#sorry i just...that was /such/ a wild answer to me

[formulafanfics13]

Post-Race Debrief - LN4 & OP81 🔥

Masterlist

The race was over. Oscar finished P4. Frustrating, he wanted more. But he hadn't said a word since stepping out of the car. Just gave the engineers a tight nod, tossed his gloves on the desk, and pulled her into the drivers' room by the wrist.

The door clicked shut behind them. No words. No hello. No good job. He didn't need to say it. His grip on her was enough. The kind of grip that told her exactly what he needed: silence, obedience, her mouth.

She went to her knees without being asked. The carpet burned a little under her skin, but she welcomed it. She always did. Her palms rested on his thighs as she pulled his fireproofs down slowly, reverently, letting her cheek brush against the curve of his cock through the waistband of his briefs. Already hard. Already twitching. Already hers to take.

"Open your mouth," he said simply.

And she did. 

Oscar didn't speak much during sex. He didn't need to. She read him like scripture. The twitch of his thigh. The slow burn in his gaze. The lazy drag of his hand through her hair as she wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and sucked gently, then deeper, taking him inch by inch until her throat started to sting.

She liked how calm he always was. Even with his dick shoved halfway down her throat. Even when her mascara ran. Even when she moaned around him like she couldn't breathe without it.

He looked down at her now with a slight frown of concentration. Not annoyed. Just focused. His fingers threaded into her hair. Not rough. Not soft. Just... commanding.

"Deeper," he murmured.

She obeyed.

Oscar exhaled slowly. Leaned back against the locker unit. Let her take it. Let her ruin herself for him. She moaned softly. The vibrations made his hips twitch. He didn't praise her. He never did in words. Just held her there. Let her work for it. Let her make it worth it.

That was when the door opened. The sound was unmistakable: the soft beep of the lock, the click of the handle, and then the door swinging wide like it always did, no urgency, no knock.

Lando. "Yo, have you seen my-" He stopped mid-sentence.

Oscar didn't. Didn't even glance up. Just shifted slightly, kept his hand tangled in her hair, gently guiding the rhythm of her mouth as she struggled not to panic.

Lando froze in the doorway. One foot inside, one still in the hall. Eyes wide. Jaw slack. "Oh," he said. Quiet.

Oscar hummed low in his throat. "Close the door."

Lando did. The silence after was obscene.

She tried to pull back, just a little. Humiliation crashing over her like a wave. But Oscar's grip tightened, a warning.

"You're fine," he said, calmly. "Keep going."

She whimpered.

Lando still hadn't moved from where he stood. Just watched. Staring at her, on her knees, face wet, lips swollen, hands trembling. Then at Oscar, calm as ever, head tipped back slightly as he let her choke on him.

"Didn't mean to interrupt," Lando muttered, voice low. But he didn't sound sorry. He sounded... something else.

Hungry.

Oscar finally looked up. Met Lando's gaze like nothing about this was unusual. "You need something?"

Lando blinked. "No, I-" He rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks were pink. His cock was very obviously hard behind his uniform bottoms. "Didn't know you had company."

Oscar smirked, just barely. Then looked down at her again. "She's always like this after a race," he said. "Gets needy." Her cheeks burned. She moaned around him. Not because it felt good. But because she wanted to die. And because it felt good. "She asked for it," Oscar added, voice maddeningly calm. "Didn't even let me get out of my suit first."

Lando stepped closer. Slowly. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. "You serious?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Oscar didn't answer. Just guided her down again, his cock hitting the back of her throat. She gagged slightly. Oscar didn't flinch.

Lando stared. And then, like it was nothing, Oscar said, "You want a turn?"

Silence. Utter, thick silence. She stopped moving. Her whole body froze. Her knees were shaking now.

Lando looked at her. Really looked at her. Her ruined lips. Her wet cheeks. Her eyes wide and glassy and humiliated. Then he looked at Oscar. "Are you serious?"

Oscar nodded once. "I don't mind sharing."

Lando's breath hitched.

"She's good," Oscar said. "Better when you don't go easy on her."

And just like that, Lando stepped closer. Knelt down beside her. His hand hovered near her cheek. She flinched slightly. Not out of fear, but out of want. Lando noticed. Smiled slowly. "She always this obedient?"

Oscar chuckled, low and dark. "She'll let you do whatever you want. Won't you, baby?"

She nodded. Tears slipped down her cheeks. And they both watched her fall apart. She didn't speak. Couldn't. Her throat was sore, her eyes glassy, her knees numb against the floor of Oscar's drivers' room. She was already wrecked, mouth puffy and wet, makeup smudged and ruined, but the moment Oscar said it, everything shifted.

"Take control," he told Lando, like it was nothing. Like it wasn't a sentence that would change her forever.

Lando blinked once. Then nodded. He knelt down in front of her again, his hands steady this time. Less hesitant. His thumb brushed over her cheek, gently, and then slid between her lips like he was testing her. She let him. She let him everything. "Open wider," he said softly.

She obeyed.

Oscar didn't say a word. He just watched. Hand still in her hair. Thumb stroking the side of her skull like he was proud. Like he owned her. Like this was his idea of heaven, seeing her taken by someone else, knowing she'd do it for him.

Lando was hard, achingly, visibly hard. His cock already out, already leaking, already twitching as he guided it toward her mouth. Not slow this time. Not careful. "Look at me," he ordered.

She looked.

"Good girl."

And then he slid in. She gagged, but not too hard, she was used to it by now, body already loosened, throat already ruined by Oscar's earlier use. Her jaw ached. Her lips burned. Her body trembled, stuck between the two of them, Oscar behind her, one hand pressing her hips still, the other keeping her hair yanked back just enough to make her eyes sting.

Lando moaned. "Fucking hell."

"She's good, isn't she?" Oscar asked. Not bragging. Just stating facts.

Lando didn't answer right away, too lost in the feel of it. His hips rolled forward, slow at first, then deeper. He groaned as her tongue pressed under the head, her throat tightening around him.

Oscar's grip moved. One hand slid under her dress, yanking it up, exposing her soaked underwear to the cold air. He didn't even pretend to go slow. Just tugged the fabric aside, dragged two fingers through her slit and hummed when they came back glistening. "Still dripping," he said. "Told you. She gets like this after a race."

She whimpered around Lando's cock. Lando looked down. Watched her eyes go glassy. "She's perfect."

Oscar smirked behind her. "Wait till you're inside her."

Lando kept fucking her mouth, slow but steady, deep enough to make her choke. And she took it. Let him hold her face, guide her rhythm, let him use her like she was made for this. Because she was. That's what Oscar always told her. And tonight, she believed it.

Oscar moved behind her, pushing her forward slightly. She gasped around Lando when his cock pressed against her entrance from behind. "Fuck," he muttered. "Still so tight."

She moaned, the sound guttural, blocked by Lando's cock but felt in every vibration. She was sandwiched now, Oscar's cock dragging through her soaked folds from behind, Lando fucking her throat in slow, deep rolls.

"I want her bent," Lando grunted, panting. "Want to fuck her properly."

Oscar didn't reply with words. Just manhandled her without warning, yanked her up by the hips, bent her forward onto the low leather bench, face still toward Lando, body trembling.

Lando stood. Stroked himself once. "She's already crying," he said softly.

Oscar's voice was darker. "She always does."

He pushed inside her in one slow, unrelenting thrust. She screamed. But not out of pain. It was everything. The angle, the fullness, the weight of it all. Lando's hand came down on her cheek, not a slap, just a grip, turning her face toward him as Oscar started to move behind her.

"She needs both of us," Oscar said simply. Like it was obvious.

Lando groaned. "You sure?"

Oscar's voice was calm. Still in control. "She's never done it before." She froze. "But she will tonight."

Lando's cock twitched in his hand.

"You okay with that, baby?" Oscar asked her, breath hot against her spine. "You want both of us?"

She couldn't speak. But she nodded. A tiny, desperate, ruined nod.

Lando leaned in, whispered at her lips, "Say it."

"I want both," she gasped. "Please."

That was enough. Lando moved behind her, one hand on her ass, the other on Oscar's hip. He lined himself up slowly, pressed the tip of his cock against her tight, unused hole. She tensed.

Oscar didn't stop fucking her. "You have to breathe, baby."

"I-fuck-"

"It's okay," Lando whispered. "I'll go slow."

She cried out when he started to push in. It burned, sharp, unreal, impossible. But she didn't say stop. She let them take her. Let them share her. Oscar didn't slow down. He knew her body could take it. And Lando, once he pushed past the first barrier, moaned like it was heaven. "Fucking hell," he breathed.

She was full. Too full. Her body stretched around both of them, every nerve ending lit like fire. Her hands clawed at the bench. Her tears streaked down her cheeks. But she didn't stop.

"Good girl," Oscar growled, thrusting deeper. "Taking both of us like a perfect little slut."

Lando's hands gripped her hips. "She's shaking."

"She loves it."

They moved together, rhythm building, timed, slow but overwhelming. One thrust forward, one pulling back. Over and over until she was incoherent, crying, moaning, choking on the sensation of it.

Oscar leaned down over her back, breath on her neck. "You'll never forget this," he said.

She wouldn't. She couldn't. Not when she was being split open by two drivers she trusted. Not when they whispered praise and filth into her ears like religion. Not when she was fucked so full she couldn't breathe.

"Let go for us," Lando panted. "Come with us inside you."

And she did. Screaming, shaking, sobbing, body going limp between them as they chased their own release. Oscar came first, grunting low as he filled her. Lando followed, biting back a moan as he pushed deep one last time. And when it was over, she was collapsed in their arms. Broken. Beautiful. Worshipped.

Oscar kissed her forehead. Lando stroked her thigh. And the only thing she could think, through the fog and the come and the shame and the need, was that she'd do it again.

She was draped over him like a fucked-out doll. One arm hanging limply over Oscar's chest, the other curled under her cheek. Her leg was thrown over his thigh, her breathing shallow and uneven. Every inch of her glistened with sweat, slick, spit, and the mess they'd left inside her. Her eyes were half-lidded. Her mouth open. A trembling, breathy thing, caught in the space between consciousness and aftershock.

Oscar barely looked at her. Just ran his fingers along her spine in slow, absent-minded strokes, not tender, not cruel, just possessive. Like she was his, even now. Especially now. Lando sat on the edge of the bench across from them, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess, one hand raking through it like he still couldn't believe what just happened.

It was quiet. The whole room smelled like sex. Eventually, Lando broke the silence. "She always like that?"

Oscar didn't look up. "Like what?"

"You know." A gesture toward her ruined, twitching body. "Letting you fuck her till she blacks out."

Oscar's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just... acknowledgment. "She gets overwhelmed easily," he said simply. "Doesn't stop her from begging for it."

Lando exhaled. "She was unreal."

Oscar finally glanced at him. "She's mine."

Lando raised a brow, but didn't argue. "You don't share often?"

"I don't share at all."

That sat between them for a moment. Heavy. Charged. "So why me?"

Oscar shrugged slightly. "You walked in. She didn't stop it. Neither did I."

Lando's eyes drifted back to her, still barely moving, still clinging to Oscar like he was her whole world. Her thighs were shaking. Her inner legs streaked. She didn't even flinch when he looked at her like that. Probably couldn't.

"She really took both of us," Lando muttered. "First time?"

Oscar nodded.

"Fuck," Lando whispered. "I've never seen anything like it. Thought she was gonna pass out."

"She does that sometimes."

Lando blinked. "Wait. You've never done that before?"

Oscar shook his head. "Not with anyone else."

Lando let out a low whistle. "So this is a first."

"She's different."

There was a pause. And then, quietly, Lando asked: "How'd you get her like that?"

Oscar didn't answer at first. Just kept tracing circles on her back, watching the way she shivered under his touch even now. His fingers moved slow, deliberate, like he was still playing her. "She's not like most girls," Oscar said eventually. "Doesn't fake things. Doesn't play games. She wants to be told what to do. Wants to be owned."

Lando swallowed. "And you just... taught her that?"

Oscar smirked faintly. "No. I just let her be what she already was."

Lando stared at him. Then at her. "She's so soft," he murmured. "So fucking good. Just opened her mouth when I told her to. Let me-" His voice broke off. "She didn't even flinch."

"She trusts me."

"That's what's insane. She looked at you the whole time. Even when I was inside her throat." He ran a hand down his face. "She still looked at you."

Oscar finally met his gaze. "Because she's mine."

It wasn't arrogant. It was true. Said with the flat certainty of someone who didn't need to perform it. He looked back down at her, limp, pliant, stretched out over him like she was part of him now.

Lando leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was softer now. Curious. "How long did it take?"

Oscar tilted his head. "To get her this submissive?"

"Yeah."

Oscar thought for a moment. "She's always been like this," he said. "Even when we first started. It was in her eyes. The way she waited for permission. The way she asked before touching me. The way she came when I told her to, and cried after like it was holy."

Lando's breath hitched.

Oscar looked back at him. "Some girls you train into it," he said. "Others... you just see it. And if you don't fuck it up, if you don't scare it off, it blooms."

Lando stared at her. "And she bloomed for you."

Oscar nodded. "Every time."

They were both quiet then. The weight of her still between them, not just physically, but spiritually. The intimacy. The trust. The rawness. Her body had been their playground and altar all at once, and now she was nothing but a trembling little ruin on Oscar's chest.

Lando stood up slowly. "I should probably go before I try to fuck her again," he said with a low laugh.

Oscar didn't smile. Just looked at him. "You'd have to ask me first."

Lando held his gaze. "Would you say yes?"

Oscar looked down at her. At the tears dried on her cheeks. At the bruises blooming on her hips. At the way her hand twitched every time he stopped touching her, like her body needed the contact to stay grounded.

He exhaled. "Maybe."

Lando nodded once. "Text me if you change your mind."

And with that, he left. The door clicked shut.

Oscar didn't move. Just pulled her closer, wrapped her tighter, held her against his chest like a man anchoring himself to the one thing in the world that belongs to him.

Her lips moved slightly. He leaned in. "Say it again," he whispered.

She breathed it like a prayer. "Yours."

[sp10o0sh]

Critical Chill (Chance/Parker/M!Reader)

Experiencing GM burnout, you invite Chance to a game night with your mutual friend, and your roommate, Parker. You hope to make him feel better by distracting him with fun games and silly banter.

Tags: Fluff, Slow (ish) burn, Feelings Realization, Cuddling, Platonic Cuddling, Polyamory, Male Reader-Insert, Might be slightly OOC, I'm Bad At Tagging, Not Beta Read, Getting Together, Human AU

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

Honest to god, this was a joke at first. My friend was supposed to talk me out of writing this, and he didn't. So, I threw in a little Easter egg for him (Hi Eddie Ilysm King) Date everything has taken over my life, and it will not stop rotting away my already minimal brain cells. I also love Parker a LOT and he might actually be tied for my top bbg. Mitchell Linn is still everything to me tho.. Cross-posted to AO3, under user @/sp10osh (Or Click Here !) I don't know what else to put here.. Sorry gang. I don't know how to use Tumblr.. But I promise I am learning! or trying.. so be nice. Any tips r appreciated lol :3

Also Requests are totally welcome, and I will write like.. Almost anything to do with Date everything so... yeah.

Again, Not Beta Read, so I'm so sorry in advance.

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, the screen lighting up with Chance’s name. You wiped your hands on your worn-out favorite shirt and grinned, swiping to answer.

“Hey, Chance! What’s up?”

“Hey!” His voice was warm and a little nervous, like he was holding back a dozen thoughts at once. “So... I was wondering—are you free later this afternoon? Maybe coffee? I could really use a break from my own brand of chaos.” 

You glanced around your shared apartment, the morning light filtering through dusty blinds and pooling on the faded rug. The place was a patchwork of Parker and your personalities: mismatched furniture scavenged from thrift stores, a sprawling bookshelf bursting with fantasy novels, G&G rulebooks, records stacked in a corner, and dozens of potted plants, some thriving, some quietly dying. Parker insisted on keeping them, he said that they kept the air clean. 

You peeked into the living room, where Parker was draped over the couch, tangled in the heap of blankets, His colorful hair stuck out in wild tufts, and a half-deflated stress ball was clenched loosely in his hand. He groaned dramatically as you caught his eye. 

Late afternoon meant late for Chance. Admitly, probably too late for coffee, but your sleep schedule was already pretty messed up, and you would never turn down a hangout with your friend. “Well,” you began, smiling, “coffee sounds perfect, and I’m free.”

“Awesome,” Chance replied. “I’ll text you the details.”

Before you could say bye, Chance beat you to it, and the line dropped dead. He must've been extremely busy. He always said goodbye. You put your phone back on the counter and made your way to stand by the couch, where Parker had started attempting a slow, exaggerated stretch that reminded you of some inhuman entity, waking up from a deep slumber.

“Finally awake?” you teased.

Parker groaned again, throwing a pillow at you but missing by a mile. Instead of replying to your teasing, he just waved his hand. “Ugh. That guy! I haven’t heard from him in like a week! Why didn't he invite me too?” 

You laughed, dropping down beside him. “Don’t be jealous. He probably has just been busy. He sounded distracted, anyway..”

Parker gave you a sideways glance, one brow raised, then pretended to dramatically wipe sweat from his brow. “Oh, I’m not jealous,” he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. “I just can’t believe I wasn't invited to watch you be Mega-Gay for him.”

You nudged him playfully. “It’s a normal amount of gay, thank you very much.”

The two of you sat quietly for a moment, the familiar hum of the city drifting through the cracked-open window mixing with the distant sound of a neighbor’s singing (If it could be called that, It was honestly a rough listen. Something about showers?) practice. Your crush on Chance wasn't something Parker actually knew about. What he was referring to was a joke that started with your G&G campaign. Your character has romanced one of the NPCs, which, naturally, led to very fun character flirting that all your friends loved to tease you about. Eventually, that led to silly jokes when you would all get together. 

In reality, you did have a massive crush on your friend. Not only Chance, but Parker too. He made your heart flutter in all the best ways. He was kind, funny, and so so thoughtful. He was the reason you were able to get back on your feet after a messy fight with your last landlord. Telling either of them this, though seemed to be strictly off limits, as they were two of the best friends you had ever made. 

Your gaze drifted to the kitchen counter, stacked with a jumble of mugs, a half-empty jar of peanut butter, and the infamous “coffee machine that never quite works.” Parker had insisted it added character. It did not.

“Soooooo, you’re definitely going to ask him why he hates me, anad refuses to see me, right?” he asked, nudging your knee gently.

You laughed, heart skipping. “Sure, Parker. If it eases your mind, I’ll make sure to ask.”

Parker burst out laughing. “Make him regret not asking me to come too!”

You shook your head, smiling at how easy it was with him. It was moments like this, quiet, ridiculous, comfortable, that made you wonder if maybe there was something more to what he felt as well. He would let his touches linger, and stare longer than necessary on occasion. You shook your head faintly, and reminded yourself that's just how he was. 

Parker caught your lingering look and followed your glance to the sink, then he gave you a goofy grin. “Don’t worry,” he said, nudging you again, “I’ll do the dishes while you're out!”

You smiled back, warmth blooming in your chest.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

True to his word, Chance did send you the details for your meetup. Just like you thought, it was late. Too late for coffee, yet you still ordered a latte. 

The café smells like burnt espresso and cinnamon scones, but you barely notice. You’re too busy watching Chance stir his coffee like he’s trying to will it into being anything but coffee. Which is silly, because he could have ordered any other drink on the menu, so you assumed it wasn't the coffee. He hasn’t said much since you sat down, which is unusual, normally, he’s all jokes and barely-contained chaos by now.

You glance at him over the rim of your mug. “You look like someone is failing all their death saves.”

Chance huffs a laugh through his nose. “Nice. Go ahead, kick a guy while he’s down.”

“I’d never,” you say with a smile. “Not without at least rolling first.” Its cringe-worthy, you know it. Normally Chance is the one cranking out all the G&G related puns, in fast enough succession to make you want to tape his mouth shut, but tonight its you. 

That earns you a faint grin, but it doesn’t last. He slumps in his seat, running his hands over his face, messing his glasses up as he does so. Then, voice quieter than you expect, he mutters:

“I think I’m actually burnt out. Like... seriously.”

You blink, caught off guard. Chance never admits to being tired. He’s the guy who stays up all night prepping NPC dialogue and tracks initiative like a mad scientist. He lives to GM. Or at least, you thought he did. Thinking about it now, it makes sense why he would feel burnt out. You nod sympathetically. 

“Burnt out from running everything?” you ask carefully.

He nods. “Yeah. Campaign’s fun, but every week it’s more like... ‘how do I keep this thing from falling apart?’ I’m behind on prep, work has been so crazy recently and—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale. “I don’t know. I’m just tired, Y/N. And I feel bad about it. Everyone’s counting on me to keep the story going. Im sorry... I just can’t get into the right headspace to GM. I don’t want to half-ass it or make it boring.”

You set your mug down and lean in slightly. “Chance. You don’t have to carry everything. Seriously.”

He shrugs, still not looking at you. “Kinda feels like I do, though.”

“Nope,” you say, not missing a beat. “Not letting you spiral.”

His head lifts, confused. “What?”

“I’m hijacking your evening and weekend,” you declare. “Parker’s been wanting to have a casual game night. Why don’t I call him? Maybe you could come over, relax, and just play without the pressure to run the game.”

Chance squints. “Wait, Parker’s wants to have a casual night?” He asks, completely stopped on the wrong point. “Parker, ‘the-rules-are-sacred’ Parker?”

You shrug, “More or less.” 

Chance smiles, hopeful. “Really? That sounds perfect. I could use a night off.”

You pulled out your phone and dialed Parker's number. It barely rang before your roommate picked up. “Yelllllllow?” His voice lively called through the phone.

“Hey, Parker! So, Chance is feeling kind of burnt out and needs a chill night. Would you be up for a game night tonight? Like, board games, snacks, no stress stuff?”

There was a beat, then Parker’s voice burst through, enthusiastic and loud enough to draw a few curious glances.

“Absolutely! Tell Chance he’s definitely invited! I’ve been itching to throw a game night for weeks. This is perfect!”

You smiled, “Great! We’ll be home around seven?”

“Sounds good! I’ll clean up and everything! Do you want to pick up some snacks?. I can’t wait!”

You replied with an excited hum, and hung up meeting Chances eyes, who was already grinning, looking at you like you were the best person on the planet. 

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

You spent the time before seven walking around with Chance to help clear his head, and heading to different convenience stores to pick up snacks. As it approached seven, you made your way back to the apartment complex. As, you and Chance walked through the city streets, the evening air was cool and refreshing. You had switched back and forth on who was holding onto who’s arm now, and chance now had his arm wrapped around yours, as you led him up the stairs to your room. The familiar buzz of anticipation stirred in Chance’s chest as you approached the door.

Parker was waiting at the door, and the moment he saw you both through the peephole, he flung the door open, arms crossed but smiling wide, like he’d been counting down the minutes.

“Welcome to the lair,” he said, gesturing dramatically as he opened the door. “Getting cozy already?” He winked at Chance. 

Chance scoffed, and sat up, untangling his arm from yours. “Nonsense! I was just keeping my dear Fayrus warm on the walk home.” he said dramatically, referencing your G&G character. You laughed, and took a step inside. 

Inside, the apartment was transformed into game central, piles of board games stacked on the coffee table, bowls of snacks scattered around, and cozy blankets strewn about. In the center, the couch had a blanket fort built around it, open to face the coffee table and TV. It was tall enough for you to sit comfortably, but Chance might have to duck slightly. 

Chance looked around, relaxing visibly.

“Thanks for this–”

Parker clapped Chance on the back, cutting him off with a playful smirk. “No worries. Tonight’s about fun. Let’s get started.” he said, taking Chance by the waist and leading him to sit around on the floor, where he picked up the first game of the evening and placed it between the group. 

You settled in beside them, and Parker emptied the game onto the floor. “Alright,” he announced, “first game: Secret Sketch.”

Chance raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“It’s simple,” Parker explained, pulling out a stack of cards with words, a timer, and a sketchpad with markers. “One person draws the word on their card, obviously they can’t speak or use letters or numbers. The other two guesses. five rounds, rounds are over after everyone has drawn once, the highest combined score wins. If you’re drawing, when people guess correctly you get a point for each person who guesses right. If you’re guessing, you get a point for being right.”

You exchanged glances. Lots of explaining the rules, but it made Parker happy so you didnt stop him. “Sounds fun.” you agreed, and Chance nodded. 

Chance smiled, more relaxed now. “Okay, I’m in.” Chance took his Jacket off and set it next to him, then he leaned back on his hands, sitting crisscrossed on the floor near you. Honestly, It was distracting. Chance was attractive, and you weren't sure if he knew exactly how attractive he was. 

Both you and Parker spaced out, staring at his tattooed arms until your faces grew red. When you both pulled your eyes away from his arms and looked back up, Parker bashfully pretended not to notice. 

Clearing his throat, Parker handed the first card to you. You peeked and gasped quietly, mouthing the words to yourself, blinking slowly as you processed the words. “’Octopus playing guitar.’” you bit your lip, pulling it anxiously with your teeth. 

Chance snorted, presumably at your expression. He extended the marker to you.

You took the marker, set the timer, and began your frantic, messy sketching.

The tension melted instantly as laughter bubbled up at the ridiculous drawings. (“Seriously what is that supposed to be?”) 

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

After five painstakingly long rounds of sketching you stood up to stretch your legs. Parker had begun to get onto you and Chance for attempting to sneak peaks at each other's cards to make guessing easier. “I’m going to go grab some more snacks, you should set up the next game.” 

You pet Parker's head as you walked by, He was actively rising to sit on his knees, and push the paper explaining the rules into Chance's face. 

As you walked back into the kitchen, you giggled, hearing Parker ask Chance if “The rules really meant nothing to him?!” 

You set the snacks on the counter and let yourself get distracted, watching them banter. They seem lost in their own world, Chance giggling as Parker read out the rules, painstakingly slow to emphasize their importance. They worked together, the kind of easy rhythm that comes from history, from weeks or months of something unspoken hanging in the air. Its not like Chance hated rules, but being a GM meant he was incharge, he made the rules, and followed them, of course he loved rules. It was just fun to mess with Parker. After being friends for so long, it was just an understood rhythm between you guys. 

Deep in thought, you eventually looked back up to see Parker hovering over Chance’s, hands on either side of him, in his best attempt to be intimidating. “What’s the point of playing games if you're just going to cheat!?” He asked. 

Chance looked up at Parker, and you saw something pass through his eyes as he glanced down to Parker's lips, then his face flushed. His hand shakily rose to Parker's side, causing him to shudder and blush in turn. 

“Okay.. You’re right.” Chance stuttered, breathing out. The tension from before was replaced with something else, and you felt giddy. Seeing your two favorite people act so flustered together sent a warm feeling up your spine, and straight to your head. 

Parkers eyes widened, and nodded “Oh-okay…” He muttered, before leaning back from Chance, who seemed to let his hand linger even as Parker pulled away. 

You smiled, and clapped, making your entrance with snacks known. “Ohhkay! Whats next?” You asked, watching them both untangle from each other completely, blushes on their face as Parker began into the next game description.  

You wonder if they know.

If they know that every time Parker’s hand brushes yours when passing game tokens, your heart stutters. If they know that the way Chance leans on your shoulder when he laughs makes it harder and harder not to just… say something. Anything.

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

The next game has something with cards and timers and way too many rules, which Parker explains with intense focus while Chance listens with fake seriousness, occasionally winking at you like, I’m going to mess this up on purpose.

And he does.

Every round, he finds a way to break the rules: adding fake points, declaring himself the “wild card,” or, at one point, assigning Parker a completely made-up punishment; “You have to compliment me every time I roll a six.” 

Parker sighs but follows through on his next six, “Your hair. It looks nice. It’s messy, in a cute way. it suits you.” His face flushes, and it spreads down to his neck. His hands shake, and he threatens to drop his card. 

Chance freezes mid-laugh, visibly caught off guard.

You had almost choked on your soda.

Parker notices the silence and frowns. “What?”

Chance clears his throat, looking down at the cards in his hands. “Nothing. Just... not used to those kinds of.. Well.. the nice stuff from you.”

Parker glances at you like he’s looking for someone to help him, but you just smile awkwardly and take a long sip from your drink to hide the fact that your brain is screaming: Say something. Say you like them. Say anything.

But you don’t.

Because they’re them. Brilliant, quick-witted, soft-hearted Chance and meticulous, emotionally-dense Parker. And you’re just... the guy caught between them, falling a little harder every time they look at each other like that. Watching them fight off their feelings for each other, makes you find them both more adorable and endearing. 

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

After that game, Chance disappears into the kitchen to hunt for pretzels while Parker sits beside you on the couch, carefully sorting cards back into their sleeves.

“Thanks for kinda throwing this into action,” he says quietly, not looking up. “He really needed it.”

You nod. “I know. Thank you too, for agreeing..”

There’s a pause.

Then, softer he added: “I think I needed it too.”

You look at him. At the way his fingers fidget with the cards. His voice goes small like when he’s feeling too much but doesn’t want to say so. You reach out, and place a gentle hand on his knee. You run your thumb back and forth along his knee, something you did often. Living together, there was more than one occasion where you would cuddle (Purley platonically of course!) to fall asleep, so physical contact wasn't something new to either of you. Yet, he seemed distracted and jumpy tonight. 

“You don’t always have to be in control, you know,” you murmur.

He gives you a quick glance, then looks down again. “Neither does he.” He says, almost defensively, but he stops himself. “I think..-” 

You both look up at the same time when Chance leans back around the kitchen doorway. “You two whispering about me?” he asks, one brow raised, a bowl of pretzels in his hands. He has a pretzel in his mouth as he smirks. 

You smirk. “Only in flattering tones.”

Parker clears his throat, and speaks at the same time as you. “Absolutely not.”

Chance pauses, and all three of you giggle. “Okay, yeah. Definitely whispering about me.” He comes back to sit with you guys as you start the next game. 

Laughter, jokes, quiet moments in between. You try not to let yourself read into every glance, every graze of a hand or brush of a knee. But you do.

Because it’s there.

In the way Parker leans closer when Chance talks. In the way Chance stops filling the silence, like he’s starting to trust it. In the way you find yourself watching them both with your heart doing that dumb stutter it always does.

You’re not sure where this night is going. But you kind of hope it never ends.

The pretzels disappear halfway through a new game that none of you are really playing correctly. The rules are a suggestion at best, something Parker tries to uphold, Chance deliberately misreads, and you... you just sit between them, watching the dynamic shift. Parker doesn’t fight it, Chance relaxes, resting his hand on Parker's leg, and his head on your shoulder. 

Not dramatically. Not suddenly. But gradually; Like the way the air gets warmer just before spring.

Parker’s explaining something about event cards when Chance leans over you to grab a piece of paper. His shoulder brushes yours—warm and solid—and he stays there a beat too long. When he finally pulls back, you catch Parker’s eyes flicking toward the two of you. Brief. Curious.

You wonder if he noticed.

˗ˏˋ꒰ ♟️ ꒱

A little later, when Parker gets up to refill drinks, you and Chance stay sprawled on the floor, game pieces scattered around you like the aftermath of a story that never got finished.

Chance tilts his head, studying you. “You okay?”

You blink. “Me? Yeah, I’m good.”

“You’ve just been kinda quiet,” he says, nudging your ankle with his socked foot. “None of us are ever really quiet...” He jokes.

You smile, soft and a little shy. “Just... enjoying this.”

Chance doesn’t answer right away. He sits back, arms resting on his knees, face half-lit by the soft yellow of lights of the room. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite name, not the usual playfulness or faux goofy confidence. Something thoughtful.

“You’re good at this,” he says.

“At board games?” You ask, earnestly. 

He snorts, “At making people feel like they’re not gonna fall apart if they stop pretending everything’s fine,” he says, voice low and honest. “I don’t... Well, Thank you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just smile, and let your foot gently tap his in reply. He doesn’t pull away.

When Parker returns with drinks, he hesitates in the doorway for just a second. You don’t see the look on his face, but Chance does.

And he says, too casually, “You spying, or just admiring the view?”

Parker scoffs but blushes. “If I were admiring anything, it’d be the disaster you made out of the rulebook.”

“Liar,” Chance mutters under his breath, but he’s grinning as he scoots over to make space for him on the floor. You press your lips together to hide your own grin, as he cuddles up to you both. 

Chance yawns softly, and you check the time on your phone. Its nearly midnight. You laugh, asking the others if they want to clean up and put on a movie. They agree and you guys start to pick up. As you are cleaning you notice the way Parker relaxes a little more when Chance laughs. The way Chance goes still when Parker speaks softly. The way you’re starting to ache with how much you care for both of them.

After you guys gave up on cleaning up, you guys snuggle up on the couch fort you built. A movie is playing in the background as you all fought off different stages of sleep. Too tired to sit upright, too comfortable to leave. The board games are still on the floor. The cards are a mess. The blanket you tossed over Chance earlier is now half-draped over all three of you. A warmth spreads through your face, and feels like it clogs your throat. 

Parker’s head rests on your shoulder. Chance’s legs are across both your laps, you sit between them. Chance breaks the silence first, voice barely audible.

“We should do this again.” Its sleepy, and adorable, how he sounds so hopeful. 

You nod, gently. “Yeah. We should.”

Parker doesn’t say anything, but he shifts closer.

The soft glow of string lights lit up the living room, casting a gentle warmth over the piles of nonsense around the room. You didn't realize how cuddly Chance could be until just now. He was curled up over your lap, head on Parker's shoulder now. Within no-time he had fallen asleep. His soft snores were rhythmic, like a purring cat.

Parker, who was normally so upbeat and playful, had gone quiet. His shirt and hair had become more ruffled up, and you found it hard not to stare at his face, and the little bit of stomach that showed when he moved around. You really tried not to stare, but after the evening you had, it was difficult to pretend like you weren't infatuated with both ot the men snuggled up to you. 

You turned slightly, careful not to jostle Chance. “You good?” you whispered, catching the faint tension in his jaw.

He hesitated, his eyes flicking to Chance’s sleeping face, then back to you.

“I—” Parker’s voice was quieter than usual. “I didn’t think tonight would feel this... perfect. Like, stupidly perfect.”

Your brow furrowed in curiosity, but your heart warmed at the sentiment. “It did turn out great, huh? Even with Chance cheating.”

Parker let out a small laugh, but it faded quickly. He looked at you again, really looked, and you saw something different in his eyes. Something tender. Vulnerable.

“I like you,” he said softly, barely louder than the rustle of the blankets. “A lot. That’s not new. But I didn’t think I’d feel this way about both of you.”

You blinked, surprised, but not in a bad way. He rushed to fill the silence.

“I know it’s weird. I know most people don’t- I’m not trying to make things awkward or mess anything up between us or-”

You reached over and took his hand, attempting to ground him and keep him from spiraling. You kissed his knuckles gently. 

“It’s not weird,” you said, squeezing gently. “And you’re not messing anything up. I care about both of you too. I.. Like both of you too. Maybe it’s not the ‘normal’ setup, but... it feels right. Doesn’t it?”

Parker exhaled slowly, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It does.” his face was bright pink even in the soft lighting. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he stumbles over his words, and before you could reply. 

Then, from the lump between you, a sleepy voice mumbled, “Aww, are you guys talking about feelings? That’s cute.”

Chance stretched across you both and blinked up at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Holy crit! Took you long enough.”

You and Parker froze. “You were awake?” Parker asked, stunned.

Chance yawned dramatically. “Kind of. You talk loud when you’re nervous. Also, I definitely like both of you too, If I wasn't being clear about that before.” He waved a hand vaguely. “I want to kiss you both too.”

You laughed, heart swelling as Parker rolled his eyes fondly. Chance leaned up and pressed his lips to Parkers and then to yours, It was soft and sweet and tender all at once. He then kissed Parkers cheek before laying back down. 

You smiled, kissing Parker as he grew more and more bashful, hiding in the heap of blankets that Chance was already starting to curl up in. 

The three of you then slowly fell asleep, resting with tangled limbs, a little messy and confusing and a lot warm. 

It felt right. 

[viviale]

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄 ...

logan comforting you when he finds you at home,

scared after having watched a horror movie.

something was off today.

logan first noticed when the door to your apartment was locked. you usually left it open, knowing that he'd swing by after work to join you. today, he had to use his spare key. a rare occurence — when you gave it to him early into the relationship, it was mainly cherished for its symbolic value.

you trusted him enough to share your home, your most private sanctuary with him. honestly, it still baffled him to this day.

however, the tell tale sign of how vulnerable you allowed yourself to be with him, an open door, didn't apply today.

with a frown, he stepped inside.

"sweetheart? i'm home."

no answer.

alarm bells rang in his head. you knew the time he usually arrived, and you had made it a habit to greet him with hugs and kisses. so where were his kisses?

god, what if something had happened to you — dreading the thought alone, logan kicked off his shoes and quickly made his way inside.

this was his nightmare, you in danger, and him failing to protect you.

"baby?" he raised his voice, walking quicker as he checked the rooms one after the other. kitchen, bathroom, living room...

you were nowhere to be found. even worse, the lights were shut.

logan ran a hand through is hair in frustration, pondering on what to do next.

don't freak out. she's probably just in the bedroom, watching something with headphones on. it's gonna be okay.

he was focused now. jaw clenched, a tension pulling at his muscled. he made his way over to the bedroom, ready to jump at any sign of an intruder. he'd fight them off with passion.

he took a deep breath before walking in, collecting his senses. his claws unsheating as he balled his fists was second nature.

without further contemplation, he yanked open the door — only to be met with an empty room. his eyes darted over the room frantically, searching for a hint of where you might be. the sight of your shared bed properly made with the pillows propped up all orderly was his breaking point.

he panicked.

"fuck. fuck... where are you, doll?"

logan paced throught the room with a wild gaze in his eyes. this was not good. no, this was very bad.

suddenly, he heard a creaking sound. he jolts, claws raised to protect himself —

"logan, i didn't know you were home already!"

with a snikt, his claws retracted and he let out a relieved sigh. it's you, peeking out of the closet. you're okay...

he bent down, crawling over to you where you sat on the floor of the bedroom closet, beaming at him. you had built a little nest, it seemed. the inside of the closet was cluttered with fluffy pillows and blankets. it was a snug fit, but the cramped closet seemed really comfortable judged by how happy you seemed to be there, all cuddled up.

"sweetheart... ya had me worried there for a second. thought something had happened to you."

his face relaxed, eyes softening as he takes in the sight of you. logan drinks in your smile greedily.

you leaned forward to press a welcome home kiss to the corner of his mouth. he chased your lips when you pulled away, kissing you properly.

only once he was satisfied (for the moment) and his nerves calmed down, did he give you time to breathe.

"sorry, lo" you flashed him an apologetic smile.

"didn't mean to worry you."

he huffed, pulling you out of your nest and onto his chest so he could breathe in your scent.

"'s okay."

"yeah? you seem pretty shaken," you hum into his shirt, teasing him.

a scoff.

"'course i do. i was worried you might be dead, doll."

you looked up at him, eyes soft.

"you did?"

"sure. door shut, lights turned off..." he grumbled.

"sorry about that." you chuckled awkwarldly.

"i uh... there was this horror movie on and i got scared."

that put a faint smirk on logans lips.

"so you hid in the closet?"

"don't mock me!" you giggled, slapping his shoulder lightly.

"it's the safest place in the apartment."

he cocked a brow.

"uhuh? gotta admit, smart thinkin' there. took me forever to find you."

you just hugged him closer at that, burying your face in his chest.

"i'm glad you found me... the movie was really creepy, y'know."

and it was. from time to time you'd tried to watch horror movies, but most of the time you wouldn't even finish them because you got scared half into it. this one was way too heavy on the gore. it put images in your head that were hard to forget, and you'd wished logan was home.

how good that he was, now.

he cradled your head, smiling into your hair.

"... c'mon, let's get you back into the closet."

anything to make you feel safe. he'd prevent you from getting anxious on his watch! a horror movie no less... safe to say he's probably done and experienced worse things than the characters in it. but you hadn't, and he sure as hell wouldn't let you do so through some shitty movie.

logan pulled away from the hug and crawled over to the closet, squeezing into the tight space. to his surprise, it was quite comfortable. you'd done a great job at covering it with blankets. still, he struggled to fit his long legs inside.

he raised his brows at you and you took the hint, crawling into his lap so you sat between his thighs. a snug fit, but you managed.

you let out a dreamy sigh as you cuddled into his body, now feeling more at ease than ever, the warmth and his arms around you providing more security than blankets or tight spaces ever could.

"this is nice..."

"mhm..."

logan hums in agreement, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

"...now how 'bout you tell me all about the movie 'n i help you take your mind off of it, baby? would ya like that?"

"sounds perfect," you mumble contentedly.

"we can watch one of your silly rom coms after, if you wanna."

you smile.

[dreamykiku]

kaiser saw you watching a sports reel of a player who isn’t him, & that just won’t do! cw: overstimulation, dacryphilia, dubcon maybe, established relationship, jealous kaiser, 18+!!!

your thighs shake uncontrollably, slick and numb, and still kaiser’s fingers don’t stop.

“you should see how pathetic you look right now,” he cooes, his sickly sweet tone a sharp contrast to the way he buries his knuckles in your cunt, wrist flexing cruelly. “gonna cum again, liebling?”

you try your best to answer, you really do, but your mind has been reduced to mush, soaked and straddling kaiser’s lap. your head lolls against his chest, lips parting in a choked gasp. another rough thrust has you shuddering, your eyes fluttering shut as he curls his fingers.

“so easy to break,” he hums. “and still so desperate f’me, for more.”

you whine, breathy and broken. “n-no—not true—!”

“liar.” his nails dig into the bare plush of your hips, just hard enough to break skin as he forces you to rock, back and forth, riding his fingers. it was humiliating, being on full display for him to do as he pleased; meanwhile, he remained completely clothed. “you asked for this, liebling. to be full. to be used.”

his thumb presses rough circles against your clit, and you can’t help the nasally whine that escapes you, hot tears pricking your eyes. the sight enthralls him, encouraging him to quicken his thrusts.

“that’s it,” he laughs, wild and breathy. “cum for me. cry for me. show me just how needy you are f’me.”

his wrist snaps, fast and cruel and unrelenting, his palm slapping against you with every pump. his fingers glisten with your slick, making an obscene noise as he presses against that spongy spot inside of you, over and over and over again.

you can’t speak, panting, sobbing, every nerve in your body on fire. your vision goes white-hot, your head swimming as the tension finally snaps—your body seizes, clenching hard around his fingers, your juices soaking his pant leg.

“atta girl,” kaiser praises, licking the tears off your cheeks as you fall apart on his lap.

his fingers finally, finally withdraw, your pussy clenching pathetically around nothing, your body wrecked. you heave a broken sigh, trying to catch your breath.

any relief you had was short-lived.

kaiser has you flipped on your back in an instant. you whimper as he shoves your legs open, his head dipping between them. your hips twitch as you try to squirm away, keening pitifully. kaiser only laughs at your feeble attempt, snaking his arms around your thighs, splaying his hands on your abdomen to anchor you in place.

“saw you watching the highlight reel of tonight’s soccer game,” he muses, breath hot and feathery against your skin.

it takes your shattered brain a moment to catch up. highlight reel. soccer game. tonight. tonight…oh.

kaiser didn’t play tonight.

“i-i’m sorry, m-mic—“

his mouth was on you, hot and wet and relentless. the apology dies on your lips, falling into a shattered moan, your tingling spine arching off the mattress. your fingers fly to his golden locks, trying desperately to pry him away from your sensitive cunt, but kaiser wrenches your wrists away.

“take what you deserve,” he hisses, low and guttural, lips glistening. you shiver.

he latches onto you like a man starving, licking deep and flat, his tongue flicking with torturous precision as he writes his name against your swollen clit, over and over and over again. he sucks the bundle of nerves, hard, reveling in the twitch of your thighs, the curl of your toes.

“you belong to me,” he declares between ministrations, the vibration of his words sending another jolt of electricity straight to your core. “know your fucking place.”

your eyes were meant to be on him. your attention, your tears, your moans, your cum—all of your sensations—of it was his. his to demand, his to control, his to take.

“micha!”

another orgasm crashes over you, violent and painful. you hiccup, babbling as you tremble and thrash about. tears streak your cheeks as he groans against you, sucking harder, unrelenting, forcing you to ride it out.

“please!” you beg. “i can’t—! can’t take it, m-micha—!”

“don’t give a shit,” he growls, muffled but merciless. “cum again.”

[stillhangingonthetelephone]

You keep me safe and I'll keep you wild. - J.J.M

olderbfd!jj maybank x insecure!reader || alternate universe || angsty || hurt/comfort to hurt/no comfort but we will prevail i swear || reader is 18 turning 19 || jj is like 42-47

blurb || getting left high and dry by your friends is pretty standard by you, but by your best friend's dad? no, definitely not standard by any means.

word count || 3,187

content warning || age gap, asshole friends/toxic friends, self-deprecating attitudes, daddy issues galore

so im gonna end it plz i need him so bad holy

masterlist for this au

-ˋˏ [proceed...] ˎˊ

Your hoodie clings unbearably to your back. The rainwater smashing down on it provides at least a kilogram load onto your body. The jeans you're wearing aren't much easier to haul either. You wouldn't be soaked if it weren't for your friend's spur of the moment split decision. She had said she'd pick you up at five-thirty. You look down at your watch. 5:46. and the texts you had responded to, whirled in your head.

Annaliese: heyyy! so sorry but could u walk over? my car's being jammy again lol 5:17

Annaliese: see u soon? 5:19

You: no problem, see you soon! 5:20

You string a few curses when mid-way through your journey, the gods above decide to unleash a tidal fucking wave of rain on you. It doesn't help that the cold was already creeping up on you and you know you'll regret not just catching a taxi over— but you didn't have the money for that. So you just stick it out and try to hold your bag sheltered to your chest.

Finally, a little ways past six (according to your watch again) you surface at her house. Running for shelter, you head for the porch. The light flickers, turns on, then fizzles before cutting out completely. You yelp quietly at the unexpected noise but quickly calm yourself down.

It had been raining but not stormy, god you were just waiting for the storm. Lightning scared the shit out of you. After calming down enough, you attempt to fix your hair before knocking on the front door.

It takes a minute longer than expected and there's an odd amount of raised voices before Anna comes up to the door. She's adorned with an awkward face. Not exactly apologetic. Not exactly happy.

She lets you in, completely ignoring your water-logged state.

"Y/n! Oh my god! Uh— so you see, the plan was that I'd have you do some tutoring for me until seven but to be honest, some friends asked if I'd come out early and I felt bad if I let them down—" She fumbles around with her hands and random items she shoves in her bag. "And so I'm super sorry, but do you think we could do this all another day?"

You're shocked. Frozen. Tired. Cold. Hurt.

But still, "Yeah, of course. Not an issue." you muster up a false guard.

Your voice is quiet. Your mind caught off guard. Hardly processing your own words as they slip from your lips.

Anna's face lights up thankful in fake sincerity. "Knew you'd understand— you're just so easy Y/n." Her hand pats your sleeve lightly, hardly, before she pulls off. "You're fine getting home right?" She asks, but doesn't waste time waiting for your answer.

Anna's hands twist round the doorknob, she exits and pulls away quickly in her 'jammy car'.

And god the silence is horrible.

You're still sopping, water droplets hitting the floor with no noise but it feels like the puddle might swallow you whole. Your school bag is clutched harshly between your arms and the corners of now decrepit books dig into your ribs.

Anna's words replay in your head. 'I'd feel bad if I let them down' But not if she let you down. 'you're so easy' But it’s all fake. 'You're fine getting home right?' But you didn't have a ride here, nor do you have one back. The all-too-familiar notions feel like the crushing reminder of your insignificance, hitting you so hard it almost blocks out everything else.

Until his voice breaks the silence. "Told her not to do that."

You look up, face tired, likely sunken in. Hollow eyes meeting his indecipherable ones.

"M'sorry for her." He mumbles under his breath.

"Fuck..." You whisper, voice trembly and broken, more to yourself than him. 

You shake but don't move.

"I'll leave— I'm- I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Maybank."

You haul your body like it weighs a thousand pounds, towards the door, but he's there. In all his low-slung wrangler blue-jeans glory. His sinewy arm blocking the door frame.

"Y'gots to stop callin' me that, kid." He says lowly, his imposing body rearing over you. And you have no idea what to say. Words that would have usually filtered out, don't. It's like he can tell. "Y'walk over here?" He questions you and you soon feel meagre with the way he interrogates you with a reserved burning rage.

"I— Anna was supposed to pick me up." You want to say more, but you're worried that at this rate your throat might close up.

And he's anything but cheery to hear that, jaw ticking, eyes rolling to the back of his head before he grunts in disapproval.

"It's fine though— really. Not her fault, I should've thought it through first—"

"Bullshit." He states harshly, it almost makes you flinch.

"What?"

"Bull. Shit." You hug your backpack tighter. "You gotta start standin' up f'yourself."

"There's honestly not a problem Mr. Mayb—"

"Sweet jesus— jus’ call me JJ!"

His assertive exasperation shuts your rambling up, head zipping briskly to his. Eyes widened but filled with a feverish intrigue. 

It's like that for what seems to be a long time. The poorly lit living room softly glowing against your skin but his gaze scorching you. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, he withdraws himself, his hand goes limp from the door— instead choosing to fiddle with a brass ring on his opposite hand. He backs up momentarily pushing for a distance you didn't realise wasn't there.

"Y'can't go home like this." He looks back at you, finally. "Go and shower, I'll grab ya some clothes."

"It's— it's okay. I'm alright, really. I don't wanna inconvenience—"

"Nope. Go shower. I'll leave the clothes at the door, you'll leave your wet clothes there as well."

The shower does everything you need it to do. And for once, you're glad you listened to someone else. After using the least amount of shampoo and body wash possible, you dry yourself with the towel and wrap it firmly around your body. Hesitantly, you creak the door open, looking directly downwards, there's an almost-neat pile of clothing. Without paying it much attention— you drag them inside.

When you pick up the green t-shirt, you drop it immediately. The intoxicating musk hits you before you really look at it. It makes you shiver, your hands clasp tightly on the material once more. It's old, worn out, something that looks like it's been held onto for too many years— holding onto too many memories. The local Heyward's logo is embellished in a now frayed white, blocky-font.

The sleeves hang low on your arms, easily reaching your elbows. And if you didn't already feel guilty enough, when you stuff the bunched up fabric into your face, the feeling festers in you. Drinking in the scent, a mellow geniality fizzes deep in your body and the anticipation— makes you dull to all other senses

It's a very similar situation when you pull up the sweatpants, they're cargo pocket-lined and you smile, too deeply, at the rolling papers that reside in the ass pocket. His black socks glide over your gentle skin and you do a once over in their large mirror, purposefully hugging into the material and then reprimanding yourself.

"Get a fucking grip."

The first thing you notice is the mouth-watering smell emanating from the kitchen. It wraps you up like a warm embrace, smelling like childhood and it churns your stomach with the home-sick sentiment.

When you silently step into the kitchen, you stop to observe. He's stood there, cap turned backwards on his head, hands working diligently on some onions and cloth draped over his left shoulder. And then you think— the nostalgia isn't the food, it's him.

"Shrimp and grits?" You whisper, words coming out more tenderly than you thought.

He turns, and a daft smile plays on his lips. "Southern comforts, kid."

"I know, my pops used to make it for me."

His smirk drops, but a soft smile stays.

"The trick is— may I?" You move next to him, close enough to watch his hand falter on the spatula. But he nods and lets you take over. "You've gotta add some sugar to caramelise the onion, it breaks down the flavours better and stops the grits from tasting card-boardy."

His grin widens when you stare proudly over your accomplished work, bubbling sugar from the jar now open to your right just a remnant of the action.

"I'll keep it in mind." He breathes huskily as your hands brush with the swap of spatula.

Suddenly your shame returns, being reduced to a blushing mess. Awkwardly, you close the sugar jar and place it back delicately. Your hands linger around the glass though, seemingly unable to look up at him again.

"Thanks for the uh— the clothes."

"No worries kid, I stuck yours in the dryer." Slyly, his eyes rake over you— delighting at the way you look in the far too large clothing, but you don't look back. 

"Dinner's gon’ be ready soon," You frown and turn to him, about to say you don't need it, ate this morning, would be fine, thank you anyways, but he cuts you off before you can start.

 "I know ya haven't eaten yet, leave the apologies til' later huh?" His correct guess has you catching yourself with a simple grin, a brief and silent token of appreciation.

"Go sit yourself down." He motions to the table, beer sloshing in his can as it moves with his hand.

The sudden awareness over your lack of helpfulness makes you instinctually respond. "Anything I can do? Give some help?" You say very fast, sort of jumbled-ly. "I'm happy to clean—"

"Sit down." He says firmer.

And it's not mean.

Not angry.

Not loud.

But certain, hardened.

And it makes you dizzy. You nod, walking over. Not missing the 'Well done.' He slips out on your way to the next room over.

It's nice, you don't eat in silence. JJ is much more entertaining than you originally gave him credit for. You're happy that he retains a part of humour from his youth.

"Y'said your pops used t'make ya this?" He mentions when the conversation starts to simmer, shovelling a mouthful of food into his mouth.

"Yeah when, uh, when things were good." You quieten, tone dropping at the end of the sentence.

Your father was not a good man. Hardly, yet always there in your childhood. Many fond, many terrifying memories of him. All of them, never quite comforting. Even with the conversation at hand, you can remember the solace of his home-cooked meals, but you also have to remember the piles of unwashed dishes, the inability to heat it back up on your own, the eventual mold left in the pot when it got too old too. Memories of him were always tainted and never too simple. 

"Daddy not quite right, huh?" He chuckles. "Yeah I get that, could smell it on ya first time we met."

You smile, allowing yourself a brief moment of respite. "You too?"

And he just raises his eyebrows. Solidarity.

"You're a good dad though." You say softly, sweetly, honestly.

"Yeah?" It sounds more like a question he hopes you have the right answer to, it displays his hesitance— his fear of getting things wrong.

"Yeah." You reassure him.

His eyes darken slightly though, looking properly at you after a while. "Don't like the way she treats you though." He stays still, stoic. "Never raised her t'be like that."

You around swallow nothing. The conversation delving into unpleasant territory. "It's really nothing."

"You're lyin' t'me and ya know that, kid."

You stop, fork no longer aimlessly pushing your uneaten food around your plate.

"It's not all the time." You say, half-soothingly and half-hopeful. "She's a good friend."

But he only grits his teeth. A warning.

"I just—" God surely you weren't about to admit anything like this to your best friend's father. "wish I'd stop being such a— such a wuss about it... maybe if I just said something— anything back."

He sighs and at first you think it's disappointment, sympathy, or another personally resented emotion.

Except his hand drops to your thigh, low down, by your knee. And the contact has you feeling ditzy, light-headed, safe. And you clock it’s understanding. 

"What's stoppin' ya?"

Your eyes flutter between his own, and his hand. "I guess... it's— comforting to know I have something to fall back on. Even if it's not good for me." You relax into his touch. "Took me so long to find them, I can't imagine letting go."

He nods this time, and you appreciate the silent perception. "Still think Anna could do with layin' off a little." He complains half-heartedly.

You wind-up laughing under your breath.

When you grow quiet, he slips his hand off of you. Almost whining at the lost contact, the sense of need grows stronger in you.

He attempts to diffuse the tension, picking up your plates but you're too stubborn. You stand up just as quickly, moving close and even though he doesn't— never stumbles back, you know the persisting infatuation is mutual. You take the plates from him.

"Time for you to relax." Your hand on his shoulder, "Nurse your drink for a while. Let me, please."

He sits down, grumbly and you step into the kitchen. Dish soap and hot water coats your forearms and you hum quietly to yourself, a distant crackly radio playing a soothing country melody that slips off the tongue like butter.

Then you're done, you wipe off your arms and finish humming to the song.

"I'll drop ya back." A voice resonates from behind you. "Y'clothes ain't dry just yet, keep mine f'now, kid, okay?"

You nod, not turning around to him.

The drive is much quieter than dinner. Only the faint radio and your directions every once in a while. Eventually, his truck pulls up on the grass outside your house. He winces. All around him sets off warning alarms in his mind.

Trailers among trailers, dilapidated and paint-chipped. Low light, almost none but the porch lights themselves. He thinks how you come back here alone, wonders what could happen to you. At least he's there tonight. And he doesn't think he's ever going to let you come back here on your own.

"Would you— d'you wanna come in for some water?" You peep from the passenger seat.

And he should say no. Really should.

But he nods curtly to the suggestion, getting out the truck, following suit of you.

He lets slip a brief smile, quickly wiping it from his face though when you enter.

Your trailer is quaint, good. There's pots of flowers and plants just about anywhere you can find a space. Pictures of landscapes, family (he assumes), simple things he wouldn't look twice at. But no pictures of friends. Something in him believes you don't have the self-appreciation for that.

"Just up here." You trail off and suddenly he feels like he should take his shoes off, scared to taint the integrity of your place.

But he'd never been one to shy away from dirtying up other people’s lives.

So why start now?

He inhales deeply and pushes himself to follow you.

You clip the head off of a beer bottle, letting it fall onto your counter with a clink. He's behind you, watching your every move.

And by god does that make you squirm.

You turn, slowly, hand him the beer and cheers your own against it.

He mutters a course thank you and promptly takes a swig. Too large of a swig.

"It's nice." He comments, motioning around you.

"Got some help from my pops, he doesn't know where I am though. Just that I'm safe."

"Safe?"

"Well, you know. Safer than I could be."

"Hm. Well, y'welcome to stay round whenever you need, kid."

You shift from one foot to another. "Thanks, but I'll be okay."

He steps impossibly closer to you. "I mean it now, don't want ya stayin' here all the time."

Something inside you clicks, defensive, with teeth. It’s quick and all consuming, your rage just hurls up and out of you. 

"You don't want me to stay here?" Your tone is harsher than he expects. "What the fuck kind of right do you have to say that to me?" Your drink clashes into the surface top.

But he doesn't react, doesn't give you what you're looking for.

"Think I'll bring you into my house? Give you my beer? Wear your clothes? All for a fucking lecture?" You push him, hands shoving against his chest. "What— fucking— fucking right?"

But your movements are uncoordinated, hasty, erratic. And he knows it's because you feel caged, scared. Someone knowing something about you that evokes your fight response.

And he knows that you need to get it out of your system. So he lets the punches hit, lets you cry out at him, lets the nasty words fall from your lips until he thinks it's enough. 

And all you can focus on is that he won't fight back— won't give you what you're looking for.

Eventually he has to stop you, so his hands grab your wrists, cleanly, swiftly. He pushes you back into the corner of your counter. Towering over you, you let your head drop in defeat. Angry tears stream down your face and the cold of the surface beats down on the back of your back where the shirt rides up. He's pinned you back so your hands meet your waist.

And his do, too.

His thumbs circle over the exposed, silken skin.

"Need t'know I ain't gonna hurt you with this." He utters anchoredly. "M'not gonna do that to ya, kid."

When you look up at him, your gaze isn't empty. It's full, of him.

And against all logic, you slip your wrists gently out of his grip and round his neck.

His body is gruff, older, safe and steady. His thick arms wrap around you perfectly and you swear you could melt into him right here, right now. He draws you nearer, a palliative and tentative hand pressing your head into the crook of his neck. He's surprised you don't cry. And when he thinks about it, he's not sure you did just now.

But it doesn't matter right now.

Right now, he's got you where he wants you— fuck.

He's got you where he wants you.

When he pulls back, it's grating. You're cold almost immediately.

"This ain't— kid we uh, we shouldn't be doin' this."

Shit. The way you're looking at him kills something inside him a little.

And he can't take it, so within seconds he's out the trailer and pulling away in his truck.

And it all floods back to you at once. The abandonment, the fear, the look in your father's eyes when he walked out the door for the last time. The glint of regret— the regret that is never strong enough for someone to stay.

[ask-aunt-spoon]

Hey there, squidkids~! It's sure been awhile, huh?

It's been a WILD few years, but now that things have settled down again, I'm super thrilled to report that Ask Aunt Spoon is back!

Hope to see you all again in the asks, and remember to stay fresh~!

A Note from Teapot: Hey, folks - sorry for the long hiatus. It has definitely been a long few years since Splatoon 3's initial release, and I've had the pleasure of enjoying most of it even through some rough times. There have been a lot of ups and downs on my end, and I'm sure that rings true for a lot of you folks as well.

To start, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking around as long as you all have, and whether you're an old, loyal follower or new to the blog, please know that all of you are the reason why I continue AAS!. I really, truly enjoy running this blog, and even through the long hiatus I've wanted to continue and revive it, even if I had no real motivation or desire to physically draw replies.

Admittedly, I was extremely daunted by how involved some of the replies got, as extended OC cast exponentially increased the scope of both the asks and subsequent replies. This led to some long and often times complex planning and paneling that I very quickly ran out of steam trying to finish, eventually culminating in just not finishing anything at all.

Additionally, I was also unsure how to navigate the continued universe of Splatoon 3 while it was still actively updating in case I accidentally contradicted something new, so I inadvertently ended up just waiting until live content updates were over.

That being said, the blog going forward will continue as always, though I will try to better learn my limits and decrease the scope of replies as much as possible. I've moved from SAI to CSP, which has helped smooth out my workflow, and overall I feel more confident in my ability to draw quickly. The extended cast page will remain up for now, but I'll probably either pare it down or remove it completely at some point just for brevity's sake. After all, this is a Callie blog. However, if you have a tangential interest in the OC portion, feel free to shoot me a message or ask about it, and I'll direct you elsewhere.

There will be some updates made to the FAQ, as well.

As for old asks, I will probably end up just purging most of them just for a fresh start. Sorry if I missed your ask - but, if you really want it answered, feel free to ask it again!

Planned cast updates and appearances: - Marie (Knife Mom) will continue to stay, for obvious reasons - Cap'n 3 (Sunny) and Neo Agent 3 (Bee) may cameo, depending - Team Agent 4 will likely not return - Agent 8 (Toko) may cameo; her brothers will likely not - The Elites will still cameo depending on circumstance - Off the Hook may cameo depending on circumstance - Deep Cut may cameo now, depending on circumstance - Acht (dedf1sh) unlikely to cameo, sorry; not a calf1sh blog </3

TL;DR - Sorry for the long hiatus; Ask Aunt Spoon is back! I've moved to CSP, will be cutting down the cast, clearing old asks, and starting fresh. Please continue sending asks, as always!

Cheers, --Teapot

[undertheopensky]

Creatures Great And Small

It’s not that travelling through portals is a comfortable experience. It’s just when you do it so much, you start to get a feel for it - a familiarity of sorts, even though it sucks Din’s hairy balls on a summer day in Gerudo desert. And when you know what to expect, it’s pretty obvious when you don’t get it.

All this to say, this portal sucks, but in a slightly different way. A little to the left, or with a blue glass lens laid over it, or -

Legend hits the ground and crumples because his legs won’t hold him up. Which is uncomfortably familiar in a completely different way, goddesses, he has to get his bearings before the goddamn cook does and nothing is working right his legs won’t brace he can’t catch his balance he feels all shaky and strange -

But when he manages to at least lift his head, it’s not to an arrow in his face.

Ah. Silly me.

If Legend had been suddenly and violently forced into his Dark World form, it was likely they’d fallen into the Dark World through the portal. (Or an equivalent realm; Legend’s reserving judgement.) And if he’s affected, then of course the others would be too.

So instead of a band of Hylians contemplating dinner he’s instead faced with an array of strange animals busy panicking about their strangeness.

A pair of foxes, one red, brown, and cute, and the other red, white, and eerie. A horse that looked like it had been dragged through a mud field and a buck that had definitely been dragged through a hedge. A big cat with fur so dark it shone blue in the light, and something shaped like a dog except far, far too large, striped like a tiger and shrouded in thick ruffs of fur. Another fox-like thing, but this one black and blue with floppy ears - maybe it’s actually a dog?? Or, no, it does have the small triangular ears of a fox, it just also has ridiculous locks of fur hanging down its skull -

And Legend himself feels no instinctive fear at being in close quarters with all these predators.

Since they all seem occupied freaking out, he takes the chance to confirm his suspicions - he isn’t a rabbit. No pink fur, no long ears, no terror lining his heart. But also limited use of his forelimbs. At least rabbits could rock back on their haunches and maybe manipulate things, but Legend’s new shape is an obligate quadruped, apparently, because his hips refuse to bend that way.

Tragic.

Not that he’d be using a weapon either way.

The giant dog has made it to his feet with remarkable ease. His jaw opens, Twilight’s placid drawl contrasting against the long canines. “This is not how ah imagined mah day goin’.”

Ah, that explains it. The rancher has some practice what with his wolf form -

Wait. Why isn’t he in wolf form?

“Must be a different kinda realm,” he says in answer to that. “Ah never got a straight answer as to just what the Twilight Realm is.”

“The Dark World was said to be the Sacred Realm corrupted by dark magic and hatred. Is your Twilight place different?”

Twilight frowns. It’s odd, Legend thinks, to not feel a frisson of terror at a predator’s face twisting in thought. “Ah think so.”

“So if you two have been through this before, does that mean you know how to turn us back?” Unlike Twilight, Sky has not made as far as his feet. His large, cat-like form still lies in an ungainly sprawl.

Legend manages an awkward shrug. “As soon as we’re portalled out, we should change back. I have an item in my bags that is supposed to prevent this, but if I’m not actively holding it - hey - watch it -”

The red and brown fox has come bounding over with more enthusiasm than skill and almost lands on top of Legend. Sky gets his limbs tangled up when he tries to jolt to his feet. “Ledge! Ledge! Hey, Ledge, did you see that?! Have you ever done anything that cool before?!”

He’s probably referring to the backflip but Legend’s busy trying to figure out how to strangle Wild with his paws. “Why are you like this?!”

“Sorry about him.” Four’s picked his way over with considerably more care than Wild. “Not that I have any control over him, but y’know.” Up close, his fox-form looks a little off. Paws dipped in blood and a ruff so wispy it almost fades into mist at the ends, Four looks like he’s not entirely there. Still, he sounds normal, so Legend’s filing that under ‘not his problem until it is’.

“C’mon, up y’get,” Twilight says in encouragement. Wind’s pitiful whine gets a nudge with one giant paw. “You can do it. S’not so hard once y’catch ya balance.”

“Easy for you to say,” Wind mumbles into the dirt. Still, he does push himself up, and oh, that’s interesting. It turns out Wind is bipedal, except he still has paws and no opposable thumbs, which doesn’t bode well if they run into anything as complicated as a doorknob.

“What are you?” Wild asks, fascinated.

Legend would also like to know, since no dog he knows of walks on two legs, but the Dark World makes no sense at the best of times.

Wind bares his short little teeth from where he’s clinging to Twilight’s side for balance. He gets distracted from whatever he’s going to say to Wild, however, by Warriors finally staggering over on his spindly deer legs.

“There’s goddamn - flowers caught in my antlers -” he shakes his head, and the greenery rustles pleasantly. “Can someone help me out here?!”

“I don’t think any of us have opposable thumbs,” says Sky. His tail twitches.

Desperate, Warriors turns to the only other herbivore in the group.

“I am not eating the foliage out of your hair,” says Time. His deep voice sounds comical coming out of the mouth of an enormous horse. “Who knows where it’s been?”

With a groan, Warriors resigns himself to the indignity.

“Okay, okay, let’s get this show on the road,” Legend calls. “Is everyone alright? No injuries while you were figuring out your legs?”

He gets six ‘I’m fine’s and a sheepish admission from Sky that he still can’t stand up. You’re gonna have to sort that out eventually, you’re way too big for anyone to carry you, he says, then frowns. “Wait. Where’s Hyrule?”

“Um! Down here!”

Okay so they’re at least present.

They’re a fairy - small and pale with flowers wound through their hair standing on a daisy head. Or. At least fairy-shaped. The wings are wrong, small and stubby and opaque, and there’s no glow of magic around them.

It’s definitely Hyrule, though, and there’s no way they’ll be able to keep up with the rest of them at their size. “Okay, so we’re gonna have to carry you,” Legend says, and for the first time properly regrets the apparent loss of his rabbit form. “Wind? Think you can pick them up?”

Hyrule squeaks and dives down to cling to the white petals underfoot. “Don’t squish me!!”

“I won’t!” Wind promises, and carefully cups both flower and fairy in his clumsy paws to lift them out of the grass. “See? I got you. You’re okay.”

“Can you carry them without falling on your face, though?” Wild sounds genuinely curious, which just makes Wind bristle and scowl.

“Of course I can!!! Just watch me!”

“If you need to jump ship to someone’s back, no one will mind,” says Four to tiny Hyrule.

Sky has finally made it to his feet, leaning on the taller Twilight as he finds his balance. “I don’t know how you do this so easily…”

“Stop thinkin’ so hard. It’ll come to ya.”

Sky promptly stumbles and rowwls in frustration.

A predator’s snarl would once have thrown Legend’s heart into paroxysms of terror, but now there’s just - mild alertness. Interest in whatever had gotten Sky’s attention. No fear. No adrenaline coursing through him making it impossible to think of anything except racing to get away.

Between a pink rabbit and a blue cat…

Yeah. Legend will take the carnivore any day.

[as-kind-as-summer]

I saw a street interview the other day where they were asking people which was better LotR or another fantasy series which shall not be named and one of the people said LotR wasn't as good because "it just has a happy ending so it's not as powerful" and I just...do people think this? First off, if you don't think every one of those characters is not now carrying deep-seated trauma I don't even know what to tell you. But second...that's the whole point?? These stories are about the power of friendship and finding light in the darkness and banding together to overcome the worst evil of an entire age. The characters getting a happy ending after all of that doesn't negate the struggles that they faced earlier. If anything, a happy ending strengthens the message of LotR.

[the-phantom-peach]

a handful of miscellaneous domestic zelink for my the soul 💘

[irrevocablecondition]

You’re starting to act just like your fascist Reggie—censoring others and trying to dictate what can and cannot be discussed in fandom. Telling people they can’t talk about politics because you, living in a first-world country, can’t handle it? You’re the one using real-world politics to justify a fictional ship with a fascist. Have you thought about how people who are genuinely anti-fascist might also dislike it in fiction? You can’t control fandom. If you want to like fascist characters, then just own it. While fiction might not feel like reality to you, for many, it is reality. Have you considered that the characters and headcanons you enjoy might reflect deeply personal experiences for others? Not everyone has the privilege to separate fiction from reality like you do.

hi feed, this message was brought to you by someone who has clearly never interacted with me ever !

WDYMMM "telling people they can't talk about politics" 😭😭 i fear that's my ENTIRE niche across two social media platforms. i fear my entire thing is politics in a fandom space + the real world. i fear that's literally what i'm known for. what 😖

i was gonna ignore this but i have so many receipts that i thought okay ! finna answer ! why not, let's entertain this <3 (below the cut because it's long)

assuming that this is a response to this post where, after watching elon perform two nazi salutes on stage, i said "hey! maybe you should stop calling people in fandom nazis for reading about a fictional character!"

what i alsooo said on that post is that it's important to discuss politics in literature (see here: doing a masters degree in english literature + politics <3). because absolutely! the DEs are crafted in a way that reflects historic events and absolutely, that's something we can discuss!

what we should also discuss is that whilst art imitiates life and life imitates art, the two do not directly reflect one another - if i read about wizards, i am not a wizard. if i read a crime book, i am not a detective. and if i read fanfic about regulus black? i am not a facist.

in regards to the censorship comment: this here is an entireeee video i made about censorship and puritanical views in fandom spaces and why this is a Bad Thing To Do (though i fear you will disagree with it because i am saying that people can read and write whatever but alas, no censorship here x)

using real world politics to justify a ship? no, not at all. i do not think ships in fandom need to be "justified" because, again, they are fiction. can they be discussed? absolutely! my tiktok is @/messrsrobyn and you will find countless videos where i dissect fandom, characters and ships. again, this is kind of my whole thing <33 nice to meet you <33 but rather for me? that post was made as a building up of (1) the mass of people in fandom during the tiktok ban saying that words have meaning when american writers say british words "wrong", but throw buzzwords around like it's nothing and (2) this is a place for escapism and safety, which is needed now more than ever and whilst discussions about politics are important, this? this ask? this is not a discussion. this is hostility, much like people just commenting "nazi" with nothing else on a jegulus post.

discussions can be had! absolutely! my entire thing is discussions in fandom. but right now i'm trying to discuss this when you have given me nothing to work with but false claims and hostility - see how this doesn't work? but alas, i'll try :)

do people read jegulus and think "wow i love voldemort and the death eaters!!! i agree with what the did here :D" or do they read jegulus and enjoy the complexity that comes with a character like him? do they enjoy how, with a character with such little canon lore, people explore things? or yk what, do they sometimes read him as a muggle where none of this matter because there's do DEs? yeah, because it's fiction. and liking a fictional character does not have repercussions on the real world.

calling someone a facist/nazi only for teading about fictional characters does - it is so incredibly important that we read immoral literature. i'm rambling now but i'm not even talking just about fandom. we NEED books that discuss these topics and we need to explore the characters within them. we NEED politics and immorality and everything like that in books because that is how we learn, understand, and prevent. reading them does make you immoral - see here: queer books being banned in the us for containing "immoral themes" and main characters doing things they deem had and awful alongside INCREDIBLYYYY important books like the handmaids tale, to kill a mockingbird, 1984, fahrenheit 451 etc etc.

we need to read these. we need to engage with them.

but in a fandom space, we also need to acknowledge that these are not real people. these are fictional characters and there's a big difference between engaging with a character because you are justifying their actions, and engaging with a character because you enjoy Exploring their character and Understanding them in as many ways as possible 🙂↕️

but we agree!! whilst fiction may not feel like reality to some people, to many it is! so have we considered that when people come to escape from the real world for a bit, or people have family members lost to past regimes; are about to enter 4 years of another regime or are holding their breath waiting for european elections to see if another far-right populist party gets in, it might sucklk to have this thrown around?

imagine dealing with alllll of that in reality, not knowing what on earth is going to happen tomorrow or what the future holds for you and the people you love, and then being called a facist online because you read about Fictional Character Regulus Black. whilst your life literally crumbles apart because of it. you are now being called the same thing that the man oppressing you and everyone you love is, because you read FanFiction.

and then finally ahem:

"not everyone has the privilege to separate fiction from reality like you do"

if you click here, you will find a tumblr post i made about this exact thing :D about how we can't separate fiction from reality

see here also: a post about the books jkr publishes under the robert galbraith pseudonym and about how we, again, cannot separate fiction from reality.

if you click here you will find my jkr playlist on tiktok which has videos in about how, again, we cannot separate fiction from reality.

what we also can't do, mind you is call someone a facist for reading a fictional character.

there is big difference between "hey! this character has facist undertones if applied irl, we could discuss this!" and "You Are A Facist For Reading It"

instead of coming and ranting to someone who has spoken extensivelyyyy about politics in this fandom space - both with fandom material and with elections, gaza, the uk riots etc etc - and is a huge advocate of dicussions and debates, put this energy into something productive.

like actual facists. real world politics and what you could be doing at a local level to help reduce the harm of Actual Facists that are in power right now. not people taking a break from Actual Facism to read fanfiction.

ta x

(p.s i'm a homeless, chronically-ill, gay, trans man. what privilege do i have in THISSS fandom space of JK ROWLINGSSSSS worlds, to separate reality from fiction? 😭)

[rrat-king]

For the ask game you know who I'm going to say

(Sandra Lynn if it was unclear)

oh do not worry i know your girl 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

sandra lynn is not a good gardener but she loves her garden A Lot. before she moved into the manor she was too busy with work and kids and all the things she did to distract herself so she only had one plant, a stubborn snake plant that was the one thing she managed not to kill by forgetting to water it.

once she’s in the manor, though, she has so many plants (only truly alive because jawbone or lydia remember to water them when she forgets). she has a garden outback that she has tried and failed to grow tomatoes in every year and they never really produce like they are supposed to but she still grows them just the same, methodically weeding and trimming and losing herself in the process.

the only thing she has been able to really grow super successfully is the wild grape vine she put in around the low stone wall that guards the tree line. she harvest it and lydia makes it into too much jam and they have to pass it out to everyone they know just to get rid of it all. (fig was probably too young to remember but they used to do the same thing when she was little, put on their gloves and long sleeves to protect from the stinging leaves and gilear would turn it into jam and sandra lynn would pass it out at work. it’s different now, different vine, more people, but in a roundabout way it’s tradition coming back)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i bombed that so hard dash 🙏🙏🙏

[not-brionnnne]

hey has anyone ever considered doing shinjiro smut for after the fade to black but he lays you across his lap, like has anyone ever considered the canon praise kink with him more—shinjiro who scolds you, calls you trouble and tells you to stay close to him like a "good girl", shinjiro who acts tough, pretends to be fed up with you pushing him around (he loves it, but that doesn't mean you're not gonna hear about it), ignoring what he wants, so two can play that game, and you think, god, he's not holding back anymore, he's going to kiss me, finally, we're going to— but no, he settles on his bed and pats his lap and tells you that you need to "take responsibility" for teasing him like that, messing with his feelings — "be a good girl." remember, you started this.

[bidokja]

I thought you kin kdj?

anon i hope this is a joke cause if this is a genuine question it is the singlemost scathing read i have ever recieved in my life 👏 bravo

[yiga-hellhole]

We already discussed this but tp zelink

oh i'm a hater. i am wretched. TP zelink is the zelinks out of ALL of them that works the least for me. they have no chemistry, they don't even seem to like each other much, and they have nothing in common. it feels like an insult to the characters to me because in every depiction of it i see they barely act like their actual selves. this zelda is dedicated to her job as queen and is a refined, born diplomat, while this link is wild at heart and a simple soul who could never be chained down to the formal life of a prince consort. similarly, zelda is far too attached to her pretty satin gloves and her job to give it all up and be a farm girl. it's just smacking barbies together because they're both hot blondes. and i definitely smack barbies together frequently just because the characters look hot together, but i at least want them to stay in character for the whole business!

zelda is an incidental goal for link in TP. first and foremost he wanted to save the children from his village. sure, he probably felt bad for her locked up in the tower, but midna always had the highest stakes in rescuing zelda because they seemed to have a history (looking at their comfortable banter and how deeply midna cares for her).

the only way it'd work, and this is a LONG SHOT, is if you removed midna because she gravitates all the chemistry towards herself. and removing midna is like removing the moon and the stars from our night sky. AKA it sucks. that, and, this is just vibes, but TP Zelda feels like a lesbian to me. a lone ruling female medieval royal older than 16 and she's unmarried? she's definitely postponing marriage for a reason. i wonder why...

i have nothing nice to say about it sorry. i don't see it happening at all and i hate it. any other zelink i'm either charitable about or genuinely like the dynamic, but this one i have active beef with. they don't have to be together in every single game!!! it's obnoxious and repetitive!! BAH!

[mbirnsings-71]

tyalyly i command it

get urself a treat madi

HEY! If I have to get myself a treat so do you! That is how this works!

Now what do I have that I can give you before I try to find a little treat hm.

The answer is Missy doing a little Blep.