languidly grow. You keep it soft and slow, but still steady enough to make the words die in his throat.

He kisses you, then. Makes sure to hide the embarrassing sounds that would inevitably leave him if he’d allowed his lips to move freely.

“Yeah?” You ask in a whisper that touches his mouth first, his cottoned ears much, much later.

Kyle nods. Doesn’t break the kiss again, doesn’t dare. 

You feel good, he thinks. Too good to let go, with your lithe fingers barely reaching around, with the cold bands of your rings causing gooseflesh to rise on his thighs.

He grabs your hand, reluctantly taking it away from his cock, until he has it hovering between your faces, palm facing your lips.

“Spit,” he says.

You heed him, an eager shake in your breath as you release a glob of saliva on your own palm. Kyle turns it his way and flattens his tongue against it, licking upward, until he has your middlemost fingers in his mouth.

Your legs shake in shivers that travel to the tips of your toes, back arched like you’re trying to press your sex back against something only to find a wall of air. 

Kyle twirls his tongue around your pads only to watch you squirm, because he likes the way your lips tremble in anticipation each time.

He releases your hand, shining with yours and his spit, and presses the softest kiss on the tips of your fingers. You guide it back down, to where his cock rests, heavy and leaking, on his now wrinkled navy shirt.

When your hands curl around him again, Kyle sighs a shaky breath, like you’ve finally gone and given him what he needs. His head spins a bit faster, then, but he’s not daft enough to place the blame exclusively on the bourbon he just drank.

“Much better,” he murmurs, trying to keep his eyes open.

His breath hesitantly reaches out for yours, as they mingle in the sliver of space between your lips. 

Alcohol increases hunger, they say, and Kyle’s never felt more voracious than he does now. His movements might be a bit slower, but he still manages to tug at the straps of your dress, watching them flow down your shoulders. His finger’s already at the neckline, tugging down just enough to have your breasts spill out.

Your hand tightens a fraction around his cock when his mouth curls around your nipple. He’s zeroed in on it the moment your tits came to view, licked his lips and dived in headfirst. 

Kyle sucks on it as though he’s never tasted anything of the likes before. He grazes his teeth around it as it pebbles under his tongue, his hand kneading and grabbing at the softer flesh of your breasts.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles, almost like an afterthought, like he’s sure you’re not hearing him and he’s there alone, talking to himself.

The only way you know he’s actively there with his head, it’s when his hand grasps your own around his cock. The head shines with precum and your spit after you’ve diligently spread it all over its length.

“Bit tighter, love.” He rasps, voice so rough and jagged you feel it rumble in your chest.

You follow his lead, allowing him to guide you even though you already know how he likes it. But there’s something unbelievably hot in having Kyle take you through the motions—showing you exactly how to make his teeth grind, and his hips tilt.

“Like that,” he goes on before you can ask if this is okay. “Fuck—fuck, like tha’.”

You hold his head to your chest, as his kisses become less focused, more open and sloppy, like he wants to taste you all over. Biting down where the flesh is more tender, leaving blooming love bites on your skin.

His hands explore with similar hunger, gripping wherever they land—from the fat of your waist to that of your thighs. Your dress rides up and he takes the chance to feel your warm skin dimpling under his fingers.

Kyle gives it away easily when his hips jerk upward in a desperate attempt to fuck your fist. You recognize the stutter in his breath as well as that of his movements.

Gently, you tap his cheek and he drops his head back on the cushions, as if recognizing the muted order. 

You meet his eyes. Heavily hooded, occasionally rolling back as he fights it, deciding to focus them on your face instead.

“Gonna cum, Kyle?” You breathe into his mouth.

Kyle chokes on a groan, or a reply—you’re not sure, and judging by the fucked out look on his face, you reckon he doesn’t have a clue either.

“Yeah, baby?” You pant, like all of this is happening to you and not to him.

His jaw locks tight, junction bulging each time he grinds his teeth.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Fuck—yes.”

You drop your forehead on his, noses brushing. Your forearm aches and tightens, but you push through because there aren’t sights as good as Kyle when he’s bathing in bliss.

“Then cum, baby,” you whisper to his lips, gently pressing them to his. “Cum for me yeah?”

Beneath you, Kyle arches his back before his body grows taut. His cock twitches in your hand, spilling cum over your fingers while some spurts reach farther and stain his shirt. He bites on his own teeth, huffing from his nose to keep quiet. 

Gingerly, though a bit too cheeky, you press your lips to his and nibble at his lower lip. His mouth hangs open to reciprocate, and that causes the sounds he tried to keep in to spill out. 

A heavy groan that chokes on itself into a softer, breathy moan. Stuttered, cracked.

Fucking hell that would be enough to make you cum, if you had him stuffing you full instead of filling your hand.

But still, you bask in this like it’s happening to you. His eyes rolled back, eyelids heavy and almost closed, fingers leaving imprints on your thighs as he clutches the flesh so very tight—only thing currently tethering him to earth.

As his cock softens in your hand, you slow down your pace until you stop completely, aside from a gentle swipe on the sensitive head of his dick. It makes his muscles twitch, and you chuckle softly at that.

You give him time to recollect himself, gently using one flap of his shirt to clean your fingers—it's already stained anyway, right? No harm done.

A kiss on the corner of his mouth seems to be what brings him down.

Kyle blinks once. Twice. Until his eyes focus on you, finally. 

As he regains his bearings, he breathes a laugh, airy, like there’s no strength in him to offer more than that. A sigh that makes him deflate, and then his lips spread in a dopey smile. 

He looks high on it.

You press a kiss to his nose. “Good?”

He nods emphatically, causing you to giggle a little louder. 

He seems to like that, because his hands, still a bit trembling, shoot up and encase you, pulling you down to him. Chest to chest, your arms wrapped around his neck while his own trap you to him by the waist.

He peppers your face with kisses as you push against his chest and laugh until your cheeks burn.

“Baby—” you wheeze, cheeks smushed. “—'m gonna have bloody cum stains on my dress for fuck’s sake!”

His lips are too busy to answer you properly, so his words come out muffled and faint. Still smug as ever, though.

“Eye for an eye.”

You laugh.

“Ah, stop it!” 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles. “Wash it later.”

He nuzzles your neck. “Lemme kiss you now.”

And you let him. 

You let him kiss you until your giggles turn softer, until his lips capture yours and you forget how to breathe. Until innocent and fun turns into heated again, and he travels lower down your neck, to your breasts, sucking at the tender flesh.

Until his hands gently guide you backwards and you flop on the sofa, thighs draped over his shoulders. 

Kyle eats you out like a man starved. Dips his fingers inside your cunt and presses upward, while his mouth lavishes your clit. 

You cum hard on his tongue, holding your breath as your chest flushes with warmth that clutches your lungs. Nails scratching scalp, hips dancing to get closer to his mouth.

He doesn’t let go until you’re floppy and syrupy warm, as glassy eyed as he was moments before.

And then you’re both stumbling to the bedroom, tipsy and high on sex, lazily taking off your clothes and dropping them to the bedroom floor. You collapse in bed, naked and with your tongues still tasting of whisky. 

Kyle's arms are wrung around you, nose buried in your neck—until his breath softens, and so does yours.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s because the smell of coffee wafts just below your nose. You inhale, smiling, blinking your eyes open.

Kyle is squatting next to your side of the bed, wearing only a pair of briefs and holding a mug full of steaming coffee.

“Morning sweetheart,” he whispers, looking like he doesn’t even know what a hangover is, the bastard.

“’Ello,” you mumble, sleepy, while nuzzling your pillow.

Kyle sets the cup of coffee on the nightstand. You hear it clink. The coffee sloshes lightly. The steam billowing from it briefly brushes your skin when the cup passes near your face.

Long fingers come to caress you, knuckles to cheek.

“Breakfast’s ready,” he says tenderly. “I got the washing on while you were still asleep.”

You smile softly, whispering a "Thank you" while keeping your eyes closed. Then, almost mindlessly, you ask, “Did you chuck in the colour catcher?”

His hand stills, petrified, and then it leaves your face completely. 

Confused and still dazed, you flutter your eyes open at the lack of touch, briefly squinting as the sun peeking through the blinds stings you awake.

Kyle has guilt written all over his face.

“’M gonna fix it,” he says hurriedly, as he stumbles on his feet to get to the laundry room.

You chuckle, rubbing at your face in loving exasperation. Once you’re feeling like a fully functioning human being, you sit up, bare feet touching the cold floors. With your coffee in hand, you shuffle to the kitchen to check on the supposedly ready breakfast.

Because the house is starting to smell like burnt bacon.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.

If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight. 

Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.  

Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it.  It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing. 

When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness. 

You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.  

As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date. 

“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles. 

It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk. 

“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags. 

“Oh, cool, want me to come?” 

You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list. 

“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands. 

You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him. 

He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one. 

You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. 

“Nice day,” he says. 

“Mhmm,” you grumble. 

His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart. 

“Those aren’t on the list,” you say. 

“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you. 

You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.” 

“In the grocery store?” You challenge. 

“It’s cute.” 

“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.” 

“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims. 

He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar. 

You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee. 

“Need some help?”  

You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America. 

“Uhhh...” 

“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?” 

You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat. 

“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.” 

“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart. 

“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.” 

You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people. 

“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.” 

“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else? 

“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle. 

“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word. 

You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed. 

[level2janitor]

Introduction to the OSR

what's an OSR? it's a game that's kinda like old-school D&D. or is old-school D&D. or is compatible with old-school D&D. an OSR game generally has some or all of the following principles:

low character power with highly lethal combat. in old-school D&D a 1st-level fighter has d8 hit points and a longsword does d8 damage, and you die at 0HP. this is not to ensure characters die all the time but to emphasize the next bullet point:

emphasis on creative problem solving. most situations cannot be solved by straightforward use of your abilities (such as charging into every situation with swords drawn, if a fighter), so the game tests lateral, outside-the-box thinking.

emphasis on diegetic progression. spells are found, not obtained automatically on level-up. you get XP by finding gold more than killing monsters. most of your cool abilities come from magic items. making alliances & hiring followers is encouraged.

focus on managing inventory, resources, risk, and time. the players are constantly faced with meaningful decisions; this is the heart of the game.

very sandbox-oriented. the focus on creative problem solving means the game must be accommodating to players taking a course of action the GM didn't plan for. use lots of random tables to generate emergent story. some elements of new simulationism.

high tactical transparency, i.e., the optimal course of action is rarely system-specific, and ideally very possible for a new player to intuit.

usually semi-compatible with old D&D, but not always. usually rules-lite, but not always.

what does the OSR mostly NOT do?

focus on character builds. these change the focus too much to be on the rules than the fiction, can create situations where stuff everyone should be able to do is an ability locked to one class, and impede tactical transparency.

resolve everything with a die roll. combat uses dice to be scary, unpredictable and most importantly not your default course of action. everything else should bring up dice rarely - dice are your plan B when your plan A fails. the best plans need no dice.

use linear storytelling or put players into a writer/GM role. linear storytelling gets in the way of the decision-making so core to the playstyle; letting players write details into the setting is mutually exclusive with them discovering it.

rules for everything. 400 pages of crunch is worse at simulating a believable world than the GM and players' shared understanding. OSR games rely constantly on GM ruling.

mostly still applies to all the above. making your system a "pure" OSR game comes second to doing what's best for your game.

System recommendations

old D&D or a retroclone

old-school D&D - or old school essentials or basic fantasy or swords & wizardry, which are old D&D's mechanics repackaged with quality-of-life tweaks (and the upside of not giving WOTC your money) - are usually the go-to when recommending someone's first OSR game. they're actually not my first pick, though!

PROS:

very complete, with more robust rules than a lot of the lighter games on this list.

100% compatibility: most OSR adventures are statted for old school essentials. converting them to other OSR systems is usually simple, but not 1-for-1.

easier to find games for. anyone interested in the OSR space knows what old school essentials is.

CONS:

jank. these games largely still have weird saves, level limits for non-humans, some still have descending AC, etc etc. it's not that bad but it is there

i hate thief skills. lots of essential dungeoneering actions are locked to the thief class as abilities, with abysmally low success chances. this is stuff i prefer being handled without a roll. thieves in this system suck and make everyone else worse at dungeon crawling by existing.

there's just lots of really cool shit in other systems i'm about to go into that you just don't get here

Knave 1e and its various hacks

this is a 7-page super-lightweight system that boils everything down to just the essentials.

rolling a character takes like 5 minutes. roll stats, roll gear, roll traits, go. done. it's great.

characters are defined entirely by stats and gear, no classes. wanna be a fighter, have high strength and carry a big sword and armor. wanna be a wizard, have high intelligence and fill your inventory with spells. item slots are elegant and pretty limited.

initiative is instant: roll d6. 1-3, monsters go first. 4-6, PCs go first. swingy, but god it is so smooth and shaves like the most boring 5 minutes off of every combat

monsters are so very elegant. old D&D gives monsters a "hit dice" rating to determine their HP, e.g. a 3HD monster rolls 3d8 for hit points. knave takes this number (HD) and uses it for attack rolls and saves (aside from exceptionally bad/good saves), so a knave statblock looks something like this.

spells are all one or two sentences long & extremely easy to remember.

7 pages is so light. i have the system basically memorized.

DOWNSIDES: there's no dungeon crawling rules (standard for meatier OSR games & something i consider essential) and no real bestiary, though the second point isn't a huge deal cause they're so easy to make. it also kinda assumes you already know how to run OSR games, so there's very little real advice or guidance.

KNAVE HACKS

knave 1e is in creative commons & comes with an editable word doc for you to publish with modifications, so there's a ton of variants (there was a spreadsheet of them somewhere, but i can't find it).

Grave is a favorite - i'm two years into a grave campaign and it's fantastic. it's a dark-souls-y version of knave with some really elegant innovations.

you have a set number of deaths before you for-reals die, as every character plays an undead as is dark souls tradition. makes it good for OSR beginners! being able to tell when you're close to your final death is really good - it lets you emotionally prepare for losing your character & raises the stakes more the more you die. (though honestly you should probably cut the number of extra deaths in half, it's super generous)

XP and gold are combined into one resource, souls. legendary creatures drop big souls you can make into magic items. this has ended up being the coolest thing in my current campaign. my players love finding powerful souls to make into magic items it's so fun

uses preset packages of stats/gear instead of knave's rolled ones, filling the role of more traditional character classes. has the wonderful side effect of not making you get stuck with low stats cause you rolled bad one time.

you have stamina equal to your empty item slots. you spend stamina on spells if you're a caster, or free maneuvers (on top of your attack at no action cost) if you're not. it's super elegant.

there's 3 classes of spells: wizardry for intelligence, holy magic for wisdom, and witch stuff for charisma. nice and intuitive.

there's a page of 50 magic items each a couple sentences long. this PDF is worth it just for the magic items.

DOWNSIDE: see the downsides for knave 1e. all still apply.

i enjoyed grave so much i made a variant of it with the dark souls bits removed (and some dungeon crawl rules added!) to use for my standard fantasy campaigns.

Knave 2e

sadly knave 2e is not purchasable yet (i backed it on kickstarter so i have access, though). but when it comes out i highly recommend it.

much larger and denser than knave 1e. it finally has dungeon crawling rules, it has GM and player guidance, everything is refined and the layout is so so nice and readable.

combat is a bit more interesting than 1e. you can break your weapon against an enemy to deal max damage. you get a free maneuver on high attack rolls.

there's rules for stuff like alchemy, warfare, building a base. it all kicks ass.

there are so many goddamn tables. i rifle through it anytime i need inspiration.

DOWNSIDES: some of the new rules are a little untested & wonky. introducing randomness into how often your rations spoil or your lights go out can cause issues.

Mausritter

you play tiny little mice! in a world full of big dangerous things that want to eat mice. cat = dragon. you get it. what more could you want

the mouse thing is just super intuitive. you get the dynamic between you and the big scary lethal world. fantastic OSR game to introduce kids

nice and robust ruleset; nothing feels missing

tons of super nice GM stuff! faction rules, tools for rolling up hexcrawls and dungeons, plenty of tables

super clean readable layout. font isn't too small to avoid being intimidating. guidance is really nice and clear.

combat is autohit. super fast & lethal.

100% free

look mausritter is just. good. i wanna run it so bad someday

Worlds Without Number

sort of a middle ground between OSR stuff and 5e. paid version here free version here

lots of classes, at least in the paid version. the free version comes with just the warrior, expert and mage. there's feats and more of a focus on builds than most OSR games. if you like more mechanical build variety than a typical OSR game, this is a great game for you!

extremely good multiclassing. y'know how in most games if you just mash together two classes you think are cool you'll end up with a total mess? not here! every combo is viable and works fine! easily the best multiclassing of any game i've touched

an absurd amount of GM stuff and tables. easily more than any of the other stuff i've praised for also having them. but personally i haven't dug into them as much, so i can't really comment on them

skills the way modern D&D has them. you roll dice and try to beat a target number. i don't tend to like rolled skills, but most people do, so if that's your thing WWN has them

DOWNSIDES

the layout is terrible. everything is a huge wall of text with very little use of bold text or bullet points to draw attention to the important bits. the table of contents has like 15 things in it for a 400-page book! i couldn't find any of the paid-version-exclusive classes for like a month after i bought it! looking up rules is a nightmare.

the way the default setting handles "evil races" is like an exaggerated parody of all the problematic aspects of how D&D handles it. like, it wants so bad for you to have an excuse to genocide sentient free-willed people. but at least the default setting is easy to chuck in the trash

Dungeon Crawl Classics

the goal of this system is to take all of the crazy gonzo moments people remember playing old-school D&D in their childhood and turn all of that up to 11 while cutting the stuff that doesn't add to that. i think a lot of its innovations have ended up kind of standard in newer OSR stuff (like fighters getting maneuvers with their attacks), but it still has more to offer.

the funnel: you start the game with four randomly rolled dipshit peasants that you then throw into a meatgrinder to get horribly killed. you pick one of the survivors to be your 1st-level character.

maneuvers: fighters roll an extra die with each attack that gets bigger as you level. if it's a 3 or higher, you get to do a cool thing on top of your attack. pretty standard for OSR games, but this game popularized it!

crit tables: fighters also get more crits and nastier crits as they level. every crit, you roll on the crit table. maybe you chop off a dude's arm. maybe you just knock them over. maybe you shatter their shield. it's very cool

spell tables: i don't really like roll-to-cast mechanics, generally. but DCC goes so all-in on roll-to-cast that it still looks fun as hell to watch. you cast a fireball and maybe it goes how you want. or maybe you explode, or you nuke everything in a half-mile radius, or from now on you permanently ignite flammable materials you touch, or whatever. casters just have to put up with turning into a weird mutated mess across a campaign

there's no dungeon crawl rules, no encumbrance - this game is all about the big over-the-top wacky shit, and is not really interested in the more down-to-earth number crunching. it's more in the you-die-hilariously-all-the-time area of OSR than the you-avoid-death-through-clever-play area. not really my thing but the system knows exactly what it wants to be and i respect it

iron halberd

this one is mine! as the author i'm not qualified to tell you what isn't good about my system, so just assume it's worse than i make it sound, but here's a bunch of the selling points

semi-random character creation where you flip back and forth between rolling dice and getting your own input. roll stats, pick ancestry. pick starting gear kit, roll different dice based on which kit you picked. etc etc. stats are random but all equally viable (no rolling incredibly low or high stats). every time i run this game the character creation is a hit. seriously go roll up a character it'll sell you on the whole thing

you start out a lot stronger than a standard OSR character but grow way more slowly. i don't like 4th-level characters being 4 times as strong as 1st-level ones; HP never gets that high. emphasis is more on diegetic progression instead.

way too many subsystems for alchemy, crafting, strongholds, warfare, renown, rituals, likes 9 pages of magic items, a whole subsystem for becoming a cleric mid-campaign. i couldn't help myself i love this shit

in my current campaign we had a player permanently sacrifice some max HP to become a necromancer after deliberating on whether that's a good idea for like thirty seconds, which instantly made me think my necromancy system is a success

also free

Adventure recommendations

(in rough order of size)

Moonhill Garden (by Emiel Boven): look at this. look at it! this is like the best template for a little dungeon in an OSR game. all of the little factions are tied together. this would be a great oneshot to introduce people to an OSR system with.

A gathering of blades (by Ben Milton): a system-neutral, one-page sandbox. i ran this for an iron halberd game and it went super well. lasted like 7 sessions. highly recommend.

The Waking of Willowby Hall (by Ben Milton): a single dungeon with a million things going on. it's super chaotic with half a dozen different factions crashing into each other and a big angry goose. highly recommend, especially for kids

The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford (by Chance Dudinack): small sandbox with a fun fairytale vibe and a very fleshed-out little town. and a big nasty dragon.

Evils of Illmire (by Zack Wolf): this is a very dense, entire campaign's worth of hexcrawl in a very compact package for like $5. it doesn't do anything particularly new, but the value-for-money is absurd and it's a really good template for how to do a sandbox if you're used to 5e adventures

Ask me anything!

if anything here is unclear or intrigues you, send me asks! i love helping people get into OSR games. i'll link frequently asked questions here if i get any.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Collide (1)

Hello everyone!

Here we are finally in the series I talk about a few days ago. After the votes you chose Leah, but I might have kept some ideas for Alessia afterwards.

I have the beginning of the story and the end, but I have not yet decided exactly what would happen in the middle, so I am unable to tell you how many chapters there will be in this story.

I hope you will like it and as usual, I gladly take your comments, requests and suggestions :) Don’t hesitate to write to me.

Happy reading!

World count : 4.8k

TW : Mention of breaking up and angst. I think nothing else but if you notice something please let me know!

PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 | PART 7

The news of your transfer to Arsenal was like a little bomb in the football world. You were on the verge of another contract extension with Manchester City when the London club contacted your agent, offering you a contract that you couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, you thought about it long before accepting. You asked for the advice of your parents and friends footballers perhaps a little more experienced than you. Including Ingrid Engen, one of your best friends since you started playing on the Norwegian national team.

After weighing the pros and cons, you decided to accept and say goodbye to Manchester City. Some things will obviously miss you. Starting with some of your teammates that you consider your friends and who seemed really saddened by your departure.

You quickly got along with Laia Aleixandri and Leila Ouahabi, the spanish womens taking you under their wing just arrived in Manchester. They made your life easier and helped you include yourself in the club much more easily than you could have hoped. Leaving your home country at almost 18 wasn’t easy, but if you wanted to continue to follow your dreams, you really had no choice. Norwegian football being less in the spotlight, when you had the first proposal from an English club, you didn’t hesitate a single second. Your parents and relatives encouraged you to accept this offer as well.

Your life in Manchester has been pleasant and you can’t help but be a little nervous about moving to a new city. With other people, other places… In short, to start almost from the beggining. The only thing that has changed between your settlement between Manchester and London is that you have undoubtedly developed your athletic abilities and skills in all areas necessary to be able to play football properly.

Your contract was signed just after the end of the World Cup, so you were the last to announced at Arsenal. This didn’t allow you to find an apartment in time and that is why you find yourself in a hotel room for your first nights in London. It’s a little strange, but you’d rather that than take an apartment that wouldn’t suit you. It’s important for you to really feel at home when you cross the threshold of your door and you haven’t found the one who gave you this impression in those you have visited for the moment.

You only have a few things with you at the moment, all your furniture is stored in Laia’s garage in Manchester, ready to be sent as soon as you find what suits you. Very soon, let’s hope.

********

It’s a little nervous that you leave the Uber that accompanies you to the Arsenal training center for your first day under the colors of the club. You have already made the promotional photos, so you have already met several people belonging to the staff. You’ve already had a meeting with Jonas, but you haven’t met a lot of people officially when it comes to the players.

Last night, Alessia Russo contacted you via Instagram (you didn’t even realize she was following you on social media) and offered to wait for you at the entrance to make your way together. You quickly accepted, even if you also quickly understood that it was for you more than for her. Alessia knows a lot of people on the team, unlike you. But the gesture made you happy. Alessia having played at Manchester United while you were playing at Manchester City, you might have had a bad connection with her, being clubs enemy, but that’s not the case. Leila and Laia always took you with them when they were going out with Ona and her friends and that’s how you met Alessia. From saying you’re friends with her there’s a world, but you appreciate the blonde’s personality.

Alessia is already waiting for you when you arrive and you smile at her when you reach her height.

"Hi" you say with a slight smile, responding willingly to her embrace.

"Nervous?" asks the blonde, glancing at you.

You answer with a simple grunt that makes her laugh, before you go to the conference room where you meet the rest of the team. She asks you about your Summer and you ask questions back, learning that she went in her family in Italy.

Several of your teammates are already present when you enter the room, including Jonas who greets you both with a big smile. You find yourself following Alessia around like a lost puppy in the room, but she doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she introduces you to people she already knows.

You’ve come across some of them on football fields in previous games, but aside from a few words exchanged with them, there’s never been anything more. You talk to Laia Codina, whom Laia and Leila described as an adorable girl, when a new trio arrives in the room. Lia, Leah and Katie.

"Katie terrifies me" Alessia jokes in your ear before Leah spots her and leads the other two in your direction.

"Do you know Y/N?" Alessia tells Leah after they greet each other with an embrace.

"Not really" Leah replies with a smile. "Welcome to Arsenal!"

"Thank you very much"

When your eyes meet, you feel a wave of shivers running through your entire body. Nothing to do with the terror that Katie can inspire in Alessia, but what it can mean does intrigue you no less. But you quickly recover, greeting all three. You realize too that Leah’s embrace lasts a few seconds longer than the others, her hand dragging in the hollow of your back when she laughs at a joke Katie made.

Shortly after, Jonas and his assistants arrive in the room and ask you all to sit down. You find yourself next to Alessia and Manuela Zinsberger and listens wisely to what he tells you. This mainly consists of a warm welcome from the new players, a reminder of the goals set for the team this year and the introduction of new staff members. After that, everyone is invited to a brunch and you find yourself around a big round table, once again with Manuela but also with Frida Maanum, who seems delighted to have a compatriot with her on the team.

"We’ll be able to show Stina and Amanda who the real Vikings are" she told you, amusing the people around you.

The least we can say is that you quickly feel comfortable.

Finally you were wrong to fear the introduction into your new team. You haven’t trained together yet, but you feel it won’t be a problem for you to fit in here. Despite you, your eyes are a little too turned towards Leah Williamson, who has lunch at an another table. You didn’t expect the injuries one to be here today, which was stupid of you. They’re just as much part of the team as you are.

In the middle of the afternoon, after visiting the different rooms and the training ground, you are free to leave. You stay a little longer than the first ones who do though, having fun making passes with Alessia and Manuela, while Leah, Lia, Beth and Viv stay a few meters from you to discuss. When you finally decide to leave the field to go home and you don’t follow them to the parking lot greeting them nevertheless, you see Leah arching an eyebrow.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking the subway? I don’t have a car yet" you answer smiling, shrugging your shoulders.

"Bullshit. Someone can bring you back" Leah says, turning to your teammates.

"I’m not going to force someone to make a detour for me, Leah, but that’s very kind, thank you very much."

Something in the blonde’s gaze makes you think that if she had been fit to drive, she herself would have made the detour, but being driven by Lia she doesn’t have the opportunity to do so.

"I can" says Alessia nicely. "Where do you live?"

A new wave of surprise attacks your teammates when you give them the name of your hotel.

"You live in a hotel?" Lia wonders with her kind voice this time.

"I didn’t find an apartment for now" you shrug your shoulders."It all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to anticipate things properly."

Well, you must also say that you wanted enjoy your holiday without bother yourself with it.

"We have a guest room if you want to come and live there for a few days, the time to find something" proposes Manuela.

But before you have time to answer, Alessia suddenly resumes speaking, slapping her forhead, as if she had just remembered something.

"They’re looking to rent the apartment in front of mine, on the same floor. If it’s like mine, it’s really nice!"

********

It turned out that the apartment in front of Alessia is indeed very nice. A bright living room (Very rare for London said Katie when she was sent by Leah to come make the counter-visit with you to scare the seller in case of scam attempts), a bedroom, another room that you used as a guest room, a third to make you an office and a living room with open kitchen. You even have a small balcony overlooking the inner courtyard, separated from Alessia’s by a transparent wall. "We’ll have to do a housewarming party" several of your teammates got excited. And that’s how you end up with most of the players on the team crammed into your living room, laughing while watching a reality show chosen by Jen. You ordered pizza and a supply of beer and other drinks has been flooding your balcony since last night. But you feel good and that’s all that matters. At the end of the show, you don’t know who offers a drinking game, consisting of taking a shot of alcohol if we did more than the person says. For example, you find yourself having to drink when Lotte says "I took more than three yellow cards last season." "Katie should drink like five shots" jokes Viv towards. Katie glare at her as laughter rises around you, but the game continues. Finally, when one of them says "I slept with more than two people" you are surprised to see that finally not many of you drink. You do. "Y/N?" Manuela turns to you with a disbelieving smile. "We never said we had to justify ourselves" you answer pulling your tongue at her. A new round is quickly thrown after that, but you cross Leah’s eyes a few seconds later. She also drank, which is probably not surprising given the small reputation that precedes her.

After clearing your throat, you look away with a slight blush on your cheeks.

You regularly saw Leah, between the parties organized by the different team members and during training. If the blond doesn’t follow those in the field, she has her appointments with her physiotherapist at the same time as you play. And she now participates in strength training and physical maintenance.

You talk to her regularly, but you have a hard time staying away like you promised yourself to. Leah seems like a very passionate and kind person, but some of your former teammates in Manchester City have made you aware of her flirtatious nature. And a one- or two-night thing, are really not what you’re looking for right now.

A little later in the evening, when at least half of the squad has returned home, you find yourself tidying up a little in the kitchen accompanied by Lia, Leah, Alessia, Manuela and Frida.

"So you have more than two conquests?" teases Manuela, leaning on the central island of your kitchen.

You have the impression that Leah’s eyes will pierce your head when she hears Manu’s question.

"I’ve got like three" you says, rolling your eyes. "It’s not the end of the world"

"It’s not" Lia laughs.

Hoping to divert the conversation, you offer once again to drink to your teammates slash friends. But that was without counting on Manu’s spontaneity.

"Oh but it wasn’t you who dated Alina Meier who play in Aston Villa? Lia’s swiss teammate?" (n/a I don’t want any problem with anyone, this girl is all invented)

You feel your stomach contracting a little bit to her name. Manuela isn’t mistaken, but you usually avoid talking about your ex. Any of your interlocutors could feel the tension emanating from you, but Lia is the fastest.

"Can I have another beer please?" she cuts the conversation with a big smile.

You willingly accept and pivot towards the fridge to dive in. Alessia takes charge of changing the topic of conversation and you sigh of relief when your hear that it works. You spend two seconds more than necessary to take out the beer, taking a large breath before leaving the fridge. Alessia puts a comforting hand behind your back and you find yourself once again stuck in Leah’s eyes when your eyes cross.

An hour later, it’s just Alessia, Leah, Victoria and you. Manuela fell asleep on the couch and you will probably find her in the same place tomorrow morning. Vic and Lessi are in the middle of a conversation about a band when you find yourself on your balcony, enjoying some fresh air.

"Mind if I join you?"

Leah. You obviously invite her to join you, despite yourself very intrigued by the young woman. You’re not stupid, or at least not stupid enough not to realize that she seems intrigued by you too. She speaks at you more often than Manu for example and behaves differently with you than with Lia or Alessia. You can imagine how much she looks about you and to be honest you’re interested about her too. But on your side it’s not only physical interest, which changes everything.

"Are you okay?" asks Leah with sincere concern. "You seem a little down since Manu mentioned Alina."

You look at her thoughtfully for a split second before shrugging your shoulders.

"She doesn’t bring back pleasant memories. But it’s ok" you finally confess, looking at the sky.

It’s difficult in London to observe the stars, between pollution and public lights lit everywhere. You miss it a little.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Well… Everybody in the football world knows, no?"

Another disadvantage of dating a well-known player, in the end. It’s impossible to keep your privacy private.

"I don’t think so?" said Leah, frowning. "I don’t, anyway." You look at her again for a few seconds and it doesn’t take you any longer to understand that she’s telling the truth. "We dated for almost a year, until I found out she had been cheating on me with someone in the man team from her club for almost four months." "Oh... I’m so sorry" A new glance in her direction allows you to understand that she really is. Frowning, she seems upset by this story. Like all the people to whom you tell the truth of your break up with Alina. You assumed that everyone knew why, but it would seem that they didn’t. It kind of cheers you up to be honored. "Jordan’s playing with her now" you say thoughtfully. Leah grunt at the mention of her ex and you take advantage of the fact that she looks in front of her to observe her. Leah is a very beautiful woman, it’s not surprising that people like her so much. You see regularly video on her in your "For you" on Tiktok. "You’re not the only one having a bad relationship with your ex" ended up sighing Leah. "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, repeating her words from before. "There’s not much to say. She’s just, you know... gone." Maybe you shouldn’t get close to her to put your hand on her shoulder, her proximity triggering strange sensations throughout your body. You realize that the joints of Leah’s hands that are attached to the fence are white, and your hand quickly leaves her shoulder to be laid on one of Leah’s, stroking it. When Leah turns her head in your direction, you realize how close your faces are. Your breath is cut off and the infinity of the blue of her eyes makes you lose yourself. When Leah puts her hand around your waist to take you against her, you feel like your heart rate has never been so fast.

But it’s nothing compared to how you feel when her lips land on yours. One hand is automatically behind her neck and the other on her cheek. Your lips begin a passionate and sensual dance and that’s exactly how you imagined things when you thought about how Leah kiss.

The blonde takes advantage of a wimper from you to deepend the kiss and request access to your mouth with her tongue. You leave it to her, carried away by these waves of emotions and sensations that make you turn your head. You find yourself quickly having legs in jelly and you can’t tell how long this moment happened.

You need all your concentration and willpower to break that kiss, snatching yourself from Leah’s arms.

"I’m sorry" you mumble out of breath, facing Leah’s surprised face. "I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry"

With one last mumble, you hurry back inside. If the remaining guests suspect something, they don’t show it. You take the excuse to clean up a little more to mask your trembling hands and let your heart rate returning to normal. Five minutes later, Leah came back inside, excusing herself and leaving your apartment, calling it a night. She didn't even look at you and well, that's hurt. But it shouldn't, aren't you the one who pushed her away?

After kissing your cheek and saying goodbye, Alessia left you too. You throw a blanket on Manu’s sleeping body, you go to your room. It’s late, but you know that Ingrid sometimes stays up a little later than other people.

From You Are you asleep?

From Ingrid 🩵 No. are you okay?

From You Can we call each other?

You don’t get messages back, but Ingrid tries to call you while you’re brushing your teeth. You pick up, mouth full of toothpaste and greet your friend with a hand sign when her face appears on the screen.

"What are you still up at this hour?" smiled Ingrid

"I could ask you the same question" you point out to her after rinsing your mouth.

Ingrid just turns your phone screen and you realize that she shows you her living room, in which she seems to be installed with Mapi and Baghera watching TV.

"Hola Mapi!" you smile to the tattooed when she greets you with a wave of hand.

"What about you?"

"I invited the girls to my apartment to celebrate my move in" you explain before leaving the bathroom and going to lie on your bed.

"Was it nice?"

You hum for any answer, the memory of the kiss you just exchanged with Leah coming back full force. After spending years paying attention at you, Ingrid knows you very well and she realizes in the second that the reason you called her is related to this evening.

"What’s going on, Søtnos?"

Mapi being next to Ingrid, you are relieved that you started this conversation in Norwegian. Since Leah’s name is rather all-purpose, you hope that when you mention her, Maria will not realise. You never understood why there is such tension between the Spanish women and the English women, at least for some of them. But Mapi will probably never be friends with Leah.

Ingrid is a person you could easily confide in, even if there are parts of your life that you have never talked to her about. But you trust her with your life and you know that she will always be able to see things in a neutral and mature way. Which is not always your case.

You explain the situation to her, trying not to take too much time while giving her all the necessary information to have a clear vision of things.

"For summary" resumes Ingrid after your monologue "You like her, she seems to like you too. She kissed you, you pushed her away and she left without looking at you?"

"Uh… yeah"

"And you’re surprised?" laughs softly the brunette shaking her head.

"No, on the contrary. I should never have accepted that kiss in the first place, it was a serious mistake on my part."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn’t see things the way I do, I guess. Leila told me to beware of her and she didn’t want anything serious for a long time" you sigh as you roll to the side.

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No, we didn’t have time between the kiss and the moment she left my apartment slamming the door" you laugh.

"Be careful with your bad attitude" warns Ingrid pointing at you.

But you smile at her in return. You know she doesn’t scold you for real.

"Anyway, I doubt that she will want to speak to me again after that" you sigh again.

This information shouldn’t depress you as much as that, but still. And this doesn’t escape the keen eye of your compatriot once again. She smiles softly at you.

"I like Leila and I don’t doubt that she means what she says, but trust me, you’re never better served than by yourself."

Her look from the side and you know she’s looking at her own girlfriend. You remember perfectly well that Ingrid was also told to beware of Mapi. But when you see where they are today, you tell yourself that she did well to trust her own idea.

"You have a better conscience than me to judge people" you remind her.

Ingrid answers you with a grunt and you know that she thinks about what happened previously in your love life. You make a grimace and decide to change the subject, questioning her rather on Mapi, her trainings and what she has to tell you again in her life.

Your call lasts another ten minutes before you decide to stop, promising to call you back quickly. What you usually do once a week at least, determined to keep in touch despite the fact that you are not in the same country.

It’ll be a long time before you can fall asleep that night, Leah deep in your mind. Part of you is bitterly sorry you pushed her away, but on the other hand, no one can blame you for wanting to protect you, right? No one knows your past and what you went through before you came here. But you can’t help but feel guilty, despite the little time you spent with Leah, she confided in you about her relationship with her ex and even if it was just a few words, you feel like she wouldn’t do it to just anyone. Your last wish is to hurt her, she asked nothing for it.

You will have to wait until the sky clears, heralding a new day for you to finally find sleep, long hours later. Little did you know that Leah experienced the same thing in her own bed.

********

As you have imagined, Leah was particularly cold the next time you saw her. She greeted you, but only from a distance. Her affectionate smile and the little touches if attention she offered you on a daily basis now seem to need to be evoked in the past. And it bothers you too much for your taste.

This obviously caught the attention of the girls you were closest to in Arsenal, starting with Alessia.

"Is everything okay with Leah?" she asked you one day when you ended up in her apartment after a game.

"Yeah, why?"

Thank God you were on your phone and you were able to use this pretext to pretend to be absorbed by what was on it. Otherwise Alessia would have seen the slight panic take hold of your gaze.

"I don’t know, I think she changed her behavior with you… It’s not so much in her habits"

Alessia is far too observant, but given her character and personality, it doesn’t surprise you. It's also probably thanks to this that she saw your hesitation and she got closer to you before starting to speak again.

"Leah is my friend but you are too, so if you need to confide in someone, you can do it with me ok? I know how to keep secrets"

"Even for Tooney?" you asked while arching an amused eyebrow.

You met the energetic Englishman recently, when she came to London for an interview and took the opportunity to attend a match of Alessia.

"Even for Tooney" laughed Alessia gently shoving you with a shoulder.

You laughed too and you both went back to your respective phones, but in truth Alessia’s remark began to spin in your brain.

"Thanks"

Is all you added before you letting your head on her shoulder. Alessia responded by tapping you on the top of it, without taking her phone out of her eyes. And that was enough.

********

"Your tattoo is amazing!"

Katie’s exclamation makes you turn in her direction and you smile timidly when you see her watching your back carefully.

"Thank you?" you whisper in response.

Even if you prefer showering at home, this is not the first time you change in front of your teammates. So you don't know it Katie have never dared to ask you about it or if they have never really make attention the tattoo you have on your back. Yet it’s hard to miss. Drawn on all your right shoulder blade, it goes down to the hollow of your hips and shows up to your right shoulder.

"Wow, invite the girl on a date before" jokes Manuela when Katie advances towards you, without detaching her eyes from your back, her head slightly tilting on the side to have a better view.

"Sorry, I already put an option on it!" Caitlin exclaims at the back of the locker room, causing a general laugh.

Katie rolls her eyes, but you realize that she has been joined by Lia and Leah, all three of them carefully observing your tattoo. Your gaze lingers on Leah, who seems to resist as much as possible her desire to come and look closer. She stands behind Lia and when your eyes cross she silently observes you for long seconds before shifting her attention to your back.

"Sorry about the invasion" Lia smiles gently.

"It makes me think of a painting" Leah thoughtfully made next to her.

"By Van Gogh yes. The Starry Night. It was my grandfather’s favorite painting. Well, it’s a modified version obviously, but the inspiration is there"

The surprised look of Leah doesn't escape you. Lia is watching you silently and next to you Katie and Manuela have started a conversation about tattoos. As for Alessia, she finally emerges from the shower after her eternal routine of care.

"Do you like painting?" Leah asks carefully, looking at you with the same apprehension as if your gaze could ignite her alive.

"My grandfather was a painter, not very well known but he introduced me to this world" you answer by shrugging your shoulders.

"What she paints is incredible. She has a room dedicated to this at home, behind her bedroom" Alessia intervenes.

You turn in her direction, frowning. It's a part of you that you don't really want to share with everyone, fearing their jugement. You don't think you're a great painter, but you like painting. It's sort your mind. Your glance is quickly captured by your friend.

"What? It’s true" she mumbles, shrugging.

You roll your eyes and turn around to finish dressing, putting on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt to accompany your ripped jeans. The little troop that surrounded you has dissipated, but Leah’s gaze remains thoughtfully on you. You cross it when you glance in her direction and you blush slightly.

The effect that woman has on you… It might be a good idea to talk to someone about it again instead of thinking desperately about her every night before you fall asleep.

[museofzia]

♡ things i incorporate into every attempt

to lock in guaranteed productivity & results !!

how to stop feeling unmotivated and lazy and begin finding your own methods for productivity

i've had many moments of questioning if i'm being productive enough in my shifting attempts. i think the one thing i told myself that helped with these kinds of doubts is: i have so much time. i don't have a time limit to how long i have until i HAVE to shift. though i'm eager, i need to take my time to explore my own boundaries and know what works best for me.

yes, there are some moments more than others where i miss how productive i was in my past days. however, with time comes improvement.

i think it's harder to willingly begin to fail. being productive with my own research and attempts is one of the most crucial things i did. but i didn't just try to depend on research-- i frequently logged my journey and kept up with my own boundaries and preferences. i made my own methods, i thought of my own affirmations, and i shifted on my own time. i have trouble with memorizing methods, so i made my methods short and sweet. 3 steps yet all of them include such important factors for me. that way i can ensure productivity without straining my own memory.

♡ focus.

it's difficult for me to get into a state of mind where i'm shifting my consciousness to another reality if i'm still hung on this one. this is why, i get off of my phone 1 hour-30 minutes before my attempt. i spend that time beginning to connect to my drself and my dr. thinking of my life, my relations, how my day will go, and how i am there. these are my moments of reflecting what the experience will be like, the pros and cons equally.

e.g. let's say i go to a boarding school in my dr. what do my classes look like? which one is my favorite and least favorite? what about my dorm? how frequently do i visit home? who do i room with? how packed is my schedule? that's the kind of stuff i reflect on-- especially because i don't go to a boarding school in my cr. this lets me disconnect from my cr and be able to visualize and ground myself in a much easier way. this is one of the most productive things i can advise someone to do.

productivity comes from the mind- the mind that's traveling. have some consideration for just how much information you can retain. journal! journaling and logging my progress and boundaries did so much for me. i've never been so at peace and organized with my shifting journey until i began keeping track of things like what works for me, what days i'm least stressed, etc. writing everything down helps you reflect on yourself and your progress. this gives such incredible results, especially if you struggle with focusing and finding the right methods and time for you. you must sort yourself out in order to achieve peace and organization.

♡ support

finding a support system that shares productivity and motivates you each day can do an incredible amount of good for you. being around people who share your struggles and build you up can help a lot. it can also be very intimate-- reality shifting is a journey that's meant to be walked through, and if you know you have a bunch of people who are achieving the things you want to, you'll know it's all possible. getting to know those people as well helps you find yourself, especially knowing there are people that are so similar to you achieving anything you want to achieve. not only that, but be your own support system. no one will shift FOR you. shifting is a journey you walk through with yourself primarily. no one can find you your own preferences or make you a method that'll work for you, no one has seen the world through your eyes. no one has seen you through yourself. this is all a journey of self reflection and building yourself. looking at realities where you're someone you've always wanted to be. looking at new environments, and appreciating everything you have.

make the journey fun

no one else will do it for you ♡

love, zia.

[m1ng1ology]

lonely overseas

seungcheol x fem!reader

song : roller coaster by justin bieber

"there's a reason what this happened for, yeah. but I can't help but feel like.. lonely overseas, only memories. wish I had the key to your heart. people come and go, baby, they don't know.. what we had before, but it fell before our eyes : roller coaster"

warnings: angst, crying. 

wc : 1.4k

synopsis : you’ve been in a long-distance relationship with your idol boyfriend, seungcheol, for a while now. though your bond is strong, balancing your relationship with busy schedules has always been a challenge. after enduring these struggles together, seungcheol decides to surprise you in an unexpected way...

you take a deep breath as you realize your relationship with seungcheol isn’t going anywhere like it used to. both of you are struggling to keep up with each other and your separate schedules. dating an idol of a famous group came with more cons than pros. the biggest one being that you both live in two different countries, separated by an ocean and different time zones. at first, neither of you minded. the adrenaline of being together was enough to drown out the logic of the situation.

but now, eight months in, the cracks are starting to show. there have been many ups and downs—some expected, some coming out of nowhere. cheol’s stress over a comeback clashed with your own stress over looming deadlines at work. he would text you at 3 am his time, which might have been the middle of the afternoon for you. and you’d do the same, your schedules never aligning in a way that felt natural.

cheol had a habit of getting upset if you didn’t respond quickly enough or if your answers weren’t what he wanted to hear. tension had been building over the past two months, the weight of it pressing on you every day. you’ve thought about breaking up with him more than once. the idea crosses your mind now and again, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. it wasn’t because you didn’t love him—you did, more than anything. but you felt alone. his love for you was clear, but it still didn’t fill the void that grew with every missed call or fleeting moment together. early morning and late-night facetimes didn’t help anymore. his impulsive trips to see you—where he squeezed in a couple of hours between other commitments—felt like they were supposed to, but they only reminded you of how much time you didn’t have together.

you felt neglected, but you kept those feelings to yourself. you didn’t want to burden him, not when he was already juggling so much. his words echoed in your mind, clear as the day he’d said them when you first signed the nda: “you know what you’re agreeing to, right?” at the time, you’d been too excited to even think about the weight of those words.

you’ve been through so much together. he’d even suggested you move to south korea to be with him. you’d shut the idea down gently, explaining how your friends, family, and career were all rooted here. seungcheol had said he understood, but he still brought it up every now and then, sometimes even suggesting you could transfer jobs to make it easier. it was his way of trying, but it only made the gap between you feel bigger.

suddenly, your phone buzzes. you glance at the screen and see his name: cheol. your stomach churns as you check the time—2:45 pm for you, 4:45 am for him. you answer the call. “hello?”

“what are you doing?” his voice is low and groggy.

“nothing…” you say slowly. “why are you even up?”

he sighs. “open the door.”

you blink, confused. “what?”

“open the door,” he repeats, his tone firmer.

you scramble to your feet, your heart racing as you walk to the door. peeking through the peephole, you see him standing there, tired but unmistakably there. you quickly unlock the door and open it.

“what are you doing here?” you ask as he steps inside, his presence filling the space like a stormcloud. he doesn’t answer at first, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. he crosses his arms, leaning against the kitchen island. 

“what’s wrong?” you frown, avoiding his gaze. 

“what are you talking about?”

“y/n, tell me.” his tone is sharper now. “i booked a flight all the way here to talk to you properly. now, what is wrong?” you sigh, running a hand through your hair.

 “i… i can’t keep doing this, cheol,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. his jaw tightens as he shifts his weight, his eyes never leaving you. 

“doing what?” you take a deep breath, the words feeling heavy in your chest. 

“this, cheol,” you say quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor. “us. i can’t keep doing this… the constant waiting, the loneliness, the feeling like i’m just hanging on to something that isn’t going anywhere anymore.” he stays silent, his arms dropping to his sides as he exhales deeply. 

“y/n, what are you trying to say?”

“i’m saying,” you start, your voice trembling, “i feel alone, cheol. even when we’re talking, even when you fly halfway across the world for a few hours. it doesn’t feel like enough anymore.”

“not enough?” his tone sharpens, but his eyes betray his hurt. “you know how hard i’m trying. you know how much i love you.”

“i do, and i love you too,” you say quickly, finally meeting his eyes. “but love isn’t fixing how empty i feel. it’s not fixing how every time you leave, it feels like a piece of me leaves with you.” he runs a hand through his hair, stepping closer to the kitchen island as if the space between you is unbearable. 

“so what, y/n? you want to end this? is that what you’re saying?” your heart aches at the rawness in his voice. 

“i don’t want to end this, cheol,” you admit. “but i don’t know how to keep going like this without losing myself.”

“then move to korea,” he says, his voice laced with desperation. “you know we can make it work if you’re there with me. we’ve talked about this—”

“and i’ve told you why i can’t,” you interrupt, your frustration slipping through. “everything i’ve built, my job, my life, my family—they’re here. and i know that’s selfish, but i can’t just drop everything and go. i wish i could.”

“so you’re saying it’s impossible?” his voice cracks, and the vulnerability in it nearly breaks you. “because i don’t want to lose you, y/n. i can’t lose you.” you feel your resolve weakening, but you force yourself to stay firm.

“i don’t want to lose you either, but it feels like we already are. we’ve been fighting to hold onto something that’s slipping through our fingers.” 

he crosses the island, standing in front of you now, his hands reaching out to take yours. “i’ll do better,” he pleads, his grip tightening. “i’ll figure it out. just don’t give up on us.” tears well in your eyes as you shake your head.

 “cheol, this isn’t about you not trying. you’ve been trying so hard, and i see it. but it’s not enough to bridge the gap between us. it’s not fair to either of us.” his hands drop, and the silence that follows is suffocating. he steps back, his shoulders slumping as he processes your words. 

“so that’s it,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i don’t want it to be,” you choke out. “but i don’t know how to fix this without one of us losing something big. and i’m scared that even if we keep trying, we’ll only end up resenting each other.” he nods slowly, his jaw clenched as he blinks back tears. 

“i flew all the way here because i couldn’t stand the thought of you hurting,” he says, his voice trembling. “and now i feel like i’m the one breaking.” you step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “i never wanted to hurt you. i love you, cheol, more than anything. but sometimes love isn’t enough.” he closes his eyes, his head hanging low as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“i don’t want to let you go,” he murmurs.

“and i don’t want to let you go either,” you say, your voice cracking. “but maybe letting go is the only way we can stop hurting.” 

the two of you stand there in the suffocating silence, the weight of unspoken words filling the room. and as seungcheol finally turns to leave, his footsteps heavy, you feel your heart shatter, knowing this love—no matter how deep—wasn’t enough to keep you together.

[ominoose]

𝐏𝐫𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧'𝐬

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader Summary: You make a smash or pass spreadsheet with friends, Nathan finds his part. Warnings: Reader made fun of slightly but turns out well in the end, its just silly :) WC: 836

It was a silly, fun little game. A night to let loose with friends, not hold back, no thinking or worries. Just a light-hearted tease. Simple.

It was not supposed to lead to Nathan Bateman storming up to you like a man on a mission, pupils blown wide in fury behind gold frame glasses. Ordinarily he wasn’t a man to be trifled with, even on his best days (as far and few between as they were), and everyone that worked under him, no matter how distant their role, knew to tread lightly.

Nathan was not treading lightly. The crinkle of paper clutched and creasing in his fist was all that accompanied the stomps of his boots on the carpet until silence reigned as he stopped in front of you, nostrils flaring.

“'Arrogant, rich asshole'?!” You’d never heard his voice so angry, so loud from the get go, and if your blood didn’t go cold at the quote you would have had the good sense to be more scared.

"‘Chewtoy biceps’, ‘Condescending in a sexy way’, Sexier Elon Musk!". It wasn’t looking good for you.

The group Google Doc wasn’t even your idea, listing the singles in your lives with the pro’s and con’s of sleeping with them in a “Smash or Pass” group call also wasn't your usual friend-groups past time, but you didn’t need much persuading to join. Nathans name being added to the pool hardly came as a surprise, but you boldly stamping Smash next to his name was.

It was a night of giggles and gasps, losing self respect in the name of forging deeper bonds, like girls at their first high school sleepover. It was not meant to get back to him.

“Mansplaining snob?!” The sharp words snap you back into reality from where you’d rabidly been trying to recall the words you typed that would now serve as your death sentence.

“I-”

“It’s not mansplaining when I have to dumb down simple fucking concepts for you to understand, sweetheart.” Despite the pet name, the way he waves the printed out screenshot in your face made it clear he’d kill you by death of one thousand cuts if he could.

How could you get out of this? You couldn’t, there was no way you’d come out of this with a job or reputation intact. It was a miracle he didn’t wait until you were in the middle of the office cubicles or a meeting to humiliate you. Then again the fact that he was furious enough to come straight to you with fire at his heels was equally terrifying.

“Wanna know what’d I’d say about you, hm?” His weight shifted on his feet, shoulders squared as he used every inch of his height to leer over you.

“I-I didn’t say this to your face!” A pitiful attempt at reasoning, as if the word mercy wasn’t something Nathan Bateman boxed for his morning work-out. Technically it was his own fault, he didn’t own Google, he shouldn’t be snooping in his workers private documents.

“Oh, okay then.” A higher pitch, raised eyebrows, the ghost of a smile. God, you were absolutely fucked.

And then he walked away. No stomping, no clenched first. It was the strut of Nathan that had just had a breakthrough.

This was off script.

The next few days were absolute hell. It was paranoia akin to living under witness protection after whistleblowing a major government conspiracy. Every email that came, every task assigned had you tensing and assuming this was it, this was the deathly blow.

Turns out the deathly blow was even less exciting than an email. It was an A4 piece of paper left on the centre of your desk, perfectly straight and ivory white.

‘Cons: -Overly sensitive -Acne marks -Didn't go to Harvard -Needs validation -Buys shitty clothes, probably from Temu’

Maybe being simply fired when he first confronted you would’ve been the easier option, that or death by the thousand cuts.

Nathan was never a man to mince his words, if you had a weak point he’d punch it and blame you for having it in the first place. You also knew you weren’t perfect, this was a job you’d clawed your way to, losing several nails in the process. Half your mental capacity was spent simply trying to keep above water, who could blame you for wanting a little ‘Well done, good job!’ every once in a while. Clearly, Nathan could.

The paper became blurry, hot tears trembled in your eyes, threatening to spill right in the middle of the office buzz. And how would you explain? Getting fired while having every flaw listed by your incredibly wealthy, accomplished, genius boss?

Blinking back the tears, there’s only half the letter left to read and getting it over with sooner was better than later.

‘Pros: -Funny -Can keep up -Nice ass -Annoying smile -Not materialistic -Honest’

There was only one word left at the bottom, one line above a phone number.

'Smash.'

[lvve-talks]

Congratulations on 300 followers love!!! You deserve this and more, I'm so so happy for you. ❣️

What do you think of Art being readers tutor, except she's actually just faking not understanding anything because she wants to spend time with him.

"i just don't get it!" you huff for the fourth time while mulling over the same problem for an hour. of course, the answer is 47%, and the equation is pretty straightforward, but he doesn't have to know that you know that.

you're great at statistics. art is... average. but when you saw him sitting front row of your stat 202 lecture on the first day of classes you knew you had to have him. golden curls sitting so prettily above that sharp nose and blue eyes sparking behind those slutty glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

after class one day in the second week, you tap him on the shoulder and ask if he understood anything the teacher was talking about.

"uh, yeah, sure," he answers, turning around to lean over your desk and explain confidence intervals while you stare at his cute pink lips the whole time instead of listening.

"you're really good at explaining things," you compliment despite not having listened to a word he had said. you learn that you really like how he looks when his face gets all warm and flushed.

"really? um, thanks," he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose bashfully and you catch yourself wondering how that nose would feel buried between your thighs.

"do you think you could tutor me on this?" you ask sweetly, twirling your pen into your hair. "i'm like... so bad at math," you explain simply, lying through your teeth.

you can see him considering the situation in his mind. pros and cons, how much he really wants to see you every week or so. the answer is clearly a lot when he answers "yeah, i could do that. i have tennis practice pretty much every day, but i'm sure we could find time," he clears his throat when he's done like it took effort to get that many words out when you're looking at him like that.

"really? perfect!" you clap your hands together, a pleased grin breaking out onto your lips. "here, give me your number. so we can.. plan where to meet and stuff," you hand your phone over to him and he seems to get impossibly redder. how cute.

for the first few meetings, you'd meet at the library. you tell him with a pout that you got a c on the first test despite nailing it and you lean in extra close when he comforts you and tells you that you can still pass the class with grades like that, but that's why he's here to help!

you memorize his features and the inflection of his voice when you're supposed to be learning the central limit theorem and always ask him questions about home and tennis and his other classes to get him off track when you get bored of that.

you sit extra close to him, your thighs and your elbows brushing as you make him draw models on your notebook to show you how they work, even if his numbers are slightly off, you can't correct him.

you always wait for him to finish his tests in class first, doodling stars in the margins after you finish so that it doesn't look suspicious. you slowly work up to telling him your real test scores so he can feel accomplished as your tutor. once, when he asks you what you got on an exam, you slip up and casually say 95.

"what?" he asks, eyes wide, clearly astonished, "that's.. awesome."

"all because of you!" you cheer, quickly wrapping him up in a hug to distract him.

eventually, you convince him to start meeting in one of your dorms. it's so much easier than going all the way to the library after all. you lay on your stomach, head practically in his lap as he sits with his back to the wall, notebook or laptop conspicuously hiding the semi he's been rocking ever since seeing you sprawled out on his sheets.

it all comes crashing down one day when you're idly scrolling on your phone as he searches through your desk for some flashcards in preparation for the final exam. what he finds instead is your very first exam from the semester, a big red 100 penned at the top.

"what's this?" he asks, his heart pounding in his chest as he holds it up for you to see. it's unmistakable. your name penciled in at the top next to stat 202, section 4. and a fat red 100. even circled for emphasis and a little great job from your professor. the test you had told him you got a c on. the test he had barely scraped by with a b.

you glance up casually, your heart stopping in your chest as you register what he's holding. your eyes flick up to his, the expression on your face making it clear to him that you weren't expecting him to find that. "i.. um..." you start, not quite sure how to explain it away this time.

"what's the square root of 196?" he asks suddenly, like he's quizzing you. you can't tell if he's angry or not, his expression stony as he looks at you, only his blue eyes giving away the hint of betrayal.

"14?" you answer correctly, knowing you can't go about fooling him anymore.

he sighs, his hand holding the test falling to his side and his head falling back to look up at the ceiling.

"i'm sorry, art," you're immediately sliding off your bed to approach him, a regretful look on your face. and you really are. you didn't want to lie to him, not really, but you just had to get to know him.

"why did you lie to me?" he asks, finally looking down at you again, the hurt clear on his face this time.

"i'm sorry," you repeat, softer this time, intertwining your fingers with those of his free hand. "i just... i wanted to talk to you. to spend time with you," you try and explain, knowing it's still not exactly justified.

"you couldn't have just talked to me like a normal person? asked me to hang out, get coffee or something?" he asks and you cringe at the accusation in his tone.

"i just.. it was the first thing i thought of. and then i liked spending time with you so much, i just had to keep up with the lie or i thought i'd lose you and..." you trail off, looking down at your feet in shame. you know you betrayed his trust, you're simply praying he'll give you another chance.

he sighs softly again, his hand gingerly coming up to you jaw to tilt your head up to look at him again. "you're not going to lose me," he insists, his eyes looking much softer now as he takes you in. "but i think maybe you should be the one tutoring me," he teases, a small smile gracing his features that makes you sag with relief.

"i'm sorry," you sigh again as he pulls you into his chest. you wrap your arms around him, breathing in his scent and thanking whatever it is out there that's clearly on your side.

"shh," he shushes you gently, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "i forgive you. this time," he adds with a chuckle that inflates your chest. a second chance is all you need. statistically, you had to be much more likely to get it right the second time.

[thecreelhouse]

I can be your rotten fantasy ☠︎︎🔪♡

Paring: dbd!Steve Harrington x Reader x dbd!Ghostface

Summary: In search of taking your sex life to the next level, Steve takes something that doesn’t belong to him, only for the consequences to be greater than either of you expected.

Word count: 3.7k

CW/Tags: Steve and reader being horny morons, rough sex (PiV), oral sex (m receiving), light impact play, bondage, dacryphilia, dub-con, dirty talk, knife kink/play, DBD references, Pyramid Head mention

A/N: this has been sitting in my docs since 2021, and I kinda forgot all about it until last night. This is Dead By Daylight based, but it can still be read without any knowledge of DBD! title is from body parts by bludnymph. happy reading, fellow horror sluts. <3

🔪♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎🔪

“Wait, wait— did I show you what I was able to swipe?”

Your brows knit together, curious over Steve’s words. He takes it as a sign to reach into his back pocket, pulling out a mask to show you— Ghostface’s mask.

“Steve, how the fuck did you get this?”

“He keeps extras in the basement. I found one hiding in a locker down there during the last trial.” Steve smirks— the same way he always does with the small ounce of ‘cocky son-of-a-bitch’ he has left in him.

“He’s gonna kill you.” You murmur, watching as Steve puts it over his head, pausing before slipping the mask over his face. 

“Not much of a difference from how he usually does, huh?” Steve still looks too confident, while you cant help but look over your shoulder in worry that Ghostface is around. 

He wouldn’t be, realistically. The two of you aren’t even in a trial, and far away, safe from the killers. For now.

“Steve…” Your voice warns, ignoring the warmth in your lower stomach. “This could really get us in trouble.”

“C’mon, you said you had a thing for bad guys.” Steve mumbles as he leans towards your face, lips barely touching yours. You snort at his corny words, but he ignores that. “You’re the one that said you have a thing for being scared.”

It wasn’t a lie: you really did have a thing for being scared, in the right situations, of course. There have been times you felt … excited as you were cornered or downed by some of the killers. You weren’t sure what exactly did it for you— the stalking, the weapons, the darkness of the beings themselves …. There was always something that got you way, way too aroused.

Steve pulls the mask over his face, donning the signature expression Ghostface always wore. His rather soft touches became rougher, fingers digging into the skin of your hips where your shirt rode up. 

You’re flipped around, back against the wall, while Steve grasps your throat. A strangled moan escapes you as you try to hold it back, trying not to come off as so needy and desperate already.

It doesn’t miss Steve, though. “You do like this, don’t you?” His voice is muffled through the mask, but still low and laced with lust.

You shut your eyes before nodding hesitantly, squeaking out an affirmative sound. You can’t see Steve’s face, but you know damn well he’s still smirking under that mask.

Steve rolls his hips into yours, grinding his already hard cock against you. Again, you try to hold back a moan, but it still comes out in a fractured, shuddered, breathy mess. He gropes your breasts roughly, tugging at your nipples through your shirt with a firm pinch.

“F- fuck—“ You gasp, hands flying to Steve’s pants, immediately undoing them. Steve moves a hand down to yours, mirroring your actions. The two of you end up nude waist down quickly. 

The thing was, you never knew when you’d be summoned to another trial, so usually any sexual experience had to be rushed, just in case. At this point, you and Steve were pros at quickies.

“God, sweetheart… wish I had a knife to play with you some more,” Steve grunts as he runs the head of his cock along your wet folds. You hook a leg around his hip, giving him easier access to your entrance.

“Nex- next time,” You gasp as he presses against your clit. Steve chuckles lowly behind the mask, teasing you again by dragging his leaking head against your sensitive spot. “Steve, please, j- just fuck me alrea—“

Steve thrusts into you without much warning, causing you to scream out and throw your head back into the wall. He slaps your face, albeit still with his gentle touch, but it makes you clench around him regardless. 

Steve groans loudly as he keeps his brutal pace, knowing he’s close already, and you’re not far behind, squeezing him so tight, threatening to milk him dry.

 “Yeah… fuck…” His grunts are muffled, but you’ve never heard him so… feral. You can’t hold back the filthy cries spilling out of you, almost screams, as Steve continues drilling into you. “This was worth the risk.”

—————

As silence settled around you, your ears still rang, filling the void. Chest still heaving with deep pants, you wondered if you had ever run that fast in a trial before.

Exhausted, you let yourself collapse back into the overgrown grass underneath you. You made it through, you actually escaped. You should’ve been relieved you bypassed another gruesome death, but all that was on your mind was Steve.

The two of you became separated after the second generator kicked on, sprinting in opposite directions after a close call with Pyramid Head. After that, you tried keeping an eye out for any sign of Steve, but were unsuccessful. Eventually the timer ran down and you had to leave through the open gate while you still could. 

You could only hope that Steve made it through before you.

“Jesus Christ, the deaths aren’t permanent in this place, settle down.” You mentally scold yourself, dragging a dirt caked and blood crusted hand down your face. “He’ll be fine either way.”

 Even with the self reassurance that the deaths weren’t final, your exhaustion was slowly turning over into rage. Fuck these trials, fuck these goddamn killers, and the Entity can absolutely go fuck itself to hell and back as far as you were concerned.

The post-trial fatigue was always ruthless; you could feel your eyelids slowly closing on their own, muscles growing limp as your body relaxed from its fight-or-flight mode that was a part of your everyday life now. With all your strength left, you moved back to rest against a giant tree, one with yours and Steve’s initials carved into the decaying bark.

 “You could just wait here for him, this is your spot anyway, he knows where to find you.”

It’s unclear how much time passes since your eyes slip shut, but you let them flutter open at the sound of someone walking on the gravel nearby.

At first sight, you jump and yelp, falling onto your back on the ground. You begin to nervously laugh as you realize—

“Steve, give it up already.” You tease as he leans over you, while you look at each other upside down. He’s wearing the Ghostface mask again, but then you notice something new. “Did you steal one of his robes too?”

 Steve shrugs silently, and you have to roll your eyes. 

“What? Now you’re not talking either?” You lean up on the backs of your arms, staring into the mask’s pitch black eyes. “Should’ve got the voice changer to make it believable.”

His head tilts slowly as he continues to look down at you. Another nervous laugh slips past your lips.

“Very funny, Harrington.” You reach up to pull the mask off, but his strong, gloved hand pins yours down to the ground. You grunt in surprise. “Hey! A little warning when you wanna play rough. Jerk.”

His other hand grips your free hand, pinning down next to your other hand. Yanking them together, he positions them above your head, gripping onto you with one hand as his other hand reaches behind him. Searching quickly, he pulls a rope from god knows where, before sloppily tying your hands together.

“A- are we gonna pick a safe word?”

Steve continues binding your wrists together; the knot is a wreck, but still effective. He hovers over your trembling form, staring at you like you’re prey.

“O- okay… I can pick it—“ You sharply gasp as Steve swiftly slips a knife under your shirt, slicing up the middle of the fabric. The ruined shirt falls aside, leaving your bra exposed. “Fuck… fuck… okay— uh— entity?”

Steve’s shoulders fall, then begin to shake ever so slightly in a silent laugh. You roll your eyes and huff, but he nods regardless.

The knife is polished, like it’s never been used. It makes your skin crawl with terror and excitement. Steve rests it on your chest, flat side to your skin, still for a moment. Then he slides it under your bra, tugging the sharp side up away from you. The twist of the weapon with the pressure from your bra, tight against your skin, digs the blunt side of metal into your sternum uncomfortably.

Shivering, you hold still, apprehensive to make any detrimental moves. It takes a bit of effort, but the blade finally slices through the stiffness of the bra’s gore. Though the two of you are ways away from the camp, you still blush at feeling so exposed out in the open.

One gloved hand reaches for your chest, groping roughly. You wince at the sudden painful pace, but you’re not immune to the pleasure that follows, arching into his touch. The other hand holding the knife begins to trace teasingly along your skin.

“You uh- you know how to use that th- thing, right?”

Steve nods slowly, still silent. You didn’t expect him to be so… dedicated to the character.

The knife’s tip catches along your sensitive skin, just enough to prick the surface, but it still startles you, granting another gasp.

“Wait- wa- hold on—” You panic, but force yourself to stay still. You trust Steve, he’d never hurt you, but something about this all feels… off.

Across the softest part of your breast, the entire edge slides across, ever so slightly. It’s smaller than a paper cut, but it still stings enough that you wince.

You watch blood bubble up a little through the laceration, gulping in fear. You didn’t expect Steve to jump right into knife play, ever. He teased often, but he was too nice to actually do it.

Thinking about it all made you dizzy with pleasure, soaking through your bottoms with arousal. Steve slowly starts to grind his hips into yours, knife still teasing along the surface of your skin. It catches and scrapes every so often, leaving behind thread-thin lacerations along your torso. You don’t bother to hide the whimpers his actions earn.

“St- oh, fu- fuck!”

So distracted by the knife, you didn’t even notice that he undid your pants before slamming into you mercilessly. It takes you a moment to register the way he stretches you so suddenly, and then the wave of pain hits.

Your mouth hangs open, but you can’t find your voice, can’t bring yourself to form words. A beat passes before a raw, raspy scream escapes your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve, what is your—“

He slams himself into you again, stealing the rest of your question. The knife comes up to your throat, blade just close enough to threaten you with fear and the possibility of consequence as it rests on your skin. You’re tempted to use your safe word, jarred by how fast the scene has escalated.

Terror running through your veins only heightened your arousal more; Steve throws his head back, releasing a strangled groan under the mask. 

That didn’t sound like Steve. … At all.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound, pure horror replacing every other feeling you had just moments ago.

 Eyes wide, you dare looking at the mask, fighting back moans as he pumped into you. “You… you’re- you aren’t St—-“

“Hey, sorry I’m late, that trial was a nightm—“

Your head flips to the side, unable to believe the sight just feet away from you. Steve, worn out, exhausted, dried blood across his features. 

 Steve freezes in place, eyes growing as wide as yours, silent in fear. You do a double take— to Steve, then Ghostface. Ghostface, Steve. Steve was never in the Ghostface costume, so that means—

“Surprise, sweetheart.”

 The gravelly voice confirms your fears, and you squirm under the stranger, with no luck on escaping. 

Steve begins sprinting over, his well intentioned hero instinct taking over by default, but Ghostface presses the knife closer to your throat. You do your best not to hyperventilate as the sharp edge sits against such a sensitive area, but you’re terrified.

 If you die outside of a trial, is the death permanent? Because this was not the way you wanted to find out.

“Watch yourself, Stevie.” Ghostface’s tone dripped with mockery, continuing his rough thrusts into you, earning faint, defeated whimpers from you. “They’re really enjoying this. Should feel how wet they get when they’re threatened.”

Steve’s face contorts into concern and rage all in one, eyes darting between you and the masked killer.

Meanwhile, you’re trying your absolute hardest not to moan while your eyes well up with tears. Of fear? Maybe pleasure? Guilt? You weren’t sure, but Ghostface is right, you’re enjoying this, and you feel filthy. 

“You just can’t stop soaking my cock, huh, sweetheart?”

Your mouth falls open, unable to find your words still. Before your eyes roll back, you glance over at Steve with shame and desire.

“Sit and stay, pretty boy.” Ghostface points to the ground with his knife, and Steve reluctantly obeys. While still drilling into you, he groans “This is what happens when you fuck around with my shit.”

“We di- didn’t—“

“I wouldn’t fucking lie now if I were you,” Ghostface pushes the knife just a little further, and this time you can feel it catch ever so slightly on your skin. 

You gasp, then a sob escapes you, to which Ghostface just laughs.

“Who are you trying to fool, slut?” He growls as clearly as possible through the mask, keeping his pace. “You just squeezed me so fucking tight when I moved the knife, don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

Another sob leaves you, but it molds into a moan, because he’s right. You like this. You shouldn’t, this is wrong on so many levels, but the way Ghostface continues to rail you, you go dumb as your mind goes blank. Nothing else matters.

Ghostface pulls the knife away from you, and you shudder a sigh of relief, though internally you’re kind of disappointed at the loss. He notices and laughs again. Laughs right in your fucking face.

Before you can process anything, he pulls out, leaving you empty for only a moment before flipping you over on your stomach. As his hand reaches to shove your face into the ground, he bottoms out in you, earning filthy noises from you both.

Steve is horrified, but he can’t look away. Was it shock? Was it anger? He wanted to step in and help you, but he was afraid the wrong decision would cost you your life.

And if Steve was being totally honest, he wasn’t sure how the rules worked outside of trials. Killers didn’t approach survivors outside of the hell the Entity conjures up. There was no way for him to know if that changed outside of trials, and he wasn’t trying to find that out by sacrificing you.

… And, if Steve was being totally, absolutely honest, he was finding it hard to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. He couldn’t figure out what the fuck was wrong with him, but he was well aware how twisted this was.

“S- Stevie—“ You whimper, trying to reach your bound hands out in his direction. Ghostface laughs again, pushing your face into the ground with more pressure. Again, your walls constrict around him, and you feel shame at how much you like the abuse.

“Oh, does the poor damsel in distress want their knight in shining armor?” Ghostface mocks, thrusting all the way to the hilt with no concern for how you feel. You feel gravel and dirt scrape against your face as he continues pounding you into the ground.

Something about that, all of that, just makes you even more wet.

Steve can’t help but let his hand palm himself through his jeans. God, does he look ashamed, but something about that just made your skin burn up even more.

“If your pretty boy wants to join in, by all means,” Ghostface snarks as he gestures towards you while staring Steve down. “But I call the shots.”

———

You’ve lost count on the amount of orgasms that’ve torn through you already. Somewhere around the fourth high, the one that rolled right into the fifth with no warning, that’s when your brain went fuzzy, deep in subspace.

“So cock drunk, you just couldn’t stop at one, could you?”

Ghostface’s gloved hand shoves you closer to his pelvis, causing you to gag on his length. He tasted of you and him combined, and that alone was able to drive you wild. Even better, Steve was railing into you from behind as Ghostface fucked your mouth, matching Steve’s pace.

“Pretty little thing needed to be spit roasted so bad.” Ghostface teases, admiring the way your wide eyes look up at him as he continues fucking your face, eyes rimmed with tears. “Bet you let everyone fuck you around here, huh?”

You groan around his shaft, his words causing you to clench up. That sets Steve off, moaning sinfully as he slammed into you. His fingers on the left hand grip the swell of your ass, desperate for something to hold onto for balance. His right hand holds the knife— Ghostface encouraged him to try some knife play— the length of the blade parallel with your spine.

 Every so often the blade scrapes your skin as he creates taunting patterns with the tip. You whimper, scared, but your cunt tells a different story. Steve continues fucking harder, harder than he’s ever fucked anyone before.

“Our p- personal little fuck toy,” Steve grunts; every so often he makes a comment with some dirty talk much tamer than Ghostface’s, but hearing him talk at all is enough to make the coil in your stomach tighten.

“I usually don’t— yeah, right there—“ Ghostface grabs your head with both hands, hips snapping into your face mercilessly. “I don’t usually share, pretty boy… Jesus Christ— but I- I’ll make an exception for you two.”

 Steve’s hips stutter— he’s close. His head lolls back with a deep, gravelly groan. “Th- they were mine first.”

The way they talk about you with objectification, as if you’re not even there, it humiliates you, sending you closer to yet another release. Your legs shake, and your arms weaken, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Ghostface twists his gloved hand into your hair, tugging your head up to stay on his cock. The pull is intense, causing tears to spill over onto your face, mixing in with the dried blood and dirt that already settled there hours ago.

 Ghostface ignores Steve’s claim, rutting into your mouth with all he’s got. Steve takes that as a challenge to one-up him, thrusts picking up to a merciless speed and force. The silence of the night around you is broken by all three of you grunting, groaning, and especially you crying from how good this feels. The filthy noises of your slick cunt sucking Steve in as his skin slaps against yours, and the gagging from your mouth as Ghostface continues fucking your face are dragging you to climax with ease.

 You’re drooling on Ghostface’s cock while you soak Steve’s, eyes rolling back as another orgasm hits you full force, causing your entire body to convulse as pleasure consumes every inch of your being. Steve finally spills into you, making a mess of your tight, velvety walls that continue to flutter around him, while a guttural moan escapes him. 

Light flashes quickly in your face; Ghostface has his fucking camera in hand, skillfully taking a selfie as Steve cums, and you’re crying with Ghostface deep down your throat. He’s definitely done this before, only taking one and sighing satisfied before he cums, too.

“Oh, fuck… good girl…filthy bitch.” Ghostface grunts as he shoots his seed into your stuffed mouth, saltiness hitting your tongue before you swallow, left panting as he pulls out from your swollen lips. “That was fun, sweetheart, but I gotta go score some kills.” He releases the grip on your hair, and you collapse into the ground.

Steve throws the knife to the ground near Ghostface, panting as he pulls out of you, watching the mix of your arousal with his drip out of you and pool on the ground below. 

“Next time you try stealing my shit,” Ghostface points his knife towards Steve, “You’re choking on my cock too, pretty boy.”

Steve ignores the way his threat stirs something within him.

 The masked killer stands, flipping the knife in his hand before sheathing it somewhere under his robe, walking away like nothing even happened. His tall, threatening figure dissolves into the mist by the edge of the forest, leaving you and Steve alone.

 “Jesus Christ, what the fuck just happened?” Steve breathes, pulling you towards him as he moves back to the tree you were waiting by earlier. Working on the knot that still holds your wrists together, he asks softly “Are you okay?”

 Gazing up at Steve as he pulls your back against his chest, he notices the mess your spit and tears made all over yourself. You’ve got small, superficial cuts along various spots of your body, your lips are cock-swollen, and bruises are forming already from where they both gripped and manhandled you. Above it all, you’ve got the most dazed, sleepy smile plastered on your face.

 “M’so okay, you?”

 Steve reveals a smirk he was holding back as he looks down at you. “That was… fucking terrifying, but at least neither of us died.”

 “Like you didn’t enjoy it.” You tease, eyes fluttering shut as you settle into Steve’s arms. 

“I’m not denying that.” Steve admits, kissing the top of your head. “Never stealing from him again, though.”

 “You better not steal from any of the killers ever again.” You murmur, sleep creeping up on you.

 There’s not much to do for aftercare out here, other than keeping one another company while giving comfort. You’re still a filthy wreck; tears, saliva, dried blood and dirt everywhere, while still dripping the mixed slick from Steve fucking you.

“Trust me, I won’t.”

 A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, but you break it before exhaustion can steal you for the night.

 “… You think Pyramid Head likes threesomes?”

[the-sick-habit]

Statistically Speaking, I Think I'm Fucked

Modern AU | Ellie x Fem!Reader | College setting | On a journal

Eyes Without a Face by Billy Idol

Chp 1: "if I can swim in a pool then I can swim through college"

Saturday, August 16 07:43 PM Last day in bedroom…kinda

So basically, I’m gonna do this thing. I’m gonna FUCKING do this, and it’ll be fun and easy and it’ll be everything I ever dreamed of. Or whatever. If college is even something I actually dreamed of doing (news flash: it’s not).

Joel ordered pizza, said this all not-so-casually, “We can just eat one last time and watch your favorite movie. Is it still Curtis and Viper?”

First of all, YEAH Joel, still one of my favorite movies.

Second, I’m not DYING. He makes it so hard sometimes to act like me moving into the dorm isn’t such a big deal. It’s just fifteen minutes away. I’m literally twenty-three, I can handle it. It’s just one more empty room upstairs. Maybe then Tess will actually stay longer and not make some bullshit excuse about me being home.

Which was awkward every time she did it.

At first it was easier when Sarah was here, because she’d call them out. But Tess…not that she SCARES me or anything but when she looks at you like that? Eyes narrowed like she’s ready to aim for your head, and her eyebrows furrow a little while she does that. I can see how she makes Joel shut up.

Shit – pizza’s here.

Later, same ol’ later than my bedtime/11 ish

So it wasn’t that bad. Kinda feel bad for the way I wrote about Joel. He’s just a big softie that doesn’t know how to say he’ll miss me. And rather say things that sounds like I’m about to be blasted into space (wouldn’t that be nice?) and never return.

 Dina texted me earlier when I was watching the movie with him. Didn’t look at it till now. Kinda wish I did, Joel would’ve gotten a kick out of it. She’s with Jessie and his family, out at their farm. Didn’t peg her for the type. Not that – yeah. Anyways.

It’s a horse wearing a cowboy hat in that 0.5x zoom that Dina always likes to take pictures in. It’s fucking cute. I’ll just show him tomorrow.

Sunday, August 17 Joel’s truck at the buck ass crack of dawn

I knew I should’ve waited to piss.

Now I’m in his truck, waiting for him to come out so we can go to Home Depot. He wanted to get some screws for the cabinet in the kitchen. The same one me and Sarah broke two months ago when she came to visit from Illinois. I’m honestly surprised that he just noticed, but Sarah and I did a pretty good job at stitching it up. Does he have any clue it was us?

Nah.

Told me he opened it to get his coffee mug (like a fuckin’ GIANT apparently). I asked him why he didn’t just use the ones that are in the garage. He had like, a gazillion of them. He just STARED at me like he was trying to decide what my pros and cons were.

Sorry for being practical and wanting to go back to sleep?

“Go get the truck started.” Was all he said before he walked away like I didn’t even have a say in what I do.

So yeah, sitting here, freezing my ass off. Listening to his old country music, somethin’ about should’ve been a cowboy or whatever. Fuck, I forgot my earbuds inside.

But not my journal?

Monday, August 18 0900, sitting in my own row GENERAL CHEM LECTURE

Well, this is it. Here in class. Waiting. Hoping I don’t get bored to death.

This girl keeps turning around to look at me from the front. Unless there’s someone behind me?? I just turned around and nope – oh she smiled. FUCK I JUST WAVED BACK, jesus christ, I should’ve just smiled why did I WAVE?!!?! It’s whatever, I don’t even know her. Why am I freaking out?

Joel insisted I start learning how to read military time, since, apparently that’s all they use in the medical field. Can’t believe I’m doing pre-med. Is this even me? Yeah!!! I’m totally capable, that quiz online told me so. And Joel seems to think I’d have a knack for it.

Shit – professors here.

Later, same 1345 in statistics

So far it’s not bad, we’re just going over the syllabus. Easiest class I’ll ever take apparently. THANK YOU GOD definitely needed that break.

Dina’s been texting me non-stop. She won’t stop freaking out about the nursing program shit. I’m so fucking glad I’m not in that, it sounds like torture. Something about a dosage exam.

She’s also getting upset that I haven’t answered her, but I literally texted her like a couple of hours ago. What am I gonna say to gun emojis and crying meme reaction pics??!!!

Later, same SAME DUMB ASS CLASS

GROUP PROJECT DUE AT THE END OF THE SEMESTER?!?!

That’s absolute bullshit!!!! Oh my FUCKING GOD.

Might as well just shoot my brains out with Tommy’s rifle!!!!!

Later, same same stupid class I guess

I just have to clarify in case someone reads that. I’d never do that.

Also, Dina texted me again to hang out after class. And honestly, I don’t feel like doing that. Shit, it’s just the first day, I have to CHILLAX while I can.

Plus, the Nintendo switch is calling my name. Breath of the Wild anyone? Whatever.

Super later, still the same day In my dorm (dormmate isn’t here yet, hope it’s not a fucking asshole)

I ended up hanging out with Dina, and we were just talking about our classes. What we’re doing, and all that jazz. It was actually kinda nice so I’m glad she insisted on coming over to my dorm. She wanted to check it out, since right now her and Jessie rented out an apartment a couple of blocks out of the campus. And his PARENTS are helping them.

That’s so nice isn’t it??? I mean, Joel’s also helping me but FUCK I don’t want him to, he’s already done so much by taking me in and including me in his life – now this?? I REALLY have to pass, I really have to go through with this so I can just stop –

Anyways. I did get a scholarship for this so I just need to get my grades up and that’s me basically helping him out with the rest.

I guess Jessie’s enjoying his classes so far. Weirdo.

But back to Dina, she was talking about what her professors were saying. And she had this look on her face, and I fucking knew it the second the spoke that it was one of those ideas that she already had me included in. She proposed a study group, which is something her professor encouraged everyone to do. Okay? I guess if y’all all wanna hold hands and cry.

And then she asked ME if I wanted to go.

Actually, she didn’t ask.

She’s MAKING me go. As if I didn’t have my hands full at this current moment!! “It’s on Thursday at five. I better see your ass there, Williams.” And then she walked out of my dorm like nothing. As if I was gonna do whatever she wanted me to do. I already have one guy doing that, don’t need to add someone else.

I have a missed call from Joel. But I don’t feel like calling back yet. It’s like eight, he’s probably sleeping right now. I’m just gonna play my switch a little bit.

Thursday, August 21 Cafeteria

I’m just waiting for Dina and Jessie right now. I have my lunch, just a sandwich and some chips. Groceries Joel helped me pick out on Sunday, when he was helping me move into my dorm. Damn, which reminds me, I have to tell him that he forgot to get milk for the house. Why does it feel like there’s so much shit to do????

FUCK FUCK it’s not a big deal but why does it feel like I’m in a sea, alone, with just a fucking door to lay on top of while the sun IS BEATING ME UP  “Can you do it? Can you do it?”

Yeah I fucking can asshole!!! And I just KNOW Dina is gonna ask me if I’m gonna go to the study group today, but I really don’t feel like talking to anyone right now. I already spoke to Joel before I got to the cafeteria, and he asked me how school’s going.

This is literally the third time this week he called me to ask. It’s starting to get on my nerves. And I feel bad about it, but damn can’t the old man just let me do my shit? I’ll be fine, I always have been!!

Here comes Jessie. No Dina yet.

Friday, August 23 Dorm

Alright, so that wraps up the crazy first week of class. I talked to Dina about the study group. I mean, not that I WANTED to do it but seeing all my assignments listed down? There’s no fucking way I’m doing that on time without some help!!

I just have to admit it, I procrastinate like it’s my fucking job. And I CANNOT do that this semester, especially when my grades depend on how much help I get. I need to finish this, there’s no other way around it. DO IT ELLIE.

Dina had a grin on her face, too smug for her own good. I KNEW she was gonna do that, “We added another day. Twice a week. Monday and Thursday.” She said it so simple, but I already knew that she was doing a celebratory dance inside her head.

“Seriously, Els, come. It’ll help.” That’s what she said after, and she looked so serious then. It kind of fucked me up and hit me straight in the chest. Did she see?

No, she couldn’t have.

She had me write down my assignments on my calendar on my phone, put reminders on. The whole thing took like about an hour. Mostly ‘cause we were just fucking around. And then Jessie called her, so it took EVEN LONGER. Guy sounded out of breath—turns out he’s been running almost every day for ‘stress relief’.

“Since when did you start running?” I just HAD to ask, and I didn’t mean to sound surprised when I did. Okay, well, more than just surprised. (probably hurt his wittle feewings).

“Uh, since I needed an extra dose of dopamine after seeing you so DEPRESSED for a week.”

“Okay, dude, what the fuck!?”

But Dina interrupted the conversation before it could even go on. What an asshole!! But the thing is, really???!! Have I really been acting that way???? No I haven’t, I’ve just been super concentrated. And that’s it. There’s nothing more and nothing less to it. My assignments are on my phone, I’m in that study group now, and I’ll be fine. Everything’s good. I got things under control.

I guess I can call my old man this time.

Monday, August 26 Dorm, being pushed in two directions

UGHHHH should I go? I should, I REALLY should. It’s a couple of minutes past five, I don’t know if I should. Would being late be rude? It’s going to be rude. I’m going to walk in there and INTERRUPT A GOOD STUDYING SESSION.

Fuck it, I need to do it. I need to go. ‘Cause if I don’t, I’m going to FAIL.

Also my dorm mate is here. She’s chill. Talks to her boyfriend on the phone a lot. Puts on a lot of perfume and likes to listen to Sabrina Carpenter. Sarah also likes that singer. So I knew a couple of songs.

Fuck, I gotta go. She’s talking to her boyfriend again and I’m sick of hearing the word ‘babe’.

Same day, later Library and feeling stiff

I did walk in there as casually as I could, and I saw Dina and them almost instantly. The library was nice, open, the kind of place I’d like to be in when doing homework. Which was the plan.

I clocked like six people, including Jessie and Dina. They were REALLY focused, and of course when I went over to the table they all had to look up and just STARE. Except this one girl, she just glanced at me really quick and then looked back down at her laptop. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail. It was cute.

But then of COURSE as I put my backpack down by my seat –which happened to be next to Jessie and in front of this girl – Dina gave me SHIT.

“This is Ellie. Always late to stuff.” And she pointed her stupid pen at me. Like I was some kind of exhibit to fuckin’, I don’t know, POINT AT.

I just rolled my eyes at her and took out my shit from my backpack, trying not to feel FLUSTERED just because of this one chick in front of me. Which, by the way, I BARELY know her???

“Whatever, I’m here aren’t I?” I ended up saying back, and it wasn’t even like, cool, or anything. It sucked.

But she looked at me and gave me a smile. But it was one of those ‘hey-i-see-you-please-don’t-think-I’m-weird’. Unless I’m projecting?? Because I’m pretty damn sure that’s what that smile was about. And I smiled back at her before we went back to our respective positions. Studying and whatnot.

And then JESSIE HAD TO SAY SOMETHING TOO, ‘cause why not?!

I saw him shift in his seat a little next to me and said this with that stupid grin of his Dina insists makes her melt, “Don’t let her intimidate you, she’s scrambling as much as the rest of us.”

Okay, intimidate?! Why are we only talking to this ONE girl in front of me?? That’s when she told me her name, like she was sorry that this was even happening. Which, honestly, okay, made me feel a little better.

At least another person sees how UNFAIR they – shit, Dina is giving me that look. Gotta go and actually study.

Author's Notes: I'm literally nervous about posting this because I CARE SO MUCH. I was gonna say something else in the middle of posting this but I totally forgot. -- masterlist <- current chapter -> chp 2

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 1

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 2, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW. Eventual smut. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Time for Buggy wearing reading glasses! 🥰I'm not sure how long this story will end up being, but it will be more than a few chapters.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The book sat there, alone. Waiting. It was tucked under a bench, nestled into a gap that held it just barely out of sight. Just barely, but not entirely.

It was late and most of the ship had gone to sleep. Only those on patrol and a few night owls who were just getting ready to turn in for the night drifted among the moon and dim lighting. Soon, it was just the night guards and the ship’s captain, who had been stuck solving a problem. Untangling equations, adjusting mechanics, weighing chemicals and compounds - experiments that he was devoted to until the right reaction occurred. And even then, the reaction had to be just perfect. It was the nuanced tinkering that pulled him late into the night.

Finally satisfied with the outcome, Buggy headed back to the captain’s quarters. Heavy boot steps filled the air like the ship’s heartbeat. Out of habit, his eyes swept the area to look for anything suspicious or out of place. The timing and lighting aligned just right to let his eyes land on the paper edge that failed at blending into the shadows.

Buggy paused, freezing mid-step. His last breath stayed in his chest. Only his thoughts kept moving as they weighed the pros and cons of ignoring the mystery item.

One of his forgetful crewmembers probably forgot about it and will find it eventually. But what if it wasn’t a book, but a trick or a trap? Or what if it was a book with secrets hidden inside? A way to be rich and powerful or maybe maps? It could also be a diary. As captain of the ship, it wouldn’t be out of bounds for him to know what’s going on with his crew, right? What if they wrote about him? Feedback is good. It’s healthy. And if there was feedback someone wasn’t giving their beloved captain, well, Buggy would want to remedy that over some personal knife throwing sessions. For bonding, of course.

Unfreezing with a sigh, Buggy sent over a hand to grab the book. He squinted in the dim light while flipping through the pages. It wasn’t a diary or journal, but there were scribbles and notations throughout the margins in the beginning of the book. A dog-eared page marked where the handwriting ended.

Flopping the novel shut, Buggy stared at the flimsy cover. A cloaked figure stood at the edge of a shadowed forest, facing a distant castle guarded by a dragon. Was this really so interesting that someone had to fill the pages with even more words? The pirate scrunched his face and shook his head before glancing around and leaving behind the empty area.

A heavy click secured the door to the captain’s quarters, locking him inside and locking out any unwelcome interruptions. Buggy tossed the book onto his unmade bed and headed over to the desk. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a glass and emptied the contents into his mouth just as quickly. The liquid pricked his tongue with little explosions that grew into a gentle burn, heating his throat and chest. Excess heat was released in a hiss. Buggy’s body reacted to the soothing balm, relaxing as the alcohol coursed through his limbs. 

The tension holding his joints together loosened slightly - not enough for him to break apart, but reverting to an easier and more comfortable hold. Years of relying on his Devil Fruit powers left Buggy overcompensating unconsciously, knitting his muscles tighter to hold himself together.  Kicking his shoulders back, the pirate rolled his head to the gentle pops and cracks of the interior bubbles popping between various joints.

Another heavy pour of alcohol was sloshed into the cup and carried over to the bed. Buggy grabbed the book from the cresting waves of blankets as he climbed onto the mattress. He propped himself up with pillows and studied the novel. The pages were old and slightly yellow and the soft cover was rounded at the edges from being handled many times. Although it was previously loved, the writing looked fresh. Something about this fantasy story was enticing enough to multiple readers.

With narrowing eyes, he flipped open the book to the first page. It had been a while since he read solely for his own curiosity and he found himself rereading the same line more than once. There were hardly any extra snippets on the first few pages and he was already stuck. Buggy pinched the bridge of the nose, his hand carrying the smell of sweet, dusty earth. He groaned and pitched himself forwards, the movement increasing the volume as more air was pushed out. 

Flopped forwards like a rag doll, Buggy blindly grabbed at the table next to his bed and yanked open the drawer with a scratchy wooden creak. He retrieved a felt pouch and sat back up. The reading glasses easily slide out of the fabric holder. Snapping open the silver frames, Buggy settled the glasses in place - round lenses behind his round nose - and went back to the book.

Hours later, the sun crept into the room. It eased itself through the window and along the floor, board by board. Little fingers grabbed at the foot of the bed and hoisted the light higher. The golden glow crawled along the hills and valleys in the bed before reaching a still hand with a pen entwined in the fingers. Then another hand, holding an open book against a chest that rose and fell at a steady pace. The light bounced off an empty glass on the side table. And a trickle of drool from the open, snoring mouth. And the glasses, still sitting on the sleeping face.

The sun danced on the glasses, the little jumps and leaps increasing in tempo until Buggy woke up with a snort. A hand flew up to wave away the sun. Failing to chase away the untouchable foe, he went to block his eyes and collided with the glasses instead. A sharp pain hit the bridge of his nose as the glasses dug into his face.

“For fuck’s sake,” Buggy whined, finally just tilting his face away from the window and out of direct line of the sun’s overexuberant greeting.

The book slid with a soft rustling. Worried that the paper might catch and tear, Buggy snatched it up. The story was better than he expected. Well, enough to keep him engrossed. The pirate wouldn’t say it’s the best story he’s read (which he did more growing up), but it’s not bad. And the extra additions made it better. Comments about what the other reader liked, what they disagreed with, lines that made their emotions sink and soar, characters they envied, questions about backstories and motives. 

There was a lot of commentary, and yet Buggy found himself adding his own. Hurried scratches about his own opinions (which were better), answers to questions left by the other reader because they obviously didn’t pay attention, his own musings and challenges to the author, and, surprisingly, pieces that Buggy felt connected to.

It wasn’t long before he found himself cramming a trail of consciousness and even anecdotes into the empty spaces in the novel. And when he did run out of room, he shoved scraps of paper to contain the overflow of ink. Plus one extra piece of paper to serve as a bookmark. He read past the dog-eared page and, honestly, only an absolute barbarian would crease a book like that.

But now what? The end of the story called to Buggy, curling a finger to invite him to see the journey to the end. The few chapters left him in the first act, ending just as the upswing prepared to launch into the main plot. The pirate wasn’t sure how long it’d take him to finish the story, plus there wasn’t a guarantee that he would be able to. At least, not fast enough to return the book before the owner forgot about it. Honesty that he anonymously left in the book was still housed in his chest, reminding him that most of the enjoyment came from reading someone else’s thoughts. Traveling the journey with a partner.

Wanting to let the answer settle before he acted, Buggy tucked away his glasses and the book into the bedside drawer. He stretched out under the covers and let the exhaustion that had been waiting patiently crawl into bed with him. As captain, he could afford to sleep in, or at least until someone felt enough pressure to risk being scolded for waking him early.

---

You were beginning to lose hope. Two days had passed and you still hadn’t been able to find the novel you misplaced. Lost. At this point, it was probably lost. Stolen by someone who chose to keep it, or even stolen by the sea herself. Ignoring the weight of acceptance settling in your chest, you decided to look one final time. You waited until nightfall, so you wouldn’t have to explain what you were looking for. 

There wasn’t any shame in reading, you just weren’t in the mood to kick off a scavenger hunt that the crew would turn into a whole event. Thinking about how you’d have to explain what the book looked like, where it could be, when you last saw it, multiple times, as well as checking anything that remotely looked like a book planted a small headache in your skull. Not to mention, a ship-wide quest would cause a ruckus that the captain might not approve of. It was just a book, after all. If you couldn’t locate it, then maybe this was meant to be.

Having extracted, inspected, shaken, tossed, and flipped all of your personal belongings, you moved onto retracing your steps. Anywhere you may have carried the book would be revisited and examined until the last flame of hope went out. Nothing in the kitchen. Definitely not near the laundry bins. You didn’t bring it to the bathroom, but you checked just in case. Nope. Not in the crow’s nest. Nor in the storage room you reorganized. Not near the crates you unpacked. Or the ropes you mended. Your book wasn’t with any of the circus accessories. Or costumes. It wasn’t on any shelves or tucked in corners. You couldn’t find it in places where it may have fallen.

Just as your chest filled with smoke from a dying ember, you remembered a small cranny you found recently. It was the perfect size to hold the novel, which you tucked away while you tended to other duties. Crouching alongside different benches, you dragged your hand along the legs. Your fingers danced along the carved wood and skated past empty nooks, until there was a blocker. A ruffled corner caught your fingertips, nearly holding onto the touch and begging for more. 

Sliding it out, you were relieved to see the enigmatic cloaked figure on the cover. You gripped the paperback book tightly in both hands and shook it with excitement. You didn’t notice the tufts of paper sticking out of the even edges until you were curled up under your loose blanket.

Skipping to paper that ventured furthest into the forest of paper, you flipped the book open to the end of a chapter you hadn’t reached. You frowned at the unfamiliar scrawls filling the margins. Looking ahead to sections deeper in the story, you were faced with blank spaces. This was a secondhand book, but no one else had written in it before you. Returning to the bookmarked section, a note written with a heavy hand sat in a messy circle. 

“Can I read this after you finish? Just put it back in the same spot. I’ll find it.”

[thoughtfulchaos773]

Neil Fak- The simple, innocent man Carmy once was.

Since Carmy is back home, he's outgrowing his naviety

What caught my attention is that Carmy and Fak are interested in flowers. However, Carmy loses hope and gets rid of the flowers in season 3. We can associate flowers with joy, innocence, love, and sentiments, which are all absent in Carmy's life in season 3. But he desires that innocence again something Fak carries. But there's both pros and cons to this way of life.

Fak is who Carmy would have become if he had stayed in Chicago and continued to be around Richie and Mikey. He would have immersed himself in the ballbreaker game, trying to win and ultimately losing his potential.

Did you notice that Fak isn't introduced to the story until Sydney is introduced? When season 1 begins, life is now too complicated for Carmy to understand, and a mind like Fak's can only narrate it simply.

In some way Fak is a version of Carmy. The innocent version.

Fak and Carmy - we're told they're best friends or butt buddies as Richie puts it.

Fak's adolescent mind - naivety thinks everyone is his best friend.

Since Carmy has gotten older, he realizes he carries more scars and wonders what a best friend is. He even questions if Mikey is his best friend.

As the series progresses, Carmy is coming to terms with the fact that relationships are complicated and not as simple as he initially thought. It's easy for him to resort to anger and violence like the Ballbreaker game when things become too complicated to understand. However, Carmy needs to mature in order to be the person his family needs. Being naive about relationships, people, and emotions won't help him.

I want to acknowledge @outmakingmoonshine for this outstanding, detailed meta on whether or not Syd and Carmy were planned. I re-read the script where Fak is introduced. In so many words, Carmy is saying that a sappy love story won't save the characters this time. Fak is raising the stakes, making winning at life a more significant risk. He gives Claire Carmy's number, adding more risk to the love story between Sydney and Carmy.

This subtext is a prediction- Sydney and Carmy's relationship is heading towards difficult feelings, and it becomes even more complex as they grow. Calling in Fak can hopefully help Carmy navigate, allowing him to somehow narrate an easier story than what's about to be told.

From Fak's innocent perspective, the game "Ball Breaker," known for its violence, is just too difficult because there's more to it. From Fak's perspective, the game or story (life) is too confusing to beat. Fak is the one who's raising plays to a dollar. A higher risk for a story about manhood and ball busting. Love.

Ballbreaker Game is gone. Now Fak is left to play Cupid.

Season 2 Ball breaker is over, and we're left with the game of who's in love with you—who could be dating who—with both Richie and Fak playing the game of cupid.

Fak sees it simply. Marcus and Sydney should hook up because they like each other. And carmy is in love with claire. Why shouldn't they get together?

He's not paying attention to syd and carmy's part. It's too difficult of a part of the game or story to navigate.

We need to take Fak's input on love with a grain of salt because he insists that Carmy is his best friend, just like everyone else.

It's just too difficult

Think of the upcoming sydcarmy scenes. 2x09 Carmy grows up a bit realizes that he has to be the guy his family expects him to be- the man where everyone can rely on him. This moment of growth has carmy wanting to fix the table or relationship with Sydney without faks help or naivety coming to mend it. The same as 3x04 when Sydney is ready to talk to Carmy about his consistent miscommunication Fak is pushed away.

Because this is a story about manhood, Carmy's growth involves shedding naivety, embracing complex emotions, and becoming the man his family needs.

But he is still wondering how he can find the balance to embrace his innocence and where he can stop and smell the roses while still growing up.

Tagging: @currymanganese @moodyeucalyptus @vacationship @whenmemorydies @brokenwinebox @fresaton

[sol-rambles]

au where zam agrees with mawn.

But like secretly cause I really enjoy thinking about zam secretly working with mapic cause then I can pretend it's real...

Okay sooo like, Zam and Derap are still 'teamed' and go build Zaun or whatever. Zam pretends to be super against Mawn and Mapic goes along with it.

Though in this au the first pumpkin patch meeting goes differently, Mapic and Zam tell eachother alot more, Mapic explains Mawn better than he did during it. Since like I guess he tried? kindof. Either way, they end up on the same page by the end of it. Zam knows that this isn't 'what's best for the server' in terms of what they'd all like most. Mapic actually reads Zam's oath, since I don't think that he's done that before.

The two spend awhile deliberating the pros and cons of keeping the oath, aswell as any loopholes they can dance through in order to let Zam not break it, yet atleast. Zam decides that he's going to 'disagree' with Mawn, just for fun, even if they're teamed.

A few hours later, Mawn is announced, and Flame comes to Mapicc asking to work together, Mapic doesn't tell Flame much atall, just enough to have Flame on his side to fight with him when needed (like how Mapic said he was just using Flame for fights.) He messages Zam abit after Flame leaves, they meet at Zam's base and have a lil talk about how they are going to be secretly working together. Zam mentions the Kab-Mane-Pentar coalition to have Mawn destroyed. They decide on having Zam join undercover.

They also discuss how bfb are like on opposite sides and what they think will happen. They mention Derap, Zam decides he doesn't want to betray him in specific, so they tell Derap like a very small amount of information in order to have him understand thay they were working together.

Zam joins Re:Spawn or whatever they're calling themselves and gets away without much question, his oath made it easier seeing what was happening at Mawn..

[beerok23]

The Trouble with HELL (8/19)

A GO Podcasters/Investigators AU (rating: eventually E)

The Trouble with HELL by beerok23

Summary:

Award-winning true crime podcast Va-voom, sorted! has been on hiatus since his author, Anthony Crowley, has published his first murder mystery, Murder on the M25. When his associate Nina begs him to follow a story on a train crash, he meets PI Aziraphale Eastgate, and he soon realises that the charming Apparition in tartan is the real voice behind his favourite podcast, Mr Fell's Mystery Haven. Crowley can't possibly imagine that Aziraphale is starting his own true crime podcast to investigate the same story. Feeling the pressure of competition, Crowley goes back to his first love and wages a Podcast War against the angel until they both realise that the case is bigger than they originally thought. With so much at stake, will they keep working against each other, or will they put their differences aside and learn to trust one another to uncover the truth?

Chapter 8/19: Quid Pro Quo (8.2k words)

Summary:

Crowley and Aziraphale go to Tadfield together and the journey on the Bentley becomes an opportunity to get better acquainted. Crowley has thought of a plan to preserve Mr Fell’s true identity.

Excerpt from Chapter 8:

“So, after hours and hours of debriefing, Nina and I came to the conclusion that the best course of action was…” “What?” “Ngk. Pretendingtobemarried.” “What did you just say?” “Pretending to be married,” he repeated, trying to articulate every word. He was an adult, a BLOODY podcaster, he knew how to enunciate sentences properly, didn’t he?! (Also, it hadn’t been hours and hours. Crowley had come up with this plan as soon as he’d come back from signing the arrangement. And he hadn’t debriefed with Nina, he’d just told her that this was the only way to act as nonchalantly as possible whilst investigating on site.) Yeah, sure, clearly the only way. Aziraphale gawped at him, and Crowley couldn’t really blame him. This idea was ‘completely bonkers’ (as Nina had gleefully put it), but it was also smart. Brilliant. (Read: Ridiculous.) “I know it’s crazy, but my fans recognise Newt as my assistant, he’s always sneaking around with me, so you can’t pretend to be him.” “Evidently.” “But nobody will give a shit if a certain Aziraphale Crowley-Eastgate shows up with me, right? And even if they’ve seen the pictures from the gala we can always say that we were doing our first public appearance together.” “Flawless,” Aziraphale deadpan, making it hard to tell if he was joking. “And our background story?” Crowley smiled, excited as a kid on the last day of school. “We should stick to the truth as much as possible because lying about our relationship might be easier than making up things about our everyday life. We met at a con. You’ve always loved mystery, and my podcast and my book. It was love at first sight.” “I think you mentioned sticking to the truth as much as possible.” “So?” Crowley feared that the bit about ‘love at first sight’ had been probably a bit too much. (He also remembered Comma’s expression of revulsion when he’d rehearsed this. But maybe he was just coughing up a hairball.) “So, perhaps I just loved mystery and your podcast.” Bloody magnificent bastard.

Read Chapter 8

Start from Chapter 1 💜

[trekmupf]

Puberty in space part II - this time with a military obsession 🎖️ 🪞 🪢

Pro

Everyone chilling at the bridge drinking coffee. Also McCoy being randomly at the bridge again.

Spock immediately taking charge when Kirk is gone and being super competent is really sexy of him

Spock saying Hipp Hipp Hurra

Bones accepting Spock's position as leader – direct opposite to the previous episode – by giving input, but following his orders, literally standing by his side on the bridge

The landing party in full gear!

The monster in the entrance was the salt being from episode 1

Everyone who is such a military fanboy is highly suspicious

McCoy's judgy eyebrow is completely out of control when they meet Trelane (and Sulu behind him has a whole journey)

Kirks face when evil guy shows up on the bridge

Spock being extremely bored by Trelane's antics, immediately seeing thorough his Bs and calmly telling him off is also extremely sexy

Kirks heart eyes face when Spock tells the guy off

The sexism is interesting - unlike the accidental / timely sexism in other episodes it's very clear that the way he sees women is bad, racist and upsetting

Also Kirk making it LOOK like it's about possessing the women and being jealous when he's manipulating Tralene, playing into the human traits he expects and wants to see (his aggressive and forceful behaviour towards Teresa is nicely contrasted to the scene on the bridge, where he's very nice to her again)

Generally the way Kirk sees through from the get go and manipulates him at every corner despite him being so powerful

The way McCoy leans on the console on the bridge during the turbulence

Kirk very confidently cocking a gun with a little smile and shooting with barely any flinching is weirdly sexy

The last convo between Spock and Kirk is fun, content wise but also Kirks heart eyes at Spock and Spock's utter confusion

The set design inside the castle is insane, but in a fun way; seems like they literally ran around the nearby studios and grabbed whatever they could (which suits who Trelane is)

Generally the idea of getting the surface level of humanity without any substance comes up in so many ways- understanding us and our behaviour, the decor, the missing taste from food and drink

The make up on our guys is just wonderful, especially Spock's, McCoy's and Sulu's; Generally the crew is just beautiful here

The music changes with the set pieces /scenes and is very fitting

The idea that this is literally a fanboy cosplaying 18th century earth is hilarious

Knowing the plot twist at the end that Trelane is just a child makes William Campbell's acting easier to bear and actually quite good – he IS like a child whose interest is earth history and humans and he finally gets to play. He gets irritated immediately, has tamper tantrums and zero emotional control; he basically just copies phrases and infos you would get from books without being able to question them, he likes the history equivalent of action men, he wants everyone's attention and gets angry when no one wants to play with him

The noose's shadow during the "court room scene" gives the setting a threatening aura (it also looks so cool)

Con

another superbeing, that somehow relates to earths past and is powerful, but this ep is less meaningful / good than the others; same goes for the humans as war / predator species

the fact that the way Trelane is written and acted serves his actual role as a child doesn't make his antics easier to watch, he gets tiresome quite quickly

even though the ep is self aware of the sexism and makes sure its bad the female characters are still just decor and plot points instead of characters with shit to do. they literally cling to Spock and bones in the background, which??

the entire last third after the mirror smash is too long, too flip floppy (it was all a test! also he's a child! -> they didn't commit to it enough and yet too much for it to work)

also the pacing was super shit

the last fight scene is way too whimsical and silly and the guy is just so annoying (at least Kirks pants were tight)

This screenshot looks like a promo pic for a guy comedy in the 80's

Counter

Powerful being testing humanity

Brains over brawl

Trio ready to sacrifice (Kirk is ready to die for his crew)

Quote: "I object to you. I object to intellect without discipline. I object to power without constructive purpose" - Spock

(literal heart eyes - Kirk)

Moment: See Quote

Summary: An episode with a less interesting (and more annoying) blue print for TNG's Q that's one of the shows earlier entries about mysterious and powerful enteties using humans for entertainment. Even though other episodes realized that set up better later on this episode gives Spock plenty of moments to shine (and plenty of opportunities for Kirk to send the biggest heart eyes in his direction)

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