#suspend your disbelief for 5 seconds

[lovely-english-rose]

this happened a While ago but this comment on a fic i wrote just. bounces around my skull sometimes. they questioned how could two men have kids together and i just. you really gotta ask that? like theres so many fucking ways that could work

maybe the kids are from previous marriages. maybe they're adopted. surrogacy exists. one could be trans. depending on setting, magic or sci-fi stuff could be the explanation. good old mpreg even if you're not a fucking coward. pick your poison.

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 22

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 22

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Chaos unfolds during you and Tommy's reception, in the aftermath, you find some comfort in Small Heath.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetophobia warning

--

You didn’t even register the direction the gunshots came from– just the chaos that followed. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. Someone dropped a tray with a crash that echoed beneath the chandelier’s sudden sway. The music stopped abruptly, a needle skidding off vinyl, and for a split second, everything stood still.

Then, another shot.

You grabbed Finn without thinking, your instincts moving faster than your mind. He’d been standing just beside the refreshment table, laughing, a slice of cake still in his hand. You yanked him down with you, ducking beneath the table just as chairs clattered and guests scattered.

His eyes were wide, panicked, and you could feel him shaking.

“We’re okay,” you said quickly, your arms around him, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s alright, stay low, don’t move.”

The tablecloth hung around you like a makeshift curtain, dimming the chaos outside. 

Finn clutched your arm tightly. “What’s happening?” he whispered, voice cracking.

Above you, another loud bang– a third shot fired, but this one hit the ceiling, plaster raining down. You flinched, shielding Finn instinctively.

And then, through the noise, a voice bellowed across the room:

“A gift from Luca Changretta. Tell Tommy Shelby that his empire bleeds like any other.”

Finn clutched your arm tighter, his breathing shallow and fast. You pulled him in closer beneath the table, your body curled protectively over his, your hand cradling the back of his head to shield him from the falling plaster.

Around you, everything had gone still.

Not silent, there were still gasps and muffled screams, overturned chairs scraping against the floor, glass shattering somewhere across the room, but still in the way that fear locks a room in place, holding everyone in suspended disbelief.

You barely dared to breathe.

Footsteps thundered toward the exit, fast, heavy, purposeful. Then the sharp slam of the doors as the gunmen fled.

Gone, just like that.

No more shots. No more words. Just a trail of fear and smoke left behind in their wake.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you slowly looked out from beneath the table, your arm still curled tightly around Finn.

Polly’s voice rang out from somewhere across the room, sharp and panicked. Arthur was shouting orders. John’s voice followed, rough and urgent..

You pushed yourself up from the floor slowly, your limbs still shaky with adrenaline. Your hands found Finn first, gently helping him upright. He was pale, eyes wide, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look even younger than he was.

“Finn,” you said softly, brushing plaster dust from his jacket. “Are you alright?”

He nodded too quickly to be convincing. His breath hitched, and you reached for his face, cradling it gently between your palms. His skin was clammy, his cheeks flushed. You wiped a smear of dust from his cheek with your thumb, eyes scanning him for any sign of blood, any wound you might’ve missed in the panic.

“Look at me,” you said, steady but kind. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Just… hell– what was that?”

“Just breathe,” you murmured, still holding his face. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Your fingers lingered for a second longer, brushing through his hair before pulling him into a quick, fierce hug. He held onto you like a lifeline, his body trembling just slightly.

You heard Tommy before you saw him, the shift in the air, the magnetic pull. His voice was heavy. “Move– move!”

Before you knew it, Tommy was there, storming toward you, eyes scanning wildly– jaw clenched, breathing hard.

His eyes found yours and stopped.

“Fuck–” he breathed, his expression cracking, just for a second. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and sharp, breathless as he reached you, hands already skimming over your arms, your ribs, your waist.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head, slowly.

But he didn’t accept that. One hand cupped the back of your neck, grounding you firmly in place. His touch wasn’t gentle now– it was firm. Urgent.

“Look at me,” he said, voice fierce. “Are you okay?”

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Yes,” you whispered. “I’m okay.” 

He closed his eyes for half a second, like the air had been knocked from him. When they opened again, they were darker, stormier. Rage and relief tangled behind them.

“I told you,” he said, voice hoarse and cracking as his forehead dropped briefly to yours. “I told you to stay put.”

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, his hands falling from your face, jaw clenching as he turned slightly, already scanning the chaos again. You stood there, stunned, the weight of his anger settling heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to anger him. But the shame still twisted in your stomach like a blade.

Suddenly, you felt small fingers clutching at your arm.

Finn had latched onto you without a word, his arms winding around your waist. His face was pressed into your side, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes and immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, cradling the back of his head. “It’s alright,” you whispered, holding him tightly. “You’re alright.”

He didn’t speak, just shook, buried against you, trying to hide the fact that he’d been terrified. You swayed gently with him, murmuring something soft, your hand brushing through his hair, grounding him in the only way you could.

Tommy, meanwhile, had already shifted gears.

His eyes were scanning the room, sharp and calculating, jaw rigid with fury. “John! Arthur!” he barked. A bitter breath hissed from between Tommy’s teeth. “Find out how they got in. Who let them through the doors. Someone knew. Someone fucking knew!”

John nodded tightly, already heading toward the front.

Tommy’s jaw flexed again as he turned back toward Arthur. “And I want names! Every single fucking guest who wasn’t on the list, where they came from, who they came with. Someone vouched for those bastards.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You got it, Tom.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before muttering, “They didn’t want blood… not tonight. They wanted fear.”

His eyes flicked toward you then, still holding Finn, still trying to slow your breathing, your expression dazed and unreadable.

And in that instant, his fury turned razor-sharp again.

“They came into my fucking wedding,” he yelled. “That’s their warning shot? They’re going to regret not pulling the fucking trigger.”

He paced in a tight line, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing sharp and ragged. You’d seen him angry before– cold, calculating, precise. But this… this was something else. This was pure fury. Unfiltered. Barely contained.

“They walked through those doors,” he snapped, whirling around to face Arthur and John as they returned to his side. “They fired shots over our fucking heads– at my family, at my wife!” 

His voice cracked on the last word, jaw tightening hard enough to make his cheek twitch. His hand went instinctively to his hip like he needed to reach for something– his gun, maybe, or just a way to release the rage bottled beneath his ribs.

“They wanted to humiliate us,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “To prove they could get in and out without a scratch. That they could touch us without drawing blood.”

Arthur stepped forward, voice low. “Tom, we’ll find ‘em. You know we will.”

Tommy’s glare cut through the room like a blade. “Not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want their names. I want their fucking heads.”

You flinched slightly at the venom in his tone, but Finn still clung to your side, and your instinct to protect him kept you grounded.

“They made a spectacle,” Tommy continued, turning toward the ruined tables, the chandelier still swaying faintly overhead. “A statement. They want war? Fine.”

His voice dropped to a growl– cold, merciless. “Then we’ll give them war.”

Arthur nodded grimly, but John exchanged a glance with him, uneasy. Polly hovered nearby, watching Tommy with that sharp, calculating stare of hers, as if measuring how far gone he really was.

And then beside you, Finn let out a soft sound– not quite a whimper, but close. His hands were still clutching the edge of your dress where he’d held on during the gunfire, his knuckles white. He was staring at the floor now, eyes unfocused, jaw tight, like he was trying to swallow whatever panic was still clawing its way through his chest.

“Finn?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just kept shaking his head like he was trying to make the memory disappear. His breathing had gone shallow again.

“Hey.” You crouched a little, meeting his eyes, brushing his fringe back gently. “You’re alright, Finn. It’s over now.”

He nodded, too quickly, too forcefully, and then abruptly turned to the side and vomited into the corner.

Polly immediately stepped toward him, but you raised a hand gently. “I’ve got him.”

The sound of Tommy’s voice barking another order behind you made Finn flinch visibly. That was it. Your chest clenched, protective instinct kicking in fully now.

“Come on, love,” you said, steady and soft, already slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get some air.”

But before you could take a full step, a firm hand caught your arm.

“You can’t go outside,” Tommy said sharply, eyes flashing.

You blinked at him, stunned. “He needs air, Tommy. He’s shaking.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “It’s not safe out there. Not yet.”

“He’s going to pass out if he stays in here,” you snapped. 

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved two of his men forward with a curt gesture. “Go with them,” he barked. Then his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t go past the gate. And this time, do what you’re fucking told, please.”

You stared at him, nostrils flaring, heat rising behind your eyes. It wasn’t just the words, it was the tone, the way he said it like you were one of the men under his command instead of his wife, who’d just been dragged through chaos on her own wedding day.

Your lips parted, ready to spit something back, but instead you just wrenched your arm from his grip, your jaw tight.

You turned your back on him and led Finn away, your hand steady at his back. The weight of Tommy’s stare burned between your shoulder blades, but you didn’t look back.

Finn didn’t protest. He let you guide him away, his legs a bit unsteady beneath him. You led him down the corridor and out through the side door into the cool night air, the chaos muffled now behind stone walls and heavy doors. The moment you stepped outside, you felt him exhale, just a shaky breath, but a little steadier than before.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with him on the edge of the steps, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“I thought they were going to kill us,” Finn said quietly after a long pause. 

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I know.”

You sat in silence for a long moment– just the two of you under the stars, the distant pulse of music and shouting still echoing faintly behind you. But out here, for just a little while, you could breathe.

The night air was sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering adrenaline still humming in your veins. Your heart hadn’t fully settled yet, and Finn was still tense beneath your arm, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You rubbed a slow, steady hand across his back, letting the silence stretch between you like a blanket. You didn’t need to fill it. Not yet.

“I’m sorry I threw up,” Finn said after a while, voice barely above a whisper. 

Your hand stilled for a second, then resumed its rhythm. “It’s okay, Finn. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

A few more minutes passed in stillness, broken only by the distant crack of glass, another door swinging open somewhere inside, a voice shouting orders. The tension of the evening hadn’t fully lifted, not even out here.

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, just holding him steady, when the door creaked open again behind you.

You turned.

Polly stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, her silhouette sharp against the warm glow from the reception hall. Her heels clicked softly on the stone, but there was no urgency in her steps, just the same quiet gravity she always carried like a second skin.

She stopped a few paces away, her eyes scanning you both. Her gaze softened when it landed on Finn. She crouched down beside him then, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “You alright, love?”

“I’m okay,” he lied. 

Polly nodded once, glancing between you and Finn again. “Arthur’s still inside trying to calm people down. Tommy’s… doing what Tommy does.”

You swallowed and gave her a faint nod of thanks.

There was a long pause before you spoke again, your voice low, tired. “When can we go home?”

Polly looked at you for a moment, really looked. Not just at your face, but the slump in your shoulders, the way your hand still gripped Finn’s sleeve like you couldn’t quite let go of the fear yet.

“Soon,” she said gently. “They need to be sure it’s safe first.”

You nodded, but it didn’t ease the restlessness curling in your chest. You were still in your wedding dress. Your hands still smelled faintly of gunpowder and champagne. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the first shot rang out.

You could feel the pressure building behind your eyes, that familiar sting threatening to break through. You blinked hard, jaw clenched tight, willing the tears not to come. 

Polly stepped closer, brushing a bit of hair from your face in a rare, tender gesture. “You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. You just need to breathe.”

You tried, but it caught in your throat.

“I didn’t even see it coming,” you whispered. “It was supposed to be– just for one day–”

“I know.” Her voice softened again, more mother than matriarch now. 

You didn’t have the energy to say anything else. You just glanced down at Finn, who was quiet now, staring out at the street like it might tell him something the rest of you couldn’t.

Polly’s hand touched your arm again, firmer this time. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home soon.”

You nodded once more, but the weight of the evening settled heavy in your bones. You didn’t feel safe. Not yet. Not really.

Polly returned inside, but you stayed there in silence, shoulders tense beneath the weight of your dress, heart still pounding against your ribs like it hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that the threat was over. You kept your eyes on the door, waiting for it to open again. Hoping it would be him this time.

Finn sat quietly beside you, hands clasped in his lap, gaze fixed on the darkened garden path ahead. He hadn’t said anything else, but he leaned into your side slightly, like your presence was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

Minutes passed. Then, finally, the door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the gravel.

Tommy’s figure cut through the dim light like a shadow cast from something solid and unshakable, but there was a new heaviness in his expression, tighter around the eyes, jaw still clenched hard. His tie was crooked now, shirt undone at the collar, blood still flecked faintly at his temple. But his gaze was on you.

“Come on,” he murmured, one hand in his pocket, the other beckoning you gently. “Let’s go.”

You nodded and turned to Finn, brushing your hand gently against his shoulder. “Come on, love,” you said quietly. “Let’s get up.”

He nodded, a little dazed, letting you help him to his feet. He leaned on you more than he probably realized, but you didn’t mind. Your arm stayed steady beneath his.

Tommy reached for him then, his hand landing firm on Finn’s other shoulder, steadying him silently. His other hand reached for yours without a word, fingers curling around yours with quiet purpose.

You glanced down at your joined hands, his fingers warm and certain around yours. The earlier anger– the sting of him snapping at you, the way he’d barked and shut you out, had dissolved somewhere in the chaos. You couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it left you, only that now, standing here beside him, all you could feel was the dull throb of exhaustion and the steady comfort of his touch.

Because whatever his temper had been, whatever sharpness had cut through his voice… you knew it had come from fear.

And now, there was only this, his hand in yours, grounding you again. The way it always did.

Tommy gave your hand a small, silent squeeze, his eyes flicking to yours for a brief second, just long enough to say everything he hadn’t said earlier.

Then, together, the three of you moved toward the car. Slowly, quietly. Away from the wreckage. Toward whatever peace the night could still offer.

The car ride home was quiet. 

No one said it out loud, but there was a silent agreement between all of you, not to scatter off into separate homes, not to retreat behind closed doors where the silence could swallow you whole. Instead, everyone returned to the Small Heath house. It felt safer that way. Closer. Warmer, somehow, even beneath the weight of what had just happened.

You weren’t sure if it was instinct or desperation that led to it, but no one argued. No one left.

Polly took up residence in her usual armchair, a cigarette already between her fingers. Ada curled up on the couch, shoes kicked off, eyes tired but still sharp. Arthur poured drinks, heavily, and John paced the hallway like a restless dog while Esme tried to convince him to sit down. The house was buzzing beneath the quiet, like everyone was trying to act normal, but every small noise made someone flinch. Every knock, every footstep.

You glanced at Finn, he hadn’t said much since the ride. He hadn’t let go of your hand either. Now, he sat slumped in the corner of the settee, shoulders curled in, eyes wide and unfocused. His plate of untouched food sat cooling beside him, forgotten.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight of him.

You moved toward him quietly and lowered yourself beside him. “You alright?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

He nodded quickly, but it was automatic, hollow. His lip trembled.

“Why don’t you head to bed, love? Get some rest?”

He shook his head before you even finished the sentence.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Finn mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched. You reached out, brushing your hand through his hair.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Then stay here with me a while.”

His shoulders eased just a little at that, like the weight pressing into him had lifted, only slightly, but enough.

Minutes passed, slow and heavy. You could hear Arthur and John’s low voices from the kitchen, the clink of glass, the occasional muttered curse. Somewhere down the hall, Tommy’s voice rumbled, low, clipped, issuing orders through the telephone. Polly’s lighter flicked in rhythm from her seat across the room, a steady little flame to match the storm still flickering behind her eyes.

Eventually, you felt Finn’s breathing slow. His body slackened slightly against yours, the last of his adrenaline fading into exhaustion. He was asleep– finally.

You stayed with him anyway, stroking his hair gently, letting your own head rest back against the cushion behind you.

Your eyes drifted closed for a moment, but your mind didn’t quiet. It circled endlessly around the night, around the chaos, around the gunfire echoing behind your ribs. The blood. The fear. 

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

The door creaked open, and you turned slightly at the sound.

John stepped into the room, his gaze landing on Finn curled up beside you. He let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Poor kid,” he muttered. 

You nodded quietly, brushing your hand once more through Finn’s hair before glancing up at John. “He finally fell asleep.”

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll take him upstairs.”

You hesitated, just for a second– some part of you reluctant to let Finn go. But John’s expression was kind, steady. And maybe you needed a moment to breathe.

“Alright,” you said gently, carefully easing yourself away from Finn. 

John nodded. “I’ve got him.”

You watched as he crouched down and scooped Finn up in his arms with practiced ease. The younger boy stirred only faintly, murmuring something incoherent before settling again against John’s shoulder.

You followed behind them to the doorway, pausing just at the threshold. Your eyes drifted toward the sitting room, where the low hum of voices carried down the hallway– Tommy, Arthur, and Polly, deep in discussion.

You could see them through the doorway: Polly pacing slowly, a cigarette burning between her fingers; Arthur slouched forward, elbows on his knees, face tense; and Tommy, standing tall, arms folded tightly across his chest as he spoke in that low, unreadable tone he always used when trying to mask the storm brewing beneath the surface.

You watched him for a moment longer, his words indistinct but his posture unmistakably rigid. Earlier, at the reception, he'd mentioned revenge. War. Against whoever it was that had caused all of this.

A message from Luca Changretta.

You didn’t know who that was, not really. Only that whoever it was, was bound to cause you all a world of trouble.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. You thought, for a moment, about walking in, about catching Tommy’s eye, about pulling him away just for a moment. But he didn’t look up. He didn’t even seem to notice you standing there.

The weight of it settled in your chest again. You were too tired to find out more. Too drained to dig into the shadows gathering around the edges of your wedding night.

So instead, you turned quietly and followed behind John and Finn up the stairs, your footsteps soft on the floorboards.

Whatever that conversation was, whatever came next, it could wait. Tonight had taken enough from you already.

You followed John into Finn’s room, the quiet creak of the door barely audible over the sound of Finn’s soft breathing. The room was dim, only the low flicker of a lamp casting a warm glow across the walls. John moved carefully, easing Finn down onto the bed with practiced gentleness, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he settled.

You lingered by the doorway for a moment, then stepped in fully, moving to the chair in the corner. It was old, the cushion a little worn, but it cradled your tired body easily as you sank into it with a quiet exhale.

John glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded once, giving him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I just… want to stay with him for a bit.”

He studied you for a moment, then gave a single, quiet nod. “Alright,” he said simply. “Shout if you need anything.”

You nodded again, watching as he turned and stepped out, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

The room fell into stillness again. Just you and Finn.

You leaned back into the chair, gaze drifting toward him. His face looked softer in sleep– no longer clouded with fear or tension, just the slow, steady rhythm of rest. You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat and folded your arms across your chest, letting the quiet settle around you.

Your eyelids drifted lower.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But your body had finally reached its limit, and before you realized it, the blur of candlelight and the soft rhythm of Finn’s breathing had lulled you into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

It was the quiet sound of your name that stirred you first, soft, low, spoken like a secret. Then the gentle sweep of fingers through your hair, brushing lightly behind your ear.

Your lashes fluttered, the warmth of his voice coaxing you back to the surface. You blinked up at him, disoriented for a moment, the dim room coming slowly back into focus.

He crouched beside you, one hand still lingering at your hairline, the other settling softly on your knee. “You’ll be sore if you stay like that all night,” he said, voice quiet and full of something softer than usual.

You sat up slowly, blinking away the heaviness from your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright.” His voice was gentle. “Let’s get to bed.”

Your gaze flicked toward the bed, Finn was still curled beneath the blanket, breathing steady and slow. Safe. Asleep.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were still holding.

Tommy’s hand slipped down to yours, curling around your fingers. “Come on,” he said again, quieter now. 

You nodded and stood slowly, glancing one last time at Finn before letting Tommy guide you out of the room. The hallway was dim, the house quieter now, tension still lingering in the air like smoke, but dulled beneath the weight of exhaustion.

You followed him down the corridor to the same spare room you’d taken care of Tommy in– the one you’d stepped inside a hundred times before, back when things were simpler. The sheets were clean but creased, the window cracked just enough to let the cool night air in. It wasn’t your house on the hill– but it was Small Heath. Familiar. Steady. Home.

Tommy shut the door softly behind you, then moved to pull the blanket back. “You alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, stepping toward the bed. “I just… didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“I know,” he said. 

You slid beneath the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Tommy followed a beat later, lying beside you with a quiet sigh. His arm found its way around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you like nothing else could.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing, the faint creak of the old house settling around you.

Then his voice, rumbled, low and rough against the top of your head. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

You blinked, shifting just enough to glance up at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I should’ve listened.”

He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly along his chest. “You were just trying to protect me. On our wedding night.”

His hand covered yours, warm and steady. “Didn’t exactly turn out how I pictured it,” he murmured with a rueful half-smile. 

“How did you picture it?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “I suppose more champagne and dancing. Less… bullets and threats.”

You gave a soft, tired chuckle, resting your forehead against his collarbone. “Well, I am a Shelby now,” you said. “I can’t think of a warmer welcome.”

His chest rumbled faintly with a laugh. “I suppose,” he said, tilting his head down and brushing a kiss into your hair. "Mrs. Shelby."

You didn’t reply, just curled in closer, fingers curling loosely into his shirt. The storm outside might still rage, but here, in this small stretch of warmth and safety, it was just the two of you.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby.

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bat out of hell

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 5

Prompt: Winter Sports

Rated: M

Tags: Sports AU; Winter Olympics; Figure skating; Figure skater Eddie; Figure skater Nancy; Coach Steve; Past Stancy; Getting together; Sexual Tension; Making out; Angry kissing; Nudity; Fade to black sex

Notes: This bitch knows nothing about Olympic figure skating. Changing your song last minute probably isn't even allowed. Bear with me, suspend your disbelief. 😅

“Steve, you made it!” 

Nancy throws herself at him the second he sets foot into the athlete's area, getting purple glitter all over his training suit. It's enough to tell him she's nervous. Nancy hardly ever shows physical affection like this. It's one of the many reasons things didn't work out between them. 

“Sorry, the press conference went forever,” he says, patting her back and glancing over at the flashing cameras, making sure his hands stay in non-compromittal territory. 

The newspages have been exploding ever since the opening of the Winter Olympics, speculating about a love revival between them. Steve must admit it would make a good story. Nancy, set to finally win that figure skating gold she's had her sights on for eight years. Himself, three gold medals under his belt, returned to the coaching team after the injury that marked the end of his career. It's the stuff that goes down into Olympic lore. 

It's also never gonna happen. 

“I thought you'd be done already,” he frowns, casting a glance at his watch. Nancy shrugs. 

“We started half an hour late, some problems with the music. The men are just about done, there's only Eddie left.” 

She has hardly said it when the hall goes dark, bar for a single spotlight illuminating the center of the rink. Right in its middle is a figure, dressed in black from head to toe, dark curls pulled into a messy braid.

The music starts. 

The fans in the stands go wild. 

Steve's jaw drops. 

“Nonono, wait,” he squawks, surging forward and white-knuckling the banister while, out on the ice, Eddie flies into movement. “That's the stupid Bat from Hell song. Eddie? Eddie, stop it right now!” 

But it's too late. 

The song swells, guitars and basses filling the hall, and Eddie flies into his first jump, a black blur with bits of ice spraying all around him like a glittering cloud of diamonds. 

It's a once-in-a-lifetime performance, Steve can see as much even after the first few seconds. Eddie skates with an erratic energy and single-minded focus. Each of his movements is calculated and controlled, raw passion and force funneled into leaps and jumps and pirouettes. 

He's skating like the blades are an extension of his body. He's skating like he was born on the ice. 

He's skating to the exact song Steve told him not to skate to. 

“He's unbelievable,” Nancy mutters somewhere by his ear. “He's going to win gold for this, he has to.” 

“I know,” Steve groans. His eyebrow is twitching. “And he's never gonna shut up about it.”

*

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. By the time Eddie has accepted his gold medal, Steve is still seething. He doesn’t have any time to act on it though, because then it's time for Nancy to enter the rink and deliver another mind-blowing show. Between the award ceremony, the fans clamoring for autographs, and the press dragging him off for approximately twenty different interviews, he doesn't catch Eddie alone for hours. When he finally manages to tear himself away, staff tell him that Mr. Munson has already left for the hotel. 

*

Eddie’s smile goes wide and toothy as he opens the door to find Steve looming outside. He's fresh out of the shower, dressed only in a towel slung around his stupid, tiny waist. His hair is loose and wet, cascading around his face in dark, chaotic ringlets. There's still black glitter smudged in the corners of his eyes. 

“Big boy,” he cheers. “I've been waiting for you to show up! Two gold medals in your first year of coaching, you must be-” 

“Cut the crap,” Steve sneers. Eddie’s smile doesn't slip as he brackets him between his arms and the doorframe, but his towel does, a little. “I specifically told you not to use that song. The judges are a bunch of conservative assholes, it could've cost you everything.” 

“But it didn't,” Eddie shrugs. “You gotta learn how to relax, coach.” 

Steve growls. “Maybe I'd be more relaxed if you weren't trying to push every single one of my buttons all the damn time.” 

Eddie sways forward, lifting his chin defiantly, the same stubborn fire smoldering in those dark eyes that has been driving Steve insane for weeks.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to push your buttons so much if you'd stop being such a fucking coward and just admitted what you want.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, and surges in. 

It's not so much a kiss as a violent clash of lips - all of the pent-up nerves and adrenaline and rage of the past few weeks finally breaking themselves way. Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, biting down on his bottom lip and grabbing the lapels of his jacket to bodily haul him into the room. Steve has just enough time to kick the door shut behind them before he's shoved into the nearest wall, Eddie’s arms around his shoulders, Eddie’s legs around his waist, Eddie’s tongue in his mouth. The towel hits the ground with a soft thud.

“You want me to shut up, Stevie?” Eddie purrs, nipping and sucking at his neck, grinning against his skin when he's rewarded with a gasp. “How about you make me?” 

“What?” Steve laughs around a hoarse moan, cupping Eddie’s ass so he can carry him over to the bed. “You actually doing what I tell you to? That would be a first.” 

“Well, aren't we both lucky?” Eddie says, pausing his kisses just long enough to let himself be lowered onto the bed, pulling Steve after him with greedy hands. “Looks like it's gonna be a night of triumphs for both of us.” 

More holiday drabbles

[moonriseoverkyoto]

I'm back on my platonic! bullshit! :D <3

Okay so what about Simon who's readers uncle and reader taking a vacation to visit him but him not being able to take leave and reader (let's suspend pit disbelief here) hangs around base to be around Simon more. Maybe they're the only family each other have. Maybe touch starved but shy!reader maybe Simon notices and gets more affectionate. Maybe some recruits see reader as Simon's weakness and give them a hard time and cue protective!Simon.

<33 hope you're having a good day!

Pairings - Platonic! Simon Riley x reader

Word Count - 1.5K

Warnings - little bit of angst but quick comfort.

Author's Note - I LOVE suspension of reality in writing. it's not quite what you asked for but I think it'll hit the same spots. Anyways enjoy!

My requests are open! Masterlist

Ghost didn’t have a family. He didn’t have somebody on his file to call incase of emergency, he didn’t have somebody to collect his body on the inevitable day that a bullet would finally find his skull. However Simon Riley did. Simon Riley did have somebody on his file. Simon Riley was an uncle to a little kid that Tommy and his wife left him after they passed in an accident. Simon Riley did have somebody to collect his body, which is why he fought so hard to keep it alive and breathing. Except, you weren’t so little anymore. You were growing every second, especially as you strided towards Simon at the gate exits of the airport. 

“Uncle Si!” your voice rang out in the crowd, he’d recognize it anywhere. The same tall-tale pitch that haunted his dreams whenever he was far from home, the one that brought him back. Your arms suddenly wrapped around his chest in a burly hug that the man should’ve expected. Your bags were long abandoned at your feet. 

“Nice t’ see you too kid.” The man gruffed out as he ruffled your hair. “Flight go okay?” 

“Yeah there was a bit of turbulence, nothing too ugly.” You responded as you let eachother go from the embrace. “Why’d I fly out to your base again?” 

“Because I wanted you to see what the big kids do here.” 

“Hey! Don’t go all recruiter on me!” You shot back. In the deepest parts of his heart, something broke in Simon. He would never want this life for you, it’s why he ran to the farthest parts of the world, to make sure you don’t see what keeps you safe. He swallowed his worries as the sound of his trunk slamming brought him back again. 

“Go somewhere besides here?” You questioned as you both entered his car. 

“Hm?”

“Want to go somewhere besides here?” You spoke again, an eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah, just give me a minute to start ‘er up.” Simon spoke again. 

“You and this old girl.” You laughed as the engine of Simon’s old truck roared to life. 

The drive back to base was silent, save for Simon’s vintage rock playlist that overpowered the sound of the engine as you drove. You didn’t miss how he slipped on a mask once you pulled up to base and the man let him in, without even needing his ID. He let you unpack your belongings in the 5-star hotel bedroom that was a spare barrack room. You both caught up over dinner before he sent you to bed. 

“Simon, I’m not tired I swear!” You whined as your eyelids fluttered with the promise of sleep. 

“I don’t have a bedtime story for you.” Simon spoke as he walked you into the room, he bristled at the idea of you sleeping here, somewhere that he only found a base level of comfort in. 

“Good, your bedtime stories were always scary.” You responded as you got under the covers. 

“Lights out, kid. One of my sergeants will come and pick you up in the morning. Don’t wander too far from him.” Simon said as he turned around to flicker off the light, but you were already asleep. 

Morning came early as a fist banged on your door, rowdy laughter barely contained by the frames of it. 

“Wakey Wakey Riley Jr!” A deep voice called out, one you only recognized from years of being around it.

“I’m up.” You clipped, not ready to deal with the twins of terror. You swung open the door, still clad in your comic pjs and a loose hoodie. 

“Aye there’s the little lassie.” Johnny grinned as he saw you. The Scotsman leaned on the left side of the door as Kyle leaned on the right. 

“We’ve been tasked with babysitting you today.” Kyle said softly, noticing how you turned away from the brashness of his fellow man. A groan left your lips as you walked into the bathroom, leaving to brush your teeth and collect your bearings for the full day ahead. 

Even over the sound of running water, you could hear Johnny looking through your open belongings. A sharp shiver running down your spine as you heard the crisp crackle of a book spine giving away. 

“Don’t touch that!” You barked out as Kyle gripped the photo album, but it was already too late. Photos on photos spilled out, full of your adventures but an old polaroid was the interest of the twins. 

Johnny swiped it before you could. The two sergeants holding it just out of your grasp as they studied it.

It was definitely an older photo, but a fonder one. Simon was holding the camera in a selfie position, his mask long gone and a glimmer still in his eyes. The man’s buzz cut blonde hair was grown out and he was smiling all big and gummy in the photo. Next to him was a scrappy looking kid, a few teeth missing but still returning the glow of youth to the older man. You were wearing a birthday hat as you held up a German shepard puppy in your arms, the unmistakable ribbon wrapped around its neck. The photo was captioned, ‘The Newest Riley :)’ with a few sharpie doodles on the edges. Simon looked down on you with so much love, the sergeants almost wondered if it was the same man they had bled with in the field.

As Johnny’s grip loosened while he studied it, you snatched it back. Kyle gave you the book willingly as he helped you pick up the photos. A sigh left your lips as you growled out to both the men. 

“Don’t touch my stuff.” You spoke, both of them looking like kicked puppies as you set everything back on your bed.

You didn’t speak again even as you watched the two sergeants lead recruits in sparring. Your brain is filled with the memories of each birthday. Simon always found a way to show up, that birthday he had given you Riley, your treasured guard dog to protect you when Simon couldn’t. She was much older now but you still kept the collar and ribbon that Simon had gifted you with. The stink of the room didn’t even bother you now as you watched recruits slamming each other into the mats, the image of a younger Simon being one of those men made your heart lurch. So lost in thought, you didn’t realize that the recruits had been dismissed. 

“Teach me how to do that.” You spoke. Kyle and Johnny froze as they exchanged a look. 

“Now lassie-”

“Teach me.” You insisted, a fire burning in your eyes. Johnny recognized that same look in your uncle as he looked at you. 

“I’ll teach you since Johnny isn’t the most gentle.” Kyle offered. You both made your way to the mat as Kyle talked you through it. 

“Now I’m not gonna go too hard ok-?” Before Kyle could finish, his back hit the mat, your legs had shot out and taken out his own. You stood above him with an amusing look. 

The sound of slamming against the matts bothered Simon as he passed by the recruits. They were leaving so who was in there? 

His answer came as he walked in and saw Kyle’s arms around your neck in a chokehold. His body filled with panic seeing you in danger. You were stuck helplessly in the choke. 

“Oi! The hell are you doing?-” Simon shouted out. Panic quickly filled Kyle’s body as he released you. 

“It was the lassie’s idea-” Johnny was quickly shut up as a glare was shot at him by both of the Riley’s 

“My idea of babysitting wasn’t throwing around my n-” Simon was then shut up as your voice rung out. 

“It was my idea! I wanted to learn how to do a couple of takedowns.” You spoke. Simon didn’t respond as he motioned for the two sergeants to leave, the men scrambling out. A silence filled the air as you stared at him, the stillness of the room causing Simon to let out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. 

“Why? Didn’t I teach you enough?” Simon responded.

“I just wanted to have some fun-” Simon cut you off again 

“That’s your idea of fun?” Simon shot back. 

“Yes it is!” You faltered in your words and Simon saw straight through your lie. 

“The truth. Now.” Simon spoke. 

“I saw the recruits fighting and I just wanted to know what it was like when you went through it.” you said meekly, crumbling under the mans gaze. Simon’s heart ached again at that. He noticed how you crumbled away from him, just like you did on the first day he met you after the accident. 

“Get up.” Simon said. 

“What?” Your shackles are raised.

“Get up.” Simon said, you slowly got up only to be yanked into Simon’s chest. His warmth embracing you as your shackles lowered and you melted.

“I’m sorry.” Simon spoke into the silence. “I’m sorry for making you come here, letting you see what I went through. I’m sorry for not being there.” 

“It’s okay.” You responded, “you’re here now.” 

That would be for enough, for now. Simon may not be able to come home just yet, but he swore to himself he would as he imagined Price’s face when he asked for the transfer forms for a desk job.

[emmkitt]

stop calling mephone4 a child.

my credentials(/silly): mephone4’s biggest fan + someone who sees mephone as representative of myself. i am also an autistic adult. (relevant)

i went on an autistic tirade rambling about this in a discord server but i wanted to compile my reasoning and stuff here into a tumblr post because this is very important to me.

alright. lets start with the most commonly used argument.

calling mephone a child is ableist.

now i certainly agree that some children CAN act the way mephone does. however, i think it’s harmful when your ONLY argument as to why he is a child is ‘because he cant spell’ or ‘because he creates fantasy worlds in his brain as a means of escapism.’

I think the issue is, we are reducing these very real symptoms of mental disorders to ‘oh he’s just acting childish,’ instead of understanding them for what they are. autism and dyslexia are not cured the second you turn 18. it doesn’t work that way. giving in to the stereotype that only children can act this way… i dunno man. it really rubs me the wrong way.

i think it’d be better to view him as an adult with these symptoms because, well, VERY rarely do we ever get representation of an adult with mental disorders in media. at least not in a way that’s not villainizing them or mocking/infantilizing them. (sidebar, mephone IS NOT THE VILLAIN. he did bad things, yes, and should be held accountable for it, but he is NOT. THE VILLAIN. he is an abuse victim, and his way of acting is actually very good representation of the way abuse victims may go on to mimic actions of their abuser.) cobs (mephone’s abuser btw) LITERALLY infantilizes mephone IN CANON. IN THE SHOW. WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO COBS. WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE COBS.

bro didnt go to school

i didnt know how to title this section. basically, people reducing him to a child because he doesn’t know adult things are MISSING THE POINT.

HE WAS RAISED BY COBS.

do you think cobs had ANY interest in teaching him ANYTHING about the real world? about how to be an adult? about how to ride a bike or pay taxes? NO. dude popped into existence knowing nothing except what Cobs WANTED him to know. he was meant to just work for Cobs and do tasks all the time and that was IT. OF COURSE his knowledge is going to be limited to what Cobs taught him. that DOES NOT make someone a child. GO REWATCH THE SHOWWWW.

suspend your disbelief for once in your life oh my god

i dont understand how people are able to suspend disbelief for LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE in fiction. such as murder/death, supernatural creatures, the universe itself as a whole, etc. but when it comes to age, the real world standards MUST be applied, no exception. Like since Mephone was canonically created 14 years ago in-universe that means he is 14 years old. we are completely ignoring the fact he is a fictional talking sentient phone robot for a minute.

and adding in the ‘he acts like a child’ argument for a second… season 1. what 1 year old do you know that can walk and talk and create an entire game show?? he has practically acted the EXACT SAME WAY his entire existence, therefore that argument falls completely flat.

it would be DIFFERENT if in-universe they had established rules, where this age means this and that age means that, but the ii universe DOES NOT HAVE THAT. meaning people are free to interpret age however they want. it would ALSO be different if mephone was canonically stated to be a child (we’re getting to that) OR portrayed to be childcoded. which…. he isn’t.

okay so by these rules all of the contestants are younger than mephone.

the agreement amongst child mephone believers seems to be ‘creation date = birth date = real age’. so bot is like 3 years old. the unvitationals are like 2. all the contestants are somewhere between like 4-14. but wait- some season 1 contestants ACT older or younger than the others? no. no theyre ALL 13-14 only. no exceptions. every newbie in season 3 is like 4-5. every newbie in season 2 is like 10. makes perfect sense.

do you understand how ridiculous that is. WE CANNOT , i repeat, CANNOT APPLY REAL WORLD STANDARDS TO A FICTIONAL UNIVERSE. oh my god. they are holograms. they are robots. they are in a weird plane floating in the vastness of space that has a picnic table that can generate food, and the ability to revive dead people, and ghosts and talking corn and. and all of THAT is fine. but god forbid someone interpret the talking phone as an adult. I DONT GET IT.

b-b-but cobs called mephone a child…

once again, common arguement. i strike thee down with a ‘MANIPULATION TACTIC.’ i feel like this has been covered enough and better in other mephone rambles so im not gonna get into it.

personal section

this is more of a personal experiences and opinions thing. less based on fact. agree or disagree idc this is just my experience.

once again, like i stated in the beginning, i see myself in mephone. a lot. I am an adult. i have autism. i have the tendency to act ‘childish’ sometimes due to my condition. im bad at being an adult. i struggle with tasks that are probably easy for other adults. i’m not a child. it’s very disheartening- i WANT to be viewed as an independent functioning adult, despite my condition, but when even a FICTIONAL PHONE who acts just like i do gets reduced to ‘child’ because he acts similarly to someone who’s mentally ill and has been abused. it HURTS MAN. he’s just trying his best:[

anyways conclusion

idc. you can headcanon whatever you want cause technically nothing is confirmed, but this is more food for thought for the people immediately jumping on the ‘child mephone’ bandwagon.

unless someone is canonically stated to be a child or is very heavily child coded, i don’t think its wrong for people to interpret them as an adult.

if sometime in the future mephone is canonically confirmed to be a child like. in universe. ill probably be disappointed.

i am a firm believer in age doesnt work the same way in ii as it does in our universe. theyre all fictional creatures. they were not created by conventional means. you dont have to apply our world’s standards to it.

anyways uhh. ramble over lol

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: D.P.

D.P. (which stands for Deserter Pursuit, not something else) is a two-season, twelve-episode Korean series about a young man doing his mandatory military service who finds himself -- alongside a slightly unhinged partner -- tasked with tracking down other young men who have skipped out on said mandatory military service.

This show gets a giant trigger warning for all kinds of harassment, both shown and implied. It is a bloody, bare-knuckled tale about violence, bullying, and the systems that not only protect but enable the violent bullies. It is a show about boys who beat the shit out of one another, but in ways that make you more sad than horny -- and in ways that make them more sad than horny. And yet, fujoshi hope springs eternal, as those main boys absolutely, 100% need to kiss.

I was just looking for a whatever show to put in my face, and I was surprised by how much D.P. impressed me. If you think you might be up for it, I've got five reasons to roll out for this one.

1. A shockingly critical take on toxic Korean masculinity and military culture!

...What, you thought I was going to start with the gay stuff? Just for that, I'm going to make you wait for that until selling point #5.

Anyway, I think the most notable part of this show is how absolutely brutal and unflinching its portrayal of the Korean military is. I had been given the impression that, sure, it had some points of critique. I did not expect it to be an indictment of the entire damn system. From the conscripts to the commanders to the civilians, damn near everyone either contributes to the cycle of abuse or passively allows a rotten institution to worsen at every turn.

D.P. starts out like it's going to be a deserter-of-the-week military police procedural, where a couple good soldiers go track down some naughty lads who have shirked their rightful duties! But no, the show presents you almost immediately with the idea that going AWOL isn't just a thing for bad lazy boys who'd rather spend their weekends partying. Instead, running away is often the only escape from brutal abuse suffered at the hands of their fellow soldiers. Our main pair's job is to find these deserters and bring them back -- but boy, do they very quickly start to feel not good about it.

Especially once you hit the second season, the villainy of the villains can reach almost comical levels -- like, the bad guys are so bad that they'd be twirling their moustaches if they were allowed to grow any. But comical doesn't mean unbelievable. I mean, anyone with half an inch of awareness right now knows that the Venn diagram of the evilest people in the world and the most absurd people in the world is pretty much just a circle.

Questioning the military is always a dicey prospect in fiction, because of how many people have such delicate feelings about ideas of patriotism and service. I think it helps that the major incident at the crux of the show is based on a real-life tragedy from 2014 (which is when the show is set), so you can't clutch your pearls and say that would never happen in our army! because, uh, it already did. Authoritarian pressure cookers with unquestionable hierarchies lead to horrific abuse! We've got the recent history to prove it!

And sure, yeah, I wish the show had been a little more explicit in its gender critique, but I always wish that. D.P. ain't special.

2. A solid supporting cast

I think this show does a good job overall of creating side characters that are only slightly larger than life. They're big enough to move the story along with occasional good comedic moments, so it's not just a complete litany of despair, but not so exaggerated they need you to suspend too much disbelief that they might exist in real life.

This network of characters is important, because it recognizes that our main characters are not in positions of power and cannot make substantive changes in the world. Especially in the second season, the plot widens out enough that they need allies who are empowered to pull of things that army grunts are not. I very much like that the show does not (overly) artificially insert its main characters into places they don't belong; rather, it keeps them where they (mostly) make sense to be, allowing them to serve as supports while more structurally appropriate people step up to the plate.

Now, I will admit that I had more than a little trouble telling some side characters apart. I mean, come on -- half the cast is a bunch of TV-handsome athletic Korean men around the same age, with the same haircut, wearing the same uniform. Combine that with my vague face-blindness, and I was struggling. Maybe keep a cast list open or something, just to help you kep track.

3. On Earth My Nina

Did you watch EVILIVE? (You should!) Did you adore that handsome cat-eyed boy who was Seo Doyeong's right-hand goon? Do you want to see him play a beautiful and tragic transfemme who is a morally complicated but ultimately incredibly sympathetic character?

Hell yeah you do.

Nina is a oneshot character -- season 2, episode 3 is all you get. Yet you could probably write an entire dissertation about how D.P. is a Manly Show For Manly Men that takes this episode to condemn homophobia and transphobia as unqualified evils, no nuance, no discussion. And you might think I'd be the one to do it, but no! I'm gonna talk about punchin' stuff.

4. Some kick-ass fight choreography!

If you're sick of fight scenes that are just a million quick cuts of shaky hand-held footage meant to cover how the actors couldn't punch their way out of a paper bag, I've got some great news for you!

As I said up top, this is a violent show. There's lots of people getting punched, kicked, shot, stabbed, burned, blown up, bludgeoned, strangled, hit by cars, tossed out windows, and generally roughed up pretty badly. I wouldn't call it gory or gross, necessarily, but it doesn't hold back on the damage that gets done. It understands just how many times you have to punch a trained soldier before that trained soldier finally goes down. The folk with the fake blood and bruise makeup definitely earned their paychecks.

It doesn't try to pretty up the violence either, so when I say I like the fight choreography, I don't mean that things get artsy or poetic. What this show has going for it is some very smart work that doesn't rely on jiggling the camera to build tension. A couple of the fights are one person against a group, and they're timed well enough that none of the extras look like they're just hovering in the background, checking their watch and waiting their turn.

I like how scrappy the brawls can get, too. Han Hoyeol (more on him in a moment) will just fling himself bodily at people, knocking them down in ways that aren't graceful, but get the job done. These aren't graceful battles between honorable masters. They're mostly one guy who's trying to get away versus another guy who's trying to subdue him. Those can be very interesting stakes.

Most of the actors are clearly well-trained in stage combat. Every now and then, though, you get someone who's clearly a martial artist, and they just let him at it. The one chest kick that Lego Grandpa gets off? Damn.

But a lot of times, the fights are just sad.

The main boys realize very quickly that their job is returning abuse victims to their abusers. Sometimes they can feel good about bringing in some dangerous shithead or chasing a thug! Mostly, though, they're approaching their quarries with the attitude of, you should really come with us, because the next guys coming for you won't be nearly as gentle. You as the viewer wind up rooting against our guys as often as not, because you want to see the deserters get away. That's a level of moral complication I was not expecting when I started out!

I hope you are ready for some man-tears, because this show is at least 30% man-tears by volume. Crying while punching someone you care about? It doesn't get manlier than that.

5. The aforementioned gay stuff

Okay, I made you wait for it, so here we go.

This is love.

The tall, quiet, buff one is An Junho, the main character of the show. The lanky, scrappy, crazy one is Han Hoyeol, his eventual partner.

It goes a little bit like this: Junho is a completely emotionally unavailable young man from a terribly abusive family situation. He gets paired up with Hoyeol, who actively and openly cares about Junho's well-being. Junho reacts to this like someone who has never been cared for in his whole life. Hoyeol reacts to that like someone who has never had someone actually let him care for them.

They then enter into a buddy-cop dynamic that's great because they genuinely like one another. They get close pretty quick because they go through some incredibly traumatic things together. Junho starts to learn how to care, and Hoyeol starts to learn to stop hiding his own trauma behind his jokester personality. And they do this just in time to get traumatized even more! That's kind of how the show goes.

I want to talk for a second about Han Hoyeol.

I must at this moment confess that I don't speak Korean gay-coding enough to know if that's what's happening with him. We are introduced to him by a loving and surprisingly long shot of his ass in a pair of panties with his name written on the butt. His mannerisms are exaggerated and his whole personality is extra. He's comfortable around drag queens. Homophobic insults roll off his back. And that's all without even getting into what he says in front of Junho's mom and little sister. What I'm saying is: In a show full of Manly Man-Type Men, honestly, he reads kind of like a fag.

Which means one of two things: either he's actually meant to come across as a (nominally) closeted gay man, or he's supposed to be a straight man so comfortable in his straightness that he doesn't care if he seems like a fruit. Both make me happy to consider.

Hoyeol is by far my favorite character in the show. He's great because he's definitely kind of a wacky loose cannon, but believably so. He's defiant and gleefully irritating, but he reins it in juuuuust enough that you can imagine he'd be tolerable even by Korean military standards. So it's not one of those situations where you're wondering why the hell the straitlaced establishment puts up with this completely insubordinate fictional guy. Hoyeol will do what he's supposed to; he just reserves the right to be annoying as heck while he does it.

This is not a drama like Beyond Evil or EVILIVE, where the main character of the show is the relationship between the two leads. This is An Junho's tale, where Han Hoyeol is merely a supporting character. But he is an extremely important supporting character, and their interactions form the core of Junho's protagonist arc. They are the only people who can see one another for what they truly are: vulnerable and traumatized and badly in need of love. Whether you read that love as romantic or not, it is love.

They totally should kiss, though. Not during the time period covered in the show, mind you; those boys have way too much damage to work through first. They're gonna need a slow post-canon burn. Somebody get on that for me. There's a mere 78 works on AO3 for this show. We can do better. Support our troops.

...Hold on a damn minute, is this another one of those things that doesn't have an actual ending?

I saw a lot of people saying that before I started watching, so that was what I was prepared for, and you know what? They're wrong!

Season 2 aired in July 2023, and as far as I can tell, there has to been no noise made about a season 3. More to that, I don't think there's going to be one. While I think the series could support one, sure, I absolutely, 100% think it doesn't need one.

I understand where the "season 3 when?" people are coming from. Not all the conflicts of the show get all wrapped up with a neat bow, and not everybody ends clearly on the path to a stable happily ever after. Honestly, though, that's better, because it's at least an acknowledgment that the issues at play here are not subject to a quick solution. Cycles of abuse don't stop quickly or easily. There is still more work to be done to get the toxicity out of the masculinity at the heart of Korean military culture.

And that's if you can get the toxicity out at all. It may be too much of a feature, not a bug. The show isn't quite willing to say it outright, but you really have to consider if this kind of corruption and abuse is just too endemic to the system as it is structured now, where everyone buys into the lie that the military is such a noble and unqualified good that it is above question. D.P. portrays a badly broken institution that permanently damages not only the people forced by law to endure it, but the country at large. After all, as long as you're sending every young man in your culture through an intense multi-year experience that demands he violently hate femmes, fags, fatties, freaks, and feelings, you are going to see those attitudes continue to ripple out through Korean society for a long, long time.

Ready to watch?

It's a Netflix series, so off to Netflix you go! Heck, if you're already there, you've probably seen it recommended for you already -- I know that's how I found it. Click that little banner and start watching!

Real talk: I don't think this show could have gotten made today in the U.S., given the stranglehold the military-industrial complex has over big-studio productions, to say nothing of U.S. public opinion. Supporting our troops also means never questioning what kind of godawful meat grinder we're throwing them into, I guess.

And you definitely couldn't have made here, because deserters would've just gotten shot in the first ten minutes! Ha ha anyway.

Now there's a couple of good ol' D.P. boys. Mm-hmm.

[cobelschewtoy]

Pencils

Harmony Cobel x Reader

Sapphic Severance Week - Day 5: Blood

Summary: a small mishap in the lab leads to Dr. Cobel tending to your injury

Tags: blood, small injury, scientist harmony cobel, lab tech reader, boss/employee, hint of something darker at the end

Words: 862

Authors note: this was meant to be smut and then it just…wasn’t? But it was still fun to write so *shrug* I can’t confirm that there’ll be a second part

Also there are undoubtably inaccuracies when it comes to the laboratory (and the wound care) but we are suspending our disbelief 🙂‍↕️

ao3 | masterlist

You use the excuse of checking your cart over one more time to stop outside of Dr. Cobel’s laboratory. Adjusting a few items so they’re perfectly aligned on the cart, you take a deep breath.

Your lab tech job can get pretty boring with most of it being cleaning but Dr. Cobel’s lab is your favourite stop of the day. The calm way she delivers instructions, the unique lilt of her voice, her steady gaze. She keeps to a corner when you’re in. Sometimes she’s doing something with glassware and differently coloured liquids but usually she’s doing some sort of paperwork. You glance over at her more than you should and it’s something you’re working on.

Well, you’re trying to start working on it. It’s just so hard when it affords you to see moments you wouldn’t normally get to see. Her calm dedication, the little furrow between her eyebrows when she’s getting frustrated, the way she twirls a pencil between her fingers while she thinks.

One time you were fortunate enough to look over when she was focused on pipetting. Her look of concentration captivated you for much longer than is appropriate in a professional setting. Thankfully, she was too focused to notice.

You force the excitement and nervousness down. You need to keep your smile polite and professional, not eager and excited. Walking in, you find her situated at a table that she uses as a desk. It’s once again covered in papers and she has a pencil out. Holding back a pleased smile, you offer a quiet greeting. She’s polite enough to look at you when she says, “Good afternoon,” but her attention immediately returns to whatever is in front of her. You relish the small moment of eye contact as you go about your usual duties. 

You try to look at her less but you’ve always been too embarrassed to count, exactly, how many times you look over at Dr. Cobel. But itt feels like you’re failing your goal more than usual today. It’s easy to convince yourself it’s not entirely your fault. Whatever she’s working on has her attention and the way she twirls the pencil around is hypnotic. 

You’ve added the dirty beakers to your cart and you’re putting clean ones back when you glance over at her at the wrong moment. She bites the end of her pencil and you drop the beaker. You’re too slow to catch it and even slower to realise you won’t get it in time. It cracks apart on the tabletop and you don’t stop in time to avoid slicing your hand along a jagged edge. Biting back a pained noise, you instinctively cradle it against your chest. You’ll be upset about the blood on your lab coat later but right now the stinging in your palm has your attention.

You flinch when a something brushes you arm. Dr. Cobel grabs your wrist and pulls your hand towards her to inspect the wound. You watch mutely as she wipes away some of the blood with a wad of gauze to see better, your focus entirely on the warmth of her hand around your wrist.

“It’s not deep enough to need stitches,” she declares. “Was that a dirty beaker?”

You shake your head. She looks up after a moment of silence. Her expression is hard to read.

“No, ma’am,” you say quietly.

“Good.”

You only notice the first-aid kit laid out next to her when she reaches for some more gauze. She pours antiseptic from a bottle that means it’s going to sting onto it. You’re proven right when she wipes the cut. Wincing, you try to swallow any embarrassing noise. First breaking something and then not being able to handle a bit of antiseptic? What little chance you had of impressing her is well and truly down the drain.

She picks up a roll of bandages next and methodically wraps it around your hand. You can’t pull your eyes away from her hands. She doesn’t talk again until she catches the bandage.

“You want to kiss me,” she says, still looking at your hand.

Your mouth goes dry. “What?”

She raises her eyes to yours. “You want to kiss me,” she repeats. “And likely more. That is what your behaviour indicates.”

“My behaviour?” you croak, still stuck in your shock.

“The way you watch me, how you stand closer than you need to, and the free extra services you supply my laboratory. It is all very,” her hand squeezes yours, thumb pressing directly over your fresh cut, “Unprofessional,” she finishes.

“I apologise, Dr. Cobel,” you gasp.

“Hmm,” she digs down harder, gaze analysing and tears spring to your eyes but you don’t pull away. “Very well, return tomorrow morning. Be here by six.”

You blink slowly. Your shift starts at eight. Her thumb moves to gently caress the outside of your palm.

“Yes— Yes, ma’am,” you stutter.

She nods once before returning to her desk. It takes you a long moment to remember you’re in the middle of your job. You stop standing there stupidly and begin to clean up your mess. Her eyes stay on you until you leave.

[hannahbarberra162]

Fic Authors Self Rec tag

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. Spread the self-love! 💕💕💕💕❤️

Thank you @quinloki for tagging me <3 <3 I would say my top 5 are:

Under the Microscope (Yan Sabo x Reader) - it's a WIP but I'm writing the next chapter now. I think the setup is pretty good, if I do say so myself. My first dive into Sabo but certainly not the last.

Struck Twice by Lightning (Shanks x reader, second chance romance) Being annoying comes naturally to both Shanks and myself so the dialogue came easily. Shanks at his worst / best, trying to win Reader back. Also explains why he wears ugly pants.

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart (Thatch x Marco x Ace x Reader, Dark, Non Con) the fic that started it all <3. The first work I ever wrote and even though I think I've improved since then, it's still fun.

hOrnithology for Beginners (Marco x Reader) Everyone loves Marco, right? No, but everyone loves the Pheonix. It's not dark and it's not that long but I liked how the Reader turned out. Suspend your disbelief - some people don't keep track of every gd pirate on the Grand Line.

Not My Monkey (Strawhats, Reader x Jinbei, reverse trope) Instead of one isekai reader messing everything up, the Strawhats get their 23rd isekai'd reader who has no idea what's going on in the world. It's not self insert but I would absolutely also blackmail Sanji into letting me do the dishes :) This one sparks a lot of joy for me and I'm writing the next chapter slowly - this one I really write for myself <3

No pressure tags to: @sordidmusings @lockes-woods @nocturnalrorobin @moldychefboyardeecan and @thirstydiglett

Show me your faves! (if you want to)...

[backtothefuturefan88]

My fourth redesign of Ahsoka Tano! This time it’s her Mandalorian outfit from the Clone Wars finale.

I don’t necessarily hate her original outfit from that Arc but it’s just so…….boring. It’s so similar to her second Padawan outfit, I just find it so simple and boring.

So i wanted to give this outfit a complete redesign.

I of course did keep her Togrutan Cultural items like: her Akul teeth, her Togrutan sash, the piece in front of sash (that was taken from Shaak Ti concept art), and the Anooba teeth (which I attached to the pouch on her arm).

I designed new jewelry that sits on her montrals.

The brown helmet-like wrap around her face is actually taken from concept art of her Rebels design.

I kept the idea of a red head wrap from my previous design but made it shorter so it wouldn’t get in the way of fighting.

Now, I wanted to give her actual Mandalorian armor instead of whatever she was wearing in her original outfit.

Her vest, gauntlets, boots, and the white bag were all taken from concept art of The Mandalorian; I didn’t keep her Clone armor because I made her taller so she would’ve outgrown the pieces. (but I did keep the Clone belt).

Her blue skirt has the same design as her original Mandalorian outfit because I did like the pattern.

Now the colorful pelt around her skirt is actually the skin of a Spice Spider that can (according to Wookiepedia) supposedly be found on Kessel.

I mostly just wanted to give her a new pelt and since Ahsoka did visit Kessel I figured you could suspend your disbelief a bit and imagine that Ahsoka killed a Spice Spider, and collected its hide as a trophy.

What do you think of this one? Thoughts? Opinions? I’m open to them.

Part 5 👇

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch 5.

The lack of sight casts everything into a new veil of sensation, far too much left up to the imagination-

I’m sure I’ve never flushed so hot before, felt so nervous, heard my heartbeat thrumming so hard in my ears.

I hear the sound of metal, then the gentle sound of what I assume to be the mask being placed upon the table. Fabric rustles gently, then with a shock I feel his touch on my shoulder. I flinch, slightly, embarrassingly- being unable to tell where he is sets me at unease.

Even so, after that moment all I can feel is the way he traces routes along my arms, gentle fingertips eliciting a trail of goosebumps, drawing from my shoulder to my wrist, following some unknown path. Then his hand leaves me and I’m lost to him again, suspended in a void of darkness and vague sounds of movement.

Then I gasp slightly at his next touch, running a hand along my clavicle, tracing across my chest with a muttered exaltation in breathless french- loosely translated into a prayer of thanks or a proclamation of disbelief. I set my jaw, trying not to think too hard on the words he’d uttered, the fact that he probably believes them to be private. I’ll let him have his reverence, the astonishment he seemed to feel so strongly that he turned to a god he does not believe in.

I try not to think about the way I’m already shaking, how I want to pull my blindfold off and finally see him, how the way he’s examining me makes me feel like it’s less science and more worship.

I try not to flinch away from the way he tilts my chin up to observe me, resting his thumb on my bottom lip- I cease breathing for a moment, swallowing and trying to focus back on the task at hand. Wasn’t there a reason for this? I can hardly even remember anymore, I’ve grown so lost in the sea of sensation-

My heartbeat rages in my ears still, I realize with a start that I’m in this situation so he could listen to it- I’m not even sure at this point if I want him to.

Though, he’s aware, surely, of his effect on me currently. There’s no way he hasn’t taken note of the way my breath faltered when he’d grabbed me, the redness in my face, the shaking in my hands.

“Are-” I start a question, cringing the moment the first word leaves my mouth- too loud, shattering the reverent atmosphere. “Are you okay? Its-its quiet. I’m… nervous.”

“Sorry-” My breath hitches again, my head spins slightly- this is the first time I’ve heard his voice clearly, with no mask, actually speaking to me. “Yes- I’m… making notes.”

“Oh- okay.” I’m struggling to formulate a sentence, feeling him trace a line down the side of my neck before he places a flat palm against my chest.

“I’m going to give your heart a listen now.” He finally says, slightly quiet, like he’s just as lost in this situation as I am.

I nod, clenching my hands into a fist and trying to focus solely on breathing evenly.

He rests his head against my chest, his breath hot against my skin, stray strands of hair brushing against me gently. There’s a moment where, with his body pressed against mine, I feel the urge to wrap my arms around him in reciprocal- an urge I curse myself for when I catch the thought dancing through my mind.

I place my hands flat on the table instead, counting seconds while the doctor does what he needs to do.

“Your heart’s racing.” He finally says, quietly, a hint of disbelief within his voice.

“I know.”

There’s a longstanding silence before he responds. “Mine as well.”

Then he steps away from me, I hear the tell-tale scratching of a pencil on paper, and then I hear fabric rustling, the sounds of him putting the mask back on.

I almost don’t want this to end, don’t want to walk back into reality, to see and know the moment we held together and pretend it never happened.

But he reaches back around me and unties the blindfold with swift movements, gently pulling it away from my face. I blink my eyes back into focus and find myself unable to look directly at him, still fighting away the flush that feels as if I’ve been set ablaze.

“You should go home.” He says, a finality to his tone. “You should- I’m- I won’t walk you tonight, I’m sorry. You should go.”

“What!?” Confusion blurs through me at a speed I can hardly process- all I know is I don't want to leave.

“This is- this is a bad idea- We shouldn’t have ever started this- just- please go. I-” He sounds nervous, panic rising in his voice more the longer he speaks. “I don’t- I can’t- please-”

“Okay, okay- I’m- I’m going. I’m sorry.” Suddenly it feels as if everything is shattering around me. I pull my shirt on, making my way to the door. I glance back at the doctor, who doesn’t even look at me, and steal away into the darkness.

I move at a pace I hadn’t taken for well over a month, quickly making my way down the road, fighting back stinging tears- I wouldn’t have felt this kind of pain if I hadn’t let my imagination run away with me, if I hadn’t entertained ideas.

I shouldn’t have let myself hope the way I did, it was a mistake allowing any sort of affection to grow for someone I know nothing about. He saw me clearly for the first time and- and I still know nothing, have seen nothing, am being played like a fool.

When I get home I head straight to my room, slumping down into my bed and trying to hold back the tears that make their way down my face anyway. I lay down, staring up at the ceiling and letting them fall, feeling rather stupid for the entire situation, trying not to play back and criticize every moment of interaction.

But I do anyway, I can’t help but try and picture what he saw, try and imagine his thoughts- what was the final thing that made him decide to turn me out of his home?

Maybe he realized I was not simply nervous about the procedure, realized it was a reaction to him. Maybe the thought of it disgusted him, even though he’s had a male companion before. Perhaps all his flattery was no more than kindness.

I sigh, turning over and bringing my blanket up over my head as if it’ll protect me from the onslaught of harsh thoughts. Instead, my mind wanders to the way he’d muttered a breathless prayer of thanks- in a language he’d assume I do not know.

No, I do not think I am something so wretched as to drive him away. I just cannot fathom what would make him suddenly so harsh- cancel the entire project we had started.

Or, at least, I can speculate but I’d find it rather hard to believe. For now, though, I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it. I shut my eyes and try to welcome sleep.

It’s hardly restful, a night spent remembering the ghosts of his touch and pretending I don’t- trying to chase away the thoughts of it, bring my mind elsewhere.

When morning finally arrives and I make my way to work, I notice a distressing lack of the doctor. I try to ask another keeper, ‘have you seen the plague doctor today?’ and her response was ‘which one?’

I have no answer for her, though I bit back from responding ‘my plague doctor’- as he’d begun to be known by his association with me.

So I work through the day keeping an eye out, heart skipping a beat every time I see someone who might be around his height covered in a cloak, then chastising myself for the dog-like loyalty.

By the end of the day it had become clear he wouldn't be here.

I stare into the distance, toward the path we take to his house, and contemplate walking over.

I decide against it. As much as I want to, as much as I would love to find some answers, it seems clear to me that he wants space.

So then the next day at work goes the same way.

Followed by the next.

On the tenth working day without the doctor there, I grow concerned. There’s been a pit in my stomach rapidly consuming me, a sickness and weariness that haunts me- I’m not even done with my work day yet before I excuse myself and set off walking.

I reach the stoop of his home and realize a little too late that I’d not come up with any sort of plan. I don’t know what I’d say to him, what questions I have or how to ask them- all I know is I’m worried he won’t be here, that he’s moved on to somewhere new. I’m worried that I’ll find nothing but bitter disappointment.

I raise my hand and knock loudly, waiting and listening for movement. I hear nothing from the other side, not even the crackling of the fire. I step back and see no smoke from the chimney- my heart sinks.

I knock again, waiting a few moments longer, and still nothing. With my heart held in my throat, I try the handle.

The door opens with ease and I step inside, peering around the room.

It doesn’t look as if he’d left, after all. I sigh in relief, closing the door behind me. He’s simply out.

I glance over at his desk- the sketchbook sits open atop it, and I hesitate.

I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be in here without him, really, this is already a little too imposing…

But it’s left open. If I were to walk by and see what is there, how much harm could come of it, really? He’s not here to catch me. Besides, what if this is the only clue I get as to what is happening?

I walk over slowly, keeping an ear out for any sounds that may indicate his return, and look down at the sketch book.

There are several drawings of me on the page. Half of them are scribbled over, clearly done so in a fit of frustration, the other half are incomplete.

I wonder when these were done? I don’t remember some of these poses, so they must be older-

I glance around the room quickly and then make a split-second decision to grab the book and start thumbing through it.

This is the last page of its kind. I flip to the beginning of the book and find drawings with notes written in french alongside measurements- par for the course, exactly what I had expected.

As I thumb through the pages, however, the drawings become more detailed and the notes…

They start sounding like journal entries.

“Today he laughed and it set my heart alight- I wish I could capture his smile and take it out on the difficult days, a light to strengthen my spirits.”

“When he smiles he gains laugh lines, his eyes crinkle up in a delightful manner.”

“I could never draw him well enough- I believe myself incredibly lucky to perceive him at all.”

I flip through to the final drawings- the final notes.

“Canceling the research, my personal feelings are becoming too intertwined. I believe it’s influencing both him and I.”

I look through the drawings several times, recognizing some of the poses and reading his observations- it seems no detail escaped him, every scar, every freckle, all written down in depth.

For how hard he’d been on himself over the drawings, they’re actually incredible- I can’t bring myself to stop staring at them, wondering if this is how he views me.

The man on the page is- beautiful in a way I could never consider myself to be, depicted in such a way that I marvel at it.

“Donald?” A surprised voice calls out and I turn with a shock, apology already halfway off my lips-

And for the first time, our eyes meet.

[grave-queen-jakrabitt]

An in depth guide for how to get into professional wrestling (as a fan)

As a long time fan of wrestling I’ve tried to get a few people into wrestling and have found a few problems people usually have with getting into it. I’ll be breaking those down along with terms newbies might need for interacting with the fandom, it can be really intimidating to ask questions if you feel like you should know things by default so I made this

The WWE and AEW aren’t everything: there are so many companies 324 smaller North American and even some Asian companies formed independent wrestling television. You can watch more wrestling than you know what to do with. If you can’t pay the 10$ a month (absolutely no judgement like be hard) the internet is a treasure trove of free wrestling even without the ole yo ho ho. But this leads to another problem

“How will I know what I like?”: You won’t unless you’re gateway was catching wrestling while channel surfing and thinking it looked cool. Try everything once but don’t expect to like everything. Find a few indie matches before looking for anything specific so you can find a little bit of everything, you might like the showmanship, the technical details, weapon based violence, it may change with your mood but if you’re making an effort to get into it you’ll find something just take your time

“Some companies have so much history it’s overwhelming”: unless you are a devoted little lunatic don’t try to watch everything from the start, I did that with progress wrestling and I would watch 10 or so hours of wrestling, I’m still 32 shows behind and they run monthly. Almost any show from any company is a good start but I’d say allow yourself to go back like 3 shows max unless you’re already aware of where you want to start

“Things in wrestling don’t make sense”: that is true but an important thing to understand is wrestling has its own internal logic like any show really, these can vary from company to company but it’s like inertia. You start at “okay so this is happening because it’s wrestling” and you get to a point where you’re choice to suspend disbelief carries itself to “fuck it this might as well happen this is wrestling” that being said

It’s entirely valid to not enjoy something a company does and please don’t just accept something or feel like you have to wait it out. Take a break, keep an eye on it try something new but don’t feel like you have to stay glued to a bed of sand paper. You will not enjoy everything done by a company

Bring a friend and be a friend: having a friend to watch with and help you learn is always good but don’t feel like you have to share their opinion about a person or decision, any good friend will be respectful of that.

rules

A normal wrestling match is usually won by one of 4 ways. pinning your opponent to the mat with their shoulders down for 3 seconds, submission, disqualification or knockout

Other small rules: being outside the ring means any potential victory (often aside from a ko for safety) are invalid, if a limb makes contact with the ring rope during a pinfall submission or hold it’s considered out of bounds and must be broken, if you are outside the ring there is usually a 10 count sometimes 20 if you don’t come back to the ring you get disqualified, ignoring a rope break or using an illegal move like small joint manipulation has a 5 count, don’t hit the ref, fishhook anything, bite, or hit balls. No disqualification matches exist

A tag team match: in its most basic has 2 or more teams of an equal amount, only one member of each team is allowed in the ring at once and the others have to wait on the apron, the other partner can come in when they make contact with their partner in the referees vision. A 5 count is issued for double teaming moves. Sometimes it’s everyone at once in the ring, this is a tornado tag match

Steel cage: they put a cage around the ring and you win by either normal means or depending on the match escaping the cage

lucha de apuestas: if you make any friends with any interest in lucha libre you’ll often hear this term it just means a wager match basically the competitors each put something on the line, their right to mask, their hair, a title, or their career.

Terms

Face/technico: the term used for a good guy, technico is usually reserved for Mexican lucha libre

Heel/rudo: bad guy

Over: if someone is over or getting over they’re ve a fan favorite or in the process of getting there

Heat: negative crowd response

Booking: how the show is being written and how people are being used in that process

Cultural differences in wrestling

You’d be able to find any kind of wrestling in most places if you look hard enough but it’s really interesting how different wrestling styles evolved

America: we have historically had a lot of carnival wrestling. How do you con a bunch of small towns out of money with wrestling? Fix them to be more interesting while still having enough skill to put the everyday challenges away without any suspicion. This became the rough and tumble 70s southern brawl style but until the 90s it really just boiled down to “be able to fuck people up so you don’t have to”

Japan: this is a tricky situation because there are really 3 main styles of Japanese pro wrestling. Strong style focuses on a lot of striking a resilience along with strong fundamental holds, kings road style was also very resilience based but had a more defined match structure and had a focus on throws like suplex’s and head drops. Most modern Japanese wrestling is a kind of blend of those, then you’ve got the younger brother and hardest for me to talk about bati bati. I’m admittedly not that well versed in its history but from my understanding it’s like if MMA and pro wrestling had a baby that didn’t suck. There are better resources than me to learn from.

Mexico: the origin of the highly acrobatic lucha libre actually has to do with a lot of old Mexican rings being modified boxing ring, the gymnastics of lucha are in service of minimizing bad landings. But there are 2 other important aspects to lucha, Your mask/pride and your family. In lucha your mask is your identity and your legacy, it’s essentially sacred. Losing it is often how careers end, if you’re not a mask wearing wrestler pride is the substitute. But the pride of your family is just as important as often times it’s a multi generational commitment.

Europe/the UK: I’m not slapping these together out of disrespect they’re just extremely similar historically. For a while British wrestling greatly resembled its American counterpart but too many bad actors ruined it for everyone and pro wrestling was briefly banned until being revived with a unified and more strict ruleset with world of sport in the 70s that 80s, taking more after catch as catch can. Where as it’s European brother found it’s stride in long grueling tournaments as a test of skill, a tradition still carried on mostly in Germany with WXWs 16 karat tournament, progress’s super strong style 16, and even the wwe uk title tournament

[deep-sea-scyphomedusa]

PnF Season 5A Songs Miscellaneous Thoughts/Ranking

Haven't seen anyone do this yet, so here goes! These are just my opinions and as you will see I am extremely biased in some cases lol. I did have a hard time ranking these, honestly the songs from #5-13 could shift around after I listen to them more. There were very few songs I didn't like this season and I thought it was pretty good overall! :)

21. So Much More Than an Intern

I was never really a huge fan of the original Carl Theme, and it being cut up here doesn't help it. Unfortunate because I really like Carl and his episode.

20. I Have A Hat for That

It's fine. Doesn't really make me feel anything, I'm neutral on this one.

19. Song of the Summer

Cute, but nothing to write home about. Not worthy of being vaporized though :(

18. All Downhill From Here

Not bad, I liked the song sequence joke. Don't have many thoughts on this one tho sorry.

17. Suspend Your Disbelief

Not particularly memorable, but points for the Beautifully Rendered Backdrop joke and Schmebulock

16. Submarine Sandwich Submarine

I liked it, but unfortunately I do have to dock points for the first section being extremely similar to the Wellerman for some reason?

15. Forced Perspective Western Town

Short and Sweet! Very fun western song, just wish it were a bit longer.

14. Do The Tidy Up

Unexpectedly very catchy?

13. I’m Reading/ I’m Eating

"I'm Reading" by itself is good, but the two versions of the song together are what make it really fun, although I do think it works a little bit better in the soundtrack version than in the show. Also, the Doof plants just repeating "I'm eating, I'm a plant" is very funny, their voices are very cute :)

12. Agent T for Teen

Fun parody with some good new lyrics! The Agent P theme was already a banger so this one is too!

11. Tropey McTropeFace

It's a crime this isn't on the album. It's so good, and Michael Bublé was perfect for it!

10. Today I get to be Candace

Very silly, was pleasantly surprised that Buford was singing this one after hearing the leaked version! Add another one to the "Buford is queer" counter :)

9. Watch it Burn

Super cool! Would never have expected this genre from PnF but it's so good.

8. Disco Sphere

For such a short song, this one is a banger. Am I biased due to my love of disco? Yes. Should I probably not rank a 15-second song this high? Probably also yes. But I am doing it anyway because I love it and it should have been longer! ✨🕺🪩💃✨

7. When the Tri-State Aurora Comes Around

This one is also probably ranked higher than other people might put it, but I love a good bossa nova and this one does not disappoint. It's so satisfying to listen to, and I love the fun vocal riffs at the end! Also points for fun weather-themed wordplay

6. Pet Wash

Extremely catchy and groovy. The little fast sections in the chorus (ex. "You're gonna walk out the door saying Oh My Gosh") scratch my brain and they've been stuck in my head since I first saw it. I love the little dances everybody does in this one, especially the Fireside Girls making the dogs dance, the pets are so cute :)

5. No Sleepin’ At A Slumber Party

You know a PnF song is going to be good when all of the characters get to sing and interact. No notes, just extremely fun!

4. No One Understands Me

Heck yeah another Doof/Candace duet! I love the "doo-wop" style harmonies in the background, they add so much to the song! For some reason reminds me of Schoolhouse Rock but I'm not sure why? Something about how they explain the problem in the song maybe, idk might just be me with this one.

3. Stabby Barf Pain

Say what you want about Meep Me In St. Louis, but this song is a bop! Once again the harmonies are angelic and I love the joke about it being the fifth season. Also points for calling back to S'Winter/S'Fall

2. License to Bust

This song goes HARD. They put it in the trailer for a reason! Love the catchy lyrics and Candace doing crazy stunt driving. It's definitely my favorite "regular" song of the drop!

1. Summer Is Starting Right Now

S tier PnF song, and such a great intro for the revival! For me this one goes right up there with Summer Belongs to You and Carpe Diem. I love it so much!

Honorable Mention/Not Sure Where to Put This:

Mom's Stuck on A Zipline:

Wasn't planning to rank the non-5A album songs, but this one was too funny to not mention. Extremely good and I am excited for it to be in the show!

[bellysoupset]

Can we pretty please have Vince taking care of Sophia with a migraine? I love the stories with the two of them!

-🩰

This is another story where you guys pretend that I know a single thing about how the American school system works. I'm past caring about that country, suspend your disbelief pls and pretend orientation week happens in January not late February (i think??) 😂

-------------------

"Say bye to your siblings, Liv," Giuseppe said, bouncing Livia in his arms and the little girl shook her head, pouting and burying her face in her father's neck, causing Sophia to snort.

"She's suuuuch a jellybug," Sophia teased, jumping the last two steps of the stairs and Livia let out an angry huff, while both their father and Vince exchanged an amused smile.

"Sophia," Giuseppe leveled his middle child with a berating glare, before opening his arms to hug her, "have fun at orientation week, bambina."

"Thank you, babbo-" Sophia sighed, hugging him tightly and crushing Liv between them. Vince was next to hug the man, pressing a kiss to the top of Liv's head despite the 7 year old pretending he wasn't there.

"Tell Ma not to worry so much, I'd never let anything happen to Soph," Vince promised, "I'll be back Monday and we can go out for ice cream, bambi," he promised Livia, peppering kisses all over her face, "I love you..."

It took a second, before the younger girl peeled herself off from her dad, looking like she was going to cry from being left out of her older sibling's road trip, "I-love-youtoo..." she mumbled, jumbling the words together and causing their dad to snort.

It was another 5 minutes of goodbyes before they were actually on the road.

"I'm so excited!!" Sophia squealed, her voice reaching notes only dogs could hear, just as they drove out of the town. She had a ridiculous pair of sunglasses on, despite the fact it wasn't that sunny.

It was a nearly seven hour long trip to Boston, so they were going to be splitting up the driving, with Soph doing the first three hours. Besides that, they had decided to go with a day advance to explore the town before her orientation week started.

Vince wasn't going to be driving Soph back, he was heading to Welton after dropping her off in Boston and she was sharing a ride with Jonah's sister to Welton once orientation week was over. He was much more nervous about that than anything else.

"Don't drive like a maniac," Vince warned her as she started speeding up just as they got out of the town, "I'm serious, don't make me carsick."

"You don't get carsick," He couldn't see her eyes, but he knew she was rolling them. Vince glared at her as he started going through his car music playlist.

"That's why I'm telling you not to make me carsick," he clarified, enjoying picking on her as Soph let out a loud groan.

"You're making me nervous! Stop acting like ma!"

"I'm not acting like ma- I'm not trying to make you nervous, I'm literally just telling you to look at the ro- Look at the road, Sophia!" he cried out as she took her eyes off the road and lowered her shades in order to glare at him.

"You're horrible, it's like you want me dead. Horrible, horrid brother-" Soph said dramatically, causing Vince to snort a laughter and reach in, messing up the bangs she had cut yesterday night in some anxious fit.

"Your bangs are horrible," he teased her back, not that he actually thought that. He actually quite liked them, made her look a couple years younger and back when she didn't think he was the lamest person in the planet.

"Vaffanculo," Soph swore at him in italian, wrinkling her nose, but melting slightly on her seat as the music started playing, "really? Michael Bublé lockdown?"

"You want me to switch? I have Michael Bolton, Mich-"

"You made a Mike playlist?" she chuckled at that, "Vin!?"

"Not on purpose!" He smiled at her, rolling down his window and fiddling with the seat until he found a comfortable position, "are you nervous about college?"

"Nah," Sophia shook her head, letting the music play, "...A little, about grades and stuff. What if I can't keep up...?"

"Why wouldn't you be able to keep up?" Vince frowned, shifting on his seat in order to look at her, "you're top of your class, Soph."

"With numbers," she pouted at that, "only reason I'm not failing AP World History it's because my brother teaches the class."

Vince raised an eyebrow at the genuine concern in her voice, "first off, I'm not passing you in my class, are you crazy? I know you struggle with it, but the grades you got are your own merit. I'd have talked with you if you were flunking, what the hell?"

She glanced away from the road quickly, pouting and looking worried, "I don't know if I believe you."

"I'd not pass you just because you're my sister, I'd have talked with you in the first place," Vince rolled his eyes, "besides, you're a business major, bambi, I don't think anyone is gonna be asking you World History."

Sophia snorted at that, nodding, "I guess... It's just- I'm not smart like you are, you know? I didn't get a full ride, I can't read ten books in a day-"

"I can't do that either," Vince laughed at the accusation, "you're being silly. They gave you a scholarship because they believe in your potential, Soph and it doesn't matter if it's a full ride or not. Don't sell yourself short," he bent in half in order to grab their snacks, "and college is not that hard, just so you know."

"It's not?" She sounded hopeful and Vince smiled at the innocence seeping in her voice. He squeezed her shoulder in an amiable way.

"Nope, you're gonna kill it, kiddo," he promised, "just like you've crushed every single competition this year."

Sophia beamed at the compliment, before launching herself on an extensive rant about the cheer competition scene, while Vince chuckled along and rested against his window, relaxing in the car.

He could almost see the walls melting off his sister, the ice queen act falling short as she noticed him yawning and shut up, tilting her head towards him, "you're gonna nap?"

"Maybe," Vince yawned, squirming to get comfortable, "you can keep talking, it's nice."

"Talking you to sleep, how flattering," Sophia snorted, removing a hand from the steering wheel and rubbing her neck, before reaching for the radio and turning down the music volume so it was barely audible.

Vince pouted, "hey, I was listening to that!"

"No, you're napping," she shoved his shoulder lightly, "nap."

He rolled his eyes, but curled up a bit more and dozed off. Vince wasn't asleep, not really, he was a light sleeper and a car had too many noises, besides the sun shining down on them. Still, he was tuned out enough he lost sense of time. Here and there hearing a small noise, Sophia fully turning off the music, a long suffering sigh, a string of Italian cursing he couldn't even decode half asleep- The car coming to a stop.

Vince blinked quickly, rubbing at his face, "whaa..." he yawned, rubbing his eyes, "switch time already?" he looked out of the car window, they weren't in a gas station or rest stop, just on the dust shoulder of the busy road. Middle of nowhere, "Jesus, Soph, you could've at least driven until the next rest stop, no need to split our hours this evenly..." he groaned, then glanced to his side as he got no answer.

Vince raised his eyebrows at the sight of his sister. She was clutching the steering wheel with both hands, staring at her lap and taking deep, measured breaths. Her long brow hair was a curtain shielding her face from sight, covering her arm and reaching about her waist.

"Soph?" Vince planted a hand on top of hers and used the other one to push her hair over her shoulder and behind her ear, "bambi?"

Her sunglasses had fallen on her lap and he could see her eyes were squeezed shut tightly, face pale and lips devoid of color. Alarm bells started ringing in Vin's head, "Sophia," he moved on his seat so he could plant both hands on her shoulders, "hey. Look at me, what's wrong?"

When he rattled her, although softly, Sophia let out a retch, slamming a hand immediately to her lips with a whine, eyes snapping open in panic.

Vince was nearly crawling over his seat. He reached past her, throwing her door open, then got out of the car, circling it and fully opening the door, then crouching down before it and grabbing Soph's arms, "bambi, hey- Are you carsick? C'mere, turn around, lean out of the car..."

She obeyed without uttering a word, besides the fact Sophia was no longer taking those deep, measured breaths, and instead she was full of hyperventilating. He stood up straight, collecting all her hair away from her mouth and bunching it up in a ponytail in his right hand, starting to rub her back with the free one, "you're okay, baby, just take a deep breath. Car is not moving, focus in the hor-"

A retch interrupted him and Vince jumped back in order to avoid getting his shoes covered in sick. Nothing came up, but Sophia let out a whimper, sounding on the verge of tears, "Vin, it hurts-"

Motion sickness didn't hurt. Vince frowned, stopping rubbing her back in order to feel her forehead - cool to the touch, no fever, maybe it was something she had eaten...?

"What hurts, bambi?"

"He-" she gagged and spat up the ropey saliva collecting in her mouth, a burp sneaking up on her, "head-"

As far as Vince knew, Sophia didn't have migraines, but their mother did and Vin was well versed with hers, Luke's and Wendy's to pretend this wasn't exactly that. He mentally kicked himself for not realizing earlier, the light sensitivity, turning off his music, rubbing her neck nonstop...

"Oh no, Soph," he whispered, moving his hand in order to shield her eyes from the sun, covering them completely. He heard a relieved sigh at the darkness provided, "I didn't know you got these..." Vince commiserated as he heard her gulping down, trying to fight the nausea, "throwing up might help with the nausea," he offered. It normally helped Lucas, but with Wendy it was a gamble. Sometimes being sick made it worse for her, so Vince just hoped Sophia's migraines were closer to Luke's in this regard.

She shook her head, reaching out blindly and squeezing his shirt in her fist, "don'wanna..." oh yeah, there was also the added factor his sister hated vomit. Vince sighed, refusing to move as she leaned her head forward so his hand was firmly pressed over her eyes, then let out a sob, "fuck- Vin-"

Her hand clutching his shirt clawed at him, nails scratching his belly, as Sophia tried to crawl out her own skin from the pain. Her left leg was bouncing nervously and he knew she was going to be sick whether she wanted to or not.

As if on cue, she let out another wet belch and it morphed into a violent heave, nothing but clear vomit with some specks of food hitting the asphalt. Her breath was ragged and Vince's heart squeezed as she whimpered before another gagging fit hit her.

"Oh god-" Sophia whined, then a much thicker wave of puke came up and she was left panting and sobbing, "Vin- My head..."

He continued to cup her forehead, heart squeezing in sympathy. There wasn't anything he could truly do to help. They didn't have any meds, they were nowhere close to a pharmacy, he certainly couldn't get rid of the sun-

Sophia let out a whimper and Vince felt the humidity in his hand pressed to her eyes as she started to cry. He crouched down, the puddle of sickness be damned, wrapping his opposite arm entirely around her back, "shhh... Are you done, baby? Let's get you lying down..."

His sister nodded, but the movement caused a burp to come up and she barely managed to lean forward as another mouthful of vomit fell on the ground. Now it splashed against Vince's jeans, but he didn't give a crap, he was beyond worried about Soph.

She hung forward, breathing heavily and he waited a full minute, before deciding she was done. Vince grabbed her arms, throwing them around his neck and Soph groaned, but didn't fight it as he picked her up and out of the car.

He put her in the passenger seat, mentally patting himself on the back from having learned that the backseat could cause carsickness. Sophia curled up immediately, pressing her forehead to the car's wall and whimpering, "it hurtssssso'much..."

Vince went through the glove box. They were using his parent's car and he knew they had at least toilet paper in there, since they had a young child as well. True to his prediction there were wet wipes, toilet paper, three different plastic bags, a half full water bottle, mints, the car documents, band-aids, uh... playdoh?

"C'mere," Vince gently cupped Sophia's face, wiping her mouth and chin, then reaching in the space between the seats, where his water bottle was. It was much cooler and full and he pressed it to her mouth, "one gulp, bambi, okay? Just a tiny one."

Sophia obeyed, shuddering as it got rid of the awful taste in her mouth and curling up even more, pressing her balled up hands to her eyes and smudging her mascara everywhere, "Vince..."

"I'll stop at the first pharmacy we find," he promised her, fishing out her forgotten sunglasses from the car's floor and planting them on her face, "close your eyes, okay? And tell me if you're going to be sick again."

He was speeding and he was aware of it, but Vince couldn't help it. He knew that was the worst idea, since a crash certainly would not help Soph's debilitated condition, but it was hard not to speed when she was whimpering like a newborn kitten and trying to dig her eyes out with her hands.

Thankfully whatever driving gods existed were in their corner, because there was no crash nor a traffic jam as they entered a tiny, passing-through type of town. It was barely a town, if Vince was being honest, more of a village, but it had a motel on the side of the road which was all he cared about.

Sophia had gone completely monosyllabic and she didn't so much as stir as he softly closed the car door and walked away so he could get them a room.

"Will only one bed do?" The woman at the front desk chewed on her lip, as Vince explained the situation. This was not the type of side of the road motel that you stayed at with family and she was absolutely out of her element.

"It's fine," Vince nodded, "do you have the number of a pharmacy? And do they deliver?"

"Yeah, give me a second, sweetheart," she pushed the form for him to sign, fishing her purse under the desk and going through its content as she got a crumpled refrigerator magnet with the phone of a 24/7 pharmacy, "here, sweetheart. Anything else you need?"

Vince shook his head no, taking the magnet as well as the room keys and paying upfront. As he walked back to the parking lot, he wasn't surprised to find Sophia's door open and her half sitting out, curled in half as she threw up once again.

"Where- Where were you!?" She whimpered, as soon as Vince's shoes came into her field of view. His heart squeezed at her distraught voice and Vin crouched down next to her, pushing the hair away from her face.

"Getting us a room," he noticed how pale Sophia was. She was already pretty pale — more than Vin or his mother and baby sister, Soph was Giuseppe's spitting image — but now she was so devoid of color he could see the pattern of blue veins under her skin. There was a dark spot on the gravel between her feet and Sophia hiccupped and let out a little burp, spitting the saliva accumulating in her mouth, but she didn't throw up again, "all done?"

"Uhm," was her pained answer, reaching out blindly so she could squeeze his shirt. Vince squeezed her hand back.

"Stay put, I'm just going to unlock the room, alright? It'll be a minute," he kissed the top of her head, then unhooked her claws from his shirt and dashed away.

Their room was ridiculous. Vince made a disgusted face as he saw the round bed and the mirror on the ceiling, as well as the nasty pink lights. But it had a mini fridge, housing only water, and it seemed to be clean, so that was all that really mattered.

He ran back to the car and this time around, thankfully, Soph was inside and not getting sick. She was nursing the water bottle, taking tiny sips and holding its cool plastic surface against her forehead.

"Can you walk, bambi?" Vince whispered, leaning in and she frowned, before doing the most minimal nod. She grabbed onto his arm to pull herself up and tried taking a couple steps out, but they weren't even two steps into the parking lot before her knees gave up on her.

Vince had been fully expecting this, Wendy went boneless too, so he caught her easily, picking her up bridal style, "hang in there, Soph," he whispered, rushing back inside the room and carefully putting her down on the bed. As soon as Sophia was down, he moved to close all the curtains and grab the hand towel from the bathroom, humid now, planting it on top of her eyes and forehead.

She let out a relieved sigh at the darkness and curled up, "why are we in a whore house?" Sophia groaned and Vince let out a surprised chuckle, pressing his hand to his mouth to muffle the noise. He rolled his eyes at the bitchiness, moving closer and stroking her hair, pushing the long strands behind her ear.

"Get some sleep, I'm going to go outside to call the pharmacy, alright?" He whispered, squeezing her arm and Sophia's hand blindly reached in, so she could squeeze his wrist.

"Don't go," she sounded so pathetic and vulnerable, Vince's heart broke, but he knew she needed medicine more than she needed him.

"I'll be right outside, bambi," he promised, rubbing her back, "I'm not going anywhere."

It took a second, but she relaxed her grip around his wrist, letting out a whimper, but sinking against the pillows, "come back soon," his sister demanded and Vince couldn't help a smile now, feet suddenly stuck as he sat there for another 5 minutes, until she drifted off.

[inkie-does-whump]

5

Maybe You're Right (And Maybe lve Been Ruined)

A whump fic about Jimmy being pathetic :3

About 1800 words total, but posting it in several parts. PART FIVE

Contains (for the whole fic): torture, abuse, starvation, death (within the three lives system), mental conditioning, stolckholm syndrome, Jimmy gets treated like an animal, golden apples break soulbinding, washing wounds hurt, Jimmy's Avian instincts, mention of Pearl's moth instincts, Martyn is an absolute bitch, previous flower husbands reference, Solidaritek, panic attacks (many of them), unlearning abuse, idk feel like missed something

Summary: Martyn is manipulative. Cleo makes an appearance. Jimmy goes on another walk and sees Tango.

Author's Note: I wrote this many years ago. It sucks. Jimmy's attachment and fear is probably happening too fast, know, but please suspend your disbelief for the story, thank you. Now enjoy part five!

By that evening, Jimmy has wrestled off the clamps around his wings.

He gives them a good long stretch and half-heartedly tries to pick the grime out of his feathers. He knows he will get nowhere without a bath to preen in, so he gives up quickly.

The collar is more of a challenge. It’s obviously been designed to be hard to get off without being able to see the latch. He spends fifteen minutes fumbling with it before he resorts to trying to tear it off. He can get a grip on it now that Pearl has loosened it.

He tries to tear it with his nails but they get him nowhere so he goes searching through the rubble of his room for something sharp. A stone, a stray piece of metal, anything. He finds there is a sharp corner in the welding of one of the links that chain him to the wall. If he can scrape it against the cloth collar, he thinks he can tear it.

It feels like a solid hour of tearing at it, but eventually Jimmy feels the strap around his neck loosen and then fall to the ground. He stares at it for a long moment, frayed red edges and copper latches.

His first instinct is to shred it and use the scraps as padding for his nest. His second thought is to be disgusted at his first one. He wants nothing to do with this collar. He certainly doesn’t want to use it as nesting material.

Jimmy throws it to the far side of the room, by the door where he can’t reach it. He lets out a relieved sigh, and goes to lay back in his corner.

He is almost asleep when Martyn comes in.

Jimmy shrinks away from him as he approaches, silent.

His brain is spinning, please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good-

Martyn takes a long look at him, before frowning, “you took off your collar.”

Jimmy swallows. He regrets tearing it off now. He should have left it alone, and been satisfied with it just being loosened. He should have been good. He should have-

“I’m sorry.” He curls back, eyes on the floor, “sorry.”

Martyn sighs, teeth bared, “I was going to take you on another walk this morning .” He huffs, “but nevermind.”

Jimmy’s eyes lift hopefully to Martyn, “I’m going outside again?” he breaths, “oh, please.”

Martyn growls, already walking away, “not without your collar you’re not.” He spots the broken strap on the ground and picks it up, “oh, you wrecked this thing.”

He shoots Jimmy a glare. Jimmy, from the other side of the room, brings his arms up to block his head instinctively. He whimpers.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” He hurries, before Martyn can decide to hurt him, “I’ll wear the other one, the blue one, I’ll keep it on. Please, let me outside.”

Martyn’s frown deepens, and for a moment Jimmy is terrified that he’d already made up his mind about hurting him. But then he says, “No, I’ve got something else for you.”

Jimmy tries to quell his nerves as he wonders what else Martyn could have for him.

“Stay.” Martyn commands, trailing out the door.

Jimmy stays seated, obediently, staring at the door Martyn has left open. He could walk right out of the room if not for the cuffs around his wrists, chains holding him to the wall. He aches at the freedom so close to him, yet so, so far.

Martyn isn’t gone for very long. He smiles pleasantly when he sees that Jimmy is still sitting in the exact spot his left him. Jimmy hopes that is enough to keep him uninjured for now.

He has a metal band in his hands. It looks like it clamps open and closed with a lock and key. Jimmy shudders.

“stay still.” Martyn says, approaching him slowly. Jimmy tries his best to not pull away. He wants to be good. He wants to stay unhurt. He wants Martyn to give him that pleasant smile again that, he hopes, means he will be safe for now.

The metal collar closes with a click. Martyn fumbles with the lock for a moment, before drawing back and pocketing the key. He looks at Jimmy admiringly.

The collar is not uncomfortable. It is not too tight, it’s not even cold. The inside of the collar is lined with something soft. The only complaint Jimmy can think of it that it’s heavy.

His eyes slide up to look at Martyn timidly. Martyn is still smirking at him. Jimmy is just grateful he seems to be in a good mood.

“do you like it?” Martyn asks, “it’s red like your last one.”

Jimmy swallows. How is he supposed to answer that? He doesn’t like being collared, he wants to fly. But at the same time, he can’t tell Martyn he dislikes it. Martyn went through all this effort to get him a new collar, and one that was comfortable one top of that. He’s been so shockingly kind today.

So Jimmy finds himself nodding, “it’s comfortable.” He whispers.

Martyn nods once, “that’s good. However.” And Jimmy can feel the impact of Martyn’s boot smarting across his skin inside his head. He braces himself for the impact. “you did break my things.” Martyn finishes, waving the broken collar at him.

“sorry.” Jimmy whispers, arms wrapped around his head, eyes down, “sorry, I won’t do it again, sorry.”

Martyn sighs, heavy, and paces away. Jimmy glace up between his arms, confused. “I was going to take you down to the river.” Martyn mumbles, “Pearl says you need a bath.”

Jimmy doesn’t say anything.

“and I can’t take you there after you break things.” Martyn turns to look at him again, “you know I can’t. You wouldn’t learn your lesson.”

Jimmy keeps his gaze focused on the stone floor.

“So no trips outside today.” Martyn finishes, “or tomorrow.”

Disappointment sinks into Jimmy’s chest. His wings are aching from lack of care. He feels near desperate to wash them. To get the grime out of his feathers and hair.

“be good?” Martyn asks softly, “so you can be free?”

He is nodding before he can even think. Of course he’ll be good.

“Say it.”

His mouth feels dry, “I’ll be good.” He forces out, “so you’ll let me out.”

Martyn hums approvingly.

When he leaves, the door is left cracked open. Jimmy can see the lantern light flickering in the hallway.

But he doesn’t try to leave.

…

It has been a long time since Jimmy has seen one of the game’s notifications. They appear in the bottom of his vision when something important happens, like when someone loses one of their three lives. They help the players keep track of how many lives their allies and enemies have.

Jimmy hasn’t seen one in a while, and so when one appears in the corner of his vision, he can’t help but stare at it, dumbfounded.

ZombieCleo starved to death.

Only moments after he gets the message, he hears yelling down the hall. Someone is running. Jimmy cranes his head to look out the crack in the door, but whoever made the commotion must have gone the other way, because nobody passes the doorway.

Jimmy crawls towards the door until his chains are taught. His leg is still too injured to walk on it without pain. He can barely hear the conversation down the hall.

Someone is crying, “I thought we’d never see you again!” Scott.

“I could never stay away for long.” And that’s Cleo’s voice, “you know they can’t keep me away from you.”

The next few sentences are whispered. Jimmy thinks it’s Martyn talking.

“He’s still here?” Cleo.

Jimmy shrinks away. They’re talking about him. He backs away from the door and into his nest. He doesn’t want to hear their plans for him. He doesn’t want to see their punches coming. The anticipation makes it so much worse.

Distantly, he can hear Pearl giggling.

“Oh, Martyn’s got him trained so well~” she swoons. Jimmy can hear them coming down the call towards him. He presses himself into the corner.

“you managed to TRAIN him? He’s a canary, not a dog. How did you manage that?” Cleo asks.

Martyn appears in the doorway. Cleo is standing behind him. They wander into the room slowly.

She has respawned from her death, now on her last life. That makes her Red. For a confusing moment, Jimmy wonders why Martyn has not died along with her, due to their soulbond. That’s what always happens when someone dies, their soulmate goes down with them.

And then Jimmy remembers his own soulmate, and how his bond was broken by a golden apple. Cleo must have been forced fed an apple as well, breaking her connection with Martyn.

She looks tired, like death hasn’t fully restored her to total strength. Jimmy thinks she needs some food and a nap before she’ll be on her A-game again.

Cleo is looking at Jimmy with something between concern and disgust. “He’s nesting.” She glances at Martyn, “understandable, he’s doing it to self-sooth, but you need to give him bedding or he’ll start tearing his feathers out for it.”

Pearl awes, “you’ve kept a Canary?”

Cleo wrinkles her nose, “no. I hate pets.”

Jimmy tries to pretend they aren’t talking about him. He picks nervously at the front of his shirt. He ignores the fact that Martyn is staring at him. Maybe if he stays quiet, he’ll be left alone.

“come over here.” Martyn says softly, and Jimmy curses are internally.

Cleo and Pearl fall silent to see what he will do. Scott won’t look at him.

Jimmy pulls himself to his feet and limps over to Martyn. Martyn seemed disapproving of this, and Jimmy immediately knows he should have crawled.

“Down” Martyn says, and Jimmy sits down harshly. His leg stops throbbing.

Cleo looks mildly impressed, “oh, you have him collared.” She murmurs.

Martyn is digging through his bag. Jimmy can feel shame rising in his cheeks. He knows what’s coming.

Martyn turns to him, leash in hand, “Stay still.” He commands, and Jimmy does. He can’t not. Martyn kneels down and latches the leash to a loop on the front of the collar.

Pearl pets his wings, “what a good boy!” she chimes.

Jimmy shudders at the touch. He looks up at Pearl with wide, silent eyes.

Pearl coos, “oh, you like that?” her hands wander up to the feathers by his face. She strokes down them with her thumb.

Scott looks sick.

“You wanna pet him?” Pearl turns to Cleo, “he won’t bite.”

Cleo frowns, staring at Jimmy closely. He is hyper aware of the wounds that litter his skin, of the stitches that still hold his skin together.

When Cleo doesn’t answer, Martyn sighs and begins to pace away. Jimmy is pulled along with him by the neck. Pearl stands and follows him around.

“Come on.” Martyn sighs, “lets get you some sunlight.”

“you’ve been so good!” Pearl adds, “you definitely deserve it!”

Jimmy tries to follow them, he does, but he’s met with resistance at his wrists and realizes he’s still cuffed to the wall. Martyn is headed for the door, not looking at Jimmy. When he feels that Jimmy isn’t following anymore, he gives the leash a sharp tug.

Jimmy is pulled apart between the cuffs and the collar. He lets out a pained gasp.

“Martyn!” Scott hisses.

Martyn tugs again, “what the hell?” he turns to glare at Jimmy, who is stretched out and whining desperately.

“chains.” Jimmy manages out, before Martyn loosens his grip on the leash and approaches to unlock his wrists.

“oh, poor boy…” Pearl sighs, “we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to choke you like that.” She gives Jimmy big, sorry eyes.

Jimmy would give anything to stop existing right now. He wants the vanish into the stone beneath him.

The chains drop to the ground, and Martyn stands back up with a huff, “come on.” And heads for the door.

Jimmy hesitates. Was he meant to walk? It was a long way to crawl to get outside, but Martyn had told him to get down last time he walked.

He is tugged along, and he quickly limps to his feet. It’s the fastest way of moving he can manage, and he doesn’t want to be pulled around by the throat.

When they make it to the ladder, he is shaking. He knows he can’t make it up. What will they do to him? Would Martyn beat him with Pearl watching? She seems like the kindest one outside of Scott. Maybe they would protect him. Probably not, but maybe.

But to his surprise, Martyn stops and scoops him up into his back. Jimmy takes in a sharp breath, and stares wide-eyed as Martyn carries him up the ladder. He is dumped ungracefully onto the floor once they reach the top. Martyn his heaving from the strain.

The other two follow them up slowly.

“thank you.” Jimmy whispers while they wait.

Martyn shrugs, “I didn’t wanna waste twenty minutes waiting on you.

Scott makes it up last, and the group heads for the door.

Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut prematurely. He can feel the sunshine hit is skin, warm, as he is lead outside. He squints, wanting a taste of the light in his vision. It is overwhelmingly bright. He tries to convince his eyes to adjust to it as he stumbles along behind Martyn.

Cleo seems to be leading them. Jimmy isn’t sure where they are going. He can see forest floor when he squints and looks down.

“It’s this way.” Cleo is saying, and suddenly they all stop.

Jimmy peeks at the view in front of them, wincing at the harsh light. He’s at Grian and Scar’s base. Grian is standing there, jaw dropped, staring at Jimmy.

“Timmy!” he gasps, dropping his things and stepping closer, “Tim, are you okay?”

Jimmy nearly melts at the nickname. He use to hate being called Timmy, but he knew these people were his friends. He just wants to hear his friends again. He wants to be home.

“He’s great actually.” Pearl chimes, “so good.”

Jimmy feels hands petting his feathers. He leans into the feeling blindly. He just needs friends again. Someone to love him.

Grian swallows, “Scar?” he calls, “Tango?”

And Jimmy breaks. His knees give out and he crumples to the ground. Eyes screwed closed and crying.

He breaks at that name.

Tango.

He hears someone running. They smell like fire, like love, like Tango. They halt when they see Jimmy, collared and leashed to Martyn.

“OH.” There is a long, horrified pause. “Honey, what have they done to you?”

Jimmy lifts his eyes and catches Tango’s eyes through the overly bright sunshine. Tango is smoking, a massive black cloud trailing behind him. He looks outraged, on the verge of lashing out.

Jimmy is ashamed to say he grabbed blindly for Pearl’s hand and cowered behind her. His brain dissolve into a familiar mantra: please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me-

Ans suddenly there is screaming. Tango is screaming and Martyn is screaming. Somewhere in the light they are wrestling and crawling and stabbing.

Jimmy shrinks away. He can feel his leash drop, but he can’t run away. Pearl is at his side, coaxing him and running kind hands over his wings and shoulders and hands.

“it’s okay.” She’s murmuring, “we’ll protect you from the scary Tango. Yeah, good boy, it’s okay. We’ll keep you safe.”

But he can’t help it when he pushes away from her, scrambling far from any noises or light. He knows he should stay put. They’ll keep him safe. But he just wants to curl into himself.

“Timmy!” someone is calling, “Run! They dropped the leash, run!”

And Jimmy is nothing if not obedient.

He takes off blindly, limping over forest floors and rocky pathways. His knees give, and he is quickly met with a face full of dirt and leaves.

Grian is at his side, “quickly, quickly.” He says, “come on, Tim, let’s get you safe.”

But Jimmy can’t move. He can’t tell if he’s paralyzed with fear or pain. He is trembling and gasping. He can’t think straight.

“Tim, where have they been keeping you?” Grian demands.

Jimmy swallows. It’s dusty. “basement.” He gasps, “ladder, left, first door.”

His words come out slurred. He’s not sure if Grian even understood him. But he’s nodding, so he must have been good enough. He must have been good.

“Jimmy!” Martyn calls. “here.”

Jimmy is automatically pulling himself up, despite his screaming body. He notices the horrified look on Grian’s face as he obeys. I’m sorry, he thinks.

He stumbles to his feet.

“No, Tim,” Grian grabs him by the wrist, and Jimmy instinctively cowers away.

“don’t hurt me.” He whispers.

Grian draws back, horror painted in his face. “what have they done to you?”

“Jimmy.” Martyn is calling again, and Jimmy makes himself go, because he has to. He’s already been called twice, he can’t imagine the punishment if he has to be called a third time.

He sees Cleo has restrained Tango, all hissing gasoline and fury.

“Jimmy, you can’t let them take you!” Tango is howling, “please, I need you back, Honey, I need you HOME.”

But Jimmy is being lead home already.

Not once does Martyn need to tug on the leash to get Jimmy to follow them back underground.

...

First part! Next part!

[indelicateink]

the Interview with the Vampire kink meme continues to be everything

there's been a scorching HOT loustat fill today: The Interview

a bouquet of thanks to @vampire-dove for maintaining this anon kink meme for us.

i'm going to share some of the prompts going on over there. please go add more. please fill prompts. these vampires cry out to be put in Situations.

Prompts [5/?]:

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Seduction, Vampire Turning, Drunk Sex, Marriage Proposal

"Parallel universe.

"In 1905, Parisian brothel owner Lestat de Lioncourt keeps his ungrateful brothers and father, and his frail mother, in comfort despite hating his life. When his new acquaintance, wealthy American Louis de Pointe du Lac, comes on so strong, he starts to think life could be different. There is an air of the preternatural about him, but Americans are probably just like that?

"Vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac searches for a new life in the old world and finds a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition who he wants to convince to become his companion. Life certainly wouldn't be boring."

--

Armand/Daniel Molloy

"Minimal or no Devil’s Minion before 2022. Armand turns Daniel out of spite, but Daniel takes to vampirism immediately and revels in his newfound strength and immense power. And Daniel is so psyched about this new un-life that he kisses Armand, who kisses him back passionately. He then fucks Armand all around the penthouse and gives him the best dick he’s had in centuries. Armand is terribly confused by this intense, feverish passion between them, over thinks it, and flees out of self-preservation. and naturally Daniel gives chase!"

--

Claudia/Madeleine, Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Alternate Universe - Royalty, Weddings, Competition

"Royal wedding au. Now that she's in her thirties, Claudia's parents are putting their foot down: as their only child, she will be inheriting the throne, and she's going to need a partner as strong as she is. They've lined up candidates. It's tradition.

"Claudia has never forgiven Lestat for not using his magic to bring back her first love, Charlie, years ago, but he hopes he can make amends by introducing her to a beloved fellow countrywoman from his homeland who was…exiled…for being…a traitor?? Louis wants to know what the fuck is wrong with Lestat's head."

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Extremely Dubious Consent, Hallucinations, Episode: s02e01 What Can The Damned Really Say To The Damned? (Interview with the Vampire TV 2022)

"While traveling Europe with Claudia, Louis hallucinates(/fantasizes about?) Lestat forcing himself on him.

"Can be violent or just disturbing, can be physical assault (I know the hallucinations don't work like that but we can suspend our disbelief) or not include touching at all. Up to you how aware Louis is that the hallucination is his own mind torturing him. The important part is that Louis is really messed up and can only get off while also punishing himself. Bonus points for Lestat being in his bloody post-Mardi Gras outfit, throat slit and bleeding and all."

--

Armand/Lestat de Lioncourt Accidental Marriage, Accidental Bonding, Dubious Consent

"1795 AU. The Great Laws this, The Great Laws that. Magnus never told Lestat that when another vampire overpowers you with a bite soon after your turning, your body imprints on them and you become vampire-married.

"After Armand attacks Lestat at the party, Lestat finds himself craving sex with Armand against his will. He is determined to be strong! Gabrielle rolls her eyes a lot."

--

Louis de Pointe du Lac/ Oiginal Male Characters, Armand/Original Male Characters Serial Killers, Recreational Drug Use, Creampie, Felching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Service Submission, Under-negotiated Kink, Humiliation, Drugged Sex

"Louis gets lost in the high and never cleans up/finishes draining his hookups to kill them. Louis isn’t going to fuck him when he’s like this, but Armand dutifully cleans up Louis’s sloppy seconds to feel closer to his maitre.

"additional tags: unnegotiated bdsm, nonconsensual drugged sex (armand/louis’s half-dead hookups), nonconsensual blood drinking (armand/louis’s half-dead hookups)"

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Pregnancy Kink, Crack Treated Seriously

"fantasy m/m non-omegaverse vampire au in which ppl of any sex can get pregnant if they're fertile and are someone who has a uterus because reasons!

"lestat can bear children. louis desperately wants kids. lestat and louis knew when they got married they were not on the same page: children were a hard no for lestat. not having them was a dealbreaker for louis. they really should've sorted that out before they eloped.

"years later louis has one foot out the door when lestat bitterly caves, to louis's single-minded delight. gabrielle and armand are quietly appalled.

"five times louis got his husband pregnant and one time lestat volunteered the idea.

"(i am begging you on my knees for this fic please and thank you)"

[simmingwormly]

Wormville: Rotation 10: Devir and Jilleni

Welcome to the first gameplay post! Every post is going to be a round - 5 in-game days, one in-game season. Unfortunately due to my lack of self-control, we'll have to start mid-rotation 10. (Anora, Beldine, Celwitch and Devir 1 have been played) That's why we're starting with the mixed household of the second branch of the clan Devir and the clan Jilleni!

(Curious what happened in the first 10 rotations? Check the links in the intro post!)

"So, how was the first night in the new house?" Beatrice smiles. "No complaints! It's so... rustic here. And that's not even mentioning the service. Will I be waking up to a ready breakfast every morning?" "No. We just wanted to show off with my special breakfast spaghetti."

Beatrice and Bennett Jilleni have just moved in, and given that they didn't do so alone but with their 2 (...soon to be 3) children, the house had to evolve, too.

Unfortunately, it also led to their bank account devolving. It turns out that they do not currently possess the money to start the business Bea and Hannah want to hatch.

Very little shame lives in this house. (not that anyone minds)

With 2 very small children and a third on the way, much of the time was spent on childcare.

Toddler talk-a-thon tonite?

Both Sophia Jilleni and Naomi Devir aged up with the same hairstyle. It's a little too long for toddlers, I admit, but I'm suspending my disbelief. I'm imagining it's Hannah who brushes the girls' hair every day seven times a day.

Bennett, despite not being a Family Sim at all (he's Popularity/Knowledge), he's a phenomenal father. He consistently rolled Wants to teach the girls toddler skills, and cleaned a lot - including the potty. And you know how Sims would scoop the contents and carry them to the nearest toilet?

Sometimes it's the wrong toilet...

(Bennett didn't wet himself out of confusion, that was a cat, he just stepped in it - which, I admit, is not that better.)

Visitors!

"This is the Beldine Residence. Who's calling?"

"Hello, Vic. Bea here."

"Oh, greetings! How may I help you?"

"Would you like to come over? We've just finished moving to Felicia's."

"I presume it is so I could meet your children?"

"Yeah. Family time. So, any thoughts?"

"How nice of you to invite me. I'll just gussy up and come right over!"

...it's the one Sim whom the invitation accepted quote actually fits.

"Gussy up" apparently meant "put on faux armor."

Victor meets the toddlers outside in the cold. Felicia came home from work and enforced her Victor-free house policy. The meeting, however, goes splendidly, and uncle-niece bond is established.

Just the cousins greeting- wait. Who did Bennett bring back from work?

It's Quincy, and she chose violence that day. Quincy has a complicated relationship to monogamy. She's okay with sharing most of her loves, but NOT Beatrice. That fact made her stay at the house where all 3 of Beatrice's adult roommates are in relationship with her very unpleasant.

The household can forget about having newspaper for the time being.

Quincy also tried to make out with Bennett at the Temple. However, that make out attempt turned out not to be blessed. :/

By the way, notice the ghosts in the background.

It's Elphius, Josephine and Audrey!

Another mentionable event was the fire. It wasn't a big deal, Beatrice just left something on the stove for too long (she was too busy giving birth) and it was swiftly gotten under control. But, and I'm not 100% sure, I still don't know if Sims can even do that in TS2, but I'm quite convinced I saw Quincy carry the toddler outside to safety.

This wasn't the only notable involvement of these guests, namely Victor. A few days later, the household received a call from him.

Now, Victor and Hannah don't know each other at all. I wonder what he might want...

Rats. He wants rats. Or maybe he's offering rats. Hard to say.

Apart from the worms, there was one more visitor, this random social group townie Hannah brought back from work.

He tried to kiss her. Emphasis on "tried."

"Don't worry, Hannah. I'll take it from here."

Beatrice proceeded to flirt with him autonomously.

And it paid off for her! Despite being the only one out of the 4 who didn't graduate college, she's the main breadwinner on lv 8 of the "Slacker" career (I hate that name I hate that classist-ass name) (WCIF a Slacker Career rename mod?).

Between the omnipresent toddlers, her plans getting put on hold, visitors being annoying and Bennett scolding her for making a mess of the bathroom AGAIN, Hannah needed out.

So out she went, to the Sweet Discretion.

Notable sights in there included Sergeant Iulius Fiera doing his job and making everyone feel safer by beating up civilians. He's Wormville's honorary cop.

Speaking of the military, Hannah chatted up the other soldier present.

Or, more accurately, he chatted her up, since he was a recruiter. Frustrated by her slow growth as a professional dancer and desperate for the money for her dream studio, Hannah made an implusive decision and signed the papers.

Will the bossy, free-spirited, disorganized artist with NO mechanical skill (and very little body skill, too) make a good soldier? Our experts say no, but what do they know?

So far, she's thriving. On level 5, she outranks Iulius, and sometimes that's all a girl needs to be happy.

Hannah also succeeded in getting laid. Unfortunately, it was with Antoinette. I don't know what to say to that, I'm also disappointed. You either die a hero or live long enough to become Andreas, huh? And in front of Genevieve, no less!

The children progress!

Let me show you a glimpse of generation 2! They're all very young still and not much of them is known yet, but here they are:

This is Gina Jilleni, born during the 8th rotation to Beatrice and Bennett. She really looks like... either of them, really. (which is going to be a theme with their kids, I presume) I never customize kids in CAS (with the exception of them spawning with one of the few high poly hairstyles I have when somebody else already has a high poly hairstyle on the lot), so everything you see is authentic to the Sim's choice: including Gina's hair, or lack thereof. Entity bless her little bald head.

Her personality is: 10/4/1/0/7

As for 3t2 traits, she rolled Erratic, Light Sleeper and Shy.

This is Sophia Jilleni, born at the end of rotation 9.

Her personality poinst are: 10/5/4/2/8

She rolled these 3t2 traits: Evil, Clumsy, Perceptive. I can feel she's going to be an interesting character - Evil and Nice? Fun!

This is Naomi Devir, the daughter of Hannah and Felicia. She takes after Hannah a bunch!

Although in personality, she's more of a little Felicia. 6/10/3/0/9

Xaive Jilleni, the daughter of Beatrice and Bennett born during this rotation, is still a baby, and there's not much to say about her. Welcome to Wormville, little one!

In conclusion, this might've been not the most exciting of rounds, but... it feels good to be back. I've missed these worms and I can't wait to play the next household: Elaho-Inipp!

NEXT ROTATION >